Yeah, well, he deserved every bit of her disdain, and he knew it. Nevertheless, he was ready to prove himself to her, to do whatever it took. But that was the problem that had him tossing and turning all night—he really didn’t know whatever it took meant.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of experience in wooing women. Usually, all it took from him was a little friendliness, a casual display of interest, and the women he ended up dating took it from there. Women who would, after just a couple of dinners and something like an afternoon of sailing, leave him little notes of affection, buy him small gifts to commemorate their dates, and make changes in their schedules to accommodate his. Inevitably, after such few dates, they’d begin to talk about their feelings, and worse, ask about his feelings before he was able to reciprocate anything but friendship and general pleasure in their company. If even that.
One of the big cosmic mysteries to him was why women were so eager to do a full belly flop into their relationships. Why did they feel compelled to spill their guts about their dreams and desires after a couple of good steak dinners? Hey, he loved having women around, loved hanging out with them. But they had a way of making him feel incredibly uncomfortable with four little words: We need to talk. There wasn’t anything in the entire universe that made him want to run faster or harder than those four words.
How ironic it was that he’d been the one to do it this time. Obviously, he sucked at it. Yet he knew—he knew—he could succeed if he proceeded cautiously. He knew that because he knew Leah, and after that kiss, he knew there was something in her yet, a desire or need or whatever it was called—just something she still held for him inside her. He had tasted a certain hunger on her lips that was there for him to sate if he could find his way to her. But to find her, he’d have to step carefully through the minefield of her emotions and hurt and disillusionment and all the things that he’d heaped on her.
What he needed, he realized, was a map.
His mood was not improved the next morning when he arrived at work and found Jack grinning from ear to ear. “What?” Michael demanded irritably as he walked into the ten-by-ten closet they were calling an office at the boot camp.
Jack swiveled around in his chair away from the computer screen to face Michael and leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head, looking way too smug. “Been out to the course yet?” he asked, referring to the mock battlefield they had set up.
“No. Why?”
Jack grinned. “No reason. Just wondered if you’d seen it yet.”
“Seen what?” Michael snapped. If there was one thing he hated, it was fun and games before his first cup of coffee.
But Jack just laughed, swiveled around in his chair to face the computer again, and said, “By the way, we start blocking battle scenes Monday.”
Michael tossed down his satchel and walked out of the office, striding toward the commissary tent for some coffee.
It didn’t take him more than a moment to see what had Jack in stitches—they were everywhere. Four hundred dollars worth of orchids—bought at a premium last night as the flower shop was closing, just so he could get them into the damn car he’d sent for Leah this morning—were adorning the ponytails and waistbands of the women as they warmed up, getting ready for the day.
He’d meant for the four large blooming plants to fill the backseat of the car with a simple note that said I remember. He’d meant them to serve as a reminder of how he used to send her orchids, every Monday morning. He’d meant for her to take them out of the car and put them in her house.
So much for his attempts at sentimentality.
“Hey, Michael!” He glanced to his right, saw Jamie and Michele. Jamie pointed to the orchid stuffed carelessly behind her ear. “You have great taste.” The two of them obviously thought that was hilarious, judging by how they dissolved into laughter as they walked on.
With a sigh, Michael walked into the commissary tent and picked up a foam cup.
“What do you think, Michael? Does this flower match my sweater?”
Great. Michael suppressed a sigh and turned to see Nicole, who was hanging out around boot camp again. She had the orchid stuck in her recently purchased cleavage, which was amply displayed in a tiny little top with spaghetti straps.
“Love it,” he drawled. “Nobody wears an orchid better than you, sweetheart.”
She looked down as she put her hands against her breasts and pushed them together, making the flower bounce. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she asked with a little laugh. “Just curious, Mikey—how come you never sent me a busload of orchids?”
“Nicki—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, flicking her wrist at him with one hand as she rearranged the flower with her other. “I’m just giving you the business, baby, that’s all. Besides, you sent me roses, remember? Yellow roses. And that’s exactly what I told what’s-her-name this morning.”