“Hey, baby,” he said.
“Hel—loh, Michael,” she said in a sing-song voice that was totally sarcastic. “I see Brad not only forgot that I didn’t want to see you, but he also offered you a beer.”
Michael looked at the beer in his hand. “He insisted. I mean, he really insisted.”
That was Brad, all right—party on, with whoever was available, whether he knew the person or not.
“He, ah . . . he pointed me back here,” Michael said.
Great. Now Brad was directing traffic back to her bedroom. She seriously had to have a talk with him. She angrily folded a T-shirt and threw it into her suitcase.
“I realize you’re upset—”
“No! I’m not really upset,” she baldly lied.
That seemed to surprise him. He actually looked a little hopeful.
“I’m furious,” she said with the same smile. “See how my teeth are bared? And my knuckles are white because I am trying so hard not to punch you?”
“Oh Christ—Leah, I didn’t date Ariel.”
“Right,” she said, and threw some underwear into her bag like she was trying to knock a hole through it. “You just hung out with her, I guess?”
“Sort of,” he admitted with a sigh.
Sort of? He was supposed to say no, he never saw her, never talked to her, never—She turned a murderous look on him, and Michael tried to smile, but he couldn’t make it happen and just shook his head.
Leah turned back to her Rambo packing.
“Jack started seeing a woman who won’t go out without a pack. You know how women are.”
“I know how women are?” she echoed incredulously, folding her arms over her middle.
He had the decency to look chagrined. “I just meant . . . you know how some women have that pack mentality . . . never mind,” he said quickly, after seeing her expression. “Just leave it at Jack dating a woman who won’t go unless her friend goes, too, and so Jack begged me—begged me, Leah—to ride along. The first time I went, you were hardly even speaking to me, and even so, I just sat there like a bump on a log, making small talk, just for Jack, because all I could think of was you. The second time I went because Jack really likes this chick, and he practically got down on his hands and knees to beg me. He promised me it was the last time. And it was. And again, nothing happened—we had a few laughs, but that was it. It was nothing. It was such a nothing that I don’t even remember it.”
“Really? You don’t remember you were out with her just last week?” Leah asked, fuming. “Between your dates with me?” she added, wiggling her fingers between dates.
“We had dinner, the four of us. I never touched her,” he said, moving deeper into the room. “It was just a favor to a pal—go out, keep her company while he tried to make some headway with the woman he wants to get to know. It didn’t mean I was dating her. Regardless of what she says around work, she knows it, too.”
Leah nodded, then stooped over, picked up a pair of shoes. “Then why did you give her a job?” she blurted, throwing a shoe into her suitcase and holding the other one, heel out, aimed right at Michael.
He looked at the shoe and held up his hand. “I didn’t give her a job. Jack did. And without my knowledge.”
She was still skeptical. “I can’t speak for Jack or how he reels them in,” he said, looking boyishly distressed.
Leah tossed the shoe into the suitcase, put her hands on her hips. “So what about Nicole Redding? That was quite an intimate moment you were having a couple of days ago.”
He groaned again, shoved a hand through his hair. “Don’t get me started on Nicole,” he muttered, but then looked at Leah sidelong and shook his head. “Nicole and I were an item a few months ago,” he admitted. “We were together for about two months.” He frowned slightly, as if the memory was unpleasant. “She was also seeing some director at the same time, and when I found out about it, I ended it with her. Frankly, I was looking for an excuse—I wasn’t that interested.”
“You had to go out with her for two months to figure that out?” Leah asked disdainfully. “So what was that little tête-à-tête about?” she asked, motioning with her hand.
“Well, to put it bluntly, Nicole appears to be between lays. And she’s hoping to hook up again.”
“Wow,” Leah said. “That’s like . . . horribly honest.” She turned away, picked up a pile of clothing—dirty or clean, she had no idea—and dumped it carelessly into her suitcase. Nicole Redding, a huge movie star, was jonesing for her guy. How bizarre was that?
“I told her to forget it,” he added quietly.
Leah snorted. “That’s great, Michael. I hope for your sake she forgets it.”
“Leah—”