When Robin heard the sound of Evan’s voice outside her bedroom, all hopes that it was all just a bad dream were effectively obliterated. She lifted her head, winced at the sharp pain right behind her eyes, and dropped, facedown in her pillow, cursing the damned wine Evan had bought. She hadn’t intended to drink it, particularly since she’d been so mad at Evan for showing up unannounced last night to begin with. But then Mia had shown up with her Big News. Mia, who had, since their high school days, gone through men like there was some huge race, was getting married.
Her first thought was to call Ripley’s Believe It or Not, because Mia was completely incapable of commitment to anything—including a dog she once had. And, she and Michael fought every other week and had ended their affair no less than fifteen hundred times. And now she was getting married. Married!
The announcement, made to Robin and Evan when Mia and Michael had arrived for their Saturday night dinner date, had prompted a gushing Evan to run out and buy a few bottles of Pouilly-Vinzelles for a celebration. Robin tried to stop him, told him they already had plans, but Mia, in her near state of euphoria at being given a ring (and it wasn’t that great of a ring) had proclaimed with great verve, “Oh noooo, Evan should stay and help us celebrate!” This, in spite of knowing how Robin felt about Evan, in spite of the very pointed looks Robin gave her, in spite of the universe in general. She just flipped her long blond ponytail over her shoulder and smiled all moon-eyed at Michael.
So Evan had dashed out for the wine, Michael had ordered up Thai, and Robin had drunk heavily as Mia went on and on about her wedding plans, which she had, apparently, given quite a lot of thought.
Actually, Robin might have survived the evening had it not been for the third bottle of Pouilly-Vinzelles and that moment alone with Mia in the kitchen, when in a tipsy moment, Robin had blurted, “Mia, are you insane? You hated Michael two weeks ago and swore you’d never speak to him again. Now you’re getting married? This is a huge mistake.”
To which Mia had smiled in the most condescending way possible and said, “Oh, Robbie, I know how you must be feeling. But you haven’t lost me.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? I’m talking about this on-again, off-again thing you have with Michael. Who’s to say that next week you won’t hate him again?”
Mia’s smile was so sympathetic that Robin was tempted to try and rub it off her face. “Don’t worry. You’ll get married too. I mean, you’ll chill out in a few years and then, who won’t want you?”
Chill out? Chill out? Robin had been so stunned that she couldn’t even reply. She had stood there, gaping in dumb shock as Mia checked her lipstick in the glass reflection of the cabinet, flipped her hair over her shoulder again, and smiled when Michael called out, “God, Mia, what are you running on about now?” She laughed, walked out of the kitchen to where Michael and Evan were seated around the dining room table, leaving Robin alone in the kitchen in utter confusion.
Chill. Out.
By the time Mia and Michael left and Evan opened the fourth and last bottle and asked about her arrest, Robin had—in spite of the annoying little voice warning her to shut up, shut up, shut up!—crumbled into despair. She’d lit up like the Texas Commerce building, crying into her Salviati crystal wineglass, and one thing inevitably led to another, and before she knew it, she was wailing about her dad, her demotion, the fire, and even Mia’s engagement. And then, somehow, Evan was kissing her, and then . . .
This was precisely the sort of thing that always got her into trouble.
Robin lifted her head again, groaning beneath a monstrous headache, and peered bleary-eyed at the clock. Eight A.M. Fabulous. Still enough time left in the day to learn all about the many intricacies of Styrofoam peanuts. She could hardly wait.
She heard Evan’s voice again, managed to push herself up, and as she groped around for her robe, the door opened and Evan came in, carrying two cups of coffee, wearing little more than a ridiculously broad smile. “Good morning, sweetcakes.”
“Uh-huh,” Robin muttered, and wrapped the thick terry cloth robe tightly around her while Evan stood there smiling at her. Self-conscious, she pushed her hands through her Amazon hair. “Who were you talking to?” she asked as Evan handed her a cup of coffee.
“Your contractor.”
Her contractor . . . Oh! Oh Oh Oh! How could she have forgotten that the delicious hunk of a man would be here this morning? Worse, he’d seen Evan—in his boxers, no less. Robin could feel herself color deeply, and while she was trying to figure that out, Evan reached for her waist, leaned down, and kissed her neck. “Hello, gorgeous.”
What a colossal mistake she’d made. Disastrous! “Evan—”
“You were wonderful last night. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”
“Yeah, but I was sort of lit—”
“Baby, you were lit, all right. I’d forgotten how feisty you can get.”
Well, someone had to be feisty, although she really did not care for the reminder. “What I’m trying to say is, I really shouldn’t have done . . . that,” she said, gesturing to the bed.