She rolled onto her back, blinked up at the bare ceiling above her, and thought of Jake. The stupid jock had been in her thoughts and dreams all night, from the moment he basically told her that he would make out with her, but that was about it. How very charming. And really, who did he think he was, anyway? But then again, what did she expect? She wasn’t a teenager—one outing did not constitute going steady, dammit.
Robin pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around the room. The sun was spilling in from the east windows, casting large squares of irritatingly cheerful light over wood floors. Clothes were strewn everywhere because she had tried on several outfits yesterday to find the perfect, get-on-a-motorcycle-with-him ensemble. Bastard. It wasn’t as if she liked him.
Oh hell yes, she did.
With a heavy sigh, she sat up on the side of the bed and frowned at the wall. He really had his nerve. She didn’t know which stung worse—that she really did like him and he didn’t like her quite so much? Or that he might prefer the Lindy-type over her? Ouch. Nothing against sweet little virginal bake-sale Lindy, but that was really a bite. To hell with it—she wasn’t going to spend the day crying over some guy who wore steel-toed boots for casual wear. No sir, she was going to Minot, North Dakota. Hallelujah!
When Robin finished her shower and had packed, she dressed in classic St. John and stumbled out of her bedroom, in desperate need of coffee. In the kitchen, she heard creaking above her, and took two sideways steps so that she could see out the kitchen door. Grrrreat! There was his truck. The jerk was up there right now, probably with his pal Doofus—hell, probably even Grandpa—ripping out the walls and turning her Tudor-style mansion into a showroom of her empty life.
Robin flipped on the coffeepot, tapping her foot while she waited for it to brew. When she had her cup of coffee, she marched into the dining room, dug out her computer from the mound of paper that was beginning to build, and punched up her mail.
Aha, there was a surprise. A note from Bob (Last chance, Ms. Lear, LOL!), one from the insurance agent, the usual thousand from Lucy, and one from Cecilia about the Spring Tulip dance. While she was perusing those, someone came clumping down the stairs. Robin refused to look up, refused to give him even the slightest hint that she—
“Hey hey, if it ain’t my cellmate!”
Robin jerked her gaze to a grinning Zaney, gathering tools at the foot of the stairs.
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded hotly.
“I said, HEY, IF IT—”
“I heard you. So what, is he blabbing it to everyone now? Does he think it’s funny?”
“Well, it ain’t nothing to be ashamt of,” Zaney said, looking more bewildered than usual. “It happens to damn near all of us.”
Oh God. Dear God. “No, actually, it does not happen to damn near all of us.”
Zaney heaved up the bundle of tools. “Don’t have to get so bent outta shape,” he muttered under his breath and trudged back upstairs.
Robin tried to focus on her e-mail. New safety regs, mandatory read. DOT inspection next Thursday . . . The house was suddenly stifling and full of too many fools, herself included. When was the car coming? When could she escape this place for Minot? She stood abruptly, marched back to her bedroom, retrieved her stuffed Coach duffel bag, and lugged it to the entry. A glance at her watch said that it was only eight-forty, but Robin opened the door and walked out onto the drive, peering up and down North Boulevard for any sign of the car. Seeing none, she turned on her heel and shrieked with alarm, clamped a hand over her heart at the unexpected sight of Jake standing directly behind her.
He grinned.
She frowned. “What?”
He lifted a brow. “You hurt Zaney’s feelings. He thought you two were going to be cellmates for life.”
“Very funny,” she said, and tried to step around him, but Jake matched her step. “Do you mind? I’m about to leave.”
“Since when are you so anxious to get to Minot?”
Since you said what you did, you big jerk. “I have to work.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem a little pissed off. As in royally.”
Pissed off, ha! “Pissed off?” No, nononono, she wasn’t PISSED OFF. “Why would I be pissed off?” That would imply that he meant something to her, and before he could answer, her mouth opened and her tongue began to wag. “You have your nerve,” she said, punching her fists to her hips. “That little thing you’re doing, you know, the, ‘oh, I’ll be very charming and take you out to a field of flowers and kiss you, but don’t expect me to be around’—that thing—is pretty maddening, and it’s just really rude.”
The second brow rose to meet the first. “What are you talking about?”
“What you said!” she cried, furious he could be so thick skulled. “You said, ‘hey, I had fun, but I’m not going to be around,’ or something like that, probably because you and Betty Crocker are all lovey dovey, but still, I think it was really . . . well, it was just mean, that’s what it was—”
He startled her by catching her upper arms and pulling her close. “Robin—”