Breakfast in Bed

chapter 4


TRIPOD WAS RINGING. OKAY, MAYBE NOT TRIPOD. BECCA'S phone rang, startling Tripod who had been sleeping on it, which explained why Becca spent the better part of an hour searching high and low for the damn thing and was unable to find it.
"Hello?"
"What is going on there?"
"My, Annabelle. Aren't you in a fabulous mood today?"
"I'm pregnant. What the hell do you expect?"
"Still not glowing, huh?"
"Not unless I glow when I turn green. What I want to know is how it's possible to throw up more than I consume."
Becca tossed herself on the futon. The damn thing was a torture rack. She really needed to get herself a bed. "One of life's great mysteries. Just think, in February you'll have a little baby or two."
"Two?"
"Yeah, twins runs in the family, remember?"
"Oh, no way. There's only one bun in this oven."
"You're sure of that?" Becca rolled over and tried to get comfortable. Impossible.
"Nice try, Larsen. You thought if you got me worked up about the idea of twins, I'd conveniently forget that for some unknown reason you're living with my brother."
"Platonically."
"How in the world did you end up living with Richie?"
"Why are you asking me? It's all your fault. You're the one who sublet the apartment to me without checking with the owner who had already rented it to Rich."
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I never thought to ask. What are you going to tell Mike?"
Becca sat and wrapped her long arm around her even longer legs. She shook her head wishing she could be the least bit normal. "What do you mean?"
"Mike's not going to like the idea of his little sister living with anyone, especially not Richie. You know that Gina just dumped him. Maybe you can use Ben's guest room over the gallery, but then Mike would probably like that even less than you living with Rich."
"Yes, I'm aware that Gina dumped Rich and that Mike still hasn't forgiven Ben for proposing to you—"
"He's my boss and my friend. He only proposed to me because he needs to get married. It was nothing personal."
"Right, like Mike's ever going to buy that one. But where and with whom I live is none of Mike's business. I'm a grown woman, and I can live with whoever I want. And just in case he didn't notice, I'm almost as big as he is. If he wants to see his little sister, he'd better find the few pictures of me when I was a kid. I'm anything but little now."
"Mike's still not gonna like it."
Becca couldn't take the singsong tone Annabelle used. It wasn't as if Becca was happy with the arrangement. That didn't mean she was going to let Mike, or anyone else, have any say in the way she lived. "Mike has no say in the matter. Besides, aren't I a little old for him to be pulling the whole protective brother routine? I've lived my whole life on my own. The last thing I need is for my newfound brother to start telling me I'm not living up to his standards either."
"Whoa, sensitive much?"
Becca lay back down. "Maybe. But the fact stands that I want to stay in Brooklyn to be close to the brownstone, and I have nowhere else to go. I don't have time to find a temporary residence since I'm supposed to be supervising the remodeling. I lost my loft in Philly so even if I could commute, I can't go back. Not to mention that I have Tripod here with me. As harmless as a three-legged cat should be, Tripod's not. He already bit your brother. Besides, it's only going to be for a few months. I can live with anyone for a few months, even Rich." She hoped.
"You sure? You know, you can come stay with Mike and me. It'll be like old times."
"And break up your perpetual honeymoon? I don't think so, but thanks for offering." Becca heard rattling in the background.
"Oh God, Mike. Shut the refrigerator. I can smell it. Becca, I have to go. I'm going to be sick. Bye."
All she heard was dead air. Well, that's one way to get out of an uncomfortable conversation with Annabelle. Becca only felt a little bad that Annabelle was probably tossing her cookies, but not bad enough to call back to see how she was. The last thing she wanted to do was explain this mess to Mike, her newfound, possibly overprotective half-brother. Sheesh, you'd think he was smart enough to know that she was capable of taking care of herself. Hell, she was the most independent person she knew.
There was a knock on the door.
"What?"
Rich stuck his head through the opening. "I washed the dishes and started the dishwasher."
"Good for you."
"It wasn't so bad."
Becca stood and smiled. "You stuck our dishes in the dishwasher. I don't want to be a downer, but it's hardly rocket science."
Rich turned, and she followed him into the living room. "Bec?"
Becca had her eyes locked on Rich's back. He had one of those backs she loved. Broad shoulders tapering to a thin waist and a really nice tight ass. "Hmm?"
Rich increased his speed. "Should there be bubbles coming out of the machine?"
Becca raced after him. "You're kidding, right?" She drew in a deep breath when she looked over the bar and saw the kitchen floor covered in soapsuds. Nope, definitely not kidding. "What the hell did you do?"
Rich looked genuinely upset, as he should, since he was going to be the one bailing bubbles. "I did just what you told me. I filled that little cup with the yellow dish soap."
"Rich. I said the dishwasher soap, not dish soap." She kicked off her shoes and slid barefoot into the fray. So much for her favorite cashmere sweats. She should be getting combat pay.

Rich checked his watch. He was going to be late for Sunday dinner at his parents' house, but there was no way he could get out of cleaning up the mess he made. Becca looked as if she wanted to kill him, and he did feel awful. Her pants were all wet and clinging to her mile-long legs. She was shivering, too.
"Why don't you go change out of those wet clothes? I'll finish up here." It wasn't that bad. He was able to see the black and white tiles through the bubbles now. Another ten minutes, and he could be on his way. "I'll get this cleaned up before I leave."
"Hot date?"
"Gina dumped me, remember? I have dinner at my parents' every Sunday. I can't get out of it. As it is, I'll be late."
"Oh, right. I've heard all about your weekly family dinners. Annabelle compared them to shock therapy."
He didn't try to hold back the laugh. "Yeah, that's not a bad description. Though I doubt shock therapy patients get tiramisu for desert."
"Is it worth it?"
"The tiramisu? Definitely. Mama's tiramisu is amazing. You wanna come?"
She backed up a step. "No, thanks. I have enough torture from my family. I don't need yours too."
Rich went on soaking up the bubbles. "Oh, it's not that bad. And what's wrong with your family? Mike is great, and your dad seems nice."
"Yeah, they're great."
Something in her tone of voice made Rich stop mopping. All of a sudden the in-your-face, not-afraid of-anyone, come-at-you-with-a-baseball-bat, fiercely independent woman he spent the night and morning with seemed to disappear, turn into a five-year-old whose mother forgot to pick her up from kindergarten, and reappear in the blink of an eye. If he hadn't been watching closely, he'd have missed it.
Becca held out her hand. "Give me the mop. Go ahead. You're going to be late. I'll finish cleaning up."
Rich shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'll take care of this. You're cold and wet. Go change. It's not like I don't have a good excuse for being late. Maybe I'll be lucky and miss round one."
"Or you'll be thrown in the ring when you get there."
"I can hold my own."
"Yeah, as long as it doesn't involve soap or a mop. Good luck." Becca shrugged, wrapped her sweater more tightly around herself, and tiptoed across the small kitchen, careful not to slip. Rich watched her duck into her room, shook his head, and finished mopping.
By the time Rich had the kitchen floor suds-free, he was a half hour late. He rushed to his room, dried his feet, and put his socks and boots back on. Passing Becca's closed door, he wasn't sure if he should say good-bye or just leave. He hadn't heard a peep out of her or her damn cat. He stood outside her door and remembered the last time he went to her room. She'd been lying down. Maybe she was taking a nap, or maybe she was avoiding him. The thought of her locking herself in her room so she didn't have to deal with him rubbed him the wrong way. Rich knocked on her door.
"Yes?"
He pushed the door open and stuck his head in to find she'd rearranged every piece of furniture. "You moved the furniture yourself?"
Becca pushed a small dresser closer to the wall and wiped her hands on her jeans—she was back to wearing the butt-ugly baggy jeans. "Yeah, Tripod wasn't much help."
"If you'd have asked, I'd have moved everything for you."
"Thanks, but I don't need help. I'm a big girl."
He looked her up and down, not that he needed to. He'd seen her naked, and he knew a few things about her body. She was tall, she had the most incredible legs he'd ever seen on any woman, and he'd seen his share. She was a natural blonde, and she was anything but big. "You might not have needed help, but you could have had it. There's a difference."
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine." She moved a lamp from the dresser onto the desk. "See ya."
Rich really hated being dismissed. Especially by Becca. But she was right, he had to leave, or he'd never hear the end of it. He left her door open, grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on, and headed for his parents'.
He parked his Highlander behind Nick's Viper. Annabelle had the front door open and waiting for him before he even hit the kill button. Damn, she had radar as good as Aunt Rose's.
"Where's Becca?"
Rich climbed up the steps. "Home with her cat. Why?"
"She's not coming?"
Rich held up his hands to protect him from Annabelle's future assault. He didn't need any psychic powers to see that coming. "I invited her. Maybe if you hadn't told her the family dinner was like shock therapy with food, she'd have come."
Annabelle rested her clasped hands on her bump. "Compared to her family, ours is normal."
Rich let out a bark of laughter and shrugged out of his jacket. "Normal?" He put his arm around his little sister and gave her a sideways hug, kissing the top of her head. "We put the fun in dysfunctional. We aren't the least bit normal. Believe me, I've seen normal, and we're about as far away from that as we can get." There was no place in the foyer to throw his jacket. He turned to the closet because he knew he'd get a smack upside the head if he didn't hang it up.
"You go ahead and believe that. You want to know real torture, go eat at the country club with Becca's mother. The woman is obsessed with her social status. Her bible is The Social Register. And she thinks women should be petite. Poor Becca hasn't been petite since birth. Bitsy calls her an Amazon and has been pushing cosmetic surgery on her since she was fifteen. Every year she gives her a Christmas card with a check for a boob job and a card for a plastic surgeon."
Rich couldn't believe his ears. He tossed his jacket on a hanger and pushed aside the others to squeeze it in. "You're kidding. Becca's beautiful, and she has a great body. There's nothing wrong with her tits."
He turned just in time to see Mike, his brother-in-law and Becca's big brother, scowl. F*ck.
Annabelle stood in between her brother and her husband. What is it with men and their little sisters? "Don't even think about it, Mike. Rich doesn't need intimate knowledge to know Becca's beautiful. He's not blind."
Rich was looking awful guilty for a guy who didn't have intimate knowledge. Hell, as far as Annabelle knew, no man had had intimate knowledge of Becca's body for a very long time, and Annabelle knew everything there was to know about Becca, up to and including her latest vibrator purchase. Annabelle might be repressed, but Becca sure wasn't, so she routinely conversed about her toy collection, and much to Annabelle's mortification, had even given Annabelle a vibrator as a Christmas gift last year.
Mike wrapped his arms around her from behind, his hand resting on her belly. "I didn't say anything."
No, but the amount of tension running through his body told her how much he hated the fact that Rich saw Becca as the beautiful woman she was. Annabelle tilted her head back to rest on his chest as she looked at his face. "Becca's a grown woman. She's not a little girl who needs a big brother to fight off bullies. Besides, my brother's not such a bad catch."
"What?" Both Mike and Rich said in stereo.
Rich backed up a step and shook his head. "Hold on. There's nothing going on between Becca and me. She doesn't even like me. Besides, she's helping me get Gina back. Believe me, we're just sharing the apartment temporarily. We're platonic roommates. She's sleeping in the guest room."
Rosalie had sauntered over with her husband Nick. "What are you talking about?"
Rich nodded hello. "I asked Becca to teach me to be more domestic so I can get back together with Gina. Becca's gonna teach me how to cook, clean, and do laundry."
Annabelle laughed. "And she agreed?"
Rich nodded. "She needed a place to stay, and I needed a coach."
Rosalie groaned. "Richie, are you sure Gina broke up with you because you're a slob and not because she's not interested in being tied down? The last I heard, she wasn't looking for anything long term. That's why when you were in New Hampshire I thought you and Gina were good together. I mean, it's not as if long-distance relationships ever work out. Since when are you interested in committed relationships, anyway?"
Rich didn't look too happy with Rosalie or her line of questioning. "A guy's gotta grow up sometime. Don'tcha think? I'm ready to settle down."
Nick put his arm around his wife. "I know there's pressure on you from your dean to look respectable and settled, and hey, maybe you are ready. Gina might be a different story. You know, just because you're ready doesn't mean Gina is. "
Rich crossed his arms. "Gina broke up with me because she thinks I'm not relationship material. Those were her exact words. That's why I asked Becca to teach me to be more domestic. I need to get Gina back, and all I have to do is show her I've changed."
Annabelle could tell Mike was trying not to bust out laughing. She swatted his thigh for finding this whole mess funny.
Mike hugged her a little tighter before he spoke up. "You make it all sound so easy. So, you're going to learn how to cook and clean and then what? Are you going to call her and say 'Hey baby, I've changed. Come and get me?'"
Rich obviously hadn't planned that far in advance. "Rosalie, maybe you could help me. You know, tell Gina how much I've changed. I did the dishes this morning. You can ask Becca. She taught me how. I don't think I've ever seen the kitchen cleaner."
Rosalie shrugged. "I guess I can mention it. I'm not sure it's going to help though. Maybe the best thing for you to do is move on. I don't think Gina is waiting for you."
"Dinner's ready," Mama yelled. "Rosalie, come help me in the kitchen."
Everyone moved toward the dining room except Annabelle and Mike. She thanked God Mama didn't ask for her to help. Annabelle spent the morning hiding in the back of the apartment because Mike had made toast. For some reason the smell of toast made her sick, well, the smell of toast and just about everything else, too. Annabelle took a deep breath through her mouth so she wouldn't smell anything that would have her running to throw up and turned in Mike's arms.
He was still scowling. "I don't like the idea of Becca living with Rich."
"That's too bad, but Becca didn't ask for your opinion or permission. Besides, it's only temporary. She'll be spending most of her time at the brownstone anyway."
Mike didn't say anything, but Annabelle knew he wasn't happy.
"Do us all a favor and try to keep your feelings to yourself. If not, you're going to offend your sister, my brother, or both of them." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him until she felt all the tension leave his body and another kind of tension take its place.
Someone behind them made a production of clearing her throat. Annabelle cringed. Only one person clears her throat like that. Aunt Rose.
"Come to supper. You two already made'a the baby. Give it a rest. Eh?"

Rich lingered after supper. He felt weird going back to the apartment. He'd never been the sensitive type, but he had to admit it was uncomfortable living with someone who openly stated that she didn't like him. He wasn't sure why either. He was a likable enough guy. But there was something about him that bugged the crap out of Becca.
"Annabelle?" Damn, she looked as if she was half asleep.
"Hmm?"
"Why do you think Becca doesn't like me?"
"She doesn't like you?"
"No. She admitted it the other day."
Annabelle shoved a pillow behind her back. "I don't know. What did you say to her?"
Rich thought back. He had been adamant that the apartment was his; he probably could have been nicer about it. But it's hard to remember to be polite when you're stark naked. "We just had a disagreement over whose apartment it was. She was impossible."
"Yeah. When she thinks she's right, there's no talking to her. I'm surprised she didn't throw you out."
"She tried. But we came to an agreement." After he'd slept with her.
"It'll take a while, but she'll come around. You'll see."
"I don't know. She seems really standoffish."
It didn't help that he'd made a total fool of himself when he flooded the kitchen with bubbles. Not that it was really his fault. She didn't mention that there were two different dish soaps. Still, she obviously didn't think he was the sharpest pencil in the box. Normally he wouldn't care, but he didn't want to spend the next three months with someone who thought he had the IQ of an amoeba.
"She doesn't trust people easily. It comes with the territory."
Rich took a sip of his beer and looked at Annabelle over the top of his mug. "Huh?"
Annabelle opened her eyes. "She's been burned a lot. You know, Becca's got money. The Larsens are an influential family. A woman in her position has to wonder if a guy is into her, her bank account, or her social standing. Let's just say, she hasn't had the best luck with men. I'm hoping that improves now that she's out of Philadelphia . Her family was really well known there. She couldn't get away from it."
"If she's got so much money, why doesn't she look like it? Heck, yesterday she looked like she'd gotten her clothes at the Salvation Army. Why is she fighting over the apartment? Why doesn't she go and stay at the Plaza or something?"
Annabelle rolled her eyes. "Hey, just because she's got money doesn't make her a spoiled debutante. If anything, she's a reluctant debutante. It's a real bone of contention between her and her mom. Which is probably one of the reasons she doesn't just go to the Plaza. She knows what's important in life, and money isn't in the top ten."
After a while, Mike joined them in the family room. They spent the next hour talking while Mike gave Annabelle a foot rub. Those two were so good together, it was enough to make Rich almost jealous. He tried to see him and Gina together like that, and he couldn't.

Monday morning dawned cold and gloomy. Becca had slept like shit. God, she needed to get a real bed. She'd never be able to survive three months of this. If it wasn't the lumpy futon keeping her awake, it was the thought that Rich was in the next room naked, or Tripod's snoring or wanting to be fed. The little stinker sat on her chest and yowled, and when that didn't work, he bit her nose.
"Fine. I'll feed you." She pushed him off her chest, rolled out of the bed that was four inches off the floor, and stubbed her toe on the damn frame. She pulled on a sweat jacket and hopped out of the world's smallest room and ran right into Rich and his coffee. The coffee wasn't hot, thank God, but it was still wet, and all over the front of her T-shirt.
"Shit, Becca. I'm sorry."
"No, it's my fault." She pulled her wet T-shirt off her chest as Rich dabbed at it with … what the hell? He held a handkerchief. Like her dad used. She'd never known a guy who still used handkerchiefs. Well, not straight ones anyway. She pushed his hand away. "It's an old T-shirt. Don't worry about it."
She dragged her hair off her eyes and really saw Rich. He'd pulled a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Gone was the Richie she'd spent the weekend with. He'd been transformed into Dr. Ronaldi, Mr. Monochromatic. He wore great shoes, gray slacks, a gray sweater she itched to touch, and a wicked-cool, gray car coat. Very hip and very yummy, in a cool, Hugo Boss kind of way. Damn, if she'd had professors who looked like him in college, she'd never have skipped classes. "Did I get you?"
"Did you get me, what?"
"The coffee. Did I get coffee on you, too?" She couldn't help it. She ran her hand over his chest and abs, checking for wetness—well, that was her excuse anyway. What could she say? She was a sculptor and very tactile. The sweater felt heavenly, so did the way his stomach muscles rippled at her touch.
Rich laughed. "No, I think you took the brunt of the spillage. I really am sorry. I'd help you clean up, but I have to get going, or I'll be late. I have office hours early this morning and then classes. I'm cooking dinner tonight."
"You are?"
"Sure. I've never tried, but how hard can it be?"
"What are you going to make?"
He leaned against the wall. "I don't know."
"Rich, you don't just 'cook dinner.' You need to plan the meal, make a list of ingredients, and from there make a shopping list. You want to make sure it's well balanced, you know, a protein, a starch, a couple of vegetables."
"Okay, well, we can figure all that out later. Do you want to meet me at the market after work to pick something up?"
Becca blew out a breath. She wasn't sure if she wanted to strangle him or hug him. He was so clueless. "We're going to shop together?"
Rich tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. "That's usually what happens when two people meet at the market to buy stuff for dinner. How 'bout I call you before I leave the office and figure out when to meet. Are you going to be around?"
"Yes. I have to go check out the demolition in the brownstone, but I'll be back this afternoon."
"Good. I'll call you later."
Rich grinned and raised an eyebrow before bending to grab the briefcase he'd set down when he mopped her off. As he straightened, she had the weirdest urge to kiss him good-bye. Becca took a step back. "Yeah. Have a good day." Damn, she needed to get dry, get dressed, and buy a damn bed; maybe then she could get a decent night's sleep.
Tripod yowled and nipped her calf.
"Okay, okay, I'll feed you first. Did anyone ever tell you you're a pain in the ass?"
Tripod answered in the affirmative and hopped beside her to the kitchen.
After the cat was fed, the coffee made, and the mess Rich left in the bathroom and everywhere else he went was cleaned up, Becca curled up on the couch with her now lukewarm coffee and her unfinished to-do list. On the top of the list was buying a bed. Lord knew, she didn't want to sleep on that futon ever again. She also needed to stop by the brownstone to check the progress of the company she contracted to demo the third and fourth floors where her new apartment and studio would be built. She could pick up her work table while she was there. She already missed having a place where she could pound clay and sketch the vision she'd had in a dream the night before during the two minutes she'd actually slept. And the third task was to go through her slides to show the gallery owner in the neighborhood her work. The last time she was in town, she dropped in to introduce herself and was invited back to show the owner her work. The final, and probably most difficult, task on the list was to call her father.
He'd emailed her that he'd be in town and would like to meet for lunch. Up until a few months ago, they hadn't talked for almost two years, since the day of her brother Chip's funeral. He and Becca's mother made Annabelle, Chip's fiancé and Becca's best friend, even more miserable than she already was. There was no excuse for that. Since her parents' divorce and her father rediscovered his old love and found the son he never knew existed, he seemed to become human again. He also said he wanted back into her life.
Becca was thrilled her father found happiness after all these years, but that didn't mean she was comfortable with the new and improved Christopher Larsen, MD. They'd never been close, and since her brother's death, even the obligatory birthday and holiday phone calls had tapered off. Now it was as if he thought something was wrong if they didn't speak once a week. She spent most of the uncomfortable conversation they had explaining that she was fine, she wasn't avoiding him or angry, and she was sorry she didn't think to call. It was as if he thought because he was now available to her, she'd automatically need him. Well, she didn't need him. He'd made sure of that. There had been a time she had prayed for her father's attention, but that ship had sailed.
Becca dressed in a pair of wide-legged pants—not dressy, but not jeans either—a French cuff shirt, an oversized "boyfriend" sweater. Not that Becca had a "boyfriend" sweater that was actually a boyfriend's. She added another check on the pro side of her "live boyfriend vs. Battery Operated Boyfriend" list. BOBs didn't have wardrobes one could pilfer.
She scrolled through the contact list on her cell for her father's number. She might as well get it over with.
"Hello?"
Becca checked her watch. It was almost nine. "Hi, Dad. Did I wake you?"
"No," he whispered. "Hold on."
A door snicked closed. "There, that's better. How are you, Rebecca?"
Other than curious? "Fine. I'm getting ready to leave. I'm just returning your call."
"Yes. What are your plans for today?"
"I'm off to buy a bed, then I need to check out how the demo is going at the brownstone."
"Good. Colleen and I are meeting Mike and Annabelle at the brownstone for lunch. You can join us. It'll be," the words like one big happy family were left unsaid, but that's what he wanted, "nice to see you. You can show us the plans for your new apartment and the studio you and Annabelle will share."
"I don't know…"
"You said yourself you were planning to be there, and you have to eat."
He had set her up. She made a mental note to avoid that kind of trap in the future. "Okay. I'll be there around 12:30 ."
" 12:30 it is. And Rebecca…"
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
Becca slipped into her leather jacket, tossed her purse over her shoulder, and slid her sunglasses on. "It's okay. I'll see you this afternoon. Bye." She disconnected the call and dropped her cell into the outside pocket of her purse before leaving and locking the door behind her.