Playing It Safe

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

As soon as I get home, I change into my comfy clothes, which consist of distressed fitted jeans with a black tank top, and start to work on dinner. I have to stop myself from taking off my bra, since that’s usually the very first thing I do when I walk through the door. What woman doesn’t after a full day of having those suckers strapped in? But I figure we’re not that comfortable in our relationship where I can walk around braless in a T-shirt yet. Here’s to hoping though.


I’m in the midst of popping the tilapia filets in the oven when the doorbell rings. I turn down the volume on the iPod that is currently blaring Elvis Costello’s “Everyday I Write the Book,” before opening the door. If it wasn’t for me holding the door handle and it effectively helping me to keep my balance, I may have literally swooned at what I see before me: Alex, wearing a backward baseball hat, a white V-neck T-shirt, black athletic shorts, and sneakers.

Now, you all should remember how I mentioned that I have two weaknesses when it comes to men. One being a man’s forearms. But the other and far more potent form of kryptonite is a good-looking man wearing a backward baseball hat. I can’t even fully explain or rationalize the how and why of it. It just is. So when I see Alex standing before me wearing a red one with the tips of his mussed-up hair poking out of it, I temporarily forget that I’m supposed to be having a serious conversation with him tonight about Miss Teen USA because all I can do is stare.

“Can I come in?” he asks with a good-natured chuckle after a few seconds of me staring without saying a word.

“Why do you look like that?”

“I went for a run right after work and then came straight here.” He steps into the foyer while I’m still standing in the same exact spot. “Is it okay if I use your shower to wash up before dinner? I promise I’ll be really fast.”

He presses a light kiss to my lips and drops his overnight bag on the floor. “Sure, go ahead. Dinner should be ready in about ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

His dimpled smile is the last thing I need to tack on to the visual ambrosia I’m still feasting on as he starts to walk toward my bathroom.

“Alex,” I call out to him. And yes, I’m still holding the freaking door open and letting a crapload of mosquitoes in the house. I can’t help it; I’m a goner right now. I point at the hat on his head and ask, “Do you normally wear those?”

Shrugging his shoulders while still smiling, he answers, “I usually do when I’m working out. Why?”

“No reason. Just curious is all,” I say, trying to sound dismissive.

He’s about to start heading down the hallway when he stops and looks back at me with a confused look on his face. “Julia, are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re still holding the door wide open and looking at me like I grew two heads, that’s why.”

“Oh shit,” I mumble under my breath and close it finally. I hear his laugh floating down the hallway until it disappears behind the bathroom door.

The smell of the food in the kitchen that I still need to tend to breaks me out of my trance. Just barely though. I get my bearings long enough to traipse back in there and get back to work, all the while envisioning Alex wearing that hat. Lord help me, it may be my undoing, which sucks because I need to focus and be able to have this conversation with him. I promised Lisette I’d do it, and knowing her, she’ll be in my office first thing in the morning to make sure I did.

Okay, I need to cut the shit. I start prepping the plates and silverware on the kitchen table. When I turn back around to open the oven, I hear the shower being turned off, signaling to me that Alex will be back out here momentarily.

“That smells delicious,” I hear him say behind me a minute later. “What did you make?” I pivot my torso while talking. “Baked tilapia in garlic butter sauce with …”

My mouth is probably still moving, but I have no clue as to what is coming out of it since I’m staring at a very scrumptious Alex still a little wet from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s leaning against the wall. Were it not for the fact that I know this is Alex, I would have thought Sawyer from Lost was standing right in front of me. As a matter of fact, there is an episode of Lost—season one, episode twelve, called “Whatever the Case May Be,” and yes, I’m an über Lost geek—where Sawyer goes swimming, and when he comes out of the quarry he looks so incredibly delicious. That is exactly what Alex looks like right now.

I’m watching a rivulet of water roll down his chest when I hear Alex say my name, which breaks me out of my fantasy of skinny-dipping in a quarry with Sawyer. Oops, I mean Alex.

“Dude, you have got to be shitting me right now.”

“Did you just call me dude?”

I motion my hand toward him up and down as I say, “I did, because have you seen yourself? First the hat and now this?”

Alex bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “I had to come out here to get my bag that I left by the door.”

“Well go and get it before I start calling you Sawyer and make you call me Freckles.”

“Who are those people?” he asks in an amused voice.

“It’s not important right now,” I answer quickly. “Just please, for the love of everything that is holy, please put some clothes on.”

Now he’s stalking toward me with a devilish smirk on his face. When he closes the distance between us, he pulls the oven mitts off of my hands and places them on the counter. Next he hooks his hands loosely around my neck while his thumbs are softly rubbing up and down against my pulse, which is probably beating erratically right now.

“You have a thing for hats, huh?” Alex asks while still grinning.

“You could say that.”

Using his thumbs for leverage, he tilts my face up and brushes his lips against mine, so feather-soft that it barely registers, but it’s enough that I know if it keeps up we’ll be forgetting about dinner.

“Alex?”

“Julia?”

I smile against his mouth and open my eyes to find his blue ones sweetly staring back at me.

His voice full of concern, he asks, “Why are your eyes so red? Did something upset you?”

With a small sigh, I grab hold of his wrists. “No, nothing like that. It’s really stupid, actually, and you’re going to laugh when I tell you about it during dinner.” I inch up on my toes and kiss him lightly again before I add, “Speaking of which, go on and get dressed so I can finish up in here and we can finally eat.”

“That’s right, before you call me … what was the name again?” he playfully asks.

“Sawyer,” I mumble under my breath.

“Right. I guess I have some competition.”

“Um, he’s a character on my favorite TV show, so you’re pretty safe.”

His eyebrows knit together as he asks, “Which show?”

“Lost.”

“I never watched it,” he admits.

“Well that’s something we’ll have to remedy if you’re going to be sticking around.”

Alex’s eyes light up, and I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact he’ll be watching the greatest TV show of all time—which it is, and that is the beginning and end of any debate, thank you very much—but more with the fact that I’ve alluded to him, to us, in the future, kind of.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he replies with a sexy grin.

He kisses me one last time before heading into the foyer to pick up his overnight bag. All the while I’m craning my neck and gawking at his muscular back until he catches me and shakes his head in mocking disapproval. Once he’s completely out of sight, I pick up the oven mitts he tossed onto the counter and quickly fan myself. I swear, he’s going to be the death of me.


By the time he comes back into the kitchen fully dressed in jeans and a plain old black T-shirt, I’m already setting the last dish of roasted vegetables on the table. Alex sits down and starts to fill my wineglass from the chilled bottle of pinot grigio I have on the table and then looks up at me as I go to sit across from him.

“This really does smell delicious, Julia. I had no idea you could cook,” he says while now pouring his own glass of wine.

A perfect segue. Really, I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried.

I smile, genuinely happy that I could surprise him, and as I’m serving him his food I reply, “Well, I’m sure there are a lot of things we don’t know about each other yet.” He looks on curiously as I keep on talking. “But to answer your question, I’m not that much of a cook. I know how to make some dishes and can probably cook the shit out of a steak, but that’s about it.”

He takes his first forkful, and I wait to see his reaction. “I beg to differ.” He stops and wipes his mouth with the napkin. “This is absolutely delicious, but I’m going to have to take you up on that steak sometime too.” He sets his fork down to grab his wineglass and takes a sip before talking again. “So what’s this about us not knowing a lot about each other? Are you referring again to outside-of-work Alex?”

“Kind of,” I say matter-of-factly. “I mean, we know each other in the physical sense pretty damn well, but I think it’s time we got to know each other a little more in other ways, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” he answers with a forkful of food perched in front of his mouth. “You can start by telling me why your eyes are so red.”

“Funny you should mention that, because my eyes being so red has to do with you sort of.” Alex’s eyebrows shoot up in response before I tack on the rest of it, leaving out Aiden’s visit. “See, I was in my office massaging my stress ball while looking over the guest list you sent me for Josie’s party.”

“And?”

“Well, I came across one name that kind of surprised me. Marisa.”

“And how does her name have anything to do with your eyes being red?” he asks in a low voice.

“I must have been squeezing the ball too hard when I came across her name, so it exploded all over me and some of the sand got in my eyes.”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes are apologetic and concerned. “I should have told you about it sooner.”

I remember what Lisette told me earlier today—give him a chance to explain and not jump to any conclusions. That is exactly what I intend to do when I say to him, “No better time than the present.”

“It’s complicated.”

Ugh, I don’t like the sound of that, and I’m already wondering if Aiden was right. I half smile, and in between sips of my wine I say, “Just start at the beginning.”

“Our parents have been friends for a long time and are very close. So growing up, Vanessa and I were around Marisa and her big sister quite often.” He smiles then, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Marisa is about eight years younger than the rest of us, and as we got older it was Vanessa, myself, and Marisa’s sister, Katerina, who were always together. We were inseparable.”

I’m not sure where this is heading, but I can tell that wherever it ends up I’m not going to like it one way or the other. Regardless of that, I smile and nod to let him know he can keep talking.

“Vanessa eventually went away to college, leaving Katerina and me behind. We became even closer, and things started to change between us.” Alex looks up at me then, his expression hesitant. “By the time we started high school together, we were officially a couple and started to make plans for our future. When we decided to go to different colleges, it was difficult, but we made it work. I would visit her as often as I could and vice versa, but it put a slight strain on our relationship that neither of us really wanted to admit to.”

“You loved her,” I say to him softly.

“I did,” he admits with an exhale of breath. “Looking back on it now, the fact that we had been together so long and shared so much at such a young age bonded us, and we didn’t want to let each other go.”

“You were both afraid to move on. I get it.”

I can tell he’s reliving a terrible memory. All I want is to crawl up in his lap and comfort him. And I can honestly say that I have never felt the need to want to do that with any man before him. It’s a terrifying feeling for me, but instead of acting on it, I sit still and steeple my fingers underneath my chin so that I’m not tempted.

“During my final year of college, she came to visit me. Things were rocky then, to say the least, and we argued off and on that last day. It got to the point that things were said that couldn’t be taken back or unheard … and so she left.”

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

I can tell he’s struggling to say the next words by the way his fingers clench together into tight fists. “I’m sorry too, because if I had gone after her instead of waiting for her to come back to me, she would still be alive today.”

I gasp out loud because that is the very last thing I expect to hear. “Oh my God, how did she—”

“I don’t know all the details other than she lost control of her car and slammed into a guardrail over an embankment. The only thing I do know is that she didn’t suffer and died instantly.”

My eyes tear up because of the pain I see in his, and more than anything, the obvious guilt he still feels over losing Katerina. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like, and it makes my so-called sob story of being jilted by Aiden all those years ago seem like a cakewalk.

He smiles in an effort to lighten the heavy mood in the air, but it’s forced. Both of us have long forgotten about eating at this point. Alex unclenches his fist and then reaches for his wineglass and takes a sip. When he sets it back down on the table, he clears his throat before filling in the rest of the gaps, namely Marisa’s place in all of this.

“That was eleven years ago, and it took a while for me to move on, but I did. Marisa, on the other hand, as well as her parents, never has.” His index finger starts to trace the rim of the wineglass before leaning back in his chair. “Marisa was fourteen years old when Katerina died, which is a very difficult age to lose someone you care so much about. But I think what has made it worse for her over the years is the fact that their parents idolized Katerina and put her on a pedestal as if she could do no wrong. As a result, Marisa has been living the last few years of her life in a shadow.”

“I don’t understand,” I say to him, genuinely confused. “But what does that have to do with you all these years later?”

“Guilt is a funny thing, Julia,” he replies with a forced grin. “As I said, my parents are still very close to Marisa’s parents, and I guess in their minds they think me taking Marisa out every so often is helping the situation. But it’s not, it just makes everything more …”

“Complicated.”

“Yes,” he confirms in a rush of breath. “Very complicated.”

“So that explains the invitation to the party and why she’s so interested in you. If I’m being too nosy with my next question, by all means tell me.” Alex nods as an eyebrow cocks upward in curiosity. “Should I be worried about her?”


He runs a hand through his hair and then starts to rub the back of his neck, and that alone makes me nervous of his answer. “Not really.”

Before I can ask him to clarify that answer, he says, “We kissed one time a few years ago, but I swear that is as far as it went. I had a few drinks, and in a moment of complete stupidity I let it happen.”

I want to believe him when he tells me there is essentially nothing going on between the two of them other than the one kiss and him escorting her out sometimes. I’m certain he’s doing it more out of guilt than anything else. Is it weird and creepy? A little bit, but I get it. However, that doesn’t explain why Marisa would be telling Aiden’s fiancée that there is more between them. But I make a conscious decision not to dig deeper. The way I see it, I have to believe Alex’s explanation versus Aiden’s because … well, Aiden’s track record speaks for itself.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice quiet and unsure. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Honestly? A bunch of things.”

“Care to pinpoint?”

“Well, I never thought I’d say this, but I feel sorry for Marisa, and even worse that I was kind of a bitch to her,” I say sheepishly. And it’s the truth. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s gone through.

“So you’re okay with all of this?”

“As far as understanding it and why you’ve continued to take her out, yes, I am. But I have to be totally honest with you,” I say. “I’m not really okay with you continuing to do so if we’re going to be together.” I pause and take note of his expression softening, as if he was holding a breath until I answered. “I don’t share, Alex.”

“I haven’t been anywhere with her since that opening at the gallery a couple of weeks ago,” he clarifies. Then he adds with an impish grin, “And I’m glad to hear you don’t share, Julia, because I don’t either.”

My lips twitch to keep my smile in check. We sit there for a few seconds not saying a word. The pull I felt a little while ago of wanting to comfort him is still battling within me. It’s such an odd feeling to want to comfort a man I’m in a relationship with, and I would normally brush it off, but I don’t want to with Alex. Before I can chicken out, I stand up, his eyes tracking my movements as I walk around the small table to him. He pivots in his seat and makes room for me in between his legs. I take his face in my hands and tilt his chin up as I bend down and place a light kiss on his forehead. Alex closes his eyes at the contact, so I keep planting soft kisses down the bridge of his nose, eyelids, cheeks, chin, and finally his mouth. For some reason, this moment feels far more intimate to me than the ones we’ve shared in the bedroom, and I like it. A lot.

His arms encircle my waist, pulling me closer to him, and I weave my fingers into his hair until I’m cradling his head against my stomach. “I’m sorry I ruined this amazing dinner you made just for me with all of this, and that your stress ball exploded. I really should have told you sooner, and I feel terrible about it,” he says, his voice slightly muffled against my body. “Let me make it up to you.”

“The dinner can be nuked, so that’s easily fixed. As for the stress ball, it was about time I got rid of that thing anyway. So you see”—I stop and pull his face back to look into his questioning eyes—“you didn’t ruin a thing, and there is no need to apologize. But …”

“But what?” he asks with a smirk on his face.

“But I do know how you can make it up to me.”

“Even though you just said I have no reason to apologize,” he shoots back with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yup.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“Go ahead, name it.”

Ah, this … this banter that I can do with my arms tied behind my back is definitely more my speed. I don’t regret the intimate moment, but I need to use baby steps with him because I know that I’m letting my guard down, and there won’t be any turning back.

“It involves the baseball hat and other things.”

Alex brings his hand up to hook his arm around my neck and pulls me down so my lips are level with his. His breath is warm when he speaks, causing all my nerve endings to prickle with delight. “Start heating up the food so I can show you other things.”

I whisper back to him, “With the baseball hat?”

“Most definitely with the baseball hat.”

I reheat our food, we eat, and move the evening along to other things that may or may not include him calling me Freckles in bed once.

Okay, okay, maybe twice.