“She wasn’t what, Clara?” I snap, sick of her theatrics.
“She wasn’t dying,” she growls at me through clenched teeth.
I stumble back a bit. Dying? This day has been a mind-fuck of emotions. First seeing Clara, which initially brought on the old feelings of want and lust, and oddly wanting to strangle her. Then hearing I have a kid I didn’t know about. I’m still trying to digest that one. Now my kid is dying? That’s a lot, even for a fuck-up like me.
“Of what?” I manage.
“Leukemia,” Clara answers softly.
“What about chemo or—”
“She’s been through two rounds.” Clara cuts me off. “She needs a bone marrow transplant. Even with it, her odds are poor, but it’s her last hope.”
“Or what?” I ask stupidly.
Clara closes her eyes and inhales deeply, making me hold my breath. “Or she dies. A few months ago they said six months to a year. That’s when I cut your money off. There’s a very small chance you could be a match, and if you are . . . Paul . . .”
“Don’t even say it.” I hold my hand up, stopping her, and her face falls, transforming into despair. Did she think I’d say no? That I’m that big of a bastard? “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
She swallows hard, her chest convulsing as she tries to keep her emotion at bay. “Thank you.”
“I want to meet her, Clara,” I say.
Inhaling a deep breath, Clara nods a few times. “Yeah, okay. Dinner? Tonight at my house?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agree. “You still living in that shithole?” I jest, trying to lighten things a tad.
She snorts. “You mean my home with character?” she jokes back. “Why yes . . . yes I am.”
I chuckle a little. “Should I bring anything?”
“Paul . . .” she replies, her tone serious. “She’s a little girl. Don’t . . . hurt her. Don’t make her fall in love with you if you know you’re just going to take off again.”
I don’t know what to say. A part of me wants to yell at her and tell her to stop busting my balls and acting like I’m some kind of asshole. Another part of me knows I kind of am an asshole. But not completely. I’m not a complete asshole by any means. Okay, maybe half of one. So I reply lamely with a simple, “Okay.”
“Seven.”
“See ya then.”
Opening the oven, smoke wafts out, hitting me in the face, burning my eyes and making me choke. “Shit,” I grumble as I close the oven door and turn it off. The smoke detector goes off, shrieking, and I quickly grab the broom and bang it until it crashes to the ground, spitting the battery out, which disappears under the fridge.
“Out of all nights, you pick this one to cook,” Marcus murmurs before sipping his wine as he sits at my kitchen table. Leaving the smoke detector where it dropped on the floor, I ignore him and turn back to dicing cucumbers for the salad.
“We’ll just order a pizza,” I snap.
Marcus grins. “Neena will be pleased.”
“Why didn’t you bring Mei-ling?”
“She had to work,” Marcus grumbles. Mei-ling, Marcus’s barely-speaks-English Chinese girlfriend, works at a strip club, although he prefers to call it a gentlemen’s club. I guess it makes him feel better about the situation. She’s an incredibly sweet young (and by young, I mean young, but she’s at least of legal drinking age) woman.
“You’re nervous,” he observes.
“No I’m not,” I mumble.
“Yes, you are. I can tell.”
“And how is that?”
“Your foundation isn’t blended all the way. You’re way too detail-oriented to let that happen.”
Immediately, I drop the knife in my hand, rush to the hall bathroom, and look in the mirror. Damn. Did I put my makeup on in the dark or something? I curse as I rub at my jawline and neck, until it’s blended. As I walk back in the kitchen, I roll my eyes as Marcus grins behind his wine glass. Jackass.
“You look beautiful, Clara,” Marcus adds, and I smile faintly.
“It’s not about . . . that. This is about Neena. Besides, Paul is a shit.”
“Yet you put on makeup, attempted to cook a meal, and you’re wearing a dress I haven’t seen you in since Bowman got married.”
Looking down at my sundress, I sigh. He’s right. I’m ridiculous. “I’m going to go change,” I say, but the doorbell rings.
“It’s go time.” Marcus lets out a deep breath.
“Thanks for being here tonight.”
Marcus nods once and motions a hand toward the living room. “After you.”
I walk quickly to the front door after the bell goes off again. “Neena,” I call up the stairs as I pass by. “Come on down. He’s here.” When I open the door, Paul is turned, facing the front yard with both hands in his pockets. Turning, his gaze meets mine before trailing down my body and back up again. My right hand holds the door and my grip tightens as a familiar feeling from so long ago rushes through me. My cheeks heat and I smile slightly, trying my damnedest not to full-out grin. It’s been a long time since a man looked at me that way—at least any I’ve noticed.