Hot And Bothered. Liz Maverick
Читать онлайн книгу.
to some shallow part of my soul. Some shallow, shallow, shallow part of my soul. I groaned. “Tell me again that he was unattractive and charmless.”
Anna raised an eyebrow. “Um, no. You know I never said that. He was as handsome and charming as ever.”
I grimaced. “He always was a smooth talker.”
“You used to call it a talent with words.”
“So slick.”
“You called it charismatic.”
“And those stupid leather sneakers.”
“The ones that used to make you swoon? I didn’t notice.” Anna brightened. “I did notice his sense of humor.”
“The joke was on me. Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side!” Anna said, flailing the butter knife around. “Why do you think I invited him? I think he’s a good man who once did a bad thing, not a bad man who once did a good thing. Remember the business with the keg stand?”
I winced. I remembered Jack as a brilliantly fun, even-keeled guy, but he had a line. A line that was not to be crossed. And when that line was crossed, he had a temper. And someone had crossed that line with Anna, and he’d used that temper to good purpose that day. But that didn’t excuse what he did to me.
“Besides, I know he wants to see you. And you need closure!”
“Did you forget how he basically made the second half of high school a complete misery?” I asked.
Anna put down the butter knife with great ceremony and turned to me. “What is it you always say to me?”
“Living well is the best revenge.”
She gestured grandly to the gorgeous apartment and then to me. She said something else about how seeing me now would make him realize what he’d lost out on, and described some bizarre theory about how men needed to experience with all of their senses what they were missing in order to have regrets. I was busy wondering what else about grown-up Jack might be the same as the things I’d adored in high-school Jack.
“Not that I really understand men,” Anna said, punctuating her final words with the last cracker.
I grunted. “If you want to understand men, just remember that every man has a tell.”
Anna laughed, her fingers covering a bulging mouth. She swallowed and said, “I never noticed. I mean, beyond losing the ability for intelligent thought when confronted by a woman’s naked body.”
“That’s a universal to all men. I’m talking about something way more individual. I’m talking about the sort of tell that points out a man’s vulnerability. The almost imperceptible evidence of a man’s Achilles’ heel.”
My sister considered that and then shook her head. “I really can’t think of an example.”
“You’re not the keen observer I am,” I said. “You’re the great big golden retriever romping in the middle of everything. You’re too much in it. I’m on the side, watching. And I can say with great certainty, that every man has his tell.”
“Maybe it’s time you stopped standing on the side. No reason you should. Look at all you’ve done. And did you just call me a dog?”
“Yes.”
“You bitch.”
I giggled. “Pass the champagne.”
“Which one?”
“Is it wrong if I say I don’t care? Whichever’s closer.”
“So what are you going to do when you see him?” Anna asked. “You can’t run. You’re the host.”
“There’s nothing to be done. Standing on the side observing doesn’t automatically make you a wallflower. It makes you capable of making well-informed decisions. Like my decision to ignore Jack Marchand. I will greet him pleasantly, like the good host that I am. I will make sure he has a glass of pretty pink stuff, and then I will go host someone else. He’s not going to expect anything else. He’s zero to me, and I’m zero to him.” I demonstrated the absolute zero-ness of it all by vigorously brushing the crumbs off my leggings onto the floor. You are the crumbs I am brushing onto the floor, Marchand. The particles of the pieces of the crumbs I am brushing onto the floor. The microscopic dust on the particles—
“I think this is a grand opportunity for closure,” Anna said, eyeing the way I appeared to be rubbing a hole in the thighs of my leggings.
“Closure? Hell, this door has been closed to him for a decade already.”
“And yet you still get all hot and bothered whenever his name comes up.”
“Bothered. Just bothered. It’s not my fault he’s a bad memory that lingers.”
Anna licked the butter off her fingers and rewrapped the much-diminished cube. “You might only be bothered, but I’m willing to bet he’s still hot.”
“Tall, dark and ooh la la,” Anna said, sticking her face over my shoulder. The video intercom showcased three figures on the landing below. The Marchand brothers. Luc, Christian and yes, Jacques.
Yeah, they still had plenty of ooh la la. “Your perfume is making me lightheaded, Anna,” I lied, gently head-butting her aside. The view was making me lightheaded.
One of the brothers tossed a cigarette to the ground. Probably Luc, if his high school habits hadn’t changed. The three men appeared to argue over the discarded cigarette, and then a shoe crushed the butt into the ground. A shoe very much like the one that used to press against the back of my chair in history class.
Whoa. Obviously, I’d expected to feel something in this moment. Something akin to doom-like resentment. Or bloodthirsty vengefulness. I hadn’t expected to feel...excited. “I’m thrown, dammit,” I whispered. “Thrown.”
“Um, that’s the third time they’ve pressed the button. They’re going to be just as fun to watch once they’re inside.” Anna squeezed my arm. “It will be fine, sis. It was a long time ago.”
I flushed. “Right.” I didn’t move. I stared at the leg attached to the shoe, followed it up to the chest and squinted at the tiny screen, hoping for a less-pixelated glimpse of Jacques “Jack” Marchand’s expression. Was he thrown?
“I’ll handle Jack. You take care of his brothers.” Anna reached across me to hit the buzzer and then floated to the door in a cloud of pink chiffon.
She was right. Closure would be a good thing. I should think of this as an opportunity. Besides, I looked as good as a girl is going to get in Paris. I was wearing one of my go-to LBDs accessorized with a badass updo from a fantastic salon tucked away on Boulevard St. Germain, smoky eyes thanks to a special event in the cosmetics department at Le Bon Marche and a dash of red at the soles of my precious Louboutin shoes. I wasn’t that awkward high school girl anymore, and this was my damn party.
“Zero,” I muttered, steeling myself as Luc and Christian came through the door all tanned skin and perfect hair. In school we called the trio The French Revolution, and they still deserved the nickname; I actually felt a surge in the party energy around me as they entered the hall. I moved forward as Anna expertly peeled Jack away with a hand on his back and a glass of champagne.
I resisted the urge to crane my neck in Jack’s direction, whispering, “Zero,” again. But I couldn’t force myself not to care. Okay, fine, Cassie. At least force yourself to look like you don’t care.
“Bonsoir,” I said, airily kissing Jack’s brothers on the cheeks and likewise