The Perfect Score. Julie Kenner
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know. The programs that are currently multiplying like locusts on your television lineup.”
“Ah, yes. I think I’ve heard something about those.” His mouth twitched, either amused at my definition or my utter lack of loyalty to my profession. My level of guilt, however, was minimal. Reality shows are a scourge. And at the moment, I was still irritated with John.
“Still, you’re in the business,” Mike said. “Isn’t that what L.A.’s all about?”
Okay, I was beginning to really like this guy. He was repeating back to me exactly what I’d told my mother after I’d turned down the law firm position. Not to mention what I told myself every time I felt a twinge about not having yet sold a screenplay. “Exactly.”
We shared a smile before he cleared his throat and stood up. “Listen, I’ve got a pizza in the fridge that just needs to be heated up. I’d love some company.”
“Oh. Right. Um.” The truth was that I’d love to just hang out with him, but I’d already filled and exceeded my allotment of sluffing off time for the day. My plan had been to simply veg for a bit—to numb my mind with margaritas and sunshine before returning to the equally mind-numbing task of furniture assembly. “I wish I could. But I have a pile of furniture waiting to be assembled.” I held up my margarita for emphasis. “I took a break to get in the mood.”
“I understand that,” he said. “I’ve schlepped more boxes to the recycling bin than I care to count, and it’s a wonder my eyes aren’t crossed from reading the assembly instructions on the IKEA shelves I bought.”
“Exactly,” I said, sensing a kindred spirit. “I mean, who wrote those anyway?”
“Monkeys with typewriters?” He laughed and I laughed, and for a second I thought maybe he’d offer to help me interpret my monkey-written instructions. But instead, he just stood up and gestured to the pitcher. “Thanks for the margarita.”
“Oh. Sure.” I started to gather my things, unreasonably irritated that he was so casually departing. I told myself I was annoyed by the breakdown of basic good manners. I mean, a chivalrous guy would have offered to help, right? Even Cullen would have offered. That’s what guys who look good without their shirts do, right? Offer to engage in manual labor so they have an opportunity to show off their pecs?
Mike, however, wasn’t showing off. He was just gathering his things to leave.
“So why are you out here all alone? I usually see you with Carla.”
“She declined my distress call for assembly help,” I said, giving him one more chance at that whole chivalry thing. “It’s okay. I’m well aware of how much she values her manicure.”
“Which apartment is hers?”
“Oh, she’s not in this building. She’s in the complex next door.” Our street was lined with apartment complex after apartment complex. “Her building doesn’t have a pool or a laundry room,” I added, by way of explaining why Carla was almost always here. At least, she was here if Mitch-the-Wonder-Stud wasn’t there.
His eyes met mine and he flashed me a zinger of a smile. “I guess that’s just one more reason why I’m certain I chose the right complex to move into.”
“Um, yeah.” For a guy who’d just failed Chivalry 101, he could be pretty damn charming.
“Later,” he said, with a small wave.
“Right. Later.” I waved goodbye, then watched him head up the staircase while I gathered my things. As I did, I realized he’d taken my extra glass with him. A little burst of emotion shot through me, and it wasn’t irritation.
No, this was anticipation. Because if he had my glass, I’d have to see him again. And that, I thought, wasn’t a bad thing at all.
He might not be chivalrous, but he was nice. And another friend in the building never hurt.
3
AS SOON AS MIKE opened his door, Stephanie greeted him with a wolf whistle. “Cute girl,” she said.
“Not your type,” Mike said with a grin. “She’s a fan of the Y chromosome.”
“Damn. Foiled again.”
He laughed, shaking his head as he slid into one of the kitchen chairs. He and Stephanie had been best friends since elementary school. They’d gone steady for about a week in eighth grade, which had ruined their friendship until the second semester of their sophomore year. That was when Steph had come to him in tears, desperate to talk about the crush she had on the new girl in school. Mike had listened, dried her tears, and their friendship had continued on, stronger than ever. With the added bonus that they could now discuss their relative girlfriends.
“So is she a new special friend?” Steph asked, lacing her voice with a tease as she tried to uncork a bottle of wine.
“Friend, yes. Special, definitely. Special friend…” He trailed off with a shrug, then took the bottle and the corkscrew from her, handily freeing the cork. “I’m working on that one.”
Steph’s eyebrows rose infinitesimally. “Oh, really? Tell me all about it or I withhold the wine.”
“I’ve been drinking margaritas,” he said, holding up his now-empty glass. “I’m passing on the wine anyway.”
She squinted at the glass, the blown Mexican kind with a bluish tint and a dark blue rim. “One of hers?”
“Yup,” he said, mildly proud of himself for walking off with it.
From Steph’s grin, he knew she understood. “Cinderella’s slipper.”
“Exactly. I keep the glass, I have a reason to go back and see her.”
Actually, he already had a reason. She’d been hinting hard enough about the furniture assembly. He could have easily stood up, held out his hand, and said, “Come on. Let’s go take care of that.”
The trouble with that option, though, was that while it would certainly impress her, it wouldn’t impress her in a way that fit in his overall plan of attack. Go when she asks, and he’s simply some male sap doing her bidding. But go in an hour or so—when she’s buried in hardware and frustrated—and suddenly he’s the hero. And all the more sexy for it.
“So tell me about her,” Steph said, coming to the table with a glass of wine for her and a Coke for him. Mike glanced at the clock, evaluated how much time he had before Mattie hit maximum frustration, and nodded.
“I met her the day I moved in,” he said, starting at the beginning. He told Steph the rest of it, too. All of it. From the heat of desire he felt when he looked at Mattie to the secret plan he’d overheard in the laundry room.
Steph took it all in without saying a word. He knew she understood the depth of his emotion. Mike wasn’t the type to fall hard and fast, but he was the kind to believe in love at first sight. His parents had seen each other from across a lecture hall as freshmen in college, and had been gloriously in love ever since. His family was close-knit, and unlike so many families these days, “family” included all the various extensions, including especially his grandparents.
Grandma Jo and Grandpa Fred had moved in across the street when Mike was eight. He’d grown up in the thrall of family, and he knew that he was stronger for it. More, because his grandparents’ relationship was just as strong as his parents’—and had happened just as quickly—Mike had always craved a deep love and a long-term relationship. Silly, perhaps, to base personal dreams on the love life of his family members, but Mike saw how happy his parents and grandparents were.
He’d explained all that to Steph years ago. And she knew better than anyone that Mike had yet to find his perfect woman. So for him to be so frazzled so quickly…well, that was saying a lot.
He described Mattie and her plan, and when he was finished, Steph leaned back in the chair, nodded slowly,