Читать книгу New York Nights: Shaken and Stirred - Kathleen O'Reilly, Kathleen O'Reilly - Страница 12

GABE MET SEAN FOR racquetball on Friday morning. Playing racquetball with Sean was usually a pain in the ass, but in the end Gabe had agreed because he had to talk to somebody about Tessa. Slowly, quietly, painfully, Gabe was going insane.

The challenge here was that Gabe would have to talk about Tessa in a way that Sean wouldn’t know Gabe was talking about Tessa, but Gabe figured he could handle that. He had to.

All due to this damned need of hers to pretend that Gabe wasn’t Gabe.

Yes, at first he’d thought it was hot. Every guy likes to think that his girl has an active fantasy life.

But every time? That sad truth wears a man down.

So on Friday morning he was stuck in Sean’s high-end athletic club, which was filled with white-collar alpha males needing to assert their masculine superiority in a twenty-by-twenty room with no windows.

Gabe dressed in cutoffs and an FDNY Engine 31 T-shirt, which was his token effort to assert masculine superiority. He took in Sean’s tennis whites, and arched a mocking eyebrow. “I think I should call you Mortimer or Preston or something equally nerdy.”

Sean shook his head and pointed to the court. “Hello, my name is Sean O’Sullivan. You mock my clothes. Prepare to die.”

Gabe followed him inside, slammed the door closed. Next he lifted his racquet, gave a cursory bow to his opponent—and then, the war was on.

Gabe took the first game fifteen to eleven. Sean came back, perfecting his killer smash, and took the second game fifteen to seven.

By the third game they were both sweating like pigs, and the game had regressed to a primitive slog to the death. Never let it be said that an O’Sullivan wasn’t competitive. One long hour later Sean took the match fifteen to thirteen. Gabe didn’t mind because this felt good. Relaxed. Powerful. And his mind was completely Tessa-free.

Progress, definitely progress.

Besides, he’d whip his brother’s ass the next time. There was always a next time.

They showered, changed, and Sean bought a drink for Gabe at the juice bar. Gabe ducked his head low in case anybody recognized him. He had a reputation to uphold, and sipping soy juice at some Nancy-boy health bar wasn’t part of it.

Only for Tessa—and she would never know the depths he had sunk to in order to keep this Twilight Zone of a relationship alive.

When the bartender shoved the glass of OJ in Gabe’s direction, Gabe sniffed and then raised his glass. “To my brother, who has fallen far, far from the esteemed ideals that the O’Sullivan name has stood for through four generations. Juice? Juice? What is this?”

“I think it’s important to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Alcohol can be dangerous,” Sean said, pushing back the hair from his eyes, trying to weasel his way into respectability.

“Sean, our family’s fortune was made on the ill-gotten gains of illegal alcohol. O’Sullivan’s started as a speakeasy. You can run to a career in the law, but you can’t hide.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go straight.”

Gabe downed the juice in one gulp. “Are you sure we’re related? You’re the brown-eyed kid. Why brown? Did you ever think about that, Sean?”

“Why are you here?” asked Sean, sipping demurely at his carrot juice.

Carrot juice? Gabe sighed, wanting to avoid this, but he couldn’t. This was important. And if he had to humiliate himself in front of his lesser-respected brother, then so be it. “I need to talk to you about a woman. You are still interested in women, aren’t you?”

Sean laughed and appeared relieved by the change of subject, the flicker of humanity coming back into his eyes. “Desperate, aren’t you? Coming to the master.”

“Don’t rub it in, this is hard enough. I can’t talk to Daniel, because I can’t handle talking to Daniel about sex. That’d be cruel. I’m not cruel.”

Sean tugged at the cuffs of his Brooks Brothers shirt and studied Gabe like a scientist. “So we’re actually having sex with this female? Are you sure this isn’t a case of lusting from afar?”

At that moment Gabe wished he had a tie. Something silky, probably with a designer label. Preferably long enough that he could loop it around his brother’s neck and then pull. Tightly. He smiled at the thought.

“No, it’s not lusting from afar. But it would be a lot easier.”

“That’s just sad, Gabe.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” He took a deep breath and pitched his voice low, finally admitting the unsavory truth. “She likes to pretend, Sean.”

“Pretend what?”

“Pretend that I’m not me.”

Sean stroked his chin. “I see. So she’s so revolted by you that she has to pretend you’re someone else.”

“That’s not it,” Gabe snapped and saw heads turn with curiosity. He scowled back.

“It looks like it. Why else would she need to pretend? Unless you can’t satisfy her, of course.”

“Of course I can satisfy her,” answered Gabe through gritted teeth.

“On the basis of the facts as presented before me, I’m thinking that answer is a big no.”

“Screw you, Sean.”

Sean lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. All joking aside, I can see you’re in need of guidance. Did you ever think about ditching her?”

The bartender came over, clearing the glasses. “Another round of juice?”

“Not in this lifetime,” said Gabe. He glared at his brother, feeling uncomfortable. “Hell, a man needs a BlackBerry and a cellphone in order to fit in here. Next time, we’re playing wall ball the old-fashioned way—out in the alley.”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better. But I’ll still whip your ass. Now, getting back to the sex girl—which is much more interesting than how I can wipe the floor with you—why don’t you ditch her? You’re not the obsessive-compulsive type.”

“I can’t ditch her,” answered Gabe, sounding obsessively compulsive.

“Why? Every woman can be ditched for the right reasons.”

“I like her. I’m not going to stop seeing her.”

A big guy in sweats plopped down next to Sean and started talking, completely butting into a personal conversation. Gabe sat for a few minutes while Sean chatted legal gibberish with the other dude until Gabe cleared his throat.

“Do you mind?” he asked Sean.

Sean turned to the other guy. “My little brother. He needs help. Sorry.”

The man held out his hand. “You’re Daniel? I’m Frankie Ryder. How you doing?”

“No, I’m Gabe,” he responded, shaking the meaty paw but shooting meaningful “hurry-up” glances to Sean.

Frankie turned to Sean. “I didn’t know you had two brothers.”

“I’m the brother he keeps hidden up in the attic.”

“Gabe, you don’t have to be rude.” Sean looked at Frankie. “He’s a little edgy. It’s a sex thing.”

“Excuse me?” Gabe coughed.

Frankie blushed around the gills and then sat up. “I’ll see you back at the office, Sean.”

“Sure thing,” said Sean with a happy wave.

“Did you need to drag this out in the open?”

“No, but it seemed like the fun thing to do. And stop acting like you’re the only man in the world who’s ever suffered from blue balls. Do you know that ninety-nine-point-seven-three percent of men’s frustrations come from sex issues? If I didn’t tell Frankie, he’d figure it out. One of the best estate lawyers this side of hell. Great guy.”

“I’m sure Frankie’s great, but can we get back to my problems?”

“Ah, so now you do want to admit you have a problem? Which is an important step because, yes, you do—a giant one. Why do you think she has to pretend?” asked Sean, using his courtroom cross-examination voice, but Gabe was too wound up to care.

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Gabe had thought long and hard about why, but he couldn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know why. There doesn’t have to be a why. Why why? I don’t want to think about why.”

“Why goes to motive, Gabe.”

“This isn’t a court case. I’m talking sex. Just sex.”

“But don’t you want to know her why?”

“No, I only want to fix it.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Can’t? What does that mean?”

“What if she can never accept you for who you are or for what you are? Maybe she has issues with dating a bartender? Maybe, for instance, she’s always wanted a more cerebral man. Like me.”

“It’s not that.”

“So you do know the why.”

“I don’t care about the why.”

“Then there’s your problem. She has a why, you don’t care about the why and she wants you to care about the why. Elementary, Gabe, elementary. You just have to understand the female psyche.”

Gabe looked around the club, seeing it through the red haze of his rage. “This is pointless. I shouldn’t have talked to you.”

“Why don’t you talk to Tessa?”

Gabe pretended he wasn’t affected, but, okay, his heart stopped for a second. “What? What do you mean?”

Sean looked completely casual. “Tessa. A female point of view, who conveniently happens to be your roommate, as well. Maybe she can explain the why.”

Gabe hid his sigh of relief. “I’m not sure that Tessa is the right person to talk to.”

“Why?” asked Sean, his eyes narrowed—and suspicious.

Quickly Gabe backed off. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Tessa. I bet she’ll know exactly what to do.”

Sean grinned. “See? Look how smart your older brother is.”

People didn’t realize how difficult it was being the youngest of three brothers. People didn’t give Gabe enough credit for putting up with bullshit like this.

However, Gabe rose above all the crap that Sean dished out. He was the bigger man. “You’re lucky this time, Sean. Next time, I’m going to smash your candy ass into the floor.”

“Empty threats, nothing more. Because it’s obvious that I’m the lover in the family, baby brother, as well as the fighter.”

Gabe eyed the silk tie around his brother’s neck, considered the very real presence of witnesses, and opted to spare Sean’s life. But only because Sean was wrong. Gabe was the lover in the family.

Sean signaled the bartender, and he came over holding the glasses in his hand completely wrong. Poser.

“Another round of juice.”

“Just the check. Sean’s paying.” Gabe slapped his brother on the back. “Thanks, bro.”

Then he left this godforsaken establishment before its wholesome aura started to rub off on him.

Carrot juice? Jeez.

TESSA SPENT THURSDAY afternoon looking at apartments and meeting potential roommates. Some people might call it boring, Tessa considered it depressing. She’d met Stella, a longtime bartender at 87 Park, who was a fifty-three-year-old with platinum blond hair and a rose tattoo on her arm and, best of all, she smoked like a chimney. Tessa mentally did the math. Fifty-three minus twenty-six was twenty-seven. Tessa had twenty-seven years before she ended up like Stella—not that there was anything wrong with that.

But Tessa wanted more.

After Stella there’d been Barry, who was twenty-two, and just starting in the MBA program at Columbia. After ten minutes in the shadow of his type-A personality, Tessa knew she would turn suicidal.

After Barry, there’d been Karen, who was an aspiring Broadway dancer. Everything was fine until Tessa had met Karen’s fiancé, Chaz, who’d slapped Tessa on the butt immediately after meeting her, and then started talking threesomes when Karen went to answer her phone. Tessa hadn’t waited for Karen to get back.

Next Tessa had gone up to Washington Heights, crossed over to the Bronx and then gone south to Bensonhurst. She’d seen studios, one-bedrooms and lofts—and exactly zero that she wanted to live in. The studios were like living in a closet. The first one-bedroom she’d seen had a view over the sanitation facility, the second was directly over the subway, shaking ominously every ten to twelve minutes. And the loft was not even in the same area code of her price range.

All in all, it was true: in the naked city, there was only one building that provided good value and adequate security.

Hudson Towers. Someday maybe the New York real estate market would go bust—possibly Tessa’s great-great-grandchildren would see it—but not anytime before.

For a second she considered moving, moving back to Florida, giving up, telegraphing to the world that, yes, it was true, Tessa couldn’t survive on her own.

Only one second did she consider this defeatist mentality.

No way. No way in hell.

Marisa wouldn’t give up. Marisa would take the deal and not lose any sleep.

That was the thing about people like Marisa. They were connected, knew people who knew people and made it their business to make sure they were always collecting more people.

Marisa wanted to add Tessa to her collection and she wanted to add Gabe, as well. Quid pro quo. The world ran on quid pro quo.

The answer was simple.

Tessa would get her apartment, she’d help out Marisa, and she’d get over this Gabe thing. It was a sexual crush, nothing more. She’d been too long without a man and he’d been the first guy in four years, so it was completely natural that she was a little overheated.

But passion didn’t last. Not like real estate.

No, her apartment was her future. The men would have to wait their turn because Tessa was going to get her own place, pay her own bills, buy her own furniture and possibly get a cat.

Friday afternoon was her accounting class, so she went and listened to Professor Lewis drone on about tangible operational assets and intangible operational assets, which helped cement her own operational decision.

Gabe was right. Accounting was a mistake. She’d just picked a career out of the phone book instead of trying to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. However, to be fair, she’d never had to pick out a career before, and who knew there was a right way and a wrong way to do it?

Well, lesson learned. Considering she had to execute an alternate career plan, like, yesterday she was going to talk to Marisa ASAP. Immediately after class she pulled out the Realtor’s wrinkled card and punched the numbers on her cell.

“Marisa—Tessa. The bartender from Prime? How you doing?”

“Good. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Wow, you work fast.”

Unfortunately Marisa wasn’t interested in Tessa’s life decision. No, she wanted to talk about men in general, Gabe in particular.

Shoot.

“Actually, I want to talk to you about something else. Can you meet me for a drink? Or dinner—I don’t care. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“About Gabe?”

“Yeah,” answered Tessa. “Yeah.”

“Sounds great. I’ll meet you at that new bar on the corner of Bleecker and Grover.”

Tessa knew the place. Chrome, black, cute little colored lights, yet pretentious and expensive, with watered-down drinks. Okay, fine, whatever.

Forty-five minutes later Tessa changed into her best pair of black jeans and dashed into Century 21 to buy a dressier shirt. Attire was something she’d never worried about before, but now appearances mattered. The golden, glittery top looked great in the dressing room, but the frumpy haircut? Tessa glared at her own reflection in the mirror and sighed. She could fix clothes, but hair couldn’t be fixed in ten minutes. Actually, it could, but even Tessa knew that getting a haircut in ten minutes or less was a really bad idea. She’d done that once when she was seventeen. Not doing that again. Later, when she had the time, she would fix the hair thing.

When she got to the club, she scoured the room for Marisa, finally spotting her near the back, dressed exquisitely in some neatly pressed olive-green suit that brought out the highlights in Marisa’s exquisitely styled hair.

Marisa, to her credit, looked over Tessa’s new, improved wardrobe and didn’t say a word.

No, the first words out of her mouth were, “Did you talk to him?”

Tessa, whose last conversation with Gabe had consisted of very little communication, having more to do with groping and grabbing, elected to spin the truth. “The time wasn’t exactly right.”

Marisa looked disappointed.

Tessa realized that disappointment wasn’t how you approached the sole person who could help you on this new career in real estate. “But there’ll be more chances,” she added, throwing in an optimistic smile.

Marisa perked up nicely. “I checked into Hudson Towers for you. I know a guy who knows a guy who has an aunt who’s about to move into assisted living. Her place is going up for sublet in another three weeks. I gave him your name, and he was excited to avoid the whole finding-a-new-renter nonsense. How’s that for results?”

Holy moley. In another three weeks she’d have her ideal place. Solo. Marisa was faster than most cabdrivers Tessa had ridden with. “Really? You’re not just yanking my chain, are you?”

“Cross my heart,” promised Marisa.

Tessa ordered a drink from the waitress, choosing to stick to a diet soda. Better to maintain a clear head tonight. After all, this was business. Marisa, not knowing that tonight was business, ordered a Tom Collins.

“When did you decide to go into apartment rentals?” Tessa asked after the waitress deposited their drinks.

Marisa tossed back the hair from her face in one very confident, self-assured flick. “I futzed around after college, trying to design an interesting career around a degree in liberal arts, and then I realized that this city lived and breathed real estate. I didn’t have to teach English if the possibility gave me hives. I could do something more exciting, and financially a lot more rewarding.”

A degree. Bummer. But Tessa wasn’t discouraged yet. “But somebody wouldn’t have to have a degree, would they?”

Marisa shook her head. “Oh, no. We have this one kid in the office who’s fifteen, and even though legally he can’t act as an agent, he’s as good as a walking database of New York City apartments. When he turns eighteen, he’ll be earning a fortune.”

“Wow. Fifteen,” murmured Tessa, shamed by a mere fifteen year old with more business sense than her. “I want to go into real estate, Marisa. I know more about the apartments in this city than anybody, even your fifteen-year-old whiz kid.” There. She’d done it. She’d actually tried to sell herself.

“Really?” asked Marisa, which was better than Get out of my face, bitch, you’re bothering me.

Tessa was mildly encouraged. “Sure, test me.”

And for the next half hour Marisa did. Tessa knocked off the answers one by one, not hesitating, her confidence growing by leaps and bounds.

Eventually Marisa sat back in her chair, arms crossed across her chest. And there was approval on her face. Actual Tessa approval. “You do know your stuff. You think you can handle the exam?”

“With flying colors,” answered Tessa, getting cockier by the millisecond, so close to Hudson Towers she could taste it.

“There’s a weeklong course that you’ll have to take. And then pass the exam. But, yeah, I’d vouch for you.”

And, yes, success. Tessa was in.

“Thank you for all your help.”

Marisa smiled graciously. “Not a problem. You’re helping me out, too,” she reminded Tessa.

“I can’t believe you have problems meeting men.” Because Tessa could see the guys in the club checking out Marisa.

“I’m tired of stuffy Manhattan studs who think every woman must fall down at their feet and perform full-throated fellatio within thirty seconds of the first meet and greet. I’d rather find someone who can respect me. What I like about bartenders is that they seem to respect females. It’s a very therapeutic profession.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” Tessa replied.

Marisa leaned her chin on her palm. “Tell me about Gabe.”

Gabe? Did they really have to talk about Gabe? Yes, apparently they did.

Tessa, not quite willing to give up yet, looked around wildly, her eyes resting on the surfer boy who was tending to the bar. “What about this guy? He looks sensitive, almost poetic. I bet he’d love to go out with you.”

“Nah. We dated a few months ago and I broke up with him. I think he was still hung up on his ex-girlfriend or something. You know, it’s very hard for men to break free from repressed memories.”

Oh, man. Marisa was about forty thousand steps ahead of Tessa in the relationship world. “What about the bartenders at Club X? I knew this one bartender there—we played against them in softball last year—and he was fabulous. The most perfect set of abs you’ve ever seen.”

“Mario?”

“Oh.” Tessa’s face fell. “You know him.”

“Yeah,” answered Marisa. “We didn’t go out, though. He’s got a bad track record of date-’n’-dump. I don’t need that.”

“You really know your bartenders, don’t you?” said Tessa, trying to get used to the very real possibility of Marisa dating Gabe. He would be impressed with Marisa. She was confident, successful, nice, well put together and she really liked her bartenders.

“A woman can’t be too careful in this city.”

“No,” Tessa chimed in. Quickly she ordered a shot of tequila, deciding that the vision of Gabe and Marisa was best seen through alcohol-tinted glasses. “A woman can’t.”

The waitress brought two shooters and Tessa clinked her glass with Marisa’s. “To my hookup with Hudson Towers.”

Marisa grinned. “To my hookup with Gabe O’Sullivan.”

The pale liquid should have been hemlock. But as Marisa had said, a woman couldn’t be too careful in this city.

Tessa launched the tequila down her throat. Time to get off the Gabe train while she still could. It’d be too easy to fall back into the same depend-on-a-man trap and get sidetracked from learning to take care of herself. Tessa had dreams, and it was time to start fulfilling them. It was time to either put up or shut up. Either Tessa could take care of herself or else she was going to end up like Stella or with a boyfriend like Chaz who would want to sleep with Tessa’s friends—all at the same time.

No way. Not Tessa. She was going to do this.

No more sex. No more sex at all.

WHEN GABE CAME HOME at two in the morning, Tessa was sacked out on the couch, his old throw cuddled in her arms. The TV was tuned to MSNBC, which gave him a short pause, but he turned it off anyway.

A book was tucked underneath the throw—“New York State Real Estate Requirements”—and he noticed Tessa’s accounting book lying suspiciously next to the trash. There was a new wind blowing, and Tessa wasn’t wasting any time.

Gabe watched her sleep, then shook his head. Damned if he’d leave her on the couch all night, so he gathered her up in his arms, happy when she curled into his chest as though she belonged there.

Carefully he carried her to her bed, wishing she’d picked out something nicer than the futon. If he didn’t think she’d have a heart attack, he’d move her into his room, but Tessa had her whole personal-boundaries issues, and he was going to respect them.

Actually, Gabe wanted to see Tessa make it. For four years he’d watched her press forward, her forehead worried into one long line that even BOTOX couldn’t fix, but she kept going on, roommate after roommate, roadblock after roadblock, never asking for help, never complaining. The little bartender that could—that was her.

Gabe gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, smoothing the lines of worry away.

She was complicated, irrational, skittish…and completely irresistible.

So it’d be complicated. So what? Gabe gave her a long look and then snuck out, closing the door behind him.

Yeah, he’d respect her personal boundaries, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t seduce her personal boundaries right out of the equation.

In fact, it’d be his pleasure.

DANIEL O’SULLIVAN WASN’T a man to complain, but by the time he interviewed the fifth of Sean’s candidates for the new bartender position he decided to forget tradition and raise holy hell.

The blonde was cheerful, flirty, and didn’t know whiskey from vodka. However, she did have breasts that torpedoed out from here to eternity.

Daniel sighed, told the woman to have a nice day, and then went downstairs to the office. This was Prime, not Hooters, and he’d be damned if he would spend a perfectly good Saturday afternoon wasting his time, although, to be fair, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do than waste his time. Daniel had become very good at wasting time.

Meanwhile, Sean was sitting at the desk playing solitaire on the bar’s computer. Wasting time seemed to be an O’Sullivan family trait.

“What are are you doing?”

Sean turned and quickly clicked over to a spreadsheet. “What do you think? She’s great, isn’t she?”

Daniel could feel the start of a world-class headache.

“Stop coming up with candidates to interview, will you? This isn’t your own personal casting couch.”

“You could make it yours. It’d probably improve your disposition.” Sadly, Sean was completely serious.

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it, Sean?”

“It’s not my fault I’m a people person. I bet you didn’t know that lately people have been coming to me for advice, and I’ve discovered a new talent. Giving personal advice. You know, people come to me as a lawyer all the time. Why not come to me as a personal advisor? The best part? I don’t charge by the hour.”

“What idiot comes to you for personal advice?”

“Our younger brother is having sexual difficulties. But you wouldn’t notice, would you?”

“Gabe?” asked Daniel, too shocked to doubt the truth of the matter.

Sean nodded. “He’s having women problems.”

Gabe? Women? Hell, Daniel would be having women problems before Gabe. Gabe was grounded, levelheaded, knew what he wanted and didn’t waste anybody’s time. Gabe didn’t have problems, period. “I don’t believe you.”

“Ask him.”

“For real?” asked Daniel, only because Sean didn’t have the little gleam in his eyes that he got when he was lying.

“Yeah. Pitiful.”

Daniel listened as Sean filled him in on the details, until eventually his curiosity overcame the need to respect his brother’s privacy. “Who is she?”

“Some woman he picked up.”

“Did he say that?” asked Daniel, because Gabe didn’t pick up women. They tried to pick him up, and he always said no. Well, almost always. For the past four years Gabe had barely looked at women at all.

Except for one.

It had become something of an inside joke to Daniel, watching Gabe and Tessa together—and yet not. In some ways, Daniel was living vicariously through his younger brother, remembering what it felt like. That smile when she walked into the room, the easy comfort of knowing that there was always someone waiting for you at home.

There was never any overt sexual tension between Tessa and Gabe—they were too casual for that. It took a detail man to notice the way they got along so easily, knowing what the other one needed before asking, laughing at jokes that no one else got. And then there was the way Gabe protected Tessa, making sure the problem customers were never sitting at her bar. Looking out for her when she was shorthanded and in general making sure that Tessa didn’t hurt.

Daniel understood that. Understood the idea that there was only one woman created exactly, specifically for each man. Life was very precise, as was love.

Fate had decreed that they be together. Maybe it wasn’t fate, maybe it was God. Daniel believed in both.

Eight years ago Daniel had found Michelle, loved her to the exclusion of every other female on the planet—and in a single moment God took her away.

But Gabe still had his moment. He had an entire lifetime to celebrate the exact, specific woman who was created perfectly for him.

Daniel looked up at the betting pool. Saw the neatly written numbers and the names next to them and then laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Sean.

“You wouldn’t understand,” replied Daniel. Sean wouldn’t get it. For Sean, sex was the be-all and end-all to women.

And to prove Daniel’s point, Sean pulled out an application from the pile. “Whatever, but let’s talk bartenders for a moment, shall we? This is Leslie, and she’s got this long, long, dark hair, and the woman is ready, willing and completely bedworthy. I think she’d be great. Really.”

ON SATURDAY MORNING Tessa emerged from her bedroom in a Grateful Dead T-shirt that skimmed her knees.

Gabe looked up from the Post, not wanting to imagine what was under the T-shirt, and if he wasn’t going to imagine what was under there, he needed to make sure she couldn’t read it on his face.

“So how was last night?” he asked.

Tessa padded over to the cabinets, and pulled out a box of cereal, then seated herself at the table next to him. “Fun,” she answered, taking a handful of cereal and popping it into her mouth like candy.

“And class?”

She stopped crunching, and then swallowed. “Not fun. I’m quitting.”

And wasn’t that about time? “New plans?”

“Yeah. Real estate. I’ve been talking to a friend. There’s a class starting in the middle of next week. I’m signing up.”

“You have enough money to cover the cost?” Knowing Tessa, she’d live on ramen noodles and cereal before she’d take any help.

“Oh, yeah.” Her hand reached into the box again. “You should meet this girl. Marisa. The one who’s been helping me. She’s completely cool. I think you’d like her.”

“Probably not,” Gabe responded, not wanting to state out loud that his attention was currently occupied but wondering why Tessa couldn’t figure this out on her own. In terms of life issues, maybe she was directionally challenged, but she wasn’t dense. At least not usually.

She folded up the bag of cereal, her mouth fixed in a solemn line. “I’ve been thinking.”

Never good, but Gabe wasn’t worried. Quickly he directed the conversation to the one he wanted. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot to think about. A career change, a roommate search. I’m glad you’re thinking.” There, positive affirmations. The perfect way to get women to do what you wanted them to.

But when she met his eyes, he saw sadness there. Oh, this really wasn’t going to be good.

“I don’t think I can sleep with you anymore,” she said.

Aha, maybe not so bad. So she’d come to see the error of the strange relationship they had? “Actually, I’m glad you think that way. I want to change things around, too.”

“You do?”

Honesty. He’d avoided talking because he knew it would scare her, but since she’d brought it up…“Yeah. I don’t like this, Tessa. I want us to go out. We don’t have to tell anybody. I don’t think that’d be a good idea—it’s too soon, and people will interfere and get in the way. But I want us to be normal. Don’t get me wrong here, I love having sex with you, but it bugs me because I feel like I’m taking advantage of you because of you living here and working at the bar, and I don’t like that. As a rule, I don’t handle guilt well.”

Tessa frowned. “I don’t think you understand.”

Of course he understood. Out of the entire universe of people, Gabe was the only one who was practicing common sense. However, not the time. It couldn’t be possible that Sean was right. Maybe Tessa just wanted him to try and understand her.

“Then help me understand. What do I need to understand?” Gabe asked.

“I can’t sleep with you at all. I can’t go out with you. It’s getting in the way.”

Gabe put down the paper, now giving her his undivided attention. This conversation wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d thought it would be. “Getting in the way? It doesn’t have to get in the way. You need time to study—I can respect that. In fact, I think I’ve been awesome at trying to not get in your way.”

“I can’t do this,” she told him quietly.

“Why?” Gabe asked, really starting to hate that word.

“I don’t know why.”

“There’s got to be a why, Tessa. This is me. Gabe. You can tell me anything.” Damn, his voice sounded desperate. Gabe didn’t like desperate.

Tessa pulled back. He saw her pull back physically and knew she had pulled back emotionally, as well. “There is no why. I just decided that it’s not smart. There. Not smart. That’s my why. It’s time that I started being smart, Gabe.”

“You are smart,” he spoke up automatically.

“Not smart enough. If I were smarter, I would know people. I would have a career plan. I wouldn’t have to depend on my friends for my living quarters.”

Gabe opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn’t believe the nonsense that was coming out of her. It was as if she was turning into some completely new person, and Gabe didn’t like it. He wanted the old Tessa back.

“I’m more than your friend, Tessa.”

“No, Gabe. No, you’re not,” she said, the ultimate knife in the back.

He looked into her eyes, trying to read her mind, trying to see the things that he had always grasped so easily before. There was no freaking way that Gabe had misread this situation, and Tessa seemed ready to cry.

“You don’t mean that.”

She nodded, her lips pursed tightly together.

“You don’t want this?” Gabe asked, still waiting for her to tell him the truth. But they were good together. In fact, they were better than good together.

“I can’t want this,” she stated slowly, with a dignity that was usually lacking from her words.

Gabe rose up from the table, needing to stop looking at her. He wanted to hit out, yell, make her come to her senses, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything at all.

“Fine,” he answered and walked to his room, slamming the door.

Even if it hurt him.

He wanted to ignore her, pretend she didn’t exist, let the anger cool. But goddamn—

Tessa was his roommate.

Goddamn.

THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON was a milder form of hell for Tessa. She spent the afternoon locked in her room. Not that locks were necessary—Gabe wasn’t coming anywhere near her. Her feminine intuition told her that truth. Her feminine intuition, along with the raging chaos in Gabe’s eyes.

He left for the bar around two, slamming the door behind him, probably being polite and letting her know he was leaving.

Tessa immediately burst into tears.

And this from two people who weren’t, as a rule, emotional.

Okay, this hadn’t gone as she’d planned. Tessa had thought she could be mature and able to handle the ending of a relationship—using the term relationship loosely—without feeling as if the floor had been pulled out from underneath her.

Sadly Gabe was the foundation she’d built the last four years on, and now she knew that foundation was gone.

And where had that come from? For four years she’d worked her butt off to get her own place in New York. And now it was right within her grasp, but her priorities were getting all whacked. All because of sex with Gabe. Tessa wanted Gabe, but she wanted to have things the way they were—but she knew there was no going back. She’d known that from the first time he’d kissed her when that lightning bolt of awareness shot through her and made her open her eyes to feelings she had never wanted to admit. She depended on Gabe too much. He was her boss, her roommate and, most of all, her friend. But seeing a guy naked complicated things, and aching to have him inside you killed all that friendship stuff in a heartbeat.

Tessa sniffed away the last of her tears. Tears were for losers, and Tessa wasn’t a loser. She was a survivor and she could get through this, as well.

She showered and dressed for work, not thinking about the big hole in her chest. All she needed to do was pull on her big-girl panties because right now she had a job to do.

At the bar, the regulars were lined up in front of Gabe, exactly as if everything were normal.

Tessa pasted her usual smile on her face because, yes, this was normal. Completely normal. She didn’t need to feel as if she’d been doused over the head with a bucket of ice.

Gabe flashed her a smile, not really so normal, more like “mad as hell, but we’ll pretend,” and Tessa looked down, concentrating on cutting lemons.

Thankfully the weather outside was sunny and fabulous, and so the crowds started pouring in early, which didn’t give her much time to dwell on her own misery. In fact, after a few hours, things did start to seem normal. When the tap went dry, Gabe was there to tap the new one for her. When a very forward slut-puppy began hitting on Gabe, Tessa sent Lindy over to rescue him by pretending to be his girlfriend. When Sean took an extended break with some redhead, Tessa filled in smoothly, covering two of the three bars without a misstep. It wasn’t the Paris Peace Accord, but it wasn’t World War III either. When Sean returned to the bar, slightly out of breath and flushed, Gabe didn’t even seem to mind.

Tessa had made it past depressed and was halfway to optimistic when Marisa breezed in, a vision in bright blue silk, turning all male heads in her path.

Except for Gabe’s.

Marisa shouldered through to find a seat in front of Tessa.

“How’s it going?”

“Busy,” answered Tessa, which she hoped would prevent long, extended Gabe-filled conversations.

“Were you able to talk to him? Should I go introduce myself? Do you think this dress is okay? Not too trashy? I wanted sexy but classy. This is sexy but classy, don’t you think?”

Tessa stared, unable to reconcile this babbling sinkhole of female insecurities with confident, self-assured Marisa. However, it did make her feel more comfortable with her own lack of confidence when it came to Gabe. Did he affect all women this way? Probably.

Tessa smiled at Marisa, somewhat vindicated. “You look great. Don’t worry. I started laying the groundwork for you, but let me go over and say a few more things, and then you sit at his bar for a while. Oh, and one thing—I didn’t tell him about the apartment at Hudson Towers. He never liked the place, and I don’t want to say anything. Let’s keep that part just between us. Okay?”

Marisa nodded. “Sure. You’ll talk to him now?”

Tessa nodded and wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her rag. She could do this. She could definitely do this. She tightened her smile, took a deep breath and went to see Gabe.

He was pouring a pitcher of beer and he looked up, surprised to see her.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Tessa nodded. “You remember me talking to you about Marisa, the Realtor who’s getting me into school?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her, confused.

Not that she could blame him. She knew everything that was going on and she still felt confused. “I think you should talk to her. Get to know her. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Leave it alone, Tessa. I’m not feeling friendly.” He sloshed the pitcher on the bar, which was a testament to how unfriendly he was currently feeling. Gabe didn’t slosh. Ever.

Tessa flashed Marisa a reassuring smile and turned back to Gabe.

“She’s very pretty. And she’s nice, too.”

“What is with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, licking suddenly dry lips.

“You’re hell-bent on setting me up with her, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like her and I like you, and I think you two would get along well,” replied Tessa. She wasn’t the world’s greatest actress, but man, she should really get an award for this…assuming she could walk away from Gabe without bursting into tears—again.

Gabe wasn’t buying it, wasn’t even close to buying it, but at least he had stopped asking why.

“Send her over. I’ll make sure she has a great time,” he snapped, which sounded more like a threat.

Tessa walked away because, yes, she was going to fall apart here, and there were over one hundred thirsty customers and they all needed her.

She squared her shoulders, tightened her stomach and swore to herself that as soon as she was alone she could fall apart. But not until then.

Tessa was getting stronger.

GABE FELT AS IF HE had walked onto the set of some fictional drama and he had no idea who was who and what his lines were supposed to be. All he knew was that Tessa was pretty damn insistent that he hook up with Miss Marisa What’s-her-name, irrespective of whether Gabe wanted the woman or not. The Realtor looked polished, confident, a Manhattan barracuda with teeth. Completely not his type. He liked his women…

Like Tessa.

That’s what he wanted. Somebody that was soft and comfortable, that didn’t care if they went out on Saturday night or stayed at home. Somebody that understood the rules of poker.

And, most of all, somebody that needed Gabe.

The way Tessa needed Gabe.

But, okay, she wanted to go down this pathway to disaster, then he’d walk down it, if only to show her how badly she was screwing up.

His smile was cruel.

Because Tessa was screwing up royally.

Marisa noticed Gabe looking in her direction and waved. Gabe motioned her over. A discreet dip of the head, nothing more and—zoom—she was at Gabe’s bar.

Gabe took a deep breath and then proceeded to charm Miss Marisa Whoever right out of her senses. And he did. He complimented her dress, told her how the blue set off the twinkle in her eyes. He created a new drink, rum, vodka, and lemonade—and christened it the Marisa, insisting that everyone try it.

Tessa glowered at that one.

Inside, Gabe was beaming.

Everything was going along swimmingly until Daniel pulled him aside.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked his big brother, looking irate. This from a man whose general demeanor was somewhere between extracalm and not exactly breathing.

“What?”

“Why are you messing with this other girl? This can’t be the woman you were talking to Sean about. Is it?”

“Sean told you?” snapped Gabe, glaring at his other brother and deciding he was going to kill Sean after all.

“Sean would tell the Pope if he got the chance. Why did you ever go to him for advice?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you about it.”

“Why?”

Gabe threw down his rag. “What is it with why? I don’t want to tell you why, so I’m not going to. Deal with it, Daniel.”

Daniel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, look, I’m sorry for interfering, but you can’t go messing up your life like this.”

And now Daniel was drinking the same Kool-Aid as Tessa? “Messing up my life? What the—Daniel, I’m talking to a customer, that’s it.”

“No, you’re doing the whole eye game with her, Gabe. It’s like visual sex—and in front of everybody. Did you ever think you might be hurting somebody by doing that?”

“Hurting who?”

“Somebody,” answered Daniel vaguely. Too vaguely.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are you doing it?”

Gabe was tired of being accused of being a jerk for no good reason. It was about time he defended himself, because nobody else around here would, that was for damned sure. “Tessa wants me to go out with her. She’s one of Tessa’s friends. Some Realtor chick.”

“Tessa?” Daniel stared over at Tessa, brows drawn together.

“Yes, Tessa. I’m doing her a favor,” explained Gabe self-righteously. If there was anybody that deserved a medal, it was him.

“Why does Tessa want you to go out with somebody else?”

At that, Gabe threw up his arms. “How the hell should I know? Ask her. I’m going back to work. This is a bar, not the O.C., thank you very much. I’m going back to work. Going back to work now. And if you figure anything out, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to go boohoo. I just want to tend bar. Capisce?”

Daniel frowned but waved him away. “This is so wrong,” he muttered, and Gabe was ready to throw a punch, but he’d never hit Daniel on purpose, and tonight wasn’t the night to start. No, tonight he was going to pour drinks, flirt with the pretty lady and do exactly what Tessa wanted him to do.

Even if it hurt him.

TESSA WASN’T GOING TO watch. She wasn’t going to watch. She wasn’t going to watch. So then Lindy had to come by and tell her how Gabe was pulling a Sean with this new chick. And that it was completely weird because Gabe wasn’t like Sean, and the woman was okay, but she wasn’t that fabulous, but maybe she’d told him she could tongue him in the French-Bolivian way.

“What’s the French-Bolivian way?”

“I made it up, Tessa. You know, guys get really jacked up when you mention tongues. It’s like verbal Viagra or something. Considering the mental hard-on he’s got going over there, I’m thinking it has to be tongues.”

Tessa didn’t want to hear any more about tongues. “I’m going downstairs to smoke a cigarette.”

Lindy looked at her, confused. “You don’t smoke.”

So why did everybody have to be so literal tonight? “I’m going to learn,” she answered and then ran downstairs because she needed to get away, if only for a few minutes. Just long enough to pull herself together.

Once downstairs, she hid in the walk-in refrigerator, shivering in the cold, until a moment later when Daniel came in and sat next to her on a crate of limes. “You all right?” he asked as if it were completely normal to be sitting around in a refrigerator.

“Good. Of course, I’m good. No, I’m great,” Tessa replied.

“You don’t sound great.”

“Does anybody really know how great sounds? We all have varying degrees of great, and I’m tipping the scales here.”

He stayed silent for a minute, and she wondered why Daniel even cared about her well-being. He never was this sociable. Never. “Marisa is a friend of yours?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“She’s a looker.”

“And she’s nice, too,” said Tessa sweetly.

“That’s why you’re pushing her toward my brother?”

Tessa didn’t like the way Daniel was looking at her. As though he knew things, things that she didn’t want anybody to know. “She doesn’t have cooties, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”

“Not asking. Merely trying to sort things out.”

“Nothing to sort out,” she said, forcing a laugh.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. If you’re thinking about the bet, don’t worry. I’m going to make Sean give everybody their money back. You won’t lose.” Technically Daniel should have won the first night. At one time, she would have insisted that he take the money, but now she didn’t care. When she had a real job, she’d pay him the three thousand out of her own pocket.

“I’m worried about Gabe, not the bet, Tessa.”

And, yes, he was worried about his brother, not the money. Wasn’t that what families did? Protect each other? Tessa wanted to tell him that Gabe didn’t need anybody worrying about him. He was unflappable, unsinkable, unassailable and every other able she could think of. Able. It was exactly the right word for Gabe. And Marisa. He and Marisa would get along fine. “Gabe’s great,” she muttered, crossing her arms across her chest, partially in defense and partially because the walk-in was freezing.

Daniel was unfazed. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“You do that, Daniel. Thanks.”