Читать книгу No Strings Attached - Millie Criswell - Страница 8

IN THE LIVING ROOM of Samantha Brady’s Upper East Side apartment, right next to her aging laptop, sat a small, green ceramic frog.

The frog would have been considered ugly by most standards, with its bulging dark eyes and a semblance of a mysterious smile, as if it knew something she didn’t. But Samantha loved it. Her best friend, Jack, had won it for her years ago at the Dutchess County Fair, and it had come to symbolize all the unsuccessful relationships with men she had experienced over the years.

Samantha had kissed a lot of frogs while looking for her Prince Charming, but all she’d gotten for her trouble was chapped lips.

The Big Romance that everyone wrote and sang about continued to elude her. The closest she’d come was The Bastard, which was how she always thought of Tony Shapiro, the man she had given her heart to shortly after her arrival in the city, and the man who had caused the naive little farm girl from upstate New York to smarten up and quick.

The Bastard had been married with three children. She’d been humiliated and decimated by the experience. But it had served to teach her a good lesson: Men were pigs, not frogs!

The exception to that was Jack Turner. She and Jack had grown up together in the quaint upstate community of Rhinebeck. He was exasperating and bullheaded, but also kind and caring.

She’d had a secret crush on him in high school and entertained wildly romantic ideas about him during her senior year. But he’d begun dating the very popular Suzy Stedman exclusively, and Samantha knew she was no match for a gorgeous cheerleader with boobs the size of bowling balls; hers were more in the golf ball category. At any rate, she’d put aside her foolish notions and settled for being best friends.

To the left of Samantha’s computer sat another ceramic figurine—a shiny red apple that her mother had given her before she’d left home to pursue a writing career. An inscription in gold leaf read: Take a bite out of the Big Apple. Love, Mom. She’d taken many bites of that apple since arriving to pursue her career as a freelance writer and novelist. But so far Samantha had come up with a lot more seeds than pulp.

And quite frankly, it was the pits.

Writing a book, especially finishing it, was a lot harder than Samantha had originally thought, owing to the fact that she was something of a perfectionist and agonized over every word. There was also the minor problem that none of the publishers she’d queried were interested in a humorous pseudo-mystery/romance novel about two old ladies and their niece, who ran an inn and were suspected of murder because of some buried bones found in their basement.

Apparently, those uninformed editors hadn’t seen Arsenic and Old Lace, or they’d have jumped at the chance to buy her book.

“Are you going to sit there and stare out the window all day, or are you actually going to write something? I thought you had a deadline.”

The front door closed and Samantha turned to face her roommate. Arms crossed over his chest, six-foot-one Jack Turner was disgustingly handsome, every woman’s idea of Prince Charming. He was frowning at her in that no-nonsense way he always did, but she could see the twinkle in his dark eyes and knew he was only teasing.

He’d been her knight in shining armor when she’d finally gotten the courage to move to the city despite her overprotective father’s vehement protests, and then hadn’t been able to find a decent apartment, if there was such a creature to be had.

It had been Jack who’d insisted she move in with him, taking most of the financial burden from her shoulders. That had been almost six years ago, and she hadn’t regretted a single day.

Well, except for maybe today.

“I thought you were going to eat breakfast with the adorable Bunny this morning,” she retorted, referring to Jack’s latest bimbo—uh, girlfriend—who resembled a Siberian husky with her long, dyed platinum hair and ice-blue eyes.

Jack was into bimbos: women with large breasts, small brains and the inability to converse on any subject not having to do with fashion. He was also into noncommitment, so his bimbos—uh, girl-friends—fit the bill perfectly.

“Why are you home so early? Was the sex that lousy?”

His eyes filled with amusement, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he ruffled his dark brown hair and grinned.

“It’s Sunday, in case you’ve forgotten,” she went on. “I don’t have to work if I don’t want to. This article isn’t due till next week, so leave me alone.”

Pulling a bag of bagels from behind his back, he dangled it in front of her, like the devil tempting Eve with that damn apple. The aroma of freshly baked goods surrounded Samantha, making her stomach grumble and Jack grin.

She was a sucker for bagels, donuts, pies, cakes and most unhealthy foods, despite her claim of eating only organic products. Sugar was her downfall. Chocolate was…well, chocolate was chocolate.

In addition to her freelance writing jobs, she’d been working part-time at the Starbucks around the corner, sucking down mocha lattes by the gallon and literally devouring the store’s profits.

“You still have a deadline to meet. But I’m going to be magnanimous and let you take a break to eat your breakfast first.”

Making a face, Samantha headed for the kitchen, Jack following right behind. “Are these bagels organic? You know I only eat organically grown food.”

Disbelief edged his laughter. “That’s a crock and you know it. I know for a fact that you ate four Snickers bars yesterday. I found the wrappers in the garbage. How you stay so slim is a mystery.”

Suffering from a serious chocolate addiction for which there was no cure—at least none Samantha wanted to try—and hating being called on it, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I have a very high metabolism. And why were you looking through the garbage? What kind of sicko rifles through the trash?” She’d purposely hidden the wrappers at the bottom, hoping he wouldn’t find them.

“The kind who’s looking for a receipt. And to answer your other question, sex with Bunny was great. It’s her constant talking I can’t take.”

“You can’t have everything, Jack,” Samantha said, slapping cream cheese on an onion bagel and handing it to him. “No wonder you aren’t married. You’re too damn picky.”

“Like you should talk? Christ! You find fault with every guy you date. Chuck Simmons was a nice guy, very down-to-earth, and he was crazy about you. And you still dumped him.”

“Chuck had body odor. Maybe you didn’t notice it, but in the heat of passion it became unbearable.” Samantha could stomach many things, but B.O. wasn’t one of them. Having her head cradled in Chuck Simmons’s armpit had been the equivalent of having a skunk go off in her face.

Jack laughed again. “Maybe you should have worn a surgical mask, or you could have asked poor Chuck to take a shower.”

“Quit being stupid! Chuck did shower. It’s just that he has some kind of glandular problem, and—why the hell am I telling you this? It’s none of your business.”

“Because I’m your best friend and you tell me everything.”

It was true. Samantha knew about the women he slept with; Jack knew when her period was due. Living together was rather like being married, only without all the emotional upheavals that accompanied a marriage certificate.

The perks without the pukes, as Jack so eloquently put it.

“Sometimes it’s embarrassing to discuss my personal relationships with you, especially when you don’t share all the nitty-gritty about your love life.” Not that she’d had that many. Meeting good men in New York City was like waiting for your ship to come in. Unfortunately, hers was in dry dock at the moment.

Biting into his bagel, Jack replied around a mouthful of cream cheese, “I don’t have a love life. I have a sex life.” He gulped his coffee before continuing. “There’s a huge difference. And I like it that way. Most women bore me—they talk a lot and say nothing.”

“That’s because you have the attention span of Morris here.” With a lift of her head, she indicated the ceramic frog. “Maybe someday when you grow up, you’ll learn to appreciate the intricacies of the female mind and date someone who has a brain bigger than her boobs.”

Jack threw back his head and laughed, and the booming sound reverberated off the walls of Samantha’s heart. There was something about Jack’s laughter that made her feel all warm and cozy inside, not to mention that his dimples were adorable.

“Christ! No wonder you scare off all the men you date.”

“I do not!” But Samantha knew that was a lie. She tended to speak before thinking, to share her opinion about every little thing, and most of the men she dated hated that, especially if her opinions were of the negative variety, which they usually were.

Was it her fault she was picky and sought perfection? If she settled, she’d end up with someone like…well, Chuck. And she had no intention of settling.

Honesty, Samantha had found out the hard way, was not an admirable trait in a woman, since men’s egos tended to be bigger than their…

Brains!

Well, except for Jack’s. She’d seen his brain by accident once when he was coming out of the bathroom and she was going in. They had collided, causing him to drop his towel, and she’d gotten a good glimpse of a very impressive—

No wonder he was so smart.

“If you didn’t have to have everything so perfect, you’d be a lot happier. And by the way, I didn’t appreciate your lining my underwear drawer with lilac-scented paper,” he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I smell like a hooker!”

“You’re just ungrateful. A man secure in his masculinity wouldn’t be bothered by a womanly fragrance. And besides, I thought the scent was nice. I’m sure Bunny loved it.”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “You make things too complicated. Just go with the flow, like I do.”

Samantha rolled her eyes, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Now who’s lying? You hate your job, even though you make gobs of money, and you date women who are dumber than rocks. What’s that say about you?”

She waved him off with a flick of her wrist. “Go away and leave me alone. I have work to do.”

“Aha! So you finally admit it.”

Samantha’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure why we’re friends, Jack Turner. We have nothing in common. And you are extremely annoying.”

Grinning widely, Jack tweaked her nose. “If I thought you meant that I’d pack up and leave. Oh wait! I own this apartment, so I guess I can’t. Now then, your nasty mood means you’re either PMSing or your book got rejected again. Which one is it?”

It was very disconcerting living with someone who knew you better than you knew yourself, Samantha thought. She hated to admit to Jack that she had failed again in her attempt to get published.

She wanted to pull her weight financially and contribute more to their living arrangement. Although she did most of the cooking, cleaning and errand running, Jack paid the majority of the bills. It was the way he wanted it, and she couldn’t afford to change things too drastically, at the moment. But some day she’d be making lots of money—at least, that was the goal.

“Why do all those stupid publishing people hate my book? It’s better than a lot of stuff out there. You liked it. Why don’t they?” Dropping onto the sofa, she heaved a dispirited sigh.

Samantha had aspirations of becoming the next Nora Roberts or Nora Ephron. But instead she was Nora Nobody, unpublished novelist at large. Maybe she needed a new pen name.

“Maybe I’m just not good enough. I should have stayed in Rhinebeck and worked on the family farm like my dad wanted me to.” Her parents would have loved nothing better than to keep her close at hand. Though Sam had appreciated their well-meaning advice, it had eventually become smothering and she’d needed to escape to live life on her own terms.

Taking a seat beside Samantha, Jack took her hand. “You know you are. Hell, you were always the smartest kid in class, acing all the tests, showing up the rest of us.”

Like that mattered, when my boobs were smaller than Suzy’s!

“I liked what I read, but the book’s not finished,” he continued. “You might have a better shot at selling it if you’d finish the damn thing. You’ve been working on it for years. You could have written the friggin’ history of the world by now.”

Samantha finally smiled. “The World According to Samantha. I like that.”

He patted her knee. “Don’t give up. There are still plenty of publishers out there you haven’t tried yet.”

“I’m on a first-name basis with many of their assistants. How pathetic is that?”

“Very, but only because you’ve been hounding them.”

“So I’m anal. Sue me. There are worse things to be. At least I follow up on things.”

He rose to his feet. “Great! Now just apply that tenacity to finishing your book. But in the meantime, I suggest you complete the magazine article you’re supposed to be sending off.”

“For someone who hates his boss, you’re very bossy, do you know that?”

“Yeah. But at least I’m not a prick like O’Leary. The selfish bastard is greedy and self-serving.”

Samantha knew Jack was unhappy with his job. She’d heard the frustration in his voice many times over when he talked about his new boss. “You should be working for yourself, Jack. You’re very talented. There are very few real estate agents in the business as good as you are. Must be your facility for bull-shit.” She smiled, and so did he.

“Thanks. But that’s the problem. O’Leary feels threatened. He’s been forcing me to work shitty hours on the floor. And on those rare occasions when he does give up a lead, either it’s lousy or he hands it off to someone else.”

“So quit! There’s nothing keeping you there. You’ve got your broker’s license.”

“That’s easier said than done when you have financial obligations.”

“Jack, you own several apartment buildings, including this one. You could probably support yourself on what you earn from those.”

“It’s not enough. I need more money in the bank before I can go out on my own. New York is an expensive city. Just the office space alone will cost me a fortune, not to mention the licenses, office furniture and personnel. Shall I go on?”

“You encouraged me when I was unsure about moving here and wanting to write. So now I’m saying the same to you—if you don’t try, you’ll never know if you can do it.”

“But what if I fail? I can’t allow myself to do that.”

“Why? Because of your father?” She shook her head. “How long are you going to let him run, or should I say ruin, your life?

“You’re nothing like Martin Turner. Your dad’s an alcoholic who never kept a steady job in his life. You’re already a much better man than he could ever hope to be.”

His eyes filled with pain despite her assurances. “Tell that to my mother. She never says a bad word about my dad. You’d think he was a saint instead of a lush.”

“Your mother is clinging to the memories of your father the way he was before he started drinking. But he wasn’t always that way, was he?”

“No,” he replied, bitterness edging his words. “He started after I was born. What does that tell you?”

Jack’s relationship with his family, especially his father, was a painful one. As a child, he’d been neglected and shoved aside, while his dad devoted his time to the bottle and Charlotte Turner devoted hers to an alcoholic husband who didn’t love her, and to trying to keep her miserable marriage intact.

He’d spent much of his childhood at the Brady home. Samantha’s parents had tried to provide Jack with a stable environment and the normalcy that was missing from his. And though Samantha understood and sympathized with his bitterness, she still wanted him to reconcile with his parents so he could put the past behind him and get on with his life. Until that happened he’d always be second-guessing everything he did.

“Have you called your mom lately? You know how much she misses you.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Charlotte doesn’t miss me—she has dear old Dad to keep her company.”

“Don’t be cynical. It doesn’t suit you. And she is your mother, whether you like it or not.”

“You women always stick together.”

“I’m right and you know it, Jack. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“At least Ross takes my side. He knows the kind of shit I’ve put up with from my parents.”

“My brother has a big mouth and should mind his own business.”

“Yeah, Ross gossips like an old woman. But he’s been a good friend.”

“Speaking of Ross, has he mentioned his plans for marrying Ellen? They’ve been dating off and on for years, but they still don’t seem very well suited.”

“Sometimes opposites attract.”

“True. But I don’t sense any sexual energy between them, do you?” They gazed at each other for several moments, and Samantha’s heartbeat quickened. Then Jack cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

“You’ve been watching your Sex and the City DVDs again, haven’t you?”

In fact, she had, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “This is serious. Do you know anything or not?”

“I wouldn’t break Ross’s confidence even if I did. But I assume he loves Ellen or he wouldn’t have stuck it out for so long. Two years is a long time to date someone.”

“Not necessarily. I detest you and I’m still here.”

He tweaked her nose. “You’d be lost without me, and you know it. Besides, we’re not dating.”

“Someday you’re going to meet a woman who’ll knock you off your feet. Then you’ll leave and get married.” Samantha knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, and when it did it would break her heart. She never allowed herself to question why.

Jack was too good a man not to be part of a wonderful relationship. She just hoped he found someone deserving of him—and that wouldn’t be any of the Bunny, Kitty or Fawns that currently traipsed through his bedroom.

He shook his head. “Don’t bet on it, sweetheart. I’m not interested in tying myself down. I’d rather serve time in prison. Same thing, if you ask me.”

Samantha knew exactly where her friend was coming from. After growing up in a houseful of domineering males, she had no desire to live under any man’s thumb. Men were too opinionated, too direct and some of the stuff that poured out of their collective mouths was pure idiocy, yet they considered it to be manna from heaven.

Just like you, Samantha.

Oh, all right! So maybe I’m a tad opinionated, but I’m nowhere near as bad as a man, thank God!

Marriage just wasn’t in the cards for her. Not now, not ever, as far as she was concerned. Sure, Samantha had once bought into the dream every young woman had about meeting Mr. Right, falling madly in love and living happily ever after. But at thirty-one, she had finally come to the conclusion that marriage was not her destiny.

Perhaps her unfortunate affair with Tony had soured her on love, or maybe it was just the fact the man she had secretly desired all those years ago—the one whose name she’d written over and over again on her notebooks…Mrs. Jack Turner, Samantha Turner, Samantha and Jack Turner, would never be hers.

And since she and Jack were just good friends, and since she didn’t settle, there was really no point in marrying anyone else.