not above the sexual fray. Maybe he could fool his readers, his clients, the Rhondas of the world, but he couldn’t fool Kathleen. She knew him. That way.
For some reason, JJ’s words came to her: So sleep with him. Show him the error of his ways. No. Absolutely not. Sex was a beautiful physical connection between two caring people, dammit. It should never be an act of revenge or anger.
Besides, how could she sleep with a guy she wanted to deck?
No, she would talk to him. Gently explain in her most sensible voice what a wrongheaded, self-centered dick he was.
4
THEY’D BARELY checked in to the hotel in Chicago, when someone banged on Dan’s door. He had a whole hour before dinner with Kathleen and Rhonda, and he needed every second to recoup, relax, meditate and do some writing.
Through the peephole, he saw it was Rhonda. Better than Kathleen, at least, who’d been oddly irritable all day—in the car to the airport, on the plane and at the book-signing, shooting him angry glances and eye rolls and delivering unnecessary jabs about his work. He expected their after-dinner media training to be similarly unpleasant.
What the hell had happened overnight? He’d thought they’d had a nice closure moment, agreeing that they were both better off after the affair. She’d given him an odd look with a spark of resentment, and she’d waved away his good-night kiss as though he had bad breath. Maybe he’d sounded smug. He tended to do that when he was self-conscious. And around Kathleen, he was nothing but self-conscious.
Maybe she’d slept poorly on the hotel bed, even with the extra padding Rhonda had arranged for her. She was the princess and the pea when it came to beds. He knew that from college.
Meanwhile, here was Rhonda. On the plane she’d asked his advice for a “friend who might be seeing an old boyfriend.” Evidently, Rhonda had an ex in Chicago.
With a sigh, he opened the door and Rhonda breezed in, looking earnest and upset, holding a foam cup, a bakery sack and a small tin box. “Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
“I hope you can help me.” She handed him the cup. “It’s a chamomile-lemon blend. Not your favorite, but variety is good, too, right? No, wait, that’s Kathleen with the variety stuff. You’re with ritual and habit.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Taste it before you thank me.”
He took a sip, feeling her eyes on him. The tea had a medicinal lemon and herb flavor. “I like it.”
“Great. Here’s more.” She handed him the tin, then swept past him to fling open his curtains, washing the room in late-afternoon light. She sank into a chair at the table under the window and dug into the pastry bag for two large muffins, extending one to him. “They’re healthy, don’t worry. Bran and oatmeal.” She took a huge bite of her muffin. “I only eat when I’m anxious.”
Dan put the tea tin and the cup she’d brought him on the table and sat across from her.
“Dry as dust.” She made a face, then glanced at his tea. “Mind if I make myself some tea?”
“No, no. Make yourself at home.”
She busied herself at the refreshment area and, while the water percolated through, talked about room service and how stale the in-room tea usually was. “Practically fossilized. I use raw sugar in mine. Sure you don’t want some more?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“I always add cream. It cancels the tannic acid, which can be a carcinogen. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“It’s in Kathleen’s book. Kathleen knows so many fascinating things.” She returned and sat, dunking her tea bag methodically in the mug while she talked. “So, anyway, what I wanted to talk about… Aren’t you going to eat your muffin?”
“I’d rather wait for dinner.” He rarely ate between meals, preferring a gentle hunger that made him appreciate each bite of food.
“I wish I had more self-control. I’m weak with food and love.” She sighed. “I have to tell you that the friend with issues is really me.”
“I kind of got that idea.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I’m obvious, huh?” She tucked her hair behind both ears and folded her arms across her body, holding in both anxiety and excitement, he could tell. “Anyway, the guy’s name is Dylan and he lives in Chicago. I did, too, two years ago. We were in love. At least I thought we were. But then Dylan started disappearing on me.”
She gulped more tea, ate more muffin and kept talking. “He claimed he was just out with his friends, but then he got a message on his answering machine from a woman.”
“And you overheard it?”
She blushed. “I figured out his check-messages code, so I’d been anticipating a problem. You know, to brace myself? Checking now and then. Well, every day. Sometimes twice.”
He just looked at her.
“I know. Unhealthy sign, but my instincts were dead-on. There was a woman. I confronted Dylan, but he said I was trying to put him on a choke chain like a dog. I told him he was a dog—a bad, bad dog—but he said I should enjoy the time we had, we only have the present moment and other existential blah-blah.”
“So, what did you do after that?”
“I couldn’t hack it. Smelling another woman’s perfume in his place or finding a forgotten hair band on the sink just brutalized me. So I broke up with him. There was this amazing job in New York, so I went.”
“So, you made a decision to take care of yourself.”
“What else could I do? I was miserable, eating my roommates out of house and home. I would tell them to hide the good stuff, but I’d hunt it down and eat it anyway. Totally out of control.” She finished her muffin, then glanced at his.
“Help yourself,” he said.
“If you’re sure.”
He nodded. “So, you moved on…” he prodded her.
“Yes. To New York. And that’s been awesome. I love my job. I have friends. And I’m dating this guy Mark. He’s not exactly my type, but he’s always buying me gifts and flowers. And he listens to me. Dylan never listened. I think Mark wants to get serious. Which is all good…” She made another face. “This muffin is even drier than mine.” She tossed it into the trash basket.
“Mind if I check out your minibar?” she asked.
“By all means. Like you said, that’s what it’s there for.”
She shuffled through the contents of the small refrigerator and emerged with a packet of Lorna Doone cookies and a bag of Raisinettes. How did she keep her weight under control? Maybe she didn’t do anxious eating often.
She
