the right kind of love. Maybe he’s not the one.”
“Of course he is.” She frowned. Of course Tony was the one. He had to be. She already had a life with him, a whole family who loved her.
“Well, you’d know,” Ronnie said. “I just don’t want you to let something special get away.”
“That would be Tony, and you don’t have to worry.” She held up her hand, preventing Ronnie from saying anything else. “Look, I’m not denying that I had some pretty hot thoughts about Shane. But it makes total sense. I’m depressed he’s moving back to Texas, and this is just my weird way of reacting to that. I don’t really want to sleep with him.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Ronnie said, but she’d edged back into her professorial voice, and Ella knew her friend was only humoring her. So much for girl talk. She should have just kept her mouth shut.
“Look,” Ronnie finally said, “for the sake of argument, let’s pretend you do want to sleep with him. Who’s to say that very situation doesn’t apply to him? Maybe he’s desperate to sleep with you, but he’s just as determined not to do anything about it.”
“Oh, please.” The idea was absurd. Never once had Ella picked up any clue from Shane, and they’d even shared a bed in the past. They were friends. True boy-girl friends. A relatively rare combination but not impossible.
“‘Oh, please,’ nothing,” Ronnie countered. “You’ll never know unless you try. So why not rush home, get him naked and have your wicked way with him?”
Ella fought the urge to bang her head against the table. Damn, but Ronnie was persistent. “One word—Tony.”
She realized her mistake the second she said it, and Ronnie realized it, too. A slow smile spread across her face. “So you’re not saying you wouldn’t want to go for it—it’s just that Tony’s standing in your way.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. No way. All right, maybe I’m a teensy bit curious about what it would be like to sleep with Shane—I mean, that makes sense, right? Me, girl. Him, boy. But I’m not about to go through with it.”
“So we’re right back at my question. Why not?”
“Because I couldn’t stand my life if Shane wasn’t part of it. And because I’m afraid of driving some sort of wedge between us. I mean, I saw When Harry Met Sally.”
“So, instead of turning all Billy Crystal, you talk it out. Work through the whole thing. You guys are too close for something like sex to come between you. Even if it doesn’t ultimately work out, all it will do is add an extra spin on your relationship. After all, you’re both grown-ups, right?”
Were they? Sometimes Ella wasn’t so sure. They’d pulled some pretty crazy, adolescent stunts in the past. Anyway, it was a moot point. Ronnie might believe in different spins, but Ella was afraid she’d be spun right out of Shane’s life, centrifugal force shooting him fifteen hundred miles away, where it would be all too easy to forget to call and—frequent-flier miles notwithstanding—he’d be able to find all sorts of excuses not to travel between the states.
No, sex with Shane was a fantasy. Something that had popped in her head on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. And that’s exactly where it should stay. In her head.
Out of sight. Out of mind. And absolutely, positively, out of her bed.
AS SATURDAYS WENT, THIS one was supremely unproductive. And to make it even worse, Ella couldn’t rush straight home, take a hot bath and hide from her troubles under five or six episodes of Sex and the City on DVD.
No, going home meant seeing Shane, and in her current frame of mind, she was afraid she might jump him or drool on him or do something equally stupid like tell him about the fantasy in the library. She desperately wanted to spend more time with him before he headed back to Houston, but right now wasn’t the moment.
And so she did what every reasonable, intelligent, modern woman with a little time on her hands would do: she went shopping.
That was her favorite part about living in New York, actually. She could spend an entire day shopping and not spend any more than it cost to get a street pretzel and a Diet Coke.
She started by taking the subway to Fifty-ninth near the Plaza, then walking the length of Fifth Avenue, peering through the windows at all the fabulous bags and shoes. Things she wouldn’t buy even if she had the money (twelve hundred dollars for a purse?) but were still fun to look at.
At about three o’clock, her cell phone rang. She checked caller ID, and when she saw Shane Mobile, a whole flock of butterflies seemed to take residence in her stomach. Great. Now not only was she in lust with her best friend, she was completely befuddled in his presence. Even his cellular presence.
She snapped open the phone. “Hey!” It sounded perky, cheery and not the least bit horny. One point for her team.
“Hey, yourself.” The smile in his voice came over the phone lines loud and clear. “I’ve got your cabinets sanded and stained. They’re drying on the fire escape, and they should probably stay there overnight.”
“You’re a saint, you know that, right?”
“That’s me. Saint Walker.” A pause, then he said, “So what time are you getting home? We could paint the bathroom together. I’ve got it masked off.”
“Oh.” She pictured the clothes she’d worn when they’d painted three of the walls two nights ago—a pair of cutoffs so short, she never wore them in public and a flimsy men’s undershirt with the sleeves cut off. In the close quarters of her unventilated bathroom, the shirt would be sticking to her in no time, the shorts rubbing her in all sorts of provocative ways. And Shane would be right there, shirtless with a sheen of sweat, wearing those paint-splattered denim shorts that hugged his ass and—
“No.”
“What?” He sounded confused. Well, no wonder.
“Sorry. I’m just a little stressed. This paper isn’t going well. I was kind of thinking I’d stay at the library until late. Could I…I mean, could we take a rain check?”
“Sure thing, El.” The silence on the phone dragged on, and then he cleared his throat. “Um, El?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not avoiding me, are you?”
Good Lord, was she that transparent? “Of course not. Why on earth would you say that? That’s just ridiculous!” She closed her eyes, certain he could tell she was lying.
“Sorry. I just thought…well, I know you’re mad at me for moving back and—”
“Oh, is that all?” She exhaled with relief, thrilled he was just worried about her temper and not her newfound lust. “Yes, I was mad, but I’m more sad. And I wouldn’t sulk and let you leave without seeing you. That would be punishing both of us. But I have to finish this project. I’m down to the wire. Really.”
“Right,” he said. “Of course. So, I guess I’ll just head home now and get caught up on packing. How about we meet for breakfast tomorrow and then finish the job?”
Tomorrow.
