Chapter 42

42

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date...

-Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare

Lena

The ball slams into the middle pins and all the pins topple over. "Strike!" I fist pump and do a little dance. I turn to find JJ watching me with a strange look on his face. Isaac is sprawled out on the bench near the control panel where we'd earlier keyed in our names. I booked us into a bowling alley not far from the office. It didn't take much to persuade Isaac to join us. Probably because Isaac's a decent bowler, or so he's told me. As am I. JJ, on the other hand, seems to be floundering. He's dressed in bowling shoes, worn jeans, and a black T-shirt that stretches across his chest. He runs his fingers through his hair and his biceps bulge. It's the first time I've seen him dressed in something other than his suits, and whoa, it takes his appeal to an entirely different level. He was already the sexiest man I've ever set my eyes on, but with his hair mussed up, and that perpetual scowl on his face, now tinged with frustration, he looks younger. Fiercer. Even more determined, if that's possible. My belly clenches. A pulse flares to life between my legs. It doesn't matter what he's wearing; my body clearly digs him.

"Your turn." I stab my thumb over my shoulder, then walk over to grab my beer from the table next to the panel.

JJ rolls his shoulders. He stares down the bowling lane at the new set of pins which have been replaced at the end.

I take a deep pull from my beer bottle, follow him as he walks over to pick up the ball. He turns to the lane, then hesitates. He lets the ball dangle from his fingers as he focuses on the pins. The seconds stretch. A beat. Another.

I sit down on the bench next to Isaac, keeping enough distance between us that we don't touch. "I'm glad you could make it," I murmur, my gaze fixed on JJ.

His shoulders stretch his T-shirt, which molds to the planes on his back. From this viewpoint, the way his torso tapers in at the waist then meets that tight butt of his is pure eye-porn. His jeans cling to his powerful thighs and damn, there's something about how he fills out a pair of jeans. I've always been a sucker for a man who wears his jeans like he was born in them, and considering how much I love JJ in suits, I thought he'd converted me, but JJ in jeans is… A whole new level in debauchery.

"—Lena, you listening to me?"

"Eh?" I whip my head around to find Isaac is scowling at me. His lips turn down in an expression I remember from all the times we fought. His jaw is tight, and a pulse throbs at his temple. He glances to where his father leans forward, his knees bent. His fingers hooked in the ball as he lowers it to his side.

"I'm going to win you back, Lena, I'm not letting you go without a fight."

"Isaac." I turn to him. "Please don't do this. Don't make this situation worse than it already is."

"I'm making the situation worse? You're the one who cheated on me."

"I—" I flinch, then lower my chin to my chest. "You're right. I shouldn't have acted on my impulses?—"

"I don't blame you. I'll bet he didn't make it easy for you. Bet he manipulated things so you had no choice but to constantly see him twenty-four-seven in his office, on the way to work, after work. And I wasn't around, Lena. I know I should have spent more time with you and made sure you were settling in. I left you in a strange place on your own and went off."

"You were working on your art, Isaac."

"Art." He blows out a breath. "I've used it as a crutch, as a way to channel all of my frustrations and my sorrows. I've used it as an excuse for too long."

Well, great, now he comes to his senses, when it's too late.

"Isaac, I?—"

"You don't need to apologize. You don't need to say anything. I don't blame you. I really don't."

"You should, Isaac. I was as much at fault as JJ. We both wanted each other… We still want each other." I force out the words through the ball of emotion that clogs my throat. I have to say it. I have to be upfront. No more hiding. No more pretending the connection between JJ and me doesn't exist. It's why I called Isaac here today, didn't I? So I could be truthful with him.

Isaac's shoulders tense. He squeezes his fingers around his beer bottle with enough force that the skin across his knuckles stretches white.

"I'm still not giving up on you, on us, Lena."

"Isaac, please, you?—"

There's a crash as pins tumble over. Isaac and I turn to find JJ raise his fist in his version of a fist pump. In other words, it's a restrained, leashed gesture that has his biceps bulging. The muscles of his body are coiled. Excitement vibrates off of him. He spins around and his blazing dark eyes meet mine. "Strike."

"It's not possible. Not possible." I survey the scoreboard. JJ leads with 120 points. Isaac is on his heels with 100, and me? I'm at 80—I blame it on being distracted by the sight of JJ's butt. Of course, he's fit and I've seen his ass without clothes and felt how firm and unyielding it is. But seeing it clad in jeans is an entirely new level of eyegasm, honestly.

I lean forward on the bench with my arms balanced on my knees. "You lied to me," I say through gritted teeth.

"I've never lied to you," JJ says in a voice that drips with sincerity.

Oh no, I'm not falling for that.

"You said you weren't good at bowling."

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"Nope. I didn't."

"There you go, lying again. Can you even hear yourself?" I scowl without taking my gaze off Isaac. Feet apart, stance relaxed, knees bent slightly, he's holding the ball at waist length with his non-bowling hand supporting it from the bottom.

"I said I wasn't sure it was a good idea," JJ drawls.

"You implied you weren't good at bowling."

"That's what you took the implied meaning to be."

"You could have corrected me. You could have told me you were a bowling monster."

"I have news for you," he murmurs.

Just then, Isaac moves forward until he reaches the foul line and releases the ball. It rolls down the lane, curves midway, and hurtles dead center toward the middle of the pin set. All ten pins topple over.

"Yes!" He punches the air, pivots, and does a little victory dance. He walks over to hold his palm out to me. If he thinks I'm going to high five him, he's mistaken.

"You could have told me," I glower at him.

He lowers his arm, a look of confusion on his face. "Told you what?"

"That you and your dad are like The Big Lebowski? "

"The Big what?" Isaac asks.

" The Big Lebowski . The movie with Jeff Bridges in which he's mistaken for a millionaire by the same name and enlists his bowling buddies for help in tracking down the millionaire's missing wife?" JJ supplies helpfully.

I jerk my head in his direction.

"If you think you can get into my good graces by repeating the IMDB synopsis of The Big Lebowski, you're sadly mistaken," I spit out.

"Just trying to help," JJ murmurs.

"Well, don't." I snap at the same time Isaac's frown deepens.

"IMDB? What's that?"

JJ opens his mouth to answer, and I shoot my hand up in the air. "Don't even bother." I jump to my feet, turn, and walk away.

"Where are you going?" JJ calls out.

"Lena, the game's not over." Isaac's voice reaches me.

"It's over as far as I'm concerned."

"Wait, let me call the driver." I hear footsteps approach, knowing it's JJ.

"Don't." I glare at him over my shoulder. "I need some time alone, okay?"

"But—" JJ frowns.

"Hey, let me come with you." Isaac draws abreast.

"No way. I don't want anything to do with either of you right now."

The men exchange glances.

Isaac turns to me. "What did I do?"

"For one thing, you didn't tell me that your father's practically a professional bowler."

"You didn't ask.

"All along, the two of you were laughing at me, no doubt. Was it funny watching my pathetic attempts at bowling when the two of you are clearly such experts at it?"

"It's one of the few activities we did together growing up," Isaac admits. "This and cricket. He" —he jerks his chin in JJ's direction— "was insistent I learn how to play it."

"Not that it did much good," JJ mutters.

"Yeah, well, cricket's a boring game. I much preferred bowling."

"That's because you lot prefer a game which is all brawn. Cricket is much more strategic: so much of it is played in the mind."

"B-o-r-i-n-g," Isaac sings out.

"Whatever. I'll see the two of you back at JJ's place." I half turn, then turn and scowl at both men. "And don't either of you dare follow me."

"I'm so glad you called and came over." Summer West slides a massive glass—or is that a bowl? —of frozen margarita across the counter. We're in her kitchen at the townhouse she shares with her husband Sinclair Sterling. Her hair flows around her shoulders. Slivers of pink stand out among the dark strands. She's wearing a long flowery skirt, a peasant top and ballet pumps. At her feet, Max their dog, pants happily. She raises her glass and clinks it with mine. "Salut."

"Cheers." I take a sip of the frozen liquid. The icy, sweet flavor of strawberries almost masks the tang of the tequila, refreshing as it imparts the warmth I seek. "Yum." I lick my lips, take another sip, then pause. "Should you be—" I jerk my chin toward her barely visibly bump.

"Oh, mine is sans alcohol. Besides, I make these only when I need a brain freeze."

"Clearly you overcompensated for that by dumping your share of tequila into my drink, I take it?"

She giggles. "I might have. Do you mind?"

"Nope, I need it. Also," —I lower my eyebrows over my nose— "a brain freeze?"

She nods. "When I need my brain to stop thinking and want my thoughts to just retreat for a bit. Know what I mean?"

I nod.

"So…" She pulls out a treat from the packet next to her and holds it out to Max. He reaches up, grabs it, then begins to chew it. "Tell me what's bothering you." She turns to face me.

"How do you know something's bothering me?"

She tilts her head, a knowing look on her face. Yeah, okay. Woman's too astute to be taken in by my protests to the contrary.

I take a gulp of the margarita, then cup my fingers around the freezing glass surface. "I, uh… I'm in a bit of a pickle, as you Brits would say."

"Hmm." She plucks the strawberry from the rim and chews on it. "A love pickle, I take it?"

I nod.

"It's JJ, isn't it?"

I lower my chin to my chest.

"The first time I went to meet Sinclair, I was pitching the services of my agency to his company. Turned out I liked him, and not at the opposite side of the table. I'll spare you the details, but suffice to say, I kicked his legs out from under him during our first meeting."

"What?" I choke on the next sip of my drink.

Summer leans over and slaps my back. "Let me back up. That meeting wasn't actually the first time I met him. And the first time didn't exactly go well. Imagine my surprise when I turned up at the presentation to find he was the man I needed to convince to hire my company. And I needed that contract."

"Did you get it?"

"And the man." Her lips kick up. "After, uh, some manipulating on his side, and a whole lot of resistance on my side."

"At least he wasn't your boss," I murmur.

"In a way he was. JJ's the CEO of the company. So what? Is there a clause against dating in your contract?"

"Don't think so, but it doesn't feel right." I wriggle around, trying to get more comfortable.

"Is he abusing his power by sleeping with you? Is that what you're worried about?"

"I would be, except that's not the only complication."

"Oh?" Summer's eyes gleam. "There's more?"

I lower my chin to my chest. Do I dare say it? I have to say it. Best to get it off my chest, and to someone who doesn't know me that well. From what I know of Summer, she's chill, so I don't think she's going to get all riled up or judge me. As for my family? They're not the kind to pass judgment, but they've met Isaac. How am I supposed to tell them I'm sleeping with his father? I'm going to have to tell them the status of our relationship at some point. Just not yet.

"There's more." I square my shoulders, then meet her eyes. "I was his son's girlfriend before I slept with him."