When It Hooks You Read online

  “So you’ll research tiger schlongs but not the guy you’re currently going out with?”

  “Do you have a problem saying the word penis?”

  “No.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Penis. Can we get back on topic?”

  “Look, anything I need to know about Adam, he’ll tell me himself. And I’m not going out with him. We went out.”

  Lyssa huffed her displeasure at Trish’s continued denial.

  “My point is, even if there were something of value to learn about Adam on the Internet—and I highly doubt there is—what would be the point of learning it? At the very most I’ve got one more date left with the guy, so I don’t need to know anything about him. That’s the beauty of my plan.”

  Lyssa took a sip of her chai latte and regarded Trish through narrowed eyes.

  Trish slumped back in her chair, running her finger over the rim of her cappuccino mug. “Can’t you please just let me preserve my admittedly idealistic view of him?”

  Lyssa swallowed and set her cup down, reaching over to lay her hand on Trish’s knee. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I just don’t want to see my friend get hurt.”

  Trish lowered a hand to cover Lyssa’s. “I won’t. But thanks for worrying about me.”

  They went on to talk about how excited Lyssa was to finally start classes in a few weeks. She admitted to feeling a little lost without a job or school to anchor her. “Maybe after I’m fully immersed in the program at BU this will start feeling like my city, too, not only Hayden’s. Speaking of the city—what do you want to do tonight? We’ve found a few great clubs, but they’re in different parts of the city so we should probably pick just one.”

  “Maybe it’s because of the rainy weather, but I could go for a movie and take-out back at your place.”

  “On your last night here? You haven’t so much as flirted with a single Bostonian yet.”

  “I didn’t come here to flirt with Bostonians. I came to see you. We’ll save the partying for when JoAnne is with me.”

  “This is about the guy you don’t want to admit to going out with, isn’t it?”

  Trish shrugged. “Maybe a little bit. I’ll get back to dating real men eventually, but for now I want to savor the memory of dreamy Mr. Helms. He’s like a fine wine amid a sea of Mogen David.”

  Chapter 11

  THE GLASS SHOOK as an F-22 Raptor shot past. The roar of its engine held Trish in a prolonged flinch as it soared away. Situated many stories above the thousands of spectators on North Avenue Beach, Trish’s colleagues gawked through the windows of a lakeshore hotel. Every mid-August during the air and water show, River South Partners rented the banquet room to entertain clients and prospects. Adam Helms had, of course, received an invitation, but he’d sent his regrets.

  As she had for the last five years, Trish made sure the event ran smoothly, acting as the firm’s liaison with catering and hotel services. Stationed by the entry of the room to greet newcomers and keep an eye on the buffet table, Trish was free to observe the crowd. This year Cliff was particularly fun to watch.

  As a newbie at the law firm, he naturally felt pressure to maintain a professional demeanor. He was attentive to clients and quick to laugh at the jokes of senior partners. Overall, he presented a calm and cool façade in his business-casual navy blue pants and yellow and baby blue striped button-down. But Trish saw his dark eyes dart to the windows at the first rumblings of each new engine. She noticed the tensed twitch at the corners of his forced smile when Mrs. Beneficence took him away from the airborne pyramid of skydivers to hold her plate while she refilled at the buffet table. When a helicopter deftly pulled out of a vertical dive, he seemed unable to stop his hand from fisting and pumping by his side. Each new trail of exhaust fumes across the electric blue canvas pushed calm and cool Cliffy a bit more over the edge.

  When new arrivals stopped trickling in, Trish wandered over to the windows, catching him at one of the few moments when he wasn’t engaged in conversation. “How’re you holding up?” she asked.

  “I’m going to need the Tin Man’s oil to loosen this charming smile I’ve kept plastered to my face all day. Other than that, fine.”

  “Next year we should head to the beach on practice day so we can actually watch.”

  “They perform again tomorrow. Want to go?”

  Trish shook her head. “Too crowded and sweaty. But hey, I’m meeting my friend at the new beach-themed bar near my neighborhood right after today’s show. Come with me.”

  “All right. I’ve got nothing else going on.”

  “Great.” She purposely neglected to tell him that the friend was JoAnne. Trish’s evil side wanted to see her friends’ reactions when they recognized each other as a random college hookup.

  “I better get back to working the room,” Cliff said. “Find me before you leave.” He mingled his way back into the crowd. Trish lost track of him until she heard his hearty cheers from across the room when the Blue Angels sliced and diced the sky at the finale.

  After most of the guests had left, she grabbed him, and they took a short cab ride to the bar. They’d only taken a sip or two of their habanero margaritas when JoAnne and her posse burst through the front doors, bulldozing through bystanders to a space near the center of the large room. Trish waved, but JoAnne never looked her way. Instead, she swiveled in the opposite direction and headed straight to the bar. With the straps of JoJos’s tank top slightly askew, Trish could see the harsh lines of a nasty sunburn on her friend’s shoulders. It must’ve laid claim while she’d watched the airshow from the beach.

  A few minutes later, the lobsteresque party girl returned to her group, bearing glasses and a pitcher of margaritas. Trish cupped her hands around her mouth megaphone-style. “Yo! JoJo!”

  JoAnne looked up and grinned, shoving the pitcher and glasses into one of her companions’ hands. She bustled past the group, flailing her arms the whole way over. Upon arrival, she laid a wet kiss on Trish’s cheek. “I can’t believe you made it! Thought for sure you’d blow me off again.”

  “Good to know I’m not the only one Trish does that to,” Cliff said.

  JoAnne glanced toward him. Her red arms went limp on Trish’s shoulders before sliding off. She kept her eyes on Cliff, but her comments were directed to Trish. “He’s cute. Where’d you get this one?”

  “You know Cliff. He went to Iowa with us. Cliff, you remember JoAnne, don’t you?”

  He half shrugged in apology as he looked at JoAnne, not showing the slightest hint of recognition. “Our paths may have crossed. You do look vaguely familiar. What was your major?”

  “Hospitality.”

  “Nope, That can’t be how we met. I was econ and history.”

  “Weren’t you pre-law?” Trish asked.

  “Iowa doesn’t have a pre-law program. Most law schools prefer a different undergrad degree, anyhow,” Cliff explained.

  “Really?” Trish said. “You’d think working at a law firm I’d have known that.”

  “As thrilling as this conversation is,” JoAnne broke in, “I’ve got no drink in my hand and that’s a problem. Come on over with the rest of us.”

  Tired from working most of the day, Trish was reluctant to leave the comfortable ledge she leaned against. She also felt fairly certain Cliff would be disinclined to join the boisterous group. “I’m pretty sure this wall will fall down if we walk away from it,” Trish said. “You go ahead. We’ll join you in a bit.”

  “All right. But you better come over—I’m celebrating a big promotion at work.” JoAnne waggled her eyebrows.

  “Congrats! What will you be doing now?” Trish asked.

  Jo shook her head. “I’ve finally gotten a weekend off. All I’m doing is toasting work today, not talking about it. Nice to meet you, Cliff.”

  Either JoAnne truly didn’t recognize him, or she had one hell of a poker face. So did Cliff.

  “Do you really not remember her?” Trish as
ked after Jo walked away.

  “Sorry, I don’t,” he answered.

  “Excuse me a moment.” She quickly texted Lyssa.

  Are you sure Jojo and Cliff hooked up?

  While she waited for the answer, she and Cliff talked more about the fascinating requirements for law school. About ten minutes later, the answer came back.

  100%

  “Excuse me again,” she said.

  Well I’ve got them both here and they seem to have blanked on that portion of their history.

  Ask them if the booyah party rings any bells.

  “Does the booyah party ring any bells?” Trish had no idea what she was asking about.

  Cliff laughed. “Who are you texting?”

  “Lyssa. How can you remember her and not JoAnne?”

  “I can’t explain how human memory works. But tell her, yes, I remember the booyah party. I forgot she’d been there.” He laughed again.

  “I’m guessing JoAnne was, too. Now do you remember her?”

  He looked toward the group. They’d all thrown their arms over each others’ crispy shoulders and were swaying, singing along with a Jimmy Buffett song. “I’m telling you, I don’t know her.”

  “Well, you knew her. Biblically.”

  He scrunched his forehead, drawing his thick, dark eyebrows together. “Biblically?”

  “You had sex with her, Cliff.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says Lyssa.” She held up her phone.

  Cliff’s rounded cheekbones flattened as his smile fell. “No way. No way did me and that girl…no way! I’d remember her—and she’d sure as hell remember if she’d had summa this.” Grabbing Trish’s phone, he tapped on it. “I’ll straighten this out with Lyssa myself and prove it to you.”

  After he’d finished typing, he held onto the phone, jiggling keys and whatever else was in his pocket with his other hand as he waited for a response. “You girls are going to feel so foolish when your gossip comes to naught.”

  The phone sounded. He looked down at the screen, blocking Trish’s view of it. After a moment, he started tapping again. While he waited for the next response, his cockiness seemed to evaporate. The jingling of his keys sounded more desperate.

  Lyssa’s new response came in, and Cliff’s naturally light pallor blanched further as his eyes flickered over the phone. He thrust his thumb at it a couple more times. Keeping his eyes averted, he said, “Okay, yeah. I slept with her.”

  “What did Lyssa say that reminded you?”

  “You’ll never know.” He handed her the phone, and Trish looked down to see that the messages had been deleted.

  “You realize I can ask Lyssa, right?”

  “But you’re going to respect my privacy.”

  “Should we get JoAnne back here to remind her, too?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “C’mon, maybe you two can rekindle those flames.”

  “There were never flames—for either of us. If there had been, we’d have remembered each other.”

  “Maybe we can kindle them, then.”

  He arched a dubious eyebrow as he peered through the swarm of people. Jo straddled some guy’s back, holding a shot glass as far as she could over his head and dumping its contents toward his mouth but mostly onto his face. “She’s not my type,” Cliff said. “Now I’m going to not-so-subtly volley the conversation in the direction of your love life. How are things with the ‘dashing fellow’ you blew me off for? Has he used up all of his three wishes?”

  In trying to contain her smile at the mention of Adam Helms, Trish pulled her mouth tight into what was probably an even more obvious indication of her enamored state. “Not yet. As far as I know, he may not even cash in that third one.”

  “Then what’s with the smitten-kitten smile you’re trying to hide?”

  Trish let out a long sigh. “It’s true—I’m in deep smit.”

  “So you’re abandoning the three-date rule?”

  “Not at all. This guy’s even making it easy for me—the short-term, no-commitment thing works for him, too.”

  Cliff had an elbow propped on the ledge, and now he leaned back on it, peering at her with studious eyes. “Something’s wrong with him.”

  “You haven’t met him. How could you possibly make that judgment?”

  “Something would have to be wrong for him to want to cut things short with you.”

  “Very sweet to say, but I don’t need comforting words. I’m great with the situation as is.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  She rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “I hear you’ve got a tennis date with James.”

  Cliff shrugged. “He’s a cool guy. Thanks for introducing us.”

  “Guess I’m not the world’s worst matchmaker, after all.”

  “I’m secure enough in my sexuality to let that comment slide.”

  Suddenly, a mass of people surged toward them. Groans reverberated around the room. Above it all, JoAnne was perched on the same guy’s shoulders, doubled over and retching onto the floor. Her expulsions landed with squishy splattering noises, driving the crowd farther away from her.

  “Oh, that is…lovely.” Cliff groaned.

  Trish watched JoAnne’s party-mates carry her away from the mess and lower her to the ground. It would’ve been easy to let the others attend to her friend, but something in Trish couldn’t do that. “Well, it’s been fun,” she told Cliff, “but I better go babysit.”

  “I’ll help,” Cliff said.

  “Nah, I’ve got this. I don’t think she’d appreciate being aided in this state by a former lover, whether she remembers you or not.”

  “You sure?”

  “Don’t worry. She only lives a few blocks north. We’ll take a cab.”

  “At least let me flag one down for you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

  JoAnne let Trish whisk her into the bathroom to rinse her mouth and wipe off her shirt. When they walked outside, Jo didn’t seem to notice Cliff standing by the waiting taxi cab. During the ride, she was quiet, sitting slumped against the slick upholstery, her head tilted away from Trish and toward the window. The public embarrassment seemed to have sobered her.

  “It was probably from being out in the sun all day,” Trish said.

  “Yeah. The tequila shot and beer chaser while swaying on Rudy’s shoulders probably didn’t help. Oh God.” JoAnne sat straight up and pressed her forehead against the window, inhaling and exhaling slow breaths.

  Trish reached across the backseat of the cab to rub her hand soothingly up and down her friend’s spine. “We’re almost there. You can make it.”

  “Stop touching me,” JoAnne croaked. “It’s not helping.”

  Trish snapped her had back. “Okay, well, keep up the breathing, then.”

  JoAnne groaned but held all bodily fluids inside until the cab stopped. She opened her door and practically crawled to the curb, where she spewed whatever had been left in her digestive system.

  Trish paid the driver and waited until Jo’s convulsing stopped. “I assume the city has people to clean that up. Let’s get you inside.” She bent and pulled one of her friend’s arms around her shoulders to help her stand. They moved gingerly to the front of a two-story graystone. Trish pressed the doorbell.

  “They’re not home,” JoAnne said in a soft moan. She lived with five flight attendants who were rarely all in town at the same time, which made living in the small two-flat possible for six people.

  “None of them?”

  “Three are on tours of duty and two are visiting family. Or friends. I don’t know.” One of the flight attendants owned the building and gave Jo a break in the rent for being caretaker while the others traveled.

  “I’ll need your keys,” Trish said. “Mind if I go through your purse?”

  “I can do it.”

  JoJo swished her fingers in her bag and pulled out a key, handing it to Trish. Within a few minutes, they wer
e in the house, slowly making their way up the stairs to JoAnne’s bedroom.

  “What time is it?” JoAnne asked when they reached her floor.

  “Not even six.”

  “Make the sun go away.” Jo lumbered down the short hall to her bedroom.

  Trish went to the kitchen to fill a large plastic cup with water. She also grabbed a spoon and a packet of airline sugar. Next stop was the bathroom to secure two ibuprofen tablets. “It would help if the blinds were closed,” she said as she entered JoAnne’s bedroom. “Scooch over.” JoAnne wriggled out of the way while Trish walked on her knees across the mattress to get to the roller shade and pull it down. “Sit up.”

  JoAnne moaned but did as told. Trish opened the packet and dumped sugar onto the spoon and instructed her friend to swallow the crystallized mound. Then she handed her friend the pain relievers and the cup of water, ordering her to down the whole thing. “Good job. Now slide out of those pants, take off your bra, and get under the covers.”

  “That’s what he said.” JoAnne let out a small laugh.

  “Funny. Do it.”

  “Bossy much?” JoJo wiggled off her short shorts and unhooked her bra but collapsed backward onto the bed before attempting any more maneuvers.

  Trish looked around and snatched a stadium blanket from where it was draped over a wicker chair. “This will have to do.”

  As the blanket touched down, JoAnne bolted upward like a woman rising from the dead. Swinging her legs around the side of the bed, she reached through the arm openings of her tank and pulled off the bra. “I need some hair of the dog.”

  “Jo! No!”

  “Like I’m going to let you tell me what to do.” She steadied herself on her feet and brushed past Trish into the hallway, seemingly uncaring that her underpants rode all the way up on one side.

  “This is like trying to nurse an insane, rabid chicken,” Trish muttered.

  Jo was surprisingly fast in her fragile state. She had a beer out of the fridge and open before Trish had even reached the kitchen. Seconds after taking a swig, her cheeks puffed and she lunged to the sink, spitting and gagging.