When It Holds You Page 9

  “Guess things got a little carried away last time, huh?” Claire said, the hint of a shy giggle in her voice.

  “Yeah.” Cliff expected her to retract her proposition.

  “Were you serious about coming to San Diego?”

  “Were you serious about inviting me?”

  “Yes. For one night—as characters. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, so don’t worry about that. I just…the other night…I want to touch you for real, just once.”

  Cliff stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. His respect for women and relationships had grown since his college days, and he didn’t typically like the idea of one-night stands. But ever since their virtual sex, he’d fantasized about Claire constantly. He wanted this.

  “Oh, shit. Have I offended you?” she asked.

  “No, not me. I want to make sure you won’t end up feeling offended or used afterward.”

  “How could I feel used when it was my idea?”

  He smiled. “Right.” He didn’t sense any hesitation on her part and wished he could push aside his own concern that this could be a huge mistake. The rendezvous could end up ruining the friendship. He’d been having fun with PlanetClaire and didn’t want that to end.

  His little buddy to the south of his belt buckle pointed out that their video-gaming partnership was destined to end at one time or another, anyhow. So why not secure a memory to never forget before real life led one or both of them in different directions? The time to strike was now.

  “Just so you know,” Claire said, “I’ve never done anything like this before—hooked up with someone I met through gaming. I’m far from a virgin, but I’m safe about sex, and I recently had a doctor visit and everything’s good down there. You won’t catch any diseases from me.”

  “Ditto here on all counts,” Cliff said.

  “But we should still use protection.”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, good.” An uncomfortable silence followed. “You get the feeling we’re killing the mood by talking about it?”

  Cliff let out a nervous chuckle. “Definitely. So why don’t we settle the particulars now and then not speak of it again until we’re…violating each other in person.”

  She laughed. “Sounds perfect. I’ll be at FanCon Thursday through Sunday. Which night works best for you?”

  “Um, Friday, I guess.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be staying at a friend’s house that weekend, so I’ll book a room just for Friday.”

  “I’ll get the room.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. I’ll message you the room number after I check in. Should we set a time?”

  “Sure. Nine o’clock Pacific time?”

  “It’s a…well, not a date, but a…tryst?”

  “I don’t care what you call it. But one more thing—I was serious about the masks. We should both wear one, to keep it removed from reality.”

  “I love that idea. Should we coordinate costumes?”

  “No. Be whoever you want.”

  They disconnected, and during their online adventures over the next few weeks, they stayed true to their pact to not speak of the impending rendezvous. Cliff booked a room at the hotel where FanCon was being held. He decided not to bother with tickets to the event itself. Fighting mobs of people crowding the most popular exhibits and waiting in line for celebrity meet-and-greets weren’t his idea of fun. He much preferred the kind of private cosplay he and Claire planned on having. Plus, this way he wouldn’t risk running into her afterward at the conference. She was staunch in the one-night-only rule.

  Before booking plane tickets, he got in touch with his college buddy Zach, who lived in Southern California. The two of them had reconnected via social networks after running into each other in Saint Lucia.

  How close are you to San Diego?

  I’m in La Jolla, only 15 minutes away.

  Awesome. I’ll be in San Diego on business in a couple of weeks. Thinking of staying over Saturday night.

  Dude. You should. Give me the date and I’ll make sure I’m around. You can stay at my place.

  Having plans with his friend made Cliff feel less pathetic than he would if he were to fly across the country solely for the sure thing with Claire. He’d arrive in California on Friday, have his fantasy fuck, then check out of the hotel the next morning and hang with his college buddy. It was simple. It was beautiful.

  Once Cliff stopped second-guessing himself about the meet-up, he tackled the question of what to wear. His initial idea was to put together a costume like Loinerd’s in the Castleabra universe. Rifling through his closet, he pulled out a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved polyester crew with a slight sheen to it. Over that he tried on his dark fleece vest with silver zippers. Damn, I look good in black, he thought, nodding in approval. He’d need to craft holsters for all Loinerd’s weapons.

  For inspiration, he pulled up a screenshot of his character and set his laptop on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of the wide mirror. Flicking his gaze between the image and his reflection, he stood straighter and sucked in his gut. Loinerd’s waist was still several inches slimmer. Cliff strained his abs inward, huffing out air, and flexed his biceps. He could stuff his sleeves to mimic his character’s muscle, but to what purpose? The stuffing would only fall out once he and Claire stripped down. Without the aid of CGI, he’d never pull off Loinerd.

  But he’d seen plenty of pictures and videos of conference cosplay—it wasn’t like anyone was an exact replica of the characters they’d tried to recreate. Cliff certainly didn’t expect Claire to show up in the unrealistic body proportions of her avatar. Still, he’d rather portray someone who didn’t highlight how woefully short he fell. Besides, Loinerd didn’t wear a mask.

  “Give me a list of masked fictional characters with dad bods,” Cliff said to his friend James the next day as they stretched inside the court in preparation for their monthly racquetball game.

  “Why?”

  “Kinky hookup with a rando I met on the Internet.” James was the kind of guy Cliff could say stuff like that to without risking judgment or a lecture. “She insists on masks.”

  One side of James’s wide mouth lifted in an approving smirk. “You don’t have a dad bod.”

  “I don’t have your V-cut, either. I want to make a good first impression on her when she walks into the room, and I don’t think Spandex is going to help me do that.”

  They both stood straight, and James lobbed the ball off the front wall. They always played a couple of practice rounds first. The small ball popped off the walls and their rackets in a lengthy rally before bouncing twice on the floor.

  As Cliff trotted to the ball to scoop it up, James said, “What about one of those yellow guys, the ones who look like little Tic Tacs with masks and overalls.”

  “Minions?” Cliff thwapped a high serve that rebounded against a side wall.

  “Yeah,” James grunted, backhanding the return.

  Cliff watched the ball zing, anticipating where it would go next and jumped forward. “Those aren’t masks. They’re goggles.” A bright flash raced through his mind. He saw himself wearing a glaring yellow sweat suit stuffed with pillows. Beneath a cinched hood, he imagined his face covered by oversized, round glasses. He smacked the ball to the floor before it hit the wall.

  James smiled and shrugged, snatching the ball. “Women always say they want a man who can make ’em laugh, right?”

  Cliff pictured Claire, all libidinous and ready to go, walking in to see the lemon-colored monstrosity. He’d make her laugh, all right.

  “You could talk dirty to her in their squeaky little voices,” James suggested.

  “You’re no help at all. Ready to play for real?”

  “Serve it up, Mr. Hookup.” They played through the rally, with Cliff scoring the point. After he served again, James took his voice up a few octaves and spoke like he’d just inhaled a gulp of helium. “Oh, baby, yeah. That’s how I like it.”

  Clif
f tried to ignore him as they continued knocking the ball around the court.

  “I’m gonna pierce your sweet, hot loins with my tiny yellow man sword,” James’s cartoon voice continued. “And then I’ll pull out and spray my candy-flavored love juice all over you.”

  Cliff knocked a kill shot low on the front wall, but from his scowl and James’s laugh, it seemed his opponent didn’t mind giving up the point. “Your voice is going to get stuck like that if you don’t stop.”

  “Chill, man. Just having some fun with you.” James was back to his normal pitch.

  “Yeah, well, I guess I’ll just scan the web for ready-made costumes. I don’t have time to make my own, anyhow. I’m putting the finishing touches on my pro-bono project this week.” They continued their game with less talk and more action. At the end of it, as they toweled off, Cliff asked, “You seen Trish lately?” She’d been the one to introduce Cliff and James.

  “I have. Have you?” James raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly forward.

  “So, she has told you about our fight.” It was the first time since they’d stopped talking that Cliff had broached the subject with their mutual friend.

  “I knew there had to be a reason you’ve only been wanting to play at your gym and not mine, so I asked if she had any thoughts on why.” James was a member at the same gym as Trish, and Cliff had wanted to avoid an accidental run-in with her.

  “What’d she say?”

  James wagged his head back and forth. “Your confidences are safe with me, and so are hers.”

  Cliff nodded. “Fair enough.”

  At home, Cliff Googled some key terms and decided on the perfect costume. Taking a well-tread path paved with dozens of Internet links, he assembled a simple disguise that met all his requirements: black, loose-fitting, and most importantly, included a mask. He would be the Dread Pirate Roberts.

  Two days before he left for California, Cliff met with the people from Rock This Town. The timing of his trip was perfect—he’d earned a weekend getaway after the job’s successful completion. This time Chelsea, Jackson, and Patty came to the River South offices. They sat around a long table in one of the conference rooms with Cliff and Karen.

  Patty’s flyaway hair was tamed and pulled back into a loose bun. She wore a light dusting of makeup and a blazer with a matching skirt that pulled tight across her wide hips. All she needs is a pair of reading glasses and she’d be the perfect naughty librarian. Cliff shook his mind back into focus. He’d save the cosplay for San Diego. But that didn’t stop him from wondering…with the project officially over, would it be okay to ask Patty out when he got back into town? Though he realized there was a difference between okay and wise.

  “I have some potentially exciting news,” Patty said, sliding her light eyes from Karen to Cliff, where they lingered. “I’ve been approached by an investor with deep pockets and a heart for philanthropy. He said he’s keeping an eye on Rock This Town and wants to consider taking the program national.”

  “Patty, that’s phenomenal!” Karen cheered.

  Patty nodded and tore her eyes from Cliff’s to direct her focus at her friend. “It’s very preliminary. I’d need to learn a lot more about this guy, and he’s not even close to making a commitment yet, but yeah, if he were to get involved—on our terms—it would be pretty flipping phenomenal.”

  “Definitely keep us posted.” Cliff said, finding it adorable that she’d avoided cursing.

  Karen added, “We can help you with the legal arrangements.”

  “And maybe we can actually pay for your services this time.” Patty glanced back at Cliff, giving him a warm, appreciative smile. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  The five of them stood and said their goodbyes. Cliff walked the Rock This Town contingent to the lobby. When he returned to the corporate wing, Karen was waiting for him.

  “My office, Walsh.” He followed her down the hall and into her office. She shut the door behind them. “Just want to reaffirm my earlier warning about getting involved with Patty. Too bad, too, because I can see she’s smitten. It’s nice to see her falling for one of the good guys for a change, but there are other things to consider.” She gave him a hard look, and one corner of her mouth twitched, as if she was fighting a smile.

  “The potential investor?”

  “Ding, ding, ding! If this happens, significant legal counsel will be required. Because of your previous involvement and your excellent work on the project, there’s a very good chance you’d get the assignment. It’d take you from small potatoes to high profile.”

  Cliff broke into a wide grin. “With your endorsement?”

  “Of course with my endorsement. But I absolutely could not do that if I knew of the existence of any kind of conflict of interest. Understood?”

  “Absolutely.” He resisted the urge to give her a salute. She hated cheeky gestures like that.

  “Okay, that’s all. You better get back to work. I’ll need the Smithson records before you take off for the weekend.” As he passed into the hallway, she called, “If this investor falls through, you’ll have my blessings to pursue Patty—but not a second before, got it?”

  This time, he did salute.

  “Shut the door, Walsh,” she griped.

  It was a bummer that he’d have to suppress his spark with Patricia Lelen, but he hadn’t sweat his way through law school and worked his ass off at River South just to ruin his chances at a potential national opportunity. There were plenty of other women out there to get in trouble with—like PlanetClaire, for example.

  Chapter 11

  CLIFF ARRIVED AT THE HOTEL in San Diego with a few hours to kill before Claire would arrive at his room. After changing into a pair of long shorts and a T-shirt, he went downstairs and out the back of the hotel. A walkway lined with spindly palm trees led to the aquamarine bay. To the left was the pool. The clear, sixty-degree day felt miraculous compared to the frigid ice he’d left behind in Chicago, but it didn’t quite beckon him to swim.

  Instead, he stepped across the pool deck into the hotel coffee shop. As he waited for the barista to prepare his iced black tea, he took a look around. The sleek, organic lines of the place reminded him of Trish’s shop. Three months had gone by since their fight, and he missed his late-afternoon visits to her coffeehouse.

  He accepted his drink and walked out to the promenade along the bay, where he soaked in the sinking solar rays and enjoyed the happy chatter of his fellow saunterers. Despite the eye candy laid out before him, his mind stayed on Trish, remembering how she’d hoped sleeping with Cliff would kill her longing for Adam. He wondered if he was trying to do the same thing with Claire—would their sexytime tonight wash away the final remnants of his pining for Trish? If it did, could the two of them be friends again?

  His thoughts turned to Patty. She was as unattainable as Trish, though for different reasons. Even PlanetClaire was only obtainable for one night. Tomorrow she’d also move to the “only in your dreams” category. Not one of these women had ever been a viable option for him. He took a long sip of his tea. Its chill warmed only slightly as it slid over his tongue and down his throat.

  Cliff wasn’t the kind of guy to put up walls in relationships. He never had been. Now he wondered if that was why his subconscious always put him in the direction of women who came with their own impenetrable barriers. Perhaps it was an evil trick of the universe to make sure Clifford Walsh remained perpetually single. He knew staying free of outside commitments would give him more time to focus on his budding law career, but dammit, by this time in his life, he’d always hoped to be sharing his success with someone else.

  And maybe that’s the problem, he realized as the first slice of the blazing orange sun touched the horizon. Guys aren’t supposed to want relationships. More than one former girlfriend had been freaked out by him getting too serious too fast. Deep down, women didn’t want sensitive guys. He noticed how voraciously th
ey gobbled up Cro-Magnon alpha-male heroes in romance novels. It seemed a logical conclusion that women wanted jerks. Bad boys. Cliff knew it was too late to change who he was, and he didn’t want to, but for one night—this night—he’d try on a little bad boy along with his costume.

  Back in the hotel room, he buttoned the wrist of his loose black pirate shirt. He’d left two buttons undone at the collar showing a tuft of his dark, thick chest hair. Next, he wrapped a silky sash around his waist, pulling it tight. Puffing out his chest and sucking in his gut, he smiled at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The Dread Pirate Roberts was a much better fit than Loinerd for his toned but not entirely buff physique. Besides, alpha-male bad boys didn’t worry about their waistlines. They always thought they looked awesome.

  Taking a sip of his scotch and swirling it in his mouth before gulping it down, he swayed his hips to the smooth, sexy purr of the soft jazz music playing in the background. “Mr. Roberts, you are a fine-looking specimen.” He practiced a cocky, lazy grin.

  As he wrapped a solid black bandana over his head, he continued swaying and sipping, boosting his liquid confidence. When a knock sounded at the door, he grabbed the eye mask from the bathroom counter and switched off the light. In the main room, only a dim desk lamp was lit. The rest of the room was illuminated by the flickering of a dozen pillar candles set all around. With privacy curtains drawn tight over the mirror-like, black windows, he was reminded of Claire’s cozy hideaway.

  Peeking through the peephole, he spied a woman wearing a black, lacy mask that covered her cheekbones and spanned to the top of her forehead. Her wavy, long hair was a deep, rich red, just like PlanetClaire’s.

  Cliff pulled his simple mask over his eyes and opened the door. “Welcome to my lair,” he said, rolling a hand to gesture her in.

  She licked her glossy, cherry-red lips and stepped inside. Cliff shut the door and turned fully toward her. A long, satiny cape was tied at her throat and hung around her, covering her body all the way down to just above the spiked heels of her boots.