“Ennnhh! Don’t think so! Get a room, you two. After the workout.”
Ashley scowled. Victor regretfully straightened. “As I was saying, I wanted to thank you for waiting. I see you’ve met Derik.”
“The man you’ll love to loathe,” Derik added cheerfully.
“He said hello, yes,” Ashley said. “Then he plagiarized a movie and promised to be a pest.”
“In thirty seconds? That sounds about right.”
“It was more like a full minute,” Derik grumbled.
“Anyway,” Vic continued, “I appreciate you being a good sport. I knew I’d need to work out after meeting with—”
“Crys-dull,” Derik said. He winked at Ashley. “Love that, by the way. If you think of any more nicknames for La Cold Fish, let me know.”
“If my heart didn’t belong to Victor,” she teased, “I’d give it to you right now.”
“Of course you would. The enemy of your enemy, and all that.”
“Anyway…” Victor tried to sound irritated, but failed miserably. They were getting along great, as he’d hoped they would. Does her heart really belong to me? Jesus, if only. “Anyway…uh…what the hell was I saying?”
“Who was listening?” Derik asked.
“You knew you’d need to work out after meeting with La Cold Fish,” Ashley prompted.
He frowned, which fooled no one, and continued. “Right. And since Derik went to the trouble of reserving the floor…”
“Victor, will you stop with the explaining? It’s no big deal.”
“I appreciate that, but…”
“Sitting around a dojo all afternoon,” Derik interrupted, “isn’t most people’s idea of a good time, is what he’s saying.”
“Who cares? We’ve got the whole rest of the day.”
“And the day after that,” Vic promised, giving her a rich, slow smile. She looked down, but not before he saw her start to smile back.
“Ahem! Ya want I should leave the room, boss?”
“You’re as subtle as a runaway freight train, Derik. Ash, he and I will do a quick kata, then we’ll work out together, and then you and I can go do whatever you want, okay? Be less than an hour.”
She waved a hand casually. “Sure, I don’t care. I’ve got a book to read. Only try not to kill yourselves, okay?” She said it lightly, but a half an hour later she had to wonder if they really were out to do each other serious harm.
Derik, for all his light-hearted teasing, was serious trouble on the gym floor. Big as he was, he moved like a cat. She wouldn’t have believed any man could give Victor a run for his money, but Derik was certainly trying. Both men were sheened with sweat but their breathing was controlled, almost light.
“You’re not pulling that leg back quick enough, Vic.”
“That occurred to me,” Vic said dryly, “when you practically broke my ankle.”
“Who said you weren’t a fast learner? Besides all your college professors, I mean.”
They circled each other warily, taunting each other, looking for an opening. Though it was clear Derik was the more skilled, he was still quite careful around Victor. Ashley could see why, and felt a healthy respect for both men. Vic was bigger, for one thing, and while Derik was stronger, Victor was just a hair faster. He’ll have one of those black belts before long, I bet, she thought. I’d hate to be on the floor with them right now. They look like they could wreck the place without ever running out of breath.
When Derik moved, it was almost too fast for her eyes to track. One minute he was three or four feet away from Vic, hands at his side, and the next he was on the attack, rushing Victor and doing something with his hands, and then Victor was doing something, and then Derik was on the floor. Just when Ashley was about to release her breath in a gasp, Derik swept his leg around and Victor hit the floor. The two men tussled briefly, almost playfully, and then Derik was flipped over Victor’s head, thudding lightly to the mats and jumping to his feet.
“You’ve got the reflexes of a ninety year old woman,” he informed Victor, easily avoiding a leg-strike, “with asthma. Also, you look like a monkey and you smell like one, too.”
“Remind me to foreclose on your building,” Victor growled. His face was flushed from exercise and adrenaline.
“Up for learning a new trick?”
“Always,” he replied, getting smoothly to his feet.
“Atta boy. It starts nice and easy, like…” Derik struck, his arm a blur of movement, so startling Ashley that she actually cried a warning before she could stop herself. Victor, already preparing to block, jerked his head around to look at her. Derik tried to pull the blow, too late. The flat of his hand smashed into Victor’s face, right between the eyes.
There was a long, frozen moment, and then Victor fell, crumpling to the mats like a puppet with its strings cut. Ashley screamed, a cry full of horror and rage, and then she was on the floor, running to Victor, but stopping to slap Derik’s face with all her strength on the way.
CHAPTER SIX
Ninety seconds later, when Victor regained consciousness, it was to hear his best friend and his new girlfriend bitterly arguing about whose fault it was.
“Oh, God, it’s my fault, all mine. If I hadn’t screamed like an absolute wimp this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Of course you screamed, it looked scary. Who wouldn’t have yelled? But me, dammit, I’m supposed to be a professional, I’m supposed to know how to pull a hit. Stupid, stupid!”
“Excuse me,” he said fuzzily. His head was on something soft. After a moment he realized it was Ashley’s lap. This was not at all unpleasant, though his head ached dreadfully.
“How can you maintain your professionalism when idiots like me are yelping on the sidelines? I shouldn’t have come. I should have known I’d do something stupid and mess everything up. And Derik, I’m so terribly sorry I hit you. It wasn’t your fault and I have no excuse, none. You must know, you must, that if I could take it back, I would.”
“Will you stop already? If some asshole had punched the man I loved, I’d pop him one, too, bet your life. I deserved to be slapped, nailing my best friend on a sucker punch. I deserved to have my testicles nailed to a washboard.”
“Guys…” he said weakly. “Guys, I’m going to throw up.”
“Shhh,” Ashley soothed.
“Yeah, Vic, shut up. The ambulance is on the way.”
“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?” Ashley cried. Her concern was touching, even though she was practically shouting in his ear. He tried to think of a polite way to tell her to knock it off. “I’m so sorry I distracted you. I’m a jerk, a—”
“I heard,” he said tiredly, “and it’s not true, so be quiet. It was no one’s fault but mine. I know better than to be distracted. You taught me better, Derik. If anyone was acting like an idiot, it was me. Now let me up.”
“No,” Ashley said firmly. “You’re staying right there until the paramedics come.”
“The hell I am. Besides, you’ve already moved me, unless I managed to pass out in your lap, which I doubt. So moving me again is no big deal. Help me up.”
“If you need help,” Derik said, pointing a finger the size of a bratwurst at him, “you’re not getting up. And that’s it.”
“Let me up, goddammit!”
Unimpressed silence. Ashley studied her nails. Derik looked at the ceiling and hummed the new Madonna release.
“You two,” he said through gritted teeth, “are in big trouble once I get my head together.”
Ten minutes later, Victor was insisting he felt fine and ignoring the EMT’s suggestion that he go to the hospital.
“You might have a concussion,” one of the EMT’s warned. “Loss of consciousness for any amount of time is serious stuff.”
“I feel fine,” he lied. He had a pounding headache and was horribly thirsty, though the thought of actually drinking anything made him feel queasy. “I’ll take it easy the rest of the day, promise.”
Over Ashley
and Derik’s protests, Vic signed a form that said he refused medical aid. He did so hurriedly, so the paramedics would leave. He wanted to sit down. Actually, he wanted to lie down. For about a year.
“Last thing,” one of them said, while they packed up the stretcher he refused to use. “You definitely should not, repeat, should not, be alone tonight. Someone should stay with you.”
Derik opened his mouth to volunteer. Ashley stomped on his foot, hard. He closed it so quickly they all heard the click of his teeth hitting together, though only one of the EMT’s looked around at the sound.
“Whoever stays with you should be there to make sure you’re not getting really sick. If you’re concussed—which we were unable to rule out—you could become disoriented to place, person, or time. That means you might not know who you are, or who other people are, or where you are, or what the date is.”
“The horror,” Derik said, “of not knowing there are only thirteen shopping days until Halloween.”
Despite the pain in his head, Victor laughed. The EMT was not amused. “Also, if you have any vomiting, or if you lose consciousness again, you need to get to a hospital as soon as possible. And whoever stays with you, they need to wake you up every couple hours to ask you your name, age, mother’s maiden name and birthday.”
“His mother’s birthday?”
“No, his.” The EMT glared suspiciously at Derik, who looked back with wide-eyed innocence. After a moment, the EMT continued. “It means a long night for someone, and I have a list of symptoms to watch out for. Who wants it?”
A quick learner, Derik didn’t move. Ashley reached for it, scanned it quickly, and nodded. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Ashley?” Victor asked, surprised. “You? But I thought—”
“We can talk about this later, Victor.”
“—you only had sex with men you loved.”
The EMTs looked interested. Derik grinned. She groaned. “Victor, we can talk about this later. Besides, spending the night does not a sexual relationship make. You’ve got a couch, don’t you?”
“And three extra bedrooms,” Derik added. “His place is huuuuuge.”
“There, see? It’s settled.” She poked him and he nearly fell over. “I want to take care of you, not jump your bones, you dirty-minded creep.”
“That’s okay,” Victor said vaguely. “We can have sex later.”
“Victor, shut up. Please.”
He smiled at her. It wasn’t much of a smile—he was doing his best not to throw up—but it was the best he could do. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He pretended to glare at Derik. “Nice to see who my true friends are.”
“I was going to volunteer!” he protested. “She damn near broke all my toes when I tried!”
* * * * *
As a rough estimate, Ashley figured Victor spent more on his condo each month than she spent on living expenses in a year. You weren’t going to let his money bother you, she reminded herself, and it was good advice, but the fact was, Victor’s living quarters were a tangible reminder of the difference in their lifestyle. His home was beautiful and clearly expensive. Except for the Museum of Fine Arts and Dr. Langenfeld’s executive office, Victor’s home was the prettiest place she’d been in. This wasn’t the compliment it could have been, as she’d spent too much of her childhood in depressing buildings, most of them run by the state, overcrowded and ugly. But she figured anybody, even some Beverly Hills deb born with a platinum spoon in her mouth, would be impressed by this place.
Four bedrooms, two with fireplaces, all with adjoining baths. “Take this one,” Vic had said, holding an ice pack to his forehead, “it’s the nicest.” A kitchen as large as her kitchen and living room combined. A dining room. Another fireplace in the living room. And unlike the museum, Victor’s condo looked like someone actually lived there. Comfortable couches, lots of throws scattered about, a deep pile rug, warm colors throughout.
Ashley sat down on the couch and sank back with a sigh. “I could sleep here,” she said. “In fact, I don’t think I could get up again. Victor, your home is lovely.”
He sat beside her. She didn’t like how he looked, pale and drawn, but knew he wouldn’t like hearing that, or hearing her fuss. “Crystal got the house, and welcome to it. I never cared for it—all glass and chrome and shiny surfaces.”
“Like a doctor’s office.”
“Exactly like that. Every time I came home I had the feeling I was going to have a root canal instead of supper. I like this place a lot better.”
“Me, too.”
Silence. Ashley kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. Victor’s icepack dripped.
“Mmmm…this is so romantic,” she murmured, then snickered.
He smiled ruefully. “Let’s put it this way—in all my fantasies of getting you on that couch, me feeling sick and dripping water all over my shirt didn’t enter anywhere in them.”
She sat up. “You feel sick?” she asked worriedly, scrambling for her list. “Define sick.”
“Put that damn piece of paper away. My head hurts, but is that any surprise? Derik smacked the hell out of me.”
“He got his,” she muttered.
“I was going to ask you about that.”
“About what?”
“About the hand print on Derik’s face.”
She looked at her hands, one of them the culprit, embarrassed. “I was upset. That’s no excuse. So I apologized.”
“Were you so worried about me, then?” he asked tenderly.
“Victor, you idiot, I was terrified.”
There was a long silence, while each thought things they were too shy or proud to say. Then Ashley broke the mood with a brisk, “So! Are you hungry? How about some soup?”
He swallowed a gag. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, look. Why don’t you stretch out here, and I’ll put a movie in or something, and we can just veg out for a while. And when you start to get hungry I’ll fix us something.”
“What a little domestic you are,” he crooned, gently pushing her off the sofa with his foot so he could lie down. “Will you stroke my forehead and feed me grapes while we watch a Seinfeld rerun?”
“Har-har. Kick me again, pal, and your head’s not going to be the only thing hurting.”
Thus passed a fairly quiet evening. Ashley stretched out on the floor, her head propped up with a throw pillow, and read the new Tom Clancy while the television chattered softly in the background, and Victor dozed uneasily. True to her promise to the paramedics, Ashley prodded him to full wakefulness every hour on the hour to bug him about his birthday and his mother’s maiden name.
About an hour after they arrived, the phone rang. Ashley picked it up and nearly dropped it when the caller identified herself.
“Crystal who?” Ashley asked, recovering quickly.
“He’ll know who it is.” The voice was cool, well-modulated, just a hint of condescension. “May I speak to him?”
“He’s a little under the weather and can’t come to the phone,” Ashley said, too sweetly. “May I give him a message, por favor?”
Long pause. “He was fine this morning.” Then, “Who is this?”
“This is Frieda, the pool girl.”
Arm over his eyes, Victor said hollowly, “I don’t have a pool.”
“Shut up and go back to sleep. Is there a message, Crys-d—” Ashley bit her tongue in guilty horror as the nickname nearly slipped out. “I mean, should I have him call back?”
“Victor doesn’t have a pool,” Crystal said slowly. “Who is this really?”
“Fifi, his new live-in maid. I have to go now, I’ve got a run in my fishnet stockings. I’ll tell him you called.” She hung up.
“Not nice,” he said, still with his arm over his eyes.
“I couldn’t help it.”
“Yes, you could have. You just didn’t bother.”
Ashley didn’t say anything to that. He was right, after all. A few moments passed and she asked, “Are
you mad?”
“No.”
“You sound mad.”
“I’m tired and my head hurts. If I were myself I’d probably be rolling on the floor with hysterical laughter, all right?”
“All right,” she said easily, refusing to be baited. He looked lousy, and had made it clear he felt lousy. He was entitled to be crabby. “Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
He did, only to be awakened a bare half hour later and asked what his mother’s maiden name was. “For the millionth time—”
“Third, actually.”
“—it’s Gottlieb. Got that? Maybe you should write it down.”
“And your birthday?”
“Think hard, Ash. I’m sure you’ll remember.”
A rude finger, poking his ribs. He groaned. “November third, okay? Now will you let me alone?”
“Hey, waking you up and having you bite my head off is no picnic for me either, Lawrence.”
“Mister Lawrence.”
“Mister Jerkweed.” She sounded pretty ticked off, but the whole time she was bugging him she stroked his forehead. It was almost worth it to keep needling her so she wouldn’t stop.
“How come I don’t get to ask you questions?”
“Because I’m not the putz who got his clock cleaned by the aikido champion of the universe.”
“He’s not even aikido champ of the state. And besides, it was a lucky punch.”
“Which landed on your unlucky face.”
“Forget it!” he yelled, and was immediately sorry. He clutched his head and groaned. “From now on I’m asking the questions, missy.”
“Ugh, do not call me that. And the first question you can ask me is, what am I doing here?”
He had to smile at that, and she saw it and grinned back. He reached out and played with a deep brown curl. “So, you know all the intimate details of my life—my birthday, my mother’s maiden name, what my ex-wife sounds like. Let’s hear about you.” She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable, but he didn’t notice. “What’s your mother’s maiden name?”
She didn’t say anything and he was getting ready to repeat the question, louder, when she said with false brightness, “I don’t know.”