You Dropped a Blonde on Me Page 21

  Oh, he was mad. Maybe one fight for today was enough. Maxine placed her hand in his. He turned it over in his palm, running his fingers along the knuckles and the bones, then placed it back in her lap. “So, is ultimate fighting how you plan to earn your living?”

  Something deep inside her teetered then cracked, opening a crevasse of long-overdue emotions. Laughter spilled from her mouth in waves, leaving her gulping for air.

  But Campbell wasn’t laughing.

  Maxine winced. “S-s-s-sooooorry,” she snorted, distorting her face to thwart her fit of giggles.

  His expression screamed “Shame on Max.” “Look, I get defending Connor. Finley really clocked him one, but you do realize he’ll most likely have that little boxing round on camera, don’t you? The dealership’s got them everywhere. What if he uses it against you to take custody of Connor? What if he does call the police?”

  If only Finley were that passionate about his son. Connor was a possession. Something Finley owned. He’d never risk the chance that Connor would actually end up in his care by calling the police and filing charges against her. “I do know that, but you know what? I know Finley better than he knows himself. I know he won’t call the police. I also know he doesn’t really want Connor to live with him. He doesn’t want to help him with his homework and take him for physicals. He wants to own him. Connor’s a possession I’ve taken away, and Finley wants him back. But if he had him, he wouldn’t know what to do with him.” Maxine paused with a shuddering breath at this newest revelation.

  Deep. How deep and introspective. Yet it was the truth. In her soul, marrow-deep, Maxine knew it was the truth, and for the first time today, she’d said it out loud. The thing she’d feared the most in her marriage.

  She and Connor had been Finley’s property.

  Finley only cared that she’d taken something he considered his away from him, because that had always been his game. And it hurt. It hurt for Connor, who was probably more aware of it than she’d ever been.

  Tears stung Maxine’s eyes. Damn Finley Cambridge to a fiery hell for not being the kind of father she wanted him to be. “Okay, so it was wrong to show up like the stereotypical scorned ex-wife and blow a gasket. But if I’d gone the route of calling my lawyer, I’d have gotten the runaround, because, let’s face it, my lawyer’s not worth the money he bribed his way through Cracker Jack U with. I know it; everyone remotely related to this mess knows it. I can’t afford a better attorney. I can’t afford the bad one I have now. In light of that, and the realization that Finley would just grease the appropriate palms to keep this on the down low, I punched him. Right in that smug, lying, cheating face of his. I do not regret it. Do. Not. Not right now anyway. He’s never hit Connor. Now maybe he won’t ever again.”

  “I get your anger. You deserve it. You just maybe shouldn’t express it in a public setting.”

  Maxine looked down at her thighs with dismay. “And probably not in my mother’s borrowed bathing suit, huh?”

  “I think the fireworks across the hip give you a crazy-bag-lady look. All you needed was a shopping cart and some voices in your head,” he teased. “Kinda blows your credibility.”

  With a tentative hand, she reached out to touch his, forging ahead with the impulse to feel his skin despite the zing skipping through her veins at their minimal contact. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, and thanks for standing up for me.”

  Campbell finally smiled, gripping two of her fingers. “He’s some piece of work, your almost ex, huh?”

  Her heart tugged with lingering sadness for what would always be lost to her son. “I don’t know how I never saw that side of him before. Correction, I saw it, but through rose-colored glasses. I guess I just never expected he’d treat Connor and me with such cold calculation. And I’ve witnessed how cutthroat Finley can be. I saw him do it all the time with business partners, investors. But when he did it to me, it knocked the wind right out of my sails. Like it came out of nowhere. I don’t know why I thought we wouldn’t be considered ‘Nothing personal, it’s just business,’ like everyone else. Nowadays, I look back and can’t figure out how, in my deluded mind, I managed to make him someone he wasn’t. How do you suppose I created a person that never existed?”

  “Maybe you didn’t consider it because you’re not his business partner, Max. You were his wife. He was who you wanted him to be in your head. That was good enough for a while, I guess. Sometimes, time and distance are all the perspective you need to see the real deal.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, but her smile was teasing. “Or a good right hook.”

  “That was some shot. Maybe you really should consider ultimate fighting.” Campbell brought her injured hand to his lips, dropping a light kiss on her fingertips. She reached out her other hand to just take a quick skim across his cheek. Yet, she lingered. Right there in broad daylight.

  His arm went around her, pulling her to him until their bodies were almost length to length. His mouth covered hers, sweet at first, increasing the pressure of his lips when her hands went to his thick hair. Tongues touched in silken rasps of heat. Maxine moaned into his mouth when he swept a hand along her hip, parting her lips to kiss her more deeply. Her nipples grew tight and uncomfortable in the sloppy top of her bathing suit.

  She wanted him to touch her again, in every place imaginable. She wanted to touch him, too, along the hard width of his chest, brush every rung of his abs with her tongue. Maxine allowed herself the luxury of running her hands along his muscled back, her hips beginning a rhythm familiar but new with this luscious man who made her want to just let go. Even if it was just for a little while. Heat raged in her belly, visions of Campbell driving himself into her willing body flashed before her eyes.

  Laughter outside his truck broke them apart, jarring them both.

  Yet that vision had felt so right.

  Meaning it couldn’t be trusted.

  Obviously, her judgment was askew. She couldn’t trust herself to see things for what they really were after what she’d just discovered about Finley’s relationship with Connor. Something she should have seen long ago instead of making excuses for him.

  Maxine pulled away first, putting her hands back into her own lap, looking away from him and out the window when Campbell turned the key in the ignition to take her home.

  The weight of her realization began to sink in, leaving her more determined than ever to avoid that kind of heartbreak.

  For right now, that meant avoiding Campbell Barker.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives and on more sucking it up: Apologies—get used to them. You’ ll make many in your journey. So many that you and the majority of people who inhabit the continent of Australia don’t have enough fingers and toes to keep track of them all. In fact, for all the apologizing you’ll do for your erratic, ridiculous behaviors, why not just write out a generic plea for forgiveness? It’s not only useful as a time-saver but easy on your memorization skills.

  Max blew her hair from her eyes with a weary sigh as she looked across the table at the row of volunteer seniors on the dance committee, all with their own ideas on exactly how the end-of-summer dance should go down.

  They’d spent many an afternoon here at the rec center and in the tiny office the village had given her, ironing out details. Each time Maxine thought she had everything together, one of them threw a glitch in her plans. Today’s debate was music. “So how do we feel about Mr. Emmerson’s son’s band, folks? We have to make a decision today.”

  Mr. Emmerson, spry and with an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Rogers, looked to his fellow seniors with hopeful eyes.

  Maxine cringed on his behalf. After the grumblings she’d heard about Mr. Emmerson and his son’s singing, the vote wasn’t likely going to go his way.

  “I say we go with a DJ. It’ll save us money in the long run and besides, his son’s band sucks,” Grace Waller said with no evident care for Mr. Emmerson’s feelings.

 
; “Now, Grace,” Maxine chided good-naturedly, though at this point in her working life, she really just wanted to tear her hair out. Wrangling this bunch had been like trying to corral greased pigs. “Okay, guys. How about we treat each other more kindly? It’s not nice to hurt a fellow committee member’s feelings—even if what we truly feel isn’t especially kind.”

  Grace harrumphed in Maxine’s direction. “Don’t you go waving that psychobabble at me, young lady. I’m too old for nice. We put a lot of work into this dance on short notice, too much work to be forced to listen to Palmer’s kid screech into a microphone. He’s no Tom Jones.”

  Nora Ledbetter slapped at Grace’s shoulder, sending a shy smile of apology to Mr. Emmerson. “Oh, hush, Grace. He wasn’t that bad.”

  “Hah! I nearly ate my fork when he hit that high note, singing that Air-eee-oh-smith song at your granddaughter’s wedding.”

  “Aerosmith,” Maxine corrected, “and that’s enough, Grace. There are better ways to go about this than the path you’ve chosen. So let’s move on.” Maxine tapped her notepad, full of items that still needed dealing with. “We’re two days away from liftoff, and we have a million little things to handle. In light of the fact that we haven’t been able to cast a unanimous vote for music, I’m taking matters into my own hands and making the choice for you.” Because she could. Because if she didn’t, they’d drive her right to the funny farm in one of their efficient Smart cars.

  “But that’s not fair!” Mr. Emmerson said with a frown.

  Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “Fair, schmair, Palmer Emmerson. Your kid can’t sing, and like hell all these dues I pay to live in this village are going to help fund his caterwauling! I was damn near deaf by the time that wedding was over. As Simon Cowell would say,” Grace adopted a British accent, “it was like listening to cats dipped in acid.”

  Maxine popped up out of her seat, letting the notepad flop to the table to exhibit her exasperation. “All right, ladies and gentleman, I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? First off, Mr. Emmerson, I really think everyone in your age group would far more enjoy some Mitch Miller to, say, Boy George’s ‘Karma Chameleon’ or ‘Safety Dance,’ don’t you?” she coaxed. “C’mon now, you know it’s true. How about we look at it as more of a generation gap than major suckitude?”

  Mr. Emmerson pouted.

  “Secondly, I have a dinner date, and we’re getting nowhere fast, so let’s wrap this up. I’ll handle the music, and that’s that.” She waggled her fingers at them in the direction of the rec center door, forcing her umpteenth patient smile of the day. “I’m officially calling an end to this meeting due to cloudy with a chance of crabby. So go grab some dinner, and we’ll start fresh in the morning.”

  Maxine began to herd them toward the door while they grumbled and she soothed hurt feelings.

  Nora patted her on the arm. “You’re a good girl to put up with us, Maxine. I know we could try the patience of Job himself when we get to going round.”

  And all twelve apostles, Maxine thought, but then she stopped her disgruntled thoughts short. She was grateful for this job. No amount of surly seniors with difficult dispositions, set in their ways, could ever change how thankful she was to get up every morning at seven sharp, shower, put on some makeup, fluff her hair, and head to the Leisure Village South offices where she spent her days as of late.

  The seniors kept her on her toes. They kept her mind busy while she budgeted and researched new programs and activities to keep them energetic participants in life. She loved working with them—even on their most difficult days.

  She loved that Jack Gorman, Leisure Village South’s answer to the Bon Appetit Channel’s Mitch in the Kitchen, sexy over-fifty-five grin and all, had baked her cranberry muffins every Thursday for the last three weeks. She loved that Mitzi Mathews had pitched a new yoga class with her left leg wrapped around her neck to demonstrate to Maxine how beneficial it would be for the over-sixty crowd to learn, among other things, the “Eka Pada Sirsasana pose.”

  She loved them because they made her feel useful, worthy, alive.

  She loved them because they kept her thoughts from straying to Campbell, who’d obviously gotten the message and had stopped calling after week two into her vow to remain uninvolved until she was better able to trust her judgment.

  She loved them because they’d kept her from dwelling on the possibility that she’d missed out on something great in Campbell with her caution. Caution born out of fear.

  Nora nudged her, the heavy odor of her White Diamonds perfume sticking in Maxine’s throat. “So is Garner’s boy your date? Nice lookin’ fella that one.”

  Her heart still twisted into a knot when Campbell was mentioned. Forcing a smile, she winked at Nora. “Nope. Tonight’s girls’ night out. Me, Len, and a plate of meatloaf is what’s on the agenda.”

  “That’s lovely, dear, but your fancy friend’s no stand-in for Campbell,” she remarked on her way out the door.

  The waning heat of the sun glared in Maxine’s eyes as she raised a hand to wave good-bye to Nora. As she locked the rec center up, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

  No. Len wasn’t Campbell.

  But she was a whole lot safer.

  “Sooooo, tell me all about your yummy man,” Len cooed as they shared a meatloaf sandwich and fries with brown gravy. The Greek Meets Eat Diner was all but empty at nine in the evening, bringing much-needed peace to Maxine, who’d heard nothing but the endless warring of seniors with suggestions for sponsored events all day long today. Coupled with the onslaught of preparation she’d been handed for the big end-of-summer dance, and she was fried.

  “I don’t have a yummy man. I do have a yummy job. Don’t you want to hear about that?” Maxine had been successful in her attempts to avoid Campbell for almost three weeks since the incident with Finley, and she’d like to avoid thinking about him, too.

  She’d given him a lame excuse about postponing their celebratory dinner due to her injured hand and run for cover. Since then, there wasn’t a moment she’d allowed herself to be caught alone with him, and she hadn’t returned any of his phone calls.

  Yet, there weren’t many moments she hadn’t thought about him and his kisses either.

  Len clinked her fork against Maxine’s glass of water. “Hey in there. I thought you’d decided to give Campbell a chance. But I haven’t heard one delicious detail about him since the Cambridge versus Cambridge smackdown of the millennium. What gives?”

  She wiped her mouth with the napkin, throwing it on the red Formica table to hide her burning cheeks. Len didn’t need to know what had happened in the woods or in Campbell’s truck. Yet Maxine felt like it was written all over her forehead. She ducked her head to avoid Len’s prying eyes. “It’s just too soon. I’m really not ready. Really, really not ready.”

  “Said who?” Len asked, her eyes hot on Maxine’s head.

  “Says me. I should know if I’m ready or not, shouldn’t I?” Shouldn’t she?

  Her friend’s head shook with defeated disappointment. “I don’t know what you think you know, Maxine, but I do know you’ll never know if you don’t give it at least a fair shot.”

  “I don’t want to sound bitter here, friend, but I am in the middle of the messiest divorce since the Alamo. I’m gun-shy. My judgment can’t be trusted.”

  “The Alamo had nothing to do with a divorce, and here’s what pisses me off about this—you like Campbell. He likes you. But you’re willing to ignore that and hide behind your messy divorce. You’d give up something that could be a really great experience just so you can avoid the slim chance you’ll be raked over some coals. Seriously, how much harm could Campbell do in comparison to what Finley’s done? Is there anything more anyone can take from you at this point? And I’m not talking pride or self-esteem either.”

  The bell on the door jingled, saving Maxine from supplying an answer. The couple strolling into the diner, tall and striking together, made her want to lunge under the ta
ble. She sank down into the diner’s black vinyl seat and cringed.

  Len’s head swung around to view the counter where the pair seated themselves. Her eyebrow arched when her gaze focused on her friend. “So our man Campbell’s got a girlfriend. Good job, Maxine. Now you don’t have to worry he’ll hurt you. He’s too busy hurting another woman.”

  She made a big show of glancing back at Campbell and the woman at the counter before adding, “Oh, look. They’re sharing an ice cream sundae. How sweet. Ohhhhhh, she’s licking his spoon. In public. How decadent. But you don’t really care about that do you—he was only going to hurt you with his ice cream anyway, right?”

  Maxine refused to look. She couldn’t look. Wait. Why the hell couldn’t she look? Because green was a lovely shade of jealous. “Lay off!” she whisper-yelled. “And, BTW, this just proves my point. I clearly have sucky judgment when it comes to men. Not two weeks ago Campbell was asking me out—today he’s out with some over-Botoxed, boobed-out blonde. Obviously, I left such an impression he’s all broken up,” she said with scathing tones.

  “Uh-huh,” Len agreed in mock delight. “And do you know who that boobed-out blonde is?”

  She’d ducked too quickly to get a good look at her face. Now, with a cursory sideways glance, all she could see was the curve of her very shapely hip, clad in an expensive pair of jeans, slapped up against Campbell’s. God, how obvious. How cheap. Yeah. How much do you wish it was you? With a shake of her head, she made a face at Lenore. “I don’t care who she is.”

  Lenore stretched her tanned arms out in front of her with the grace of a preying cat. “Oh. Okay. So telling you that’s Lisa Trainor he’s feeding a cherry to, you know, Lisa of Trainor’s Trainers, the wildly successful exercise guru franchise, will mean nothing. Good.” She gave a brisk nod, grabbing her purse. “Let’s blow and find a place to hang out that isn’t filled with scumbags feeding women ice cream.”

  Maxine’s eyes widened. She reached for Len’s hand to keep her from rising. “It is not!” She and Lisa had done many a charity event together. They’d had lunch. Hosted dinner parties. The whore.