You Dropped a Blonde on Me Read online

  No doubt, it was far past time for Len to move on. She was beautiful, interesting, alive. But there was disappointment mingled with her happiness for Len. Why hadn’t she made a single mention of Adam?

  So wrapped up in her own crap, she’d forgotten the word “friend” was a two-way street, and sometimes it really was okay to actually inquire about Len’s well-being, was why.

  Speaking of her own crap, she had apologies to make.

  Her stomach clenched in a tight ball of regret. Once again, she’d read Campbell wrong and in the process scored another point for downtrodden maniacal ex-wives everywhere. Go. Team.

  How did you even begin to apologize for calling a perfectly nice man and his cousin infidels?

  Flowers?

  A card? Did Hallmark really have a card for every occasion? What would she say?

  Dear Campbell and Lisa,

  Please forgive my escapee from the psych ward behavior. I did a bad, bad thing. Cousins should never have to endure that kind of humiliation because cagey lunatics like myself can’t control their foolish impulses.

  Shamefaced,

  Maxine XXOO

  The moment Maxine drove off, Len was on Adam like fried on chicken. “What the hell are you doing here?” Damn it. How dare he follow her around like they had some sort of commitment? The agreement was they’d keep things discreet—no questions asked.

  Adam’s eyes glittered in the heavy swell of the full moonlight. “Are you embarrassed by me?”

  No. Yes. No. She wasn’t embarrassed by him. She was embarrassed by her behavior with him. Argh. “You have no right to come skulking around when I’m with my friend!” Righteous indignation was a perfectly acceptable path to follow when you were avoiding the question.

  “A man has to eat. Especially when he’s dating you and your voracious appetite for all things naughty,” he teased, pulling her to him.

  Her tension at being found out eased a little. Still, she placed flat palms on his chest to hold him off. “And you had to eat here? There are plenty of places to eat all over the Jersey Turnpike.”

  “There are, but I hear no one makes meatloaf like the Greek Meets Eat Diner. You made it clear you don’t cook, and you won’t share a meal with me. So what’s a boy to do but fend for himself? I figured I’d grab some takeout while I waited for our illicit rendezvous to begin.”

  “So this was just a coincidence?”

  “Yep. I saw your car parked in the lot and heard your raised voice. I couldn’t make out what you were yelling about, so I came to investigate. I was actually concerned about your safety for all the yelling going on. Though I don’t know why when you have mace—illegally, mind you. How was I to know you weren’t in the middle of a kidnapping?”

  He’d thought to see if she needed rescuing after the way she’d been avoiding talk and ignoring his invasive, pestering questions these past weeks? That sentiment did two things. Warmed her in places she didn’t wish to have warmed and made her wonder what kind of glutton for punishment he was, considering he didn’t really know many personal details about her.

  While Len realized all Adam had to do was Google her to find out who she’d been married to, she found she’d rather have him find out via the Internet instead of hushed bedroom conversations after mind-blowing sex. That felt too intimate.

  Intimacy was Gerald’s—forever.

  Sex for now was Adam’s, who couldn’t be found anywhere on the Internet. The only information she’d dredged up was a long string of names, none of the names with details matching his description.

  The mystery surrounding Adam showing up had become something she was reluctant to unravel. It was fun. Exciting, maybe a little dangerous—which, again, made it fun. “Well, I don’t need protecting, and I’m finding it hard to believe your showing up here was a coincidence.”

  The nibble on her lower lip made her forget her accusation. “Believe what you want.”

  His hard length, fit so close to hers, was a revelation each time Adam pulled her close. He left her swooning, secretly smiling to herself at the oddest of moments. The war between loving or hating that effect on her was an endless mental battle.

  Adam let her go without warning, stepping backward. “So I’m going to go get that meatloaf I ordered, and I’ll see you at T-minus thirty and counting. Bye, Len.” The pivot of his leather heel on the pavement signaled his abrupt departure. He flashed her a playful grin over his shoulder before making his way toward the sidewalk leading to the diner.

  Len stumbled to her car on shaking legs, unsure where her anger stemmed from. Adam was playing the game just the way she’d asked him to, and he hadn’t balked since the last time she’d shut him down. He hadn’t batted an eye when she’d suggested they do nothing more than satisfy each other’s voracious sexual whims. At first, it had worked. As long as he wasn’t hurting Maxine and he was on the up-and-up about it, the rules were fine.

  Yet, lately, when she stared out her window in her office, or went home to her bed to sleep alone, she began to wonder why he didn’t care enough to stop playing the game and start pressing her for something more than the color of her underwear.

  Her trek to her car stopped cold with that thought. Those sorts of yearnings had to stop, or she just might end up falling . . .

  Guilt wove another web of protection over her heart. She wasn’t falling into anything.

  She was just enjoying the company of a fantastically, incredibly sexual man.

  And it was lovely. That was that.

  “Before you go scooting off to your fancy job there, Maxie, you got a letter. It’s on the counter,” her mother said when she whizzed past her to grab her blouse from the dryer.

  Dread came in the way of jelly legs and a squishy stomach. On the upside, maybe it was a letter from her divorce lawyer saying the ink was ready to be set on her divorce papers. Though not likely.

  She and Finley were still haggling over visitation for Connor. He refused to sign on the dotted line until Connor agreed to see him. A peculiar request in Maxine’s mind. Shouldn’t he want to be rid of her so he could marry the fair Lacey ASAP and begin manipulating another young woman’s life?

  But she couldn’t pony up the money to have her lawyer file the final divorce papers, and Connor hadn’t just dug his heels in after taking a slug in the eye from Finley, he’d built a moat around himself, eliminating any communication at all.

  The envelope on the counter didn’t look very official though. It was rather worn and faded pink. Maxine’s heart thudded, heavy and hard against her ribs. She recognized that stationery. Her fingers fumbled when she tore it open. Tears stung her eyes, clouding them, keeping her from reading the letter’s content.

  Her eyes flew to the date on it. June 24, 2004. The room tilted for a moment, then righted itself. Ten deep breaths later, she read the elegant scrawl of her dead mother-in-law.

  My dearest Maxine,

  I write this with a sad heart, but I write it with love for you and for my only grandson, Connor, who makes me so very proud he bears the name Cambridge. You were always too good for my Finley, Maxine. As much as it pains me to write those words, they are the truth. Finley isn’t the man I hoped he would be. I’ve known about his indiscretions for some time now. I’ve borne witness to the sadness it’s brought you, though I know you thought you’ d hidden it well. Thank you, my dear, for trying to protect me.

  So I turn my eyes to my grandson, Connor, who shows the promise of a fine upbringing, due solely to you. I beg of you to understand why I’ve done what I’ve done. Soon enough, you’ll know what this letter means.

  My love always,

  Dorothy

  A sob tore from her throat, a sob in memory of Dorothy. If everyone was a product of their environment, then Maxine was at a loss as to how Finley had become such a jerk with Dorothy as a mother.

  Her mother-in-law had welcomed her with open arms from the start. They’d shared so many happy times, and she’d adored Connor. Lavished him with love and
attention, not to mention trips to exotic places he might not have seen had Finley had his way. Every moment she’d spent with Connor had always felt to Maxine as though Dorothy was trying to make up for something she’d missed out on with Finley.

  It wasn’t Finley who’d driven two hours each way three times a week to see his mother when she’d finally been placed in a nursing home. It was Maxine and Connor. Recalling the fight she and Finley had about how far away Dorothy was from her only family made Maxine shudder. On that occasion, in defense of Dorothy, she’d managed to find her words, and she’d dumped them all on her husband. Who’d shot her down, reminding her he paid the bills.

  “Maxie, honey? You’re gonna be late,” her mother reminded her.

  She held the letter to her nose, hoping to find a remnant of Dorothy’s perfume left on it. With a shaky hand, Maxine grabbed her mother’s arm. “Sit for a minute, Mom.”

  Concern wrinkled Mona’s face when she slid into a chair beside Maxine. “Did the Talleywhacker finally send you the divorce papers?”

  “No.” She thrust the letter at her mother. “Read this.”

  Mona pulled her glasses off the top of her head, her expression marred as her eyes scanned the letter. There was silence broken only by the ticking rooster clock in the kitchen. Her mother laid the letter on the table between them. “What do you think she meant by ‘you’ll know soon enough what the letter means,’ Maxie?”

  Maxine’s head whirled. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. The letter’s dated June twenty-fourth, 2004, but the postmark is yesterday. The return address is from the nursing home she was in, yet your address is the forward on it. This makes absolutely no sense.”

  “I always liked Dorothy. She might have raised a total shit, but I liked her anyway,” her mother said quietly.

  Maxine’s fingers ran over her mother-in-law’s written words. “This is her handwriting. I’ve seen it a hundred times on postcards she sent to us when she was abroad, cards for birthdays, anniversaries, whatever the occasion. I have no idea what it means.”

  “Well, girlie, I say you call up that fancy nursing home her twerp of a son threw her in and ask.”

  “I will, I will. But I can’t right now. I have to get to work. We’re hashing out some last-minute details for the dance, and if I’m a millisecond late, your compadres get cranky.”

  Her mother rose, cupping her chin with a warm, weathered hand. “Dorothy was right, you know. You did good by Connor. All by yourself.”

  Maxine smiled. A sweet compliment from her mother was as rare as hen’s teeth. “I have to get my butt in gear.”

  “Off to a chapter meeting of Cheat-A-Non?”

  The hair on the back of her neck rose. “Campbell,” she acknowledged with a somber tone, unable to turn around.

  “That’s me. The lying, cheating one.”

  There was nothing to do but turn and face the music. She owed him at least an explanation. Fighting the impulse to beg for his forgiveness by throwing herself into the shelter of his arms, she took a deep breath instead. “I went off half-cocked last night.”

  His blue eyes were unreadable. “I’ll say.”

  “I’m really sorry. I behaved so badly. I just lost it.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.”

  Okay. He wasn’t budging. What more could she do than apologize? “So again, I’m sorry. Like super-sorry. The sorriest I’ve ever been.” When Maxine peeked up at him, his glacial expression remained firm. “Still mad?”

  Campbell crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles of his tanned arms flexing. “You were really out of line, Max.”

  Her nod was vehement. “I really was. No question. Way out.”

  “Lisa didn’t even see you coming. You completely blindsided her. And you know what blows about that? She just got through telling me that if she’d known Finley was being such a prick about his money, she’d have hired you even without personal trainer experience. She really likes and admires you, Max.”

  Crap. Residual remorse for her ugly behavior returned tenfold. “I totally don’t deserve her admiration, and believe me, I’m just as disgusted with myself as you both should be with me. I just . . .” What was the point in defending it? There was no defense for shooting and asking questions of the dead bodies later.

  “You’re just a little out of hand. If you’re not slugging your ex-husband, you’re accusing me of some pretty heinous stuff in the middle of a diner. That sucked.”

  “Big weenies,” Maxine confirmed, contrite.

  Campbell finally cracked a half smile. It wasn’t the uber grin that made her belly quiver, but it was a start. “The biggest.”

  A glance at the kitchen clock told her she had to make haste. “I really, really have to go or I’m going to be late, and I can’t afford to be late today, but I hope you’ll accept my apology. I mean that. Maybe you could drop by the dance Friday night, and I can bow and scrape some more. There’ll be lots of Mitch Miller . . .” She enticed him with a smile.

  His eyes remained unreadable, his lips unmoving.

  “You’re still mad.”

  “I’m still something. I just can’t pinpoint what.”

  Maxine rolled her eyes. “That sounds like something a woman would say.”

  Campbell’s eyebrow cocked upward, but his tight jaw loosened just a bit more. “You should know.”

  Maxine chuckled, throwing the letter in her purse. “That’s fair. I owe you a hissy fit or two.”

  “Which leads me to a question. Why would I come to a dance you invited me to? So you can avoid me like I have the clap? In case you’ve forgotten, you hadn’t returned a single one of my phone calls before that little incident in the diner, and Houdini could have learned a thing or two from you the way you magically disappear whenever I’m even in the same twelve-mile radius. If you weren’t interested, you could have just had the balls to say as much. I fully comprehend the word no.”

  It took effort, but she forced her eyes to capture his, letting her fingers brush his knuckles. “It’s not that I’m not interested. I am.”

  There. The truth. She’d thought about it well into the wee hours of the morning. Either she had to indulge Campbell’s interest in her and see what she could see, or she was going to man-up and tell him it was a no-go. When the no-go part of the equation popped up, and her reaction to it was a twinge of deep regret in the depths of her heart, she’d decided things had to change.

  “Then what is it, Max? Because the on again, off again thing, the freaking out without any warning, and the avoiding me at all costs will eventually either drive me insane, or drive me to Home Depot where I’ll buy a wood chipper to dispose of your body.”

  Her sigh was shaky. “It’s that I’m so used to living my life in total panic mode, I don’t know how to find any other gear but high. I panicked after my argument with Finley. It made me realize I’m a shitty judge of character, Campbell. I realized he’d never call the police on me because as much as he’d like to make me out to be some lunatic, he’d never risk the possibility a judge might actually give him full custody of Connor. For all his showy efforts to get Connor to come back home, Finley knew he’d never do it. What’s worse is, he doesn’t really want Connor to do it. It’s always just some big show so he can tell everyone he tried to do the right thing. It’s so Fin can tell everyone crazy, unstable Maxine’s brainwashed his kid to keep Connor from him. How could I have been so wrong about a man I was married to for almost half my life?”

  Campbell’s jaw twitched, but he let her curl her fingers around his. “I’m unclear how that applies to me.”

  “I know this sounds crazy, but if I was so wrong about a man I thought I knew intimately, how could I possibly expect to make sound decisions about one I’ve only known for a couple of months?”

  “And now?”

  “Now I think I’d like to find out if my decision-making skills have improved.” She fluttered her eyelashes and let her lips lift in a flirtatious smile. The freedo
m of all this communication had its benefits. She felt lighter already. Even if Campbell opted out, she’d at least taken the chance on not just sharing her fear but making the first move.

  Campbell didn’t respond, and that was only fair. It had taken her three weeks to come to her senses.

  “Anyway, you think about the dance, where I’ll humble myself appropriately. Oh,” she said, grinning up at him and placing a hand on his chest, remembering the feel of him beneath her fingers, “and there’ll be cake. Mrs. Lipknicki’s making her apple strudel bundt cake. She’s a retired caterer, you know. Not a treat to be missed, if you ask me.”

  “I’m not opposed to bundt cake,” Campbell said, making sure she heard the reluctance in his voice.

  “I’ll save you a piece.” Maxine’s face grew serious, her heart thudding in her chest. “I really hope you’ll come, Campbell,” she whispered, experiencing a bit of her own reluctance when she turned to grab her purse and leave before she knocked him down and begged him to give her a second chance.

  As Maxine jumped into her mother’s car, she caught sight of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright.

  In those eyes with the beginnings of crow’s-feet at the corners was a hint of pride that she’d taken charge of her feelings, owned them, admitted what had scared her off, and had then set about making a move on a man she desperately wanted to experience—full throttle.

  A tingle of anticipation fluttered low in her belly, the tingle of new beginnings and independent woman.

  Her metaphoric pom-poms shouted a rah-rah-sis-boom-bah.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives: The wistful strains of “Moon River” + smokin’ hot man can = “Some Enchanted Evening” Sometimes, it’s okay to be the captain of your own Love Boat. Taking control of your desires is sexy, ladies. This may require more take charge than you have in you at this point, and that’s okay. But if you ever get the chance to steer your own ship—ahoy, matey!