If Boo could have disappeared into the floor tiles of the waiting room, she would have. The Chihuahua sitting in the next spot over barked—or more accurately, yipped—incessantly as Boo tried her hardest to become invisible, burrowing behind Jillian’s legs and under the bench on which she sat, avoiding any and all eye contact with the tiny dog.
“You are such a baby,” Jillian muttered, unable to hide a grin at the contradiction that was Boo: a dog barrel-chested, strong, and solid, with an intimidating pit bull head, who cowered at small dogs, garbage trucks, and the vacuum cleaner.
Jillian adored her.
A door opened to the left of the front desk, and a young vet tech stepped out. “Boo?”
“That’s us, sweetie,” Jillian said to her dog, then tugged gently at her leash.
Inside the room, Boo was a model patient, which also made Jillian smile. That contradiction again. Whimpering and scared in the waiting room, brave and confident for the vet tech, who poked and prodded and examined, then told them Dr. Jackson would be right with them, and gave Boo a treat.
She was still munching happily when Shay came in and immediately gave Jillian a hug.
“Hey there, good lookin’. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Midwinter break. I’m off all week. It’s good to see you, Shay,” Jillian told her as she looked her friend over and grinned. “I still can’t get over how impressive it is when you walk in here in your lab coat, all doctor-like.” She could still picture high-school age Shay, her unruly hair having gone from afro to cornrows, athletic and always sure of herself. Now she kept her hair short, still colored it a bit so it was light, almost blonde at the tips, and that confidence always radiated from her, drew people to her. Shay was one of those people who always made you feel comfortable, no matter what.
“You look so good,” Shay said, talking to Boo. “You’re such a pretty girl. Let me see those teeth. Ooo, look at those babies, all pearly white. Mommy’s been brushing them, hasn’t she?”
Boo let Shay lift her lips to check her teeth, look into her eyes and ears, play with her feet, even held still for her puppy shots. As she worked, Shay directed her questions to Jillian. “So how’s life? Work okay?”
“It is,” Jillian said, and meant it. “I’m actually liking working with the little ones.”
“Yeah?” Shay stopped what she was doing to look at her friend. “That’s great. I know you were getting antsy there for a while.”
“I was.” Jillian blew out a breath. “And I don’t like the politics. I didn’t expect there to be so much in education. They don’t prepare you for that in college.”
“Newsflash, honey: there’s politics in every business. Every business.”
“I suppose. But I work with some really great people, and the kids are fun. I’m kind of enjoying myself.”
“You know, Laura and I were just talking about you last night, about your whole job situation, and she had a terrific idea. I bet you could volunteer at the art museum. I imagine they’d love to have somebody educated to help out.”
Jillian blinked at her, then slowly nodded. “I never thought of that. How did I never think of that? That’s a fantastic idea.”
“My girl’s pretty creative.”
Jillian bumped her friend with a shoulder. “So? Sounds like things are good.”
Shay stopped what she was doing, took a big breath, and let it out loudly. “Things are amazing. Really. She’s smart and funny and sexy. I never thought I could be so happy.”
“We did good, didn’t we?”
“We sure did. How’s your girl? Doing pretty well at work, I hear.” Shay tugged at her lab coat, which was embroidered with her name and the animal hospital’s logo. “She did these for us.”
“I remember her telling me she’d done a job for you. Thanks for getting her the meeting.”
“I was happy to.”
“I think she’s much better at this job than she expected to be. She’s developed quite a sizable clientele, and I think her boss has been pleasantly surprised.”
Shay cocked her head to the side slightly and studied her friend. “What’s that look?”
“What look?”
An arched brow. “Don’t mess with me. I’ve known you since you were a kid. What’s wrong?”
Jillian sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t get to see her as much as I’d like, that’s all. She works a lot.”
“Honey, I know what that’s like,” Shay said with a snort. “She’s doing well, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re proud of her?”
“Very.”
“And when she comes home, is she happy to be there?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then relax. It won’t be like this forever. She’s still making her way.”
Jillian grinned at her old friend. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I went through a billion years of school, remember? I know what it’s like to try to juggle a career and a relationship. I think she’s doing okay.”
Somehow, just hearing Shay’s positive tone made Jillian feel better—this was the first time Jillian had given voice to her concerns. “You’re right. She is. We are.”
“Good. Now take this gorgeous mutt home, and when you get a minute, call my girlfriend and set up a dinner date for the four of us.” Shay kissed Boo on her white head and gave her another treat from the jar on the counter. A parting hug for Jillian, and Dr. Jackson was on to her next patient.
“Come on, Boo. Let’s go home.”
“I just want to thank you, Matt.” Angie lifted her wine glass.
“Is that why we’re drinking at lunch?” Matt Jones asked her with a grin. “So you can thank me?”
“Exactly.” She clinked her glass against his beer bottle. In the three years since Angie began her sales career, Matt had remained a loyal customer. As his business grew, so did hers. Jones Tree had gone from a small handful of employees to nearly thirty. Matt and Angie had become surprisingly good friends along the way and they tried to meet for lunch or drinks—or both—at least once a month.
“Cool. What are you thanking me for?” Matt’s brown hair was neatly combed, and though his regular attire consisted of jeans, a T-shirt, and work boots, he always looked tidy. She liked that about him. Presentation was important to him. Like she was always explaining to Jillian, image mattered.
“For being my first customer and for continuing to be the customer who is the least of a pain in my ass.”
Matt laughed, a loud guffaw that surprised Angie even though she’d heard it a hundred times before. “Well, you are very welcome.”
“Seriously,” Angie said, leaning in over the table they shared. “You are a dream. You’re rarely in a rush. You understand that shit happens, and that if something of yours is late, it’s not because I’m trying to screw you. You pay your bills on time. And you don’t give me an ass ache.”
Matt’s bushy eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “Wow. Somebody been giving you a hard time?”
“Understatement.” Angie sipped her wine. “You have customers you can’t stand?”
“Oh, god, yes. Everybody does. It’s part of doing business.”
Angie shook her head and watched as people mingled, sifted in and out of the restaurant. “This is not what I went to school for.”
“No? Join the club, sweetheart. I have a psychology degree,” Matt said.
Angie blinked at him. “Really?”
“Scout’s honor. I fell into the landscape business, liked it enough, and decided to stay.”
“Ever regret your decision?”
Matt heaved a breath, gazed out the window. “Once in a while, maybe. When I have more money due in collections than I do in my checking account. Or when my crew works its ass off on a job only to have the customer say they don’t like it or it isn’t what they expected. But”—he swigged his beer—“I love the freedom. No time clock. I’m outside much of the time. Makes it almost all worthwhile. I would like to see my wife a little more often.”
“Oh, I so understand that. Jillian’s been great and super supportive, but I know she gets frustrated with my hours. Did I tell you I had a customer call me last week on my cell at eight o’clock?”
“At night?”
“He was on the west coast, so it was only five for him, but he didn’t seem terribly apologetic when I explained to him that I was home with my family. Jillian was not happy about that.”
“I know. Beth can be the same way.”
“I do love the freedom, though, that’s for sure.” It was true. As long as Angie was making sales and writing orders, nobody lurked over her shoulder. She could come and go as she pleased, be out of the office all day long, and nobody questioned her. She’d never expected to be so autonomous so early on in her career, but she liked it. “I have a communications degree, but I minored in business.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Angie nodded. “I think I could run this company, easy.”
Matt’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great. Is Guelli looking to sell?”
“Not that I know of,” Angie said with a shake of her head. “But he’s no spring chicken. He’s got to be at least thinking about retiring in the next five or ten years.” The idea of actually running Logo Promo had been rolling around in her head for several weeks, but this was the first time she’d spoken aloud about it. To anybody. As the owner of a small business himself, Matt seemed like the perfect sounding board. But even as she spoke to him, she felt guilty for not talking to Jillian first.
“It’d be good to have the company run by somebody younger. Times are changing quickly, and so is business and the way it’s done.”
“Guelli thinks computers are a fad.”
Matt gaped at her. “No.”
“Yes. He’s an old friend of the family, but the guy’s a relic. I start talking about sorting sales records on the computer, and I can see his eyes just glaze right over.”
“Maybe you should spend some time working up an automation plan, see what he thinks. It’s worth a shot.”
Angie nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Matt glanced at his watch. “Ugh. I’ve gotta go.” He looked around and signaled the waitress.
“No, no. You’re the customer. I’m buying.” Angie’s cell rang at that moment. “Go,” she said to Matt, who gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for lunch.” And he was off.
“Hi, this is Angie,” she said into the phone.
“Angie, this is Margie from Keystone Bank. Those pens we ordered came in, but the phone number is wrong.” Margie’s tone held a combination of irritation and panic. They had a grand opening scheduled for their newest branch next week, and the pens were one of their giveaways.
Angie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. Don’t worry. I’m in the neighborhood. I’ll be right over and we’ll get it fixed. Okay?” She finished the call and wondered where the mistake had happened. Had Ivan screwed up the art and she didn’t catch the mistake? Or did the pen supplier drop the ball? The answer would mean the difference between eating the cost of a thousand pens or having the pen company pick them up and take care of things in time for the opening.
She picked up her wine and downed the remaining half a glass in two big gulps.
The March night was beautiful, the air still crisp, but with that distinct smell of impending spring, and Jillian cracked one of the bedroom windows open just enough to fill the room with that scent.
“Oh, this is nice,” Angie commented as she came through the doorway, shedding her suit as she walked, careful not to spill the remainder of the wine in her glass. Jillian had a few squat candles burning on each nightstand, the covers turned down, the pillows fluffed. Angie looked at her girlfriend and arched a brow in question.
Jillian smiled. “You’ve been working so hard, I wanted to help you relax. So . . .” She held up a bottle, tipped it back and forth in her hand. “I bought some massage oil.”
“Ooo. I like the sound of that.”
“Then get undressed and come over here.” Jillian injected a sexy undertone into her voice as she pointed to the bed. It was close to eight o’clock, and Angie had been home for only a half hour. Long enough to eat and grab a glass of wine. Jillian had plans for her woman tonight. It had been too long since they’d been together, and she was tired of waiting for Angie to make a move. She pointed to Boo’s bed in the corner, and the dog obediently curled up on it.
Angie set her glass down and undressed while Jillian watched. Even after nearly six years together, Jillian was still in awe of her girlfriend’s body. Tall, bronzed even in the winter, rounded and curvy in all the right places. Angie hung up her suit and blouse, put her heels in the closet, then turned to stand before Jillian in her bra and underwear.
“Oh, no.” Jillian gestured with a finger. “All of it.”
Angie grinned then removed the rest of her clothing until she stood completely naked.
“Much better.” Jillian stepped close to her, touched a finger to her throat, ran it all the way down the center of her torso to the thatch of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. “You are so beautiful, Angelina,” she whispered.
Angie tilted her head down and their mouths met, then their tongues, hot and hungry. Jillian held tightly to Angie’s hips, slid her hands up Angie’s bare back, dug her fingers into the flesh at Angie’s shoulders. God, it felt like it had been so long, and she wanted nothing more than to turn their bodies, push Angie onto her back on the bed, and take what she wanted. She stopped herself, forced herself to slow down, to keep control. This night was supposed to be about Angie, about making her feel good, not about Jillian having her way—though she hoped that’s the direction things would end up going.
She pulled away from the kiss, and took a step back from Angie. Waving an arm at the bed, she said, “Okay. Lie down on your stomach.”
Angie blinked at her for a moment, all swollen lips and ragged breath. Then she smiled and complied, stretching out on the taupe sheets.
Jillian surveyed the sight for a moment, admiring the gentle lines of Angie’s calves, her thighs, her rounded ass and hips, and that strong, strong back. There was something about the wide planes of Angie’s back and shoulders that turned Jillian on, and she told Angie so as she climbed onto the bed and straddled her, sitting lightly on Angie’s behind.
“I’ve always wondered if I should try lifting weights,” Angie said. “Maybe that would develop the muscles more.”
“I love them just the way they are,” Jillian responded as she poured massage oil into her hands and warmed it by rubbing them together. “They’re perfect, and I love them.” She punctuated her words by placing both palms in the middle of Angie’s back and sliding up, using her own weight as pressure.
The groan that escaped Angie made all the effort Jillian put into the evening worthwhile.
“Fair warning,” Jillian said. “I’m sort of winging this massage thing.”
“Wing away,” Angie muttered, her face half in the pillow. “You’re doing just fine.” Jillian wrung another groan from her, then focused on Angie’s shoulders and arms. She used liberal amounts of the oil and found herself enjoying the process nearly as much as Angie seemed to be. Something about rubbing her oil-slicked hands over Angie’s smooth, warm skin was intoxicating, and she kept at it, kneading not only Angie’s back and shoulders, but her arms, her hands, her thighs, her calves, and even her feet. By the time she felt her own legs tingling from being crunched beneath her on the bed for too long, she’d had her hands on just about every muscle group in Angie’s body and had molded each one into submission. And much to her delight, her own underwear was damp.
Happy about the discovery, she hopped off the bed and quickly divested herself of her clothes, then scooted up next to Angie.
Who was breathing deeply, evenly.
Who was sound asleep.
Jillian turned onto her back and blew out a huge breath of defeat, trying to think that she’d done a great job at relaxing her girlfriend, not that her plan had backfired. With a turn of her head, she studied Angie, ran her eyes over her face, the smooth skin, the full, pink lips that were the shape of a perfect bow, the chicken pox scar at her right temple, the small brown mole low on her chin. Using her thumb, Jillian stroked the length of one dark eyebrow once, twice. This was the only time lately that Angie seemed relaxed . . . when she slept. During her waking hours, her face was tenser, her brows a tiny bit furrowed. Not for the first time, Jillian worried that Angie was working too hard.
“I love you,” she whispered, and leaned forward to place a feather-light kiss on Angie’s nose.
They lay face to face until Jillian followed Angie into slumber.