Second Chance for Romance

Chapter 28

Christy recruited a couple of art major friends to help with the next stage of her project. We transferred the heavy clay sculpture to a rolling table and wheeled it down to one of the molding and casting studios.

We needed to build a box for the mold first. And even though Christy and her friends knew what to do, none of them had much experience doing it. I watched with amusement as they struggled with basic tools like a hammer and saw. At first I was a bit annoyed that Siobhan had simply cast Christy adrift without any guidance, but then I realized why I was there.

I had to hand it to the older woman—she knew what she was doing. She gave her students guidance instead of doing the work for them. She taught them the skills, gave them the tools, and let them learn for themselves. And in this case, I was part of the lesson.

I hopped off the cart where I’d been watching. “Here,” I said. “Lemme help.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” Christy said.

“Why didn’t you just ask me in the first place? You know I can do this.”

“I didn’t want to impose. I mean, after all you’ve done…”

“What? You think I have a limited amount of friendship?” I chuckled and took the saw from her before she hurt herself.

“Have you ever made a mold?” one of the friends asked. She was a big-boned girl with a punk haircut.

“No, but I’ve framed houses. Same principle. So, you draw what you want, and I’ll make it happen.”

Christy, the punk girl, and her other friend (a tall, thin guy with bad acne)

put their heads together and sketched out a basic box with slightly sloped sides. Christy started to put dimensions on it, but her math was terrible.

“Here, give me that.” I laughed and took the tape measure from her. Then I measured the statue and made notes. I took their basic design and cleaned it up quite a bit. Then I added some structural support for the outside, to keep the plywood from deforming under the pressure of the mold material.

“You have done this before,” the girl said.

“No. But it’s fairly simple.”

“He designs buildings,” Christy boasted.

“So you’re an architect,” punk girl said, “not an artist?”

I started to reply, but Christy beat me to it.

“He’s both. Architecture is art. Michelangelo was an architect. He designed St. Peter’s Basilica.”

I laughed. “So you were paying attention.”

She beamed.

“Michelangelo had help,” I told the other two. “He took over Bramante’s design and incorporated elements from Raphael. That’s basically what I’m doing here.”

“Whatever,” punk girl said. “Let’s get a move on. We don’t have all night.”

I didn’t particularly like her, but the girl worked hard and knew what she was doing in general. Christy and the guy held and fetched things for us, and we finished the basic structure in a couple of hours. We took a break when Wren and Trip showed up with a picnic dinner of sorts.

“I knew y’all would be hungry,” she said as she laid out food on a makeshift plywood table. “And Christy forgets to eat when she’s working.”

“I don’t have time for food.”

“You still need to eat.” Wren gave me a look of disapproval, like it was my job to keep Christy properly fed.

“Yes, mother,” Christy said with affection. “I promise I’ll be a good girl and eat all my vegetables.” She winked at me and began loading her plate.

The others joined in. We chatted as we did, but then conversation died as we began shoveling food into our mouths. Christy ate all her vegetables, as promised, and went back for seconds. She wasn’t a quick eater, but she never stopped. Wren brought out a roll of aluminum foil and loaded two plates of leftovers for later.

“Thanks,” punk girl said as she cleaned her own plate. “That was really

good.”

“You want to take some with you?” Wren offered. She brandished the foil.

“If you don’t mind.”

“My pleasure.”

“Mine too,” the girl said.

Something about her warmth made me pause. I shot a questioning glance at Christy, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

After Wren finished with the leftovers for Christy’s friends, she and Trip began repacking the wicker clothes hamper they’d used to bring everything.

Wren gave us hugs and told us not to work too late, and then they left. I scanned the box plans and told Christy’s friends that we could finish on our own. They took off as well, food in hand.

“Come on, Little Bit,” I said to Christy. “Let’s knock this out.”

“Just a sec.” She carefully pushed a pile of scrap lumber together at my feet.

“What’re you doing?”

“You’ll see. Hand me that board thingy.”

“The two-by-four, you mean?”

“Whatever it’s called. I need it.”

She built up her pile until it was almost a foot tall. Then she tested its stability. She shifted a couple of boards.

I thought I knew what she was doing, but I still smiled when she stepped onto the pile and rose to my level.

She put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I caught her when the pile suddenly shifted. She never broke the kiss, though, and even locked her legs around me to hold herself in place. She squeaked when I grabbed her ass with both hands, but she still didn’t pull away.

“That was nice,” I said when we eventually came up for air. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“For being the most awesome guy in the world.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Only the ones I like.”

“Oh? Is it a long list?”

“It’s a list of one.” She grinned mischievously. “Although…”

“Although…?”

“It’s a long list of one, if you know what I mean.”

I threw back my head and laughed.

She smiled, and her blue eyes shone with pleasure.

“We’d better get back to work,” I said eventually.

“Spoilsport.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Kiss me again. One more time.”

“Wait, you kissed me. You do it again.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

She grinned.

“What?” I said, suddenly uncertain.

“I like hearing you say that.”

“What… ‘what’?”

“Uh-uh.”

I thought back through what I’d said and then rolled my eyes.

“Say it again, say it again.” She grinned like a little kid.

“Make me.”

“Do you want to kiss me again?”

I nodded smugly.

“No fair! You have to say it.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Say it again, please?”

I pretended to think.

“Please, please. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want.”

I glanced thoughtfully at the plywood table.

She followed my eyes and blushed pink to the tips of her ears.

“Whatever I want?”

“Not that. Not till we’re married. I told you.”

“And I told you, it’s gonna happen long before then.” I put my lips to her ear. “Long and hard and often.”

She sighed.

“Until then, we’ll just have to finish our box.” I grinned evilly. “Good thing we have plenty of wood. Even a small box needs a lot. We’ll have to give it a good pounding, too. And then we’ll fill it with lots of gooey white stuff.”

She moaned.

I kissed her ear and smiled to myself. “Just be patient.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she said softly.

“You can.”

She pulled back, and her eyes searched mine. “You really think so?”

“I do,” I said with a smile.

Christy and I finally left the studio a little before eleven o’clock. The A&A building was abuzz with its usual end-of-quarter activity, and I was tempted to stop by the design labs to see which of my classmates were burning the midnight oil. Then the rational part of my brain kicked in, and I decided I didn’t care. I wanted to go home.

Wren and Trip were listening to the stereo and enjoying a bottle of wine when we arrived. They invited us to join them, but Christy and I could tell by the music where things were headed. We chatted for a few minutes and then left them to their romantic evening.

“You feel like a nightcap?” she suggested.

“Sounds good.”

We poured two glasses of Jameson and headed upstairs.

“My place or yours?” I asked.

“Mine. There’s a couch with my name on it.”

“Right.”

I slouched on one end of the couch and propped my feet on a beanbag.

Christy took a long drink of whiskey and stretched out beside me with her head in my lap. She smiled when I rested my hand on her stomach.

“Would you be offended if we’re just friends tonight?” I asked.

“What’ll the neighbors think?”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’d better get naked and have sex in front of the open blinds.”

“We have a reputation to maintain.”

We broke into giggles that faded into weary but companionable silence.

When the phone rang and no one answered, we decided that Wren and Trip were otherwise occupied.

“We gotta get an extension up here,” I grumbled as I climbed to my feet.

“Add it to the list.” I trudged down the stairs and reached the phone in my bedroom.

“Hello?”

“Hey! I finally got you.”

Christy appeared in the doorway. “Who is it?”

“Hold on a sec,” I said into the phone before I covered the mouthpiece.

“California girl.” Great, I thought sourly. Now I’m lying to Christy too.

“Oh, cool. Say hi for me,” she said. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for all your help.” She tilted her face up.

I kissed her goodnight. Oh, what a tangled web we weave… And I knew how the rest of that line went.

Christy shuffled out. Her bedroom door closed a moment later.

“Sorry,” I said into the phone as I swung my own door shut, “I’m back.”

“Hot date?” Gina teased, although her voice had an edge. “I called and left several messages. Wren— That’s her name, right? Wren said you were out with Christy and wouldn’t be home till late. She made it sound like…”

“We’re just friends,” I said, which was technically true, but a lie in most senses of the word.

“Friends like you and Leah, or…?”

Did I really want to have that conversation?

Gina saved me from having to make a decision. “Never mind. I don’t have any right to ask.”

“We were working on a project. She needed help building a box for a casting mold, and I volunteered.”

“Oh, okay. I’m sorry I asked. Not sorry as in, ‘I don’t like the answer,’

but sorry I leapt to a conclusion. It’s just that Wren made it sound like you were on a date.”

I sidestepped the question altogether. “You said you left several messages?”

“Yeah. Didn’t she give them to you?”

“She must’ve forgotten,” I said dryly. “In her defense, she and Trip were having a romantic evening while they had the house to themselves, but still…”

“That’s okay,” Gina said. “I have you now, and that’s all that matters.”

She sounded so affectionate that I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I drained the glass of whiskey. It burned going down, which made me think of guilt eating away at my insides.

“…talk to you earlier,” Gina was saying.

“Yeah, sorry. I don’t think I’ve been home before eleven all week. Closer

to midnight, actually. It’s all project, all the time around here.”

“I know what you mean, although most of my projects are research papers.”

“We have to create things. Like, build them, I mean. Something physical.”

“I always loved that about you, that you were so good with your hands.

Not to mention your other body parts.”

I felt a little dizzy—emotionally, not physically—and sat on the bed. I knew where she was headed, but I didn’t want to go there. I closed my eyes and scrubbed a hand over my face.

“I wish you were here now,” she said, low and suggestive.

“I do too, but I’ll be honest… I’d probably be just as useless.”

Her tone changed immediately. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m dead tired, Gina. Sorry. I’ve been up since six, and it’s after midnight here. And it’s not just today. My whole week’s been like that.”

“I understand.” Still, she couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Sometimes I forget about the time difference.” She didn’t, but it was a convenient excuse.

“I’m really sorry. I’d love to have a steamy call, but I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in the middle.” I didn’t mention the whiskey, but I could already feel it working. “I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, so I figured I’d tell you.”

“That’s okay,” she half-lied. “I’ll write you a letter instead. How’s that?”

“That’d be awesome. I wrote you one earlier this week. Monday, I think.

Mailed it Tuesday. Yeah, Tuesday. Did you get it today? That was quick if you did.”

“No,” she said, “but I’ll get it eventually. In the meantime, I can write an extra. And maybe I can put in there what I want to do to you.”

“I’d like that.” I sounded too disinterested, but she gave me the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay. Then I guess I’d better let you get some sleep.”

“Thanks. And I’m really sorry. I’ll try to call this weekend when I’m more awake.”

“That’d be nice,” she said, although it was subdued.

“Talk to you later, then.”

“Yeah. Talk to you later. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

I hung up, lay back on my pillow, and stared at the ceiling for a while. I

was tired, but not as tired as I’d made it sound.

Unfortunately, I knew exactly what the problem was, and Sara had nailed it: I’d already moved on. Gina was the past. Christy was the future, even with all my questions and doubts. Anything I did with Gina, even something as

“innocent” as phone sex, would feel like cheating. Not physically, but emotionally. That bothered me.

And my life wasn’t going to get any easier just because I understood the problem. If anything, it was about to get more complicated.