Tully did not suffer from the same malaise. While she still cried about Chad when they were drinking late at night, she had no problem meeting guys and bringing them home. Kate had yet to see the same guy come out of Tully's bedroom twice. According to Tully, that was the plan. She had, or so she said, no intention of falling in love. In retrospect, of course, Tully came to believe that she'd loved Chad desperately, so much so that no other man could measure up. But not enough, as Kate repeatedly pointed out, to call him or move to Tennessee.
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Without Tully, Kate's life lost its shape, and like some overwashed sweater, no amount of positioning or folding could make it right again. Her mother told her repeatedly to snap out of her funk and start dating, have some fun, but how could she date when she had no interest in the guys who had interest in her?
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From the moment Tully took the new job, Kate found herself watching her friend's life from a distance. Month after month passed with them living separate lives, connected only by place. By the following summer's end, their tiny apartment, once the container of their lives, had become something of a way station. Tully spent twelve hours a day, seven days a week, working. When she wasn't technically at work, she was chasing down leads and following stories, trying like hell to do something -- anything -- that would put her in front of the camera.
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After that long night spent together in the hospital waiting room, Kate had thought there might actually be some hope. She'd felt that a door had opened between them; they'd talked easily, and about important things. But whatever inroads had been made in the bright light of the waiting room had faded with the dawn. She'd never forget the look on his face when he learned that Tully would be fine. It was more than relief.
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To be honest, Kate was growing tired of her friend's drunken reminiscences about the epic love she'd had for Chad.
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That was when he'd pulled away from her.
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Kate knew what love was, how it could turn you inside out and dry up your heart. An unreturned love was a bleak and terrible thing. All day long, every day, she moved like a lesser planet in Johnny's orbit, watching him, wanting him, aching for him in lonely silence.
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Now finally it was time for her to pull away from him. Time to leave her little girl fantasies in the sandbox along with other forgotten toys and move on. He didn't love her. Any dreams to the contrary were simply that.
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It couldn't go on anymore. That was the decision she'd made at work today, while she stood in the doorway to his office, waiting for him to notice she was there.
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She turned around and saw Tully in the doorway; her friend wore her dating clothes -- an artfully torn sweatshirt that exposed one bare shoulder, jeans tucked into slouchy ankle boots, and a big low-slung belt. Her hair had been puffed up around her face and pulled into a bright banana clip over her left ear. An ornate set of crucifixes hung from around her neck.
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As soon as her workday had ended, she'd gone to the newsstand in the Public Market and purchased all the local papers. While Tully was out bar-hopping with her guy du jour, or working late, Kate intended to rechart the course of her life.
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Sitting at the kitchen table, with her half-eaten dinner still in cartons around her, she opened the Seattle Times and turned to the classified section. There, she saw several interesting choices. Reaching for a pen, she was about to circle one when the door behind her opened.
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"Come on, Mularkey," Johnny said, moving toward her. "It'll be fun."
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"I don't think so."
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"We'll go to Kells."
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"Hey, Mularkey," he said, smiling. "Tully wants you to come dancing with us."
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"Come on, Katie. It'll be like old times," Tully said. "The Three Musketeers."
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She closed the newspaper with exaggerated care. "No, thanks."
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"Hey, Katie," she said in a slurred I've-already-had-three-margaritas voice. "Look who I ran into."
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"Don't," Kate started, but Tully wasn't listening.
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Of course she had a guy with her; she was draped all over him.
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The guy stepped out from behind the door.
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Tully let go of Johnny's hand and half stumbled, half lunged toward her. "Please," she said. "I had a bad day today. I need you."
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The way he smiled made it impossible to say no, even though she knew it was a bad idea to join them.
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She went into her bedroom and put on a sparkly blue dress with shoulder pads and a cinch belt. By the time she came back out of her room, Johnny had Tully pressed up against the wall, with her hands over her head and his hands covering hers, and was kissing her.
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"Okay," she said. "I'll get dressed."
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Johnny.
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Tully wiggled out from underneath Johnny and grinned at her. "Excellent. Let's rock 'n' roll."
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The minute Johnny left to get them drinks, Kate looked across the table. "What are you doing with him?"
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"I'm ready," Kate said dully.
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Tully laughed. "What can I say? We ran into each other after work and had a few drinks. One thing led to another, and…" She looked sharply at Kate. "Do you care if I sleep with him?"
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Three abreast, their arms linked, they walked out of the apartment and down the empty cobblestone street. At Kells Irish Pub, they found a small empty table close to the dance floor.
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There it was. The question that mattered. Kate had no doubt that if she bared her soul and told the truth, this horrible night would be over. Tully would shut Johnny down faster than a storm door in a tornado, and she wouldn't tell Johnny why.
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But what good would come of that? Kate knew how Johnny felt about Tully, how he'd always felt. He wanted a woman with passion and fire; losing Tully wouldn't make him turn to Kate. And maybe it was time for drastic measures, finally. Kate's hope had endured so much, but this -- him sleeping with Tully -- would be the end of it.
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She lifted her gaze, praying her eyes were dry. "Come on, Tully, you know better than that."
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"No. But… he cares about you, you do know that, right? You could break his heart."
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Before Kate could answer, Johnny returned to the table with two margaritas and a bottle of beer. Setting them down, he took Tully's hand and dragged her onto the floor. There, they melted into the crowd, where he took her into his arms and kissed her.
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"Are you sure? Do you want --"
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At some point during the endless, excruciating evening, Tully went to the bathroom and left Johnny and Kate alone. She tried to think of something to say to him, but frankly, she didn't dare make eye contact. With his damp, curling hair and flushed cheeks, he looked so damned sexy it made her chest ache.
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Tully laughed at that. "You Catholic girls worry about everyone, don't you?"
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For the next two hours, she sat with them, drinking heavily, pretending she was having fun. All the while something inside of her was slowly dying.
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Kate reached for her drink. She had no idea what that kiss meant to Tully, but she knew what it meant to Johnny, and the knowledge seeped through her like some kind of poison.
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"She's really something," he said. Behind him, the band finished their song and turned to their sheet music for inspiration. "I was starting to think it would never happen… her and me," he said, sipping his beer, gazing back toward the bathroom, as if he could draw her back by will alone.
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"You should be careful," Kate said almost too quietly to be heard. She knew the words, and the warning, would reveal something of her heart, but she couldn't help herself. Johnny might wear the suit of a cynic at work, but at the hospital she'd learned the truth. Inside, where it mattered, he was an idealist. No one bruised as easily as a believer. She should know.
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She shook her head. There was no way she could say it again, and besides, Tully was back.
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Much later, when she lay in her lonely bedroom, listening to the sound of lovemaking coming from another room, she finally cried.
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In the months since their party night at Kells Pub, Kate was not the only one to notice the change in Johnny. As autumn settled into the city and stripped it of color, the mood in the office became sullen and quiet. Mutt kept completely to himself, cleaning and rearranging his equipment, filing negatives in notebooks. Carol, who had been cajoled back to work after Tully's departure, stayed in her own office, with the door shut, barely saying a word to everyone, even when she got her coffee.
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Johnny leaned toward her. "What was that, Mularkey?"
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The only one who didn't try to reach Johnny was Kate, and she was the only one who knew what the problem was.
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No one said a word about Johnny's appearance, but everyone saw that he seemed lately to be simply rolling out of bed and coming to work. His hair was too long and beginning to curl in all kinds of weird ways. He hadn't shaved in days; his beard grew in dark, shadowed patches on his hollowed cheeks, and his clothes often didn't match.
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The first few times he'd come to work this way, they'd rallied around him like geese, clucking their worry. Quietly but firmly he'd shut the door to his office, saying he was fine. Mutt had mounted an offensive that began with an offer of pot and ended with, "Whatever, man. I'm here if you wanna talk."
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Carol had tried in her own way to swim the invisible moat Johnny had ringed around himself; her attempts failed as utterly as Mutt's.
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Tully.
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Just that morning, as they'd been having breakfast, Tully had said, "Johnny keeps calling me. Should I go out with him again?"
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She got up slowly, walked to his closed office door. It made no sense for her to go to him; certainly if the tables were turned he wouldn't have gone to her, but he was hurting right now, and she couldn't stand that. After a long minute, she knocked.
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Now Kate sat at her desk, supposedly filing their new insurance information.
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She and Johnny were alone in the office for the first time in days. Carol and Mutt were out on assignment.
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"Come in."
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Fortunately for Kate, it had turned out to be a rhetorical question. Tully answered it herself. "No way. I want a relationship like I want a lethal injection. I thought he knew that."
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She went to the fridge in the corner of his office and got two Henry Weinhard's beers. Opening them, she handed one to him, then sat down on the edge of his cluttered desk. "You look like a man who is drowning," she said simply.
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She opened the door.
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He was at his desk, hunched over, writing furiously on a yellow legal pad. Hair fell across his profile; he impatiently tucked it behind his ear and looked up at her. "Yeah, Mularkey?"
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Johnny took a long drink of his beer and leaned back in his chair. "She won't return my phone calls."
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He glanced at the door. "Are we alone?"
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He took the beer. "It shows, huh?"
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"I don't get it. That night -- our night together, I mean -- I thought…"
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Seated in an uncomfortable chair in an unfamiliar office, Kate stared out the window at a bare, leafless tree and the gray sky behind it. She wondered idly when the last tangerine-colored leaves had fallen away.
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"It shows."
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"Mutt and Carol left about ten minutes ago."
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They sat there in silence for a long time, each sipping beer.
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"I know the truth."
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"I know."
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"It's fucking awful to want someone you can't have."
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And with those few words, Kate knew: she had never had a chance with him. "Yeah, it is." She paused, looking down at him. It was time -- past time, really -- for her to let go of this dream and move on. "I'm sorry, Johnny," she finally said, getting up from the edge of his desk.
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"What are you sorry about?"
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"Do you want the truth?"
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She wished she had the nerve to answer him, to tell him how she felt, but some things were better left unspoken.
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Kate tried to look relaxed. She'd dressed carefully for today in a plain black wool gabardine suit, with a white blouse and a silk paisley tie tamed into a floppy bow at her throat. She hoped it was a look that said professional through and through. "In my years in TV news I've learned a few things about myself and a few things about the world. The news, as you know, is go-go-go. We're always moving at top speed, just getting the facts and then moving on. I often find myself more interested in what comes after the story than the story itself. I'm better, I believe, at long-range thinking and planning. Details, rather than broad strokes. And I'm a good writer. I'd like to learn more about that, but I won't do it in ten-second sound bites."
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"Well, Ms. Mularkey, you have a very impressive résumé for someone your age. May I ask why you're considering a career change to advertising?"
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"You've given this a lot of thought."
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"I have."
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The woman across the desk leaned back, studying Kate through a pair of trendy, bead-encrusted glasses. She seemed to like what she saw. "Okay, Ms. Mularkey. I'll discuss this with my partners and we'll get back to you. Just so I know, when could you start work?"
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"Excellent." The woman stood. "Do you need a parking voucher?"
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"I'd need to give two-weeks notice and then I'd be ready to go."
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Surprisingly, the main office room was empty. Kate hung up her coat and tossed her purse and briefcase under her desk, then went around the corner to Johnny's office. "I'm back."
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"No, thank you." Kate shook the woman's hand firmly and left the office.
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Outside, Pioneer Square huddled beneath a stern charcoal-hued sky. Cars clogged the narrow, old-fashioned streets, but very few pedestrians walked past the brick-faced buildings. Even the homeless people who usually slept on these park benches and bummed smokes and money from passersby were somewhere else on this cold afternoon.
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Kate walked briskly along First Avenue, buttoning up her old college coat as she went. She caught the uptown bus and got off at the stop in front of the office at exactly 3:57.
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He was on the phone, but he motioned for her to come in. "Come on," he was saying in an exasperated voice, "how am I supposed to help you with that?" He was silent for a moment, frowning. Then, "Fine. But you owe me one." He hung up the phone and smiled at Kate, but it wasn't the old smile, the one that had taken her breath away. She hadn't seen that one since the night with Tully.
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"You're wearing a suit," he said. "Don't think I haven't noticed. Around here, that means only two things, and since I know you aren't anchoring the news…"
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"Account executive."
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"The ad agency? What position did you apply for?"
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"Mogelgaard and Associates."
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"Wait. I'm working on this story for Mike Hurtt. I could use some help."
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"You don't owe me anything," she answered. "I was just doing my job."
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"You'd be good at that."
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"Thanks, but I don't have the job yet."
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She waited for him to say more, but he just stared at her, as if something troubled him. No doubt she reminded him of the night with Tully. "Well, I better get back to work."
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For the next few hours, they sat huddled together at his desk, working and reworking the problematic script. Kate tried to keep her distance from him and told herself never to make eye contact. Both resolutions failed. By the time they finished work, night had fallen outside; the quiet outer offices were banked in shadows.
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"I owe you dinner," Johnny said, putting his papers away. "It's almost eight."
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"You will."
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"Sure."
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Johnny immediately went to the fireplace, where a fire was already set. He bent down, lighting the newspapers and kindling fire roared to life. Then he turned to her. "Would you like a drink?"
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"You think replacing you will be easy?"
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Kate steeled herself against the emotion knocking on her heart. She would not let it in. For too long she'd let herself be pulverized by dreams of a happy ending that wasn't to be. She followed him down the dock and into a house that was surprisingly spacious.
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"Okay."
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"I owe you dinner. That's all there is to it. Now get your coat. Please."
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They went downstairs and got into his car. In minutes, they were pulling up to a beautiful cedar-shaked houseboat on Lake Union.
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Months ago, when there was still hope, she would have blushed at a moment like this. Maybe even a week ago she would have. "I'll help you hire someone."
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She had no answer for that. "I'm going now --"
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"Where are we?" Kate asked.
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"My house. Don't worry, I'm not going to make you dinner. I just want to change my clothes. You're all dressed up."
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He looked at her. "How will I get along without you?"
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"When I was sixteen, they sent me to school in New York. That was the last time I saw them."
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She saw no reason to put it into words, this knowledge she'd gleaned over the years, cobbled together into an image of his life. "It doesn't matter. You were lucky to be raised by people who believed in something."
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"Perfect." He went to the kitchen, poured two drinks, and returned. "Here you go. I'll be right back."
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"They were missionaries. They were killed in Uganda by Amin's death squads."
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"My parents," Johnny said, coming up behind her. "Myrna and William."
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She spun around, feeling as if she'd been caught snooping. "Where do they live?" she said, going to the couch, sitting down. She needed distance between them.
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She stood there a moment, uncertain of what to do. She glanced around the living room, noticing how few photographs he had. On the television cabinet there was a single picture of a middle-aged couple, dressed in brightly colored clothing, squatting together in a jungle-looking setting with children clustered around them.
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"Where were you?"
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"So they were idealists, too."
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"Rum and Coke?"
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"What do you mean, 'too'?"
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It was a long moment before he said, "Why are you really quitting, Mularkey?"
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"I said, it was awful to want someone you couldn't have."
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He sighed and shook his head, then walked over to the sofa and sat down beside her. The way he looked at her, as if she were somehow watery or out of focus, made her heartbeat speed up. "How do you do that?"
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She shifted her weight to face him, pulled her legs up underneath her. "I know about wanting someone."
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"Is it?" He put his drink on the coffee table.
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"Is that why you became a war correspondent? To fight in your own way?"
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He looked skeptical. No doubt he was thinking about the times Tully teased her about never dating. "Who?"
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"Well… it's all the same."
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She leaned back a little. "Remember when you said it was awful to want something you can't have? I'm never going to be a kick-ass reporter or a first-rate producer. I don't live and breathe the news. I'm tired of not being good enough."
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"Know me?"
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She smiled, hoping it didn't look as brittle as it felt. "We've worked together a long time."
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He stared at her, frowning.
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"What?"
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"How could I? I know how you feel about Tully."
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He drew back; it was obvious that he'd never imagined this. "You never…"
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"I wouldn't want to hurt you. You're a nice girl, and I'm not looking for --"
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She knew she should lie, gloss over the question, but just now, with him so close, she felt a wave of longing that nearly overwhelmed her. God help her, but that door seemed opened again. Though she knew it wasn't, knew it was an illusion, she walked through it anyway. "You."
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"What if not kissing you hurts me?"
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For years, she'd expended effort to keep the faucet of her longing for him turned off, but now that he so close, there was no holding back. This was her last chance. "Kiss me, Johnny. Show me I'm wrong to want you."
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She waited for him to say something, but he just looked at her. In the silence, she could make up anything. He hadn't said no, hadn't laughed. Maybe that meant something.
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"Katie…"
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For once, she wasn't Mularkey. She leaned closer. "Now who's afraid? Kiss me, Johnny."
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Just before her lips touched his, she thought she heard him say, "This is a bad idea," but before she could reassure him, he was kissing her back.
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He tried to pull away when he noticed her tears, but she wouldn't let him. One moment they were on the sofa, making out like teenagers; the next thing she knew, she was on the floor in front of the fire, naked.
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It wasn't the first time Kate had been kissed; it wasn't even the first time she'd been kissed by a man she cared about, and yet, absurdly, she started to cry.
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He knelt beside her, still clothed. Shadows concealed half his body and highlighted the sharp angles and hollows of his face. "Are you sure?"
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He made a sound that was part desperation, part surrender, and let her undress him. Then he took her in his arms again.
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Sensations became everything, all that she was, all that she cared about; pain, pleasure, frustration. Even her breathing wasn't her own. She was gasping, choking, crying out for him to stop, and not to stop, and to make it go on and make it go away.
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"That would have been a good question before my clothes came off." Smiling, she angled up and began unbuttoning his shirt.
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His kisses were different now, harsher, deeper, more erotic. She felt her body responding in a way it never had before; it was as if she became nothing and everything, just a ragged collection of nerve endings. His touch was her torture, her salvation.
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I love you, she thought, holding him, rising to meet him. The withheld words filled her head, became a soundtrack to the rhythm of their bodies.
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And then he was inside her, hurting her. She gasped at the suddenness of the pain but made no sound. Instead, she clung to him, kissing him and moving with him until the pain dissolved and there was none of her left; there was only this, the feelings of them where they came together, the sharp, aching need for something more…
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She felt her body arching up, as if the whole of her were reaching for something, needing it with a desperation that made her ache, but she didn't even know what it was.
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"Wow," she said, flopping back onto the warm carpet. For the first time in her life, she got what all the hype was about.
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"Katie," he cried out, thrusting deep inside her.
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He stretched out beside her, his sweat-dampened body tucked in close to hers. Keeping one arm around her, he stared up at the ceiling. Like hers, his breathing was ragged.
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Her body exploded, like some star in space, breaking apart, floating away. Time stopped for a moment, then settled slowly back in place.
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"Yes," was all she could say.
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When he turned to her, she saw something in his blue eyes that confused her: fear.
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"You were a virgin," he said, sounding frighteningly far away.
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She rolled onto her side, slid her naked leg over him. "Is it always like that?"
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Kate woke in Johnny's arms. They both lay on their backs, with the sheets puddled around their hips. She stared up at the planked ceiling, feeling the heavy, unfamiliar weight of his hand between her naked breasts.
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She didn't know what she was supposed to do now, how she was supposed to act. From their first kiss, this had been a magical and unexpected gift. They'd made love three times during the night, the last time only a few hours ago. They'd kissed, they'd made omelettes and eaten in front of the fire, they'd talked about their families and their job and their dreams. Johnny had even told a series of extremely stupid jokes.
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"No, Katie," he said after a long time. "It's not."
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Dawn's pale glow slanted through the open window, collecting in a buttery smear on the hardwood floor. The endless slapping of waves against the pilings echoed the slow and steady beat of her heart.
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But what if Johnny didn't think she was the right girl? He hadn't said he loved her -- of course he hadn't -- and without those words, how was a woman to put passion in context?
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She was glad she'd waited to make love, even though waiting for the right guy was unfashionable these days. Everything about last night had rocked her world, just as the poets predicted.
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Was she supposed to get dressed and sneak out and pretend it never happened? Or should she go downstairs and make breakfast and pray to God that last night was a beginning and not an ending?
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What they hadn't talked about was tomorrow, and it was here now, as much a presence between them as the soft sheets and the sound of their breathing.
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When she felt him stir beside her, she tensed up.
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"Morning," he said in a gravelly voice.
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She didn't know how to play coy or act indifferent. She'd loved him too long to pretend otherwise. What mattered now was that they didn't just get up and go their separate ways. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
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He stroked her upper arm. "Hmmm. I used to be an altar boy."
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"Now tell me something about you."
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"I would have pegged you for a romance reader."
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It was surprisingly easy to picture him like that, a young, skinny boy, with his hair slicked back from his face with water, walking carefully up the aisle. The image made her giggle. "My mother would love you."
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"That, too. Now tell me something that matters. Why did you quit reporting?"
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"I'm a science fiction geekess. Star Wars, Star Trek, Dune. I love them all."
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"You always go right for deep water, don't you?" He sighed. "I think you've figured it out anyway. El Salvador. I went down there like some kind of white knight, ready to shine my light on the truth. And then I saw what was happening…"
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"My folks had hidden so much from me. I thought I was prepared, but you can't be. It's blood and death and body parts being blown off. It's dead kids in the street and boys with machine guns. I got captured…" His voice faded away; he cleared his throat and reinforced it. "I don't know why they let me live, but they did. Lucky me. I tucked my tail between my legs and ran home."
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She said nothing, just kissed the curl of his shoulder.
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He didn't answer; instead, he leaned forward just enough to kiss her. She closed her eyes, waiting for it. She wasn't sure, but maybe, just before his lips touched hers, he said, "Because you're the kind of girl a guy could fall in love with."
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A hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, but she didn't see it in his eyes. In fact, he looked more than a little worried. "I knew you'd be dangerous."
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He tucked the hair behind her ear. "I don't want to hurt you."
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She wanted to say simply, Then don't, but this wasn't a time for simple answers or pretense. Honesty mattered now. "I'll take the risk of getting hurt if you will," she said evenly.
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It was a moment before he said, "We need to take this slow, Katie."
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"I know." She rolled over, so that she was pressed against him. She tried to memorize everything about his face and how he looked first thing in the morning. She saw the shadow of a beard that had grown in their sleeping hours and thought: Already, changes.
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"I ran like a coward. And I failed. So now you know it all, why I'm in Seattle."
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"Do you think it changes how I feel about you?"
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She didn't understand. "Me? You must be joking. No one has ever thought I was dangerous."
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"You didn't do anything to be ashamed of."
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"I do."
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"Why?"
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She opened the door and went inside. On this gray, rainy morning, the apartment was surprisingly quiet. She tossed her purse on the kitchen table and made herself a cup of tea.
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What would Tully say?
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He didn't sound particularly happy as he said it.
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Tully stood there, her hair dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel. "I almost called the cops last night. Where -- You're wearing the suit from yesterday." A slow, knowing smile crept across her face. "Did you spend the night with someone? Oh, my God, you did. You're blushing." Tully laughed. "And I thought you were going to die a virgin." She grabbed Kate's arm and dragged her over to the sofa. "Talk."
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Outside her front door, Kate paused. Only moments before she'd been flying high, reveling in the night spent in Johnny's arms, but now she was back in the real world, where she'd just slept with a man her best friend had slept with first.
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"Where the hell have you been?"
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She turned, flinched.
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Kate stared at her best friend, wishing she'd come home after Tully had left for work. This needed thought, planning. Tully could ruin it all with a word, a look. He's mine, her friend could say, and what would Kate do?
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Kate tried not to let the word rebound find purchase, but it did. "I knew you'd make it about you."
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"Oh, great. Now you're giving up your career for a guy."
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"Talk," Tully said again, bumping her.
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"He slept with me, what? A few months ago, then wouldn't stop calling. He's on the rebound, Katie. He can't be in love with you."
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Kate took a deep breath. "I'm in love."
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"But… he's your boss, for God's sake."
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Kate refused to let the pronoun wound her. "Yes. Last night --"
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"I quit. I'm starting a job in advertising in two weeks."
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"Johnny."
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"Our Johnny?"
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"Who?"
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It was now or never, and though never sounded good, there was no point in putting off the inevitable. "No," she said. "I've loved him for years."
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"We both know I'm not good enough to make it at the networks. That's your dream, Tully. It always was." She could see that her friend wanted to argue the point; she saw, too, that any argument would be a lie. "I'm in love with him, Tully," she said finally. "I have been for years."
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"Whoa there, Penelope Pitstop. Love? After one night?"
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"Can you be happy for me?"
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"I didn't trust Chad all those years ago, remember? But I put it aside because you needed me to."
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"Of what?"
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Rebound. The word, like the image it represented, kept springing into Kate's mind.
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Tully stared at her. In those dark, expressive eyes, she saw everything: fear, worry, and jealousy. "This has disaster written all over it."
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"I was scared."
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Johnny stood there. "You don't look sick."
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"Speaking of love disasters."
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Tully stared at her, and though she finally smiled, it wasn't the real thing and both of them knew it. "I'll try."
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… can't be in love with you…
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Katie couldn't answer.
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He slept with me, what? A few months ago…
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As soon as Tully left the apartment, Kate called in sick to work and crawled into bed. She hadn't been there more than twenty minutes when a knock at the front door startled her out of her thoughts. "Damn it, Tully," she muttered, pulling on her pink velour robe and slipping into her bunny slippers. "Can't you ever remember your key?" She opened the door.
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"Why didn't you tell me?"
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"I thought you'd be happy to see me," he said.
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She tried not to think about her conversation with Tully --
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Kate swallowed hard. "Do you love her?"
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-- but the words chased one another across her mind, tripping every now and then over his:… don't want to hurt you.
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She saw now, suddenly, the danger she'd accepted so naïvely. He could shatter her heart and there was no way to protect herself.
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"Liar. I look terrible."
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He reached forward, untied the belt, and pushed the robe off her shoulders. It fell around her feet in a poufy pink puddle. "A flannel nightgown. How sexy." He closed the door behind them.
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"I told Tully about us."
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can't love you
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"Oh. And was there a problem?"
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"She thinks I'm a rebound girl."
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rebound
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"She does, does she?"
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"That's what this is about?" He swept her up into his arms, carrying her toward her bedroom as if she weighed nothing at all. Once they were in bed, he began unbuttoning her nightgown, planting kisses along the way. "It doesn't matter," he whispered against her bare skin. "She didn't love me."
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It mattered very much.
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She closed her eyes and let him rock her world again, but when it was over and she was curled against him again, the uncertainty returned. She might not be the most experienced girl in the world, but neither was she the most naïve, and there was one thing of which she was sure: it mattered whether Johnny had loved Tully.
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