The Spark by Vi Keeland
CHAPTER 17
Donovan
I’m not going to call. The ball is in her court here. If she wants to keep seeing that assface, that’s fine with me. Nothing I can do about it.
I sucked back my third vodka tonic since I’d walked in the door not even an hour ago, grabbed the spray bottle off the kitchen counter, and proceeded to angry-water my plants as I ranted.
“It’s bullshit. There’s no fucking way she feels the same with Dickson.”
Spray. Spray.
“I just need to get laid. That’s all this shit is.”
Spray. Spray.
“I’m not calling her. Screw that. You know what? Screw her.”
Spray. Spray.
But then I remembered what she’d looked like in that bathroom—red cheeks, lips swollen, hair that looked like it had just been fisted—because it had, by me. Fucking gorgeous.
And then what she’d looked like as she walked out of the house—pale, nervous, as sickly as she pretended to be.
Maybe I should just check on her…
I looked over at my cell phone on the counter and shook my head.
“No. You’re not calling her. She’s fine.”
Spray. Spray.
But what if…
“No.” Spray. Spray. “Just no.”
Ten minutes later, my plants were drowning, so I figured I’d join them and poured another vodka tonic. I was more of a couple-of-beers guy, or a glass of wine with dinner, so liquor hit me like a ton of bricks.
I downed half the fourth glass and stared at my cell phone.
“Stop looking at me, or I’ll spray you, too.”
That last comment, for some ridiculous reason, made me laugh maniacally. I felt a little insane standing in the middle of my apartment bent over in hysterics, but when I was done, my anger had dissipated. Apparently, I needed a good laugh…or a fourth vodka.
No longer angry, I swiped my phone from the counter and headed to the living room with the rest of my drink in hand. I kicked my feet up and alternated between lolling my head back and staring up at the ceiling and sipping my vodka tonic, lost in thought.
That fucking kiss. As corny as it sounded, I was a kiss guy. It didn’t happen very often, but when you slipped your tongue into a woman’s mouth and her taste consumed you—it was better than most sex. Yes, it’s true. I’m a dude, and I think a kiss can be better than getting the rest of my rocks off. The thing is, I’m a thirty-year-old guy. Let’s face it, my hand gets my rocks off. A hole in the wall would work in a pinch. And not to be a conceited dick, but I’m pretty lucky with the ladies when I want to be. So sex in itself—coming in a pussy, mouth, hand, or wherever it may be—it’s great, but it’s generally pretty ordinary. But a kiss with a woman who’s under your skin? There’s nothing ordinary about that. That shit is unforgettable.
Finishing off my drink, I decided I needed to know if I was the only one who felt that way. So I set my empty glass on the coffee table and called up my contacts. Autumn was first. I didn’t even need to waste time scrolling.
She answered on the second ring. “Hey.”
At risk of sounding like a bigger pussy than the kiss comment probably already made me, her voice sent a shot of warmth through my veins.
“Do you think a kiss can be better than sex?”
“If you’d asked me that a year ago, I probably would have said no.”
I let my head fall back against the back of the couch again, enjoying the moment. “And now?”
“Now I think a kiss can feel like oxygen when I’m unable to breathe.”
I smiled. “Are you alone?”
“I am.”
“Where’s The Dick?”
“He dropped me off at my apartment.”
“Is that what he wanted?”
She sighed. “It’s what I wanted.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m not in the habit of sticking my tongue down the throat of two men in one day.”
We were both quiet for a while. Eventually, I said, “That was some damn kiss.” When she didn’t respond, I prodded, “Wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but it was also wrong.”
“It didn’t feel wrong to me.”
“I was there with another man, Donovan.”
“Who you have an open relationship with and don’t even like very much.”
“Who said I don’t like Blake very much?”
“I just did. Can you really tell me you’re into him?”
She was quiet again for a while. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “It’s not that I don’t like him. He’s very nice, and he’s intelligent. We have good conversation.”
I snorted. “I had a good chat with my plants earlier. Doesn’t mean I want to suck their face.”
“Donovan…”
I shook my head. “Autumn.”
“I’m sorry about today. I’m giving you mixed signals. The kiss shouldn’t have happened.”
“Like fuck it shouldn’t have.”
“I like you, Donovan. I really do.”
“And I like you, too. A hell of a lot. So much so that I can’t think straight lately. You’re all I damn think about. So what’s the problem?”
“I told you. I don’t want a relationship.”
“But you’re in one with Dickson…”
“It’s a different kind of relationship.”
“Well, I’ll take what I can get. Whatever the deal you have going with Dickson is, I’ll take it.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because…”
Down deep I knew the answer, even though I didn’t understand it at all. “Because you have feelings for me, and you don’t for him.”
“I know that sounds ridiculous. But yeah.”
“Would it help if I was an asshole to you? Maybe we could plan on going out and I wouldn’t show up.”
She chuckled softly. “You’re a good guy, Donovan.”
I could tell this conversation was coming to an end. So I pushed one more time. “Tell me why you won’t go out with a guy you like. At least give me that so I can accept it and move on.”
“I just…I want to stay focused on my job and finishing school.”
I knew that was bullshit, but short of being an asshole, I had nowhere to go from here. This time it was me who let out the big sigh. Neither of us said anything for a solid five minutes after that. But I heard her breathing and wasn’t about to hang up. In negotiations, the first one to break a standoff almost always loses.
“I’m sorry, Donovan,” she eventually said. “But I think we need some distance between us at this point.”
I had to clear my throat and sit up. “Fine. Do you want me to have Storm’s case transferred to someone else?”
“No. He trusts you, and that’s not something that happens too often. Plus, you got him a deal, so I’m guessing things are almost wrapped up.”
“Yeah. He’ll need to appear before the judge to accept the terms, but that should take ten minutes.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Well, I guess there’s nothing left to say. I’ll have my assistant call you when I get the date of the appearance, so you don’t have to talk to me more than necessary.”
Autumn’s voice sounded as sad as I felt. “Okay.”
I wanted to be nice, but I was frustrated, and the alcohol sure as hell didn’t help. “Enjoy your emotionless life, Red.”
***
The following Friday was our work happy hour. I hadn’t had any contact with Autumn, not that I’d expected to after our last conversation. But still, the week had sucked. I lost an important summary judgment argument, wasted a full day drawing up motions to stop the bank from seizing more of Mr. Bentley’s assets—which they were going to no matter what, but the client had demanded I try—and today I had to fill in for a partner whose wife had lost her mother and second-chair a case for Dickson, of all people.
I wasn’t sure what was worse, spending the entire day sitting next to him or the fact that he did a damn good job in oral arguments. At least Autumn never came up. Thank God. All I wanted to do was go home and commiserate to my plants, but Trent and Juliette weren’t having it. They’d practically dragged me to happy hour. And now, as I sipped on a beer I didn’t want, I realized why Juliette had been so gung ho about me coming tonight.
“Donovan, this is my friend Margo.” Juliette smiled. “I mentioned her to you. She’s the yoga instructor.”
I gave a curt nod. “How you doing, Margo?”
She looked me up and down, not even attempting to hide her interest. “My day just got better.”
Shit. The woman was beautiful. Petite with big eyes, full lips, and a tiny waist, but a hell of a lot of tits and ass—exactly the type I’d normally be attracted to, but I had no interest. Juliette, thinking she’d done me a solid, grinned at me and wiggled her fingers. “Tootle-oo. I’ll leave you guys to get to know each other better.”
Great.
Margo tossed her purse onto the bar next to me and raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked.
I wasn’t interested, but I also wasn’t an asshole. “No, thanks.” When Freddie, the regular bartender, walked over, Margo ordered a baybreeze. I lifted my chin to him. “Put that on my tab, will you, Freddie?”
“Sure, boss.” He knocked his knuckles against the bar. “You got it.”
“Thank you,” Margo said. She turned to face me. “So Juliette tells me you’re single?”
“I am.”
“And why is that?”
I lifted a brow. “Why am I single?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t realize I needed a reason to be single.”
Margo smiled. “You’re an attorney—a killer one from what Juliette told me. You’re obviously handsome. Don’t think that’s news to you since there’s a mirror right over there. And my friend says you’re a genuinely good guy. Men like that aren’t single for long.”
I smirked and rubbed my lip. “Juliette said I’m a killer lawyer and a good guy, huh?”
Margo shrugged. “She did. But don’t let it go to your head. She also said you could be a giant dick sometimes.”
I laughed. “Alright. Now that sounds more like the Juliette I know. I was beginning to worry maybe she was dying or something, saying all those nice things about me.”
Margo smiled and tilted her head. “So what’s your deal? Recent breakup? Manwhore? Commitment phobe?” She squinted at me. “I don’t take you for a momma’s boy.”
“Definitely not a momma’s boy. But I also haven’t had a recent breakup. I’m not afraid of commitment, and if I’m a manwhore, I’m not very good at it considering it’s been about four or five months since I had sex.”
Margo sighed and bowed her head dramatically. “Then you’re the worst kind of single man.”
She was amusing, and I was curious, so I bit. “What’s the worst kind of single guy?”
She held her hand over her heart and shook her head. “You have it bad for a woman who isn’t interested.”
My smile fell.
Margo noticed and rubbed my arm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring your head down.”
I forced a smile. “It’s fine. You didn’t.”
Freddie walked over and slid Margo’s drink across the bar. “One baybreeze for the pretty lady.”
“Thanks, Freddie.” I nodded.
Margo sipped her drink while studying my face, then set her cocktail on the bar and rubbed her hands together. “Okay, lay it on me.”
I shook my head. “Lay what on you?”
“Your woman troubles.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. Sometimes it takes a stranger to give you perspective on what’s going on—unless you already know what the problem is.”
Honestly, I felt pretty desperate. But this woman seemed nice, and she’d clearly come here with different expectations for the night. I didn’t want to be a total downer and ruin her evening. “It’s fine, but thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”
Margo drank some more of her cocktail, and then as I was finishing off my beer, she said, “I’m in love with a married man.”
I coughed the alcohol down the wrong pipe and spoke with a hoarse voice. “Come again?”
She smiled. “You heard me. He owns the gym I work at and two others.”
“Shit. Does he know?”
Margo wagged her finger back and forth. “Not so fast. If we’re not going to go home together and try to make each other forget, we’re going to share our secrets fair and square. What’s her name, at least?”
“Autumn.”
“Pretty name. Does she have red hair?”
I smiled. “She does. And green eyes.”
“Nice. Donald has blue eyes.” She nodded toward a table. “Wanna go sit and talk? I don’t know if it will help either of us, but I don’t have anything better to do.”
I laughed. “Sure. Why not?”
Margo and I talked for the next two and a half hours. It was a shame I was so consumed with a woman who had no interest in being with me, because I really liked Margo. She was smart and a straight shooter. Plus, yoga instructor. Her advice to me was to do the exact opposite of what I’d done with Autumn—not walk away. She suspected the same thing I did—that Autumn had been in a bad relationship and gotten burned or lost someone, which made her lose trust in men. So she suggested I show her I could be trusted by not giving up so easily.
I wasn’t entirely sure her approach was correct, but it had been nice to look at things from a woman’s perspective. Unfortunately, my advice to her wasn’t as thought provoking. I’d told her to find a new job and not look back. Donald liked the attention he was getting from her, but was never going to leave his wife—who was currently pregnant with their second child.
We walked back over to the bar so I could close out the tab. “Let me ask you something… Do you have a type?”
Margo smiled. “Apparently married, balding, and a jerk.”
I chuckled. “No, I meant, have you met Trent?”
Her brows shot up. “The short guy who’s really young?”
I smirked. “That’s the one.”
“Juliette introduced me to him earlier. I’ll be honest, he’s not the type I’d usually go for.” She smiled. “You, on the other hand…”
I nodded. “I get it. But give him a shot. He’s a great guy. He’s also thirty, even though he doesn’t look it. Someday that will be a good thing.”
She bit her lip in contemplation before smiling. “Okay. What the hell? I will.”
“Come on, I’ll hook you up talking to him on my way out.”
It was still early when I got home, only about ten o’clock. I took a quick shower and watered my plants—this time, without bitching at them. Maybe my talk with Margo had done me some good after all.
The entire week I’d been pissed off, but I suddenly felt a bit more relaxed. So I sat down, took out my phone, and scrolled to my photos, going straight to my favorites file and the one lonely picture in the folder. Autumn. I’d had no idea that twenty-four hours after taking it, the picture would be all I had to keep me from thinking the entire weekend had been a figment of my imagination.
And now it was a reminder that fate had brought her back to me.
Maybe Margo was right. Good things don’t come to people who walk away. They come to people who fight for what they want. It was what I’d done in school and in my career, and it had served me well, so why was I giving up so damn easily on something I knew in my gut wasn’t over?
The answer didn’t take long to come to me. I wasn’t.
Screw that.
Throwing in the towel wasn’t my style.
I was good for a full twelve rounds in a fight, so we had a long way to go.
With one last glimpse at the photo, I switched over to contacts and brought up the very first name. I’d have to tread lightly—there could be a fine line between letting a woman know you were going to wait her out and harassment. I needed to figure out how to handle it properly, but for now, I’d start with a simple text.
Donovan: I miss you.
