Craving Perfect (6 page)

Next, my palm cupped the sides of my face. My cheeks were as smooth as key-lime pie. Not a bump, pimple, mole or single imperfection anywhere. Did she even have pores? My cheek bones were high and regal, my lips were round and plump like gumdrops. Until this moment, I’d never felt perfection.

I glanced at Max again. I really wanted to squeeze my breasts to see if they were real. Because, well, I had my suspicions. They were just a little too pert. For now, all I could do was casually glance down at my belly button and grin. There was enough cleavage for three girls staring back at me.

Last, I pressed my hands against my stomach. Not a bulge anywhere. My abs were rock-hard and roll-free, not mushy like the cottage cheese I had grown accustomed to. Jeez, this Callie must do an hour’s worth of sit-ups every day. For the first time in my entire life I could feel my ribs and it felt…weird. It was like pressing against uncooked pasta noodles.

“Here we are,” Max said, forcing me to focus on something other than my perfect size two body. It wasn’t easy.

But then I glanced out the window and momentarily forgot my abs.

Max pulled alongside the front of a sleek, new condo building next to Tempe Town Lake, the same building that looked semi-futuristic from a mile away with all of its glass windows and steel balconies. I didn’t know anyone who lived inside. It was the type of place I’d only seen from afar. Like in magazines.

“Figures…” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s that, babe?” Max put the car in park.

I stammered. “Flowers…I really like the flowers they’ve planted by the front door.” I pointed to purple petunias in six wide terracotta pots just outside the entrance.

Max didn’t respond. He just nodded, wide-eyed. As though I was just a little bit crazy.

And why wouldn’t he? Callie was probably quick and articulate and always knew something smart and witty to say. People undoubtedly hung on her every word and laughed at all her jokes, even the ones that weren’t funny. She probably never got tongue-tied or said anything stupid. I wasn’t completely sure if I liked Callie very much—even if I was Callie.

Well, this can’t go on for too much longer
, I thought. At some point I would need to use the bathroom and that would be exactly when I’d wake up under my worn peach comforter in my bedroom above the Desert Java. I always woke up when nature called.

As Max opened the passenger door, I wondered how we were going to get inside. I didn’t have a key.

“Do you think you can walk?” He carried both gym bags in one hand. Then he pulled out a set of keys from the blue bag, the same blue that matched my spandex shorts.

“Sure. I’ll be…fine.” As fine as I could be inside a very strange dream.

Max closed the car door and then reached for my elbow, just in case. “After you.”

“Yeah,” I said under my breath. “After me.” My arm tingled from his touch again and my knees remained wobbly. Both had nothing to do with my fall at the gym.

When we reached the monstrous glass lobby, a doorman materialized from nowhere and opened the door. He looked like a train conductor, complete with a gray blazer, maroon shirt and gray hat with a black rim. He talked like he knew me. “Welcome back, Miss Collins. Hope you enjoyed your workout.” His eyes even twinkled.

“Yes, thank you.” My voice stuttered.
Please wake up, Grace. Wake up now!
I pinched my arm but it didn’t do anything except sting. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pull off pretending to be someone else.

“Callie fell on the treadmill, Kevin,” Max said. “She’ll be okay, but she’s not herself at the moment.”

Massive understatement.

Kevin tipped his train conductor hat as we passed through the glass door. “Just hope I see you on the twelve o’clock news.”

I stopped like I’d just walked into a wall.

He flashed a grandfatherly warm smile.

The twelve o’clock news?

My mouth opened but the only thing that emerged was my rubbery tongue. “Um…umm…ummm…”

“Something wrong, Miss Collins?” Kevin asked, his smile fading to concern that I didn’t deserve.

I moved my lips but all I could manage was a whimper. Why couldn’t someone tell me why I was on the twelve o’clock news? Even worse, why couldn’t I just ask the question? The thought turned my stomach queasy. I’d much rather be home, baking in the Desert Java kitchen. I’d even forego my usual raspberry scone if that’s what it took. I’d forego pastries for a week, if necessary.

“Don’t worry, Kevin,” Max said. “Callie’s just had a bad morning. She’ll be better after a hot shower.” And with that, Max guided me to the elevator as though I was an invalid.
Pretty Woman
had turned into
Driving Miss Daisy
.

I followed obediently, mostly because I didn’t know where I was going. My mouth continued to open and close wordlessly like a puffer fish. Tiny sounds caught in the bottom of my throat—like a curious case of hiccups.

I hoped the hot shower was going to be life-changing.

I was definitely going to need it.

Max began to nibble on my earlobe and I barely noticed.

I was too busy hyperventilating inside Callie’s bedroom closet, which rivaled a women’s department store. Each clothing item was arranged according to type and color—with shorts, skorts, skirts and capris on one side, and pants, dresses, shirts, blouses, jackets and coats on the other—starting with primary colors first and working their way up to pastels and then finally every shade of black imaginable. Callie must have owned at least twenty little black dresses, some of which still had their price tags.

With Max at my heels, I peeked inside all of the white drawers in the center of the closet. They were stocked with a seemingly infinite supply of accessories and jewelry. Instinctively, I reached for my neck. It was bare.

Mom’s necklace was missing. I hoped it would return just as soon as I woke up.

Back to the closet.

Callie even had a connecting closet just for shoes. There must have been one hundred pairs and, frankly, I didn’t blame Callie. If I had feet as perfect as hers, all my money would have been spent on strappy sandals and stilettos.

“Unbelievable.” My head—my whole body—shook with amazement. I couldn’t peel myself away from the monstrous closet.

“Yes, I know.” Max pressed his warm lips against my neck, his arms wrapped around my waist.

Warm lips? My neck?

I spun around in Max’s arms.

He pulled me closer.

His eyes locked onto mine. They turned darker, hungry.

I swallowed, hard. “Um, what?” I stammered again. Then I blinked. “Oh, you thought I meant…you.” My voice trailed off. The tingle of Max’s kisses returned to my neck. I squirmed in his arms like I had a case of the tickles.

Max’s hands dropped to his sides. “Well, yeah, I kinda thought you meant me. Didn’t that feel good?” He pointed to the front of my neck as if it was an on-off switch.

“Well, yes. Of course it did. I’m…I’m just still a little dazed by everything that’s happened this morning.” I began to fidget with my hands. “You know, the fall and all.”

Max sighed.

I tried to change topics. “How about that hot shower you were talking about?”

Max’s face brightened. “Shall I join you?” He wiggled his eyebrows and reached for my waist. His hands almost completely covered it.

My whole body responded in a warm tingle but then I swallowed back any short-lived courage. “Well…um…” I couldn’t believe I was one step away from jumping into a hot shower with Max Kramer and his perfectly chiseled body. He wanted me. Bad. And I was…chickening out?

What was wrong with me?

Max’s hands reached for the sides of my shirt. His thumbs slide underneath the elastic. Slowly, he began to pull off my shirt.

My arms went rigid. “Wait.” The word caught in my throat.

Breathing heavy like me, Max frowned. “Wait? Why?”

“Be…cause?” I replied, unsure how to answer that one. I presumed hot guys like Max weren’t accustomed to
no
or even
wait.
Just my luck, I finally had Max all to myself, right here, right now, and I turned freezer-section frozen. I may have had Callie Collins’s perfect face and body, but I was still Grace Mills, the same girl who’d only had sex twice in her whole life and both times weren’t exactly memorable. The first time was during college and we were both so busy fumbling that I wasn’t sure if I even felt anything. The second time was after a blind date. I definitely felt something the second time but it happened so fast that sometimes I wondered if it ever happened at all. And the guy never called again so I couldn’t have been that good in bed.

Guys like Max would expect a woman to know what she was doing—you know, yoga positions, pole dancing moves, gyrations and maybe even the intricacies of kinky sex toys. And I was
so
not That Woman. I was the polar opposite of That Woman.

This wasn’t turning out as easy as I thought it would be, even if it was my own damn dream.

“Maybe later?” I winced.

Max turned away, opened and closed his mouth, and then scratched his head. Finally, he blurted, “But we always shower together after the gym.” He sounded a little helpless. It was rather endearing. “It’s part of our…ritual.”

“It is?” I coughed. “I mean…we do?”

Max and I have a
ritual?

“It’s been a tough morning,” I pleaded, “and…” My voice finally just trailed off, mercifully. I sounded like an idiot.

Max took a step back, hurt, and raised his palms. “Forget it, Callie.” His cheeks turned tomato paste red as he turned for the door. “I’ll just shower at my place.”

“See you later?” I called after him.

Max didn’t reply. He didn’t even look back. But he did close the door, a little harder than necessary.

“Call me!” I said to the door.

Ouch.

“Good going, Grace. You just blew your one and only chance to sleep with Max Kramer.”

With a loud exhale, I turned back toward Callie’s ridiculously large bedroom. It was three times bigger than the Desert Java—and the furniture was a lot more expensive.

My hand trailed along the back of an espresso-colored leather chair near Callie’s bed. The leather was velvet smooth. It must have cost a fortune—several fortunes. Kathryn and I would have had to sell a lot of lattes and raspberry scones before we would ever come close to affording Callie’s condo.

“Well, you might as well go check out the bathroom.” I coaxed my eyes away from the furniture. “God knows I’ll probably wake up any time now.”

Despite my best attempts, I didn’t wake up in the shower. I tried scalding hot water, ice-cold water, and then pulsating needle water jets against my skin. But mostly I couldn’t stop gawking at the shower hardware.

Callie’s entire bathroom was so luxurious that it was like being in one of those crazy expensive spas that Oprah likes to talk about as one of her Favorite Places. I lived in an Oprah Favorite Place! Everything was perfect glass, marble, and candles. Lots of candles. Callie also had about twelve different types of shampoos and conditioners lining the marble shelf inside the glass-enclosed shower. I tried at least three of them before finally rinsing the conditioner from my perfectly silky blond hair.

Everything, including me, smelled like white ginger. I’d been enjoying the self-pampering so much that I didn’t hear Alexandra calling me at first.

I tilted my head, wondering if I’d heard a voice, but I didn’t answer. My head was under a showerhead the size of a corn tortilla. The water cascaded over my shoulders as deliciously as a waterfall. Callie Collins clearly didn’t realize that Phoenix was in a drought.

“Callie?” Alexandra called from the other side of the glass-enclosed shower. She tapped on the glass, and I jumped about six inches. Immediately, my hands covered my perfect breasts. Why? I have no idea. With a body like Callie’s, I’d have no problem marching naked down Central Avenue in broad daylight. In theory.

Reluctantly, I reached up one hand to shut off the water. I wasn’t used to an audience, especially when showering. I grabbed a white fluffy towel from the door and then quickly wrapped it twice around my body. I wiped away a hole in the steamy shower door with my fist and peered out.

Alexandra placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?”

“I’m…showering?” I was unsure why this wasn’t obvious.

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “I know that!” Her impatience steamrolled over my happy mood. “I mean…why aren’t you ready? We’re going to be late.”

“For what?”

Alexandra narrowed her steel-blue eyes through the steam. “For work?” she mimicked my clueless tone.

“Oh. Well, then…I guess I’d better get ready.”

“Ya think?” Alexandra shook her lollipop head, slowly, as though she was conversing with a mental patient.

I was still too stunned to bristle. Kathryn could get impatient with me but not like this. I wasn’t used to being treated like a complete idiot. So I opened the shower door and stepped onto the heated tile—yeah, Callie Collins had heated tiles! In Arizona! I walked quickly into the bedroom.

Alexandra followed, sighing.

I noted that she wore a pair of skinny black pants, six-inch black heels and a cropped black jacket with silver buttons and a semi-plunging neckline. She looked ready for clubbing, not an office job.

I stood in front of Callie’s closet, overwhelmed and awed, biting my thumbnail, wondering about how I’d kill to slip on a pair of soft faded blue jeans and a rocker girl tee. If only I knew where Callie worked.

My voice hitched a little. “What do you think I should wear?”

Alexandra didn’t respond right away. She was too busy breathing loud enough for me to hear. Finally, she said, “Wear what you always wear.”

And that would be what, exactly?

I guessed something black would be appropriate, judging by the amount of it in the closet. Alexandra was probably a runway model and god knows what Callie did for a living. I presumed it had nothing to do with food. From the looks of her, she couldn’t eat more than twice a week.