LITMIR.BIZ

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chirped to Harry and walked back to her bedroom. She softened her tone. “Good night, Shandi.” Then couldn’t resist. “Please don’t get makeup on my pillows.”

      She left the door open a couple of inches for the cat and crawled into bed. The Habaneros T-shirt she slept in rode up around her waist and she pulled it down, humping her hips a couple of times. The bedsprings squeaked.

      In a voice filled with deviltry, Shandi called, “Ride me, big Sheldon,” quoting from When Harry Met Sally, one of their favorite movie night chick flicks.

      “Oh, just shut up,” Marissa murmured. She was usually quicker with a comeback, but the skin on her thighs had jumped to her own touch and she was busy thinking how she would have reacted if Jamie had been waiting in bed for her. Gone on a bucking bareback ride? With her platonic pal?

      One day ago that notion would have been laughable. Now it wasn’t. And what had changed? There was her breakup, but she’d lost boyfriends before and hadn’t turned to Jamie except for brotherly comfort. Maybe she was only having an unusually adverse reaction to a bad vacation, complicated by loss of sleep.

      She’d be sane by morning.

      Instead of wanting Jamie like crazy.

      “GIVE ME BACK MY KEY,” was the first thing Marissa said the next morning when she passed through the living room to get to the galley kitchen, her eyes crusted into slits. If she didn’t take a firm stance from the start, she’d find herself giving in, one night at a time, until she had herself a new roommate.

      Her resolve was reinforced when she stumbled over the junk that had been scattered throughout the room. Shandi’s worldly possessions—basically a wardrobe, a collection of shoe boxes, one packet of important papers like tax returns and inscribed cocktail napkins and the toolbox that held an oversize makeup kit. Marissa shoved the meager belongings into one big pile. Harry danced ahead, meowing for Fancy Feast.

      Shandi muttered something unintelligible and pulled the blanket over her head.

      In the kitchen Marissa popped the top of a can of turkey giblets, filled the cat’s dish, then got the arabica dark roast coffee beans from the expanding igloo of her freezer. She made the grinder sing like a swarm of killer bees.

      Shandi got the hint and staggered to her feet, saying, “Coffee. Need coffee,” as she lurched toward the bathroom.

      “You’re going in the wrong direction.” Marissa gave the beans one more good buzz. The rich smell was waking her up too. Soon the past thirty-two hours would make sense.

      She was picking at the corners of her eyes, waiting for the coffee to brew and going over all the reasons that Jamie was no good for her as a lover even though he was nothing but good as a friend, when the doorbell rang.

      Jamie’s eye met hers in the peephole. Marissa wanted to run away back to the bedroom and execute a frantic

      twenty-second toilette, but Shandi was occupying the bathroom. Acting differently around Jamie would only call attention to how really different Marissa felt since The Kiss.

      She scrubbed her hands on her shirt and opened the door, glad she’d pulled on a pair of yoga pants.

      A wet nose thrust into her crotch. “Sally!” Jamie tugged at his dog’s leash. He offered an easy smile that lessened Marissa’s self-consciousness. “Sorry. I was taking the beast out for a run at George’s when I heard your coffee grinder.”

      “I’m still waking up.”

      His face changed when he heard the shower. “You have company.”

      Marissa weighed her options. She could tell him Paul had followed her home, they’d made up and that would be that. Except that wouldn’t be that. Anyone who’d ever seen a romantic comedy starring a Hollywood It girl knew “that” only led to more complications.

      Besides, she couldn’t lie to Jamie.

      Yeah, except about your feelings.

      “Shandi showed up after the bars closed, looking for a soft place to land.” Marissa leaned in. “Start thinking of your excuses now.”

      Jamie pulled back. “Uh, the Village chapter of the Angelina Jolie fan club is meeting in my apartment.”

      “Not bad, but I have lice.”

      “Then I’m fumigating for cockroaches.”

      “Spring-cleaning,” Marissa said, sure she’d trumped him since she hadn’t spring-cleaned since forever.

      “Nuclear bomb testing.”

      She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Damn. “Come in for coffee,” she said, leaving the door open and going back to the kitchen. “But this doesn’t mean you win.”

      “Don’t fight over me now.” Shandi had come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her mop of wild curls dripped down her back. “You can split me like my parents did.” She gave Jamie’s golden retriever a pat. “Daddy, will you buy me a pony?”

      He put up his hands, the leash twisting around his wrist. “Sorry. I don’t have room for either of you. But if I get a choice, I’d rather muck out after the pony.”

      “Sheesh. I didn’t even ask yet.” Shandi dropped onto the couch, pouting. “You two are giving me a complex.”

      “That’ll be the day,” Marissa said from the kitchen doorway. Shandi was a creature of airy confidence. She worked off and on as a freelance makeup artist, which meant that she was either flush with funds or flat broke. The state of her finances never bothered her. She lived her life on whims and luck, both good and bad. Unfortunately her morals tended to be as flexible as her address.

      “I have a job all next week,” Shandi announced. “I’m doing makeup for an episode of ‘Law & Order.’ And I met a guy last night who’s an art director at an ad agency. He loved my book.”

      “Good. You’ll be able to pay for a new room.”

      “Something really swank. But in the meantime…” Shandi made big eyes at them, looking wan without her makeup.

      “No,” Marissa and Jamie said in unison. They eyed each other, sending signals. The only way to stand firm was to make a run for it.

      Jamie turned to go. “I have to walk the beast before her bladder bursts. Want to—”

      “Yes, I’ll come.” Marissa grabbed her keys out of the straw purse and Shandi’s shoes off the floor. She flew out the door, right behind Jamie. “Lock up when you go,” she called over her shoulder before slamming the door.

      She stabbed her feet into the one-size-too-small shoes. Jamie took her arm. “Let’s hurry before she follows us.”

      “This is so undignified,” Marissa said as they hit the street. “We’d better not come across anyone I know. I haven’t taken a shower. I’m not even wearing a bra.”

      His gaze skipped to her boobs. “Um, nice.”

      “‘Um, nice’?” She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. “Since when?”

      “Nice isn’t flattering?”

      “No, it’s— I meant, since when did you notice?”

      “I’ve always noticed when you’re not wearing a bra.”

      “Oh.” She counted back in her head and figured that must be about a couple hundred occasions, adding in all their lazy Sundays when she didn’t get out of her pajamas till noon. Going without a bra wasn’t something she spent a lot of time contemplating. She was small on top and liked it that way.

      So did Jamie? Wow.

      They moved off down the street, heading toward George’s, the large-dog run at Washington Square Park. Her heart was beating like a bongo drum. “How come you never said anything?”

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