Bed of Roses Page 0,79

held up her Diet Coke.

"Yes, except for you. Why don't you just tell us what upset you, Emma?"

"It's going to sound stupid, even petty." She brooded into her wine, then down at the candy pink polish on her toes while her friends waited. "It's just that he's so protective of his space, his place. He doesn't actually say anything, but there's this invisible boundary around his area. Except he did say it before. You remember, Mac."

"Give me a hint."

"When you decided to reorganize your bedroom last winter. The closet thing. You got crazed because Carter left some of his things at your place. And Jack came over, and he agreed with you. He said all those things about what happens when you let somebody you're involved with stake territory."

"He was joking, mostly. You got mad," Mac remembered. "Walked out."

"He said that women start leaving their things all over the bathroom counter, and then they want a drawer. And before you know it, they take over. As if wanting to leave a toothbrush means you're ready to register at Tiffany."

"He freaked because you wanted to leave a toothbrush at his place?" Laurel demanded.

"No. Yes. Not exactly, because I never said anything about a damn toothbrush. Look, it's like this. Even if we're out somewhere and his place is closer, we come back here. Last night, I asked if I could stay at his place because I needed to be in town in the morning anyway, and he . . . he hesitated."

"Maybe his place wasn't in girl-friendly condition," Mac suggested. "He had to think if he'd left any dirty socks or Big Jugs magazines lying around, or if he'd changed the sheets in the last decade."

"It wasn't that. His place is always neat, which may be part of the thing. He likes everything where it is. Like Parker."

"Hey."

"Well, you do," Emma said, but with a smile that held both love and apology. "It's just the nature. The thing is, you'd be okay if a guy slept over, maybe left a toothbrush. You'd just put the toothbrush in some proper space."

"Which guy? Can I have a name, an address, a photograph?"

Emma relaxed enough to laugh. "In theory. Anyway, over breakfast I mentioned I was hitting the market, and since he was out of eggs and milk, I could pick some up for him. And there it was again. That same sort of uh-oh before the no, thanks. But the killer was when he came upstairs. I was putting on my makeup and, beat me with a stick, had my stuff out on the counter. And he got this look. Annoyed and . .

. wary. I told you it was going to sound stupid."

"It doesn't," Parker corrected. "It made you feel unwelcome and intrusive."

"Yes." Emma shut her eyes. "Exactly. I don't think he meant to, or that he's even fully aware, but - "

"It doesn't matter. In fact, the unconscious slight's worse."

"Yes!" Emma repeated, and shot Parker a grateful look. "Thank you."

"What did you do about it?" Laurel demanded.

"Do?"

"Yes, do, Em. Such as tell him to get over himself, it's a toothbrush or a tube of mascara."

"He went to work and I spent a half hour making sure I hadn't left so much as a flake of that mascara in his precious space."

"Oh yeah, that'll teach him," Laurel added. "I'd've stripped off my bra, left it hanging over his shower, left him a sarcastic love note in lipstick on the mirror. Oh, oh, and I'd have gone out and bought the economy-sized box of tampons and left them on the counter. That would get the point across."

"Wouldn't that be making his point?"

"No, because he has no point. You're sleeping together. Whoever's bed is in play, the other party requires some of the basics on hand. Do you get wigged out when he leaves his toothbrush or his razor at your place?"

"He doesn't. Ever."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me he never forgets to - "

"Never."

"Well, Jesus." Laurel slumped back. "Obsessive much?"

Mac raised her hand, offered a sheepish smile. "I'm just going to say I was kind of that way. Not as - okay, obsessive. I would forget things or leave things at Carter's, and he'd do the same. But that's what started me off that day you're talking about, Em. His jacket, his shaving kit, his whatever, mixed up with my stuff. It wasn't the stuff, it was what it meant. He's here. He's really here, and it's not just sex. It's not just