Naughty Neighbor - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,47
She took a closer look at him. “You look terrible.”
“Good. I’d hate to think I could feel this lousy and not have anybody notice.”
She put her hand to his forehead. “You feel feverish.”
“Don’t say that. I can’t have a fever. I refuse.”
“You seemed healthy enough when I left this morning.”
“It’s all your fault,” he said. “You made me go to the zoo in the rain, and then you wore me out with your constant demands for my sexual services.” He groaned. “Now I have a cold. I haven’t had a cold in nine years.”
“Poor baby.”
“My throat is scratchy, and my eyes are watering, and I keep sneezing.” He looked over at her. “Am I making any points, here? Do you want to marry me out of pity?”
“I don’t do pity marriages.”
“This cold is worthless.”
“Not totally,” she told him. “I’d be willing to fork over a reasonable amount of sympathy.”
“Would you be willing to fork it over in California? I got a call from the coast this afternoon. They’re starting production, and I need to be there.”
Louisa felt her heart stop for a fraction of a second. “You never said anything about leaving for California.”
“I guess it just never came up. I should have been there weeks ago, but I didn’t want to take off until the pig thing was resolved.”
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Are you crazy? You can’t go tomorrow. Look at you—you’re sick.”
“I’ll take some cold pills. I’ll be fine.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Couple months, at least. First, they’ll shoot the location scenes in downtown L.A., then they’ll do the interiors in Burbank.”
She felt as if somebody had just hit her in the face with a board. She didn’t want to marry him, but she didn’t want to lose him, either. The truth was, she’d gotten used to him. Now he was going to up and fly away.
“Men!” she said.
“You’re upset.”
She had her arms crossed over her chest, and she was pacing. “Hell no. I’m not upset. What would I be upset about?”
“You’re gonna miss me.”
“Maybe a little.”
“You could come with me.”
He was serious! “Good Lord,” she said, “you’re giving me twelve hours’ notice to move to California!”
“That’s not enough?”
“No!”
“Okay, so how much time do you need?”
She ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t know…a year or two.”
“I gotta go to bed,” he said. “I gotta get some rest. I feel like death.” He dragged himself up from the chair and shuffled off to the bedroom.
“The plane leaves at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. I have a cab coming at six. You decide what you wanna do. There’s a seat reserved on the plane if you want it.”
He disappeared through the bedroom door, and Louisa heard him flop onto the bed. She followed him in and removed his shoes. “Can I get you anything. Some soup or tea?”
“A gun,” he said. “Get me a gun and shoot me.”
She drew the quilt over him. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“You really think so?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” she said. “You’ll probably feel worse.”
Chapter 10
At six the next morning, Louisa heard Pete stomp down the stairs. All night long she’d wrestled with her feelings, and she still hadn’t reached a conclusion. He knocked on her door, and she hesitated in answering. She sat hunched in her bed, covers pulled up to her chin, not sure what she should say to him. He knocked again, she sighed and went to the door.
“Morning,” he said, his face stiffening at the sight of her in her nightgown. “Looks like I’m going alone.” He had two suitcases, a laptop, and Spike in a cat carrier. The cab was waiting at the curb.
“I’m sorry,” Louisa said. “I can’t.”
He gave her a slip of paper. “If you change your mind, this is my address. There’s a map on the back, and my phone number.”
“How’s your cold?”
“I’ll live.”
They both stared down at their feet. The silence was awkward. Spike yowled, and the cabdriver beeped his horn. Pete said something rude in reply.
“Call me,” Louisa said.
“Sure.”
She adjusted his scarf. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“Will you be coming back to Washington?”
“Of course I’ll be coming back to Washington,” he said. “I live here.”
“Gosh,” Louisa said, “no need to get cranky about it.”
“No need to get cranky?” His voice rose an octave. “I asked you to marry me, and you turned me down as if I were yesterday’s potatoes! And besides, I have a cold. People are supposed to be cranky when they have a cold.”
He took a wad of tissues from his pocket