Pillow Talk. Kathleen O'Reilly

completely. “Let’s not go there tonight, hmm? I don’t want to talk about work, I’m more interested in you.”

      “I’m boring.”

      His eyes met hers and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. Got any secrets, Jessica?”

      “I ran away from home when I was sixteen. Was gone about seven hours before I came back. Mom and Pop still don’t know. Does that count?”

      “Why’d you run away?”

      “Life sucks for everybody at sixteen. I wasn’t any different.” It had been Black Tuesday. She’d been passed over for the drill team, after already having been passed over for cheerleader, after already losing the class council race. It was a bad year. She sneezed, reached for a tissue, and when she was done, immediately lost it under the table. “You? What were you like at sixteen?”

      “Hauling hay, plowing the fields, helping Ma when I could.” As he talked his accent got deeper, running through her like a slow shot of Southern Comfort.

      “What about your father?”

      “He was always gone. Assignment here, assignment there.”

      “But your mother still wanted the farm?”

      “It was her home.” There was a contented smile on his face, a plowboy from Alabama. She had teased him about it, but never actually believed she was right.

      The waiter interrupted, announcing the night’s specials, but Jessica ignored him. It was Adam that intrigued her. She understood him a little better, understood why he was as driven as she was. A man who wanted a new start in a new place.

      Adam took the menu from the table and glanced over it. Completely casual at first. She didn’t get wise to him until he angled it in the direction of the door. “Dodging someone, Taylor? You got any secrets of your own?”

      The menu didn’t move. “It’s not a secret. It was—she was a date.”

      A date. Why was she surprised? She kept her voice light, kept the disappointment close inside. “And the plot thickens. What sort of date? Did you promise to call her, but never did? Or even worse, were you supposed to see her tonight? For shame, Mr. Taylor. For shame.”

      The menu lowered and he rubbed his eyes. “I have a conscience. I don’t need two. It’s just not good business practice to exchange social pleasantries with one date when I’m out on another.”

      Oh.

      And up to the table walked a woman who caught the eye of every man in the room—the sort of woman who knew nitric acid and had experienced it daily. “Adam? Is that you?”

      Jessica fought jealousy, fought a sneeze. Instead, she settled for a smug “Busted” that she made sure he could hear.

      Adam shot her a dirty look, and then instantly flashed his consultant’s smile at the blonde leaning oh-so-elegantly against the table. “Hello, Fallon.”

      Fallon? Jessica mouthed the name to Adam. The sneak ignored her.

      “How are you doing, Adam? I’ve been waiting for the book club to meet again so I could get your take on Sula. Have you finished it yet?”

      Book club? Okay, he was definitely not a man but an alien life form raised on the farm land of Alabama, and now assuming the guise of a consultant. The truth was out there after all.

      The subject of her conspiracy theory looked very uncomfortable.

      Jessica balanced her chin on her hand, awaiting his answer.

      “Not yet. I haven’t been able to focus my energies on the story and a book isn’t any good unless you approach it with the proper frame of reference.” At long last, Adam remembered his manners. “Fallon, this is Jessica Barnes. Jessica, Fallon Morningside.”

      Jessica held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Morningside.”

      “Oh, it’s just Fallon. I hear Miss Morningside all day, every day. It gets old.”

      Jessica forced a bright smile on her face. “What do you do?”

      “I teach special needs children in Bridgeport. What do you do, Jessica?” The tall blonde exuded grace, charm and, worst of all, she seemed nice. Jessica felt a telltale tickle in her nose. Not now. Please not now.

      “I’m in finance.” It sounded so trivial, so meaningless, and in three short seconds she realized her entire life’s ambition had just been one-upped by a school-teacher.

      She fumbled for a tissue and came up empty. Not now. A napkin. She just needed to get to the napkin. No. It was too late. She turned her head away from the table. Ha-choo.

      “God bless you.” Fallon’s wonderfully melodic tones winged their way through the air.

      Jessica shot upright and mumbled, “Thanks.”

      “I’ll let the two of you enjoy your dinner. I highly recommend the chateaubriand. They cook it perfectly. Adam, I’ll see you on Tuesday.” She wiggled a couple of fingers in his direction, yet somehow it didn’t look goofy. On Jessica it would be goofy.

      Jessica sighed and felt another sneeze coming on.

      Adam studied the menu with intense fascination.

      Jessica studied Adam. “She’s nice.”

      “Yes. The salmon sounds really good. What are you going to have?”

      She played with the silverware, tapping the fork over the knife. “I did some volunteer work when I was in high school. It wasn’t special needs kids or anything, but they were poor.”

      “The lobster looks good, too. Don’t you think?”

      Not quite satisfied, she tapped the fork a little harder. “I give to the United Way, you know.”

      “Jessica.” Adam took away her fork and then patted her hand. “Let it go. You’re a fine human being.”

      “Thank you,” she answered. Suddenly her lifelong goal of a Porsche seemed petty, but the car maneuvered so well.

      She glanced across the table and decided it was time to forget about her shortcomings. That would come later. For now she wanted to enjoy the evening.

      “What are you going to have?” he asked again.

      “Oh. Food.” She looked over the menu. “I’ll have the linguini with clam sauce, I think.”

      They ordered and Adam stayed quiet. Thinking about Fallon, probably. Jessica could nip that in the bud. “She seems nice.”

      “Who?”

      “Fallon. You met her at a book club?”

      “Yes.”

      “A book club?”

      “Yes.” This time he sounded defensive, and he tugged at his tie.

      She took a long sip of wine, until her loins were fully girded, and then asked the question that she really wanted answered. “And just how many men are in this book club?”

      “Me.”

      “And you really read all the books? It’s not just a way to meet women?”

      His smile grew wider. “Do you really think I’m twisted enough to join a book club just to meet women?”

      Calculating the possibility, she ran her tongue over her teeth. “Absolutely,” was her final answer.

      “You’re slaying me here, Barnes.”

      “Do you have book clubs in every city you work in?”

      He shrugged. “Not all of them.”

      The waiter brought their salads, effectively ending the conversation.

      For the moment.