Not Quite Perfect
Page 12

She forced her eyes to his. “So it’s a sexist thing?”
“It’s how I was raised,” was all he offered.
It could be worse, she supposed. “This is my job. People call me when they’re upset and need guidance.”
“At home, in the middle of the night, to blame you for their problems?”
She couldn’t deny that had happened. “Sometimes.”
“I think I’ll stick to flying planes.”
Mary took the phone and stood. “You do that.”
Unlike her initial sail over the bed, this time she walked around it, doing her best to ignore his eyes as they followed her around the room.
“Mary?” He stopped her.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think that guy is really crazy?”
She turned to see him looking directly at her. “His wife just left him. My guess is that would make anyone a little off balance.”
Glen sat taller. “Do you have a gun?”
She narrowed her eyes. “A what?”
“A gun.” He made a motion of pulling a trigger with his fingers. “You know.”
Mary shook her head in despair. “No. I do not own a gun.” To own a gun would mean she could use one. And she didn’t think she could.
“I’d feel better if you had a gun.”
She regarded him for a moment. “It’s a good thing my welfare is none of your concern then.”
His stare went directly through her, his lips lost all expression.
“That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
He broke eye contact, leaned over the bed, and grabbed the jeans he’d been wearing the night before.
“I’m . . . really sorry.”
“Let it go,” he told her as he jerked his pants on.
A voice told her to drop it, but her heart sang a different tune. She approached him and placed a hand on his arm. “I could tell you I’m not awake, that I’m upset about that call. But the truth is I’m not used to hearing that someone cares about my well-being. I wasn’t sure how to respond and I did so poorly.”
He stopped short of zipping up his pants and let his arms drop to his sides. “I think that might be the first honest thing I’ve heard come from your lips.”
She thought of her own observation she’d made about him the previous day and let a slow smile simmer over her lips. “Touché.”
They arrived back at the hospital just before noon.
The place had exploded with people and flowers. While Glen had no real need to return to baby central, he kept his return flight on standby, using the excuse that he needed to await his brother’s arrival before justifying his trip home.
“You really don’t have to babysit me,” Monica told him as they took one more trip down to the lobby of the hospital.
“I’m not babysitting you.”
His sister-in-law regarded him out of the corner of her eye. “Is this about Mary?”
He shrugged. “That guy who called this morning was a complete freak.”
“A freak she calls a client.”
He couldn’t shake the edge of the man’s voice from his system. Nor the way Mary’s face had looked when Glen had asked her how the guy managed to find her personal phone number.
Oh, she might try and act as if all was running normal in her world, but he somehow knew this wasn’t standard operating procedure.
Then there was the part about her not having someone in her life to care. He knew Mary and Dakota were tight, but he’d also heard just enough about her history to know he and Mary were both orphans. Although Mary’s biological parents had never been a part of her life, Glen’s had passed away when he was an adult. He’d always had his brothers and the company his father had founded to keep him occupied.
What did Mary have?
No siblings, one good friend, and a handful of freakish clients.
No wonder women like her owned a gaggle of cats. He hated that he stereotyped her, but couldn’t seem to prevent his head from going there.
They stepped outside the sliding doors of the main lobby while they waited for Trent’s arrival.
“You know, Glen . . . you should just ask her out.”
Hadn’t he already done that? Twice?
Not that Mary had shot him down. More like ignored his request. Twisted the invitation and made him question whether he’d actually uttered the words Let’s go out.
“She has my number,” he said as he placed his sunglasses over his eyes to avoid looking at his sister-in-law.
Monica released half a snort, half a laugh. “Testosterone truly rots the male brain,” she said.
“Is that your medical diagnosis?”
“That’s my female diagnosis. Mary is not the kind of woman to make the first move. I’m sure you can see that. Waiting for her to ask you out is an exercise in stupidity.”
He paused. “I think you just called me stupid.”
Monica nodded and pointed two fingers in the air toward him. “Brighter than you appear, flyboy.”
“She’s not interested.”
Monica did that snort thing again.
“She’d be smart not to be interested, but she is.”
“Wait, what? She’d be smart not—”
Monica rested one hand on her hip. “You’re a player, Glen. Admit it.”
“I am not.” He was so a player. Denying it was a knee-jerk reaction.
“When was the last long-term relationship you had?”