Chapter 10: Of course, she's a model

Jenny

"Honey, I'm home!"

I drag myself through the front door and look around, searching for any sign of where Nico might be. For the past week, since the oncology wing opened, he's been in the kitchen, cooking me dinner, when I get home from work. It's a treat to have a gourmet meal prepared for me by my own personal chef each day. I have an inkling that part of it is because he feels guilty about his over-the-top jealous boyfriend act at the opening party; things between us were a little strained for about a day or so. However, there's nothing like really excellent food prepared by a total hottie to smooth over little annoyances like that.

This afternoon, though, the entire house is silent and empty.

I wonder if he's gone out . . . maybe a job interview? He didn't mention anything this morning, but if he got the call after I left for the hospital, he might have forgotten to text me. I drop my handbag onto a stool at the kitchen counter and am about to head for my room to change when I hear the unmistakable sound of feminine laughter coming from outside. I turn my head sharply to peer out the French doors.

Well, Nico is no longer among the missing, because there he is, laying back on a lounger. I can see him through the greenery in the landscaped planter. He's in his bathing suit and shirtless. Those pecs and abs that tantalize me almost constantly now are on full display. But what's worse is that Nico's bare chest is being enjoyed by an up-close audience of one . . . a beautiful woman who, from what I can see from this vantage point, is wearing a barely-there bathing suit herself.

She's sitting in the lounge chair next to Nico's, but she's not lounging. Instead, she's sitting on it sideways, resting her feet on the edge of Nico's chair. As I watch, she laughs again and then leans over to touch his leg.

I want to break her hand.

Holding myself back from charging outside-but only just-I try to decide if it would be better to go out there now, before things get more heated, or if I should go change out of my scrubs, brush my hair . . . you know, generally try to make myself more presentable. Maybe a little more appealing. But when Giggle Chick shifts a little, giving me a sideways view, and I realize that no amount of hair brushing, make-up application or changing of clothes is going to make a damn bit of difference, because brother, this girl is gorgeous and built. I'd need several weeks in the hands of a plastic surgeon to be able to compete with her.

So I figure I might as well just wander out now and be folksy. I open the door, making as much noise as possible so that Nico hears me coming, in case there's some kind of touching going on that I don't need to see.

But as soon as I round the planter between the house and the pool, I can see that he's got his hands behind his head. He spots me right away and grins.

"Hey, Jen. I thought I heard the garage door open. How was work?"

"Fine." I want to say that it was challenging, intense and exhausting yet totally rewarding, but it seems a little much for what was probably meant to be a courtesy question. "Long day, and I'm glad to be home, but no complaints."

"Cool." He inclines his head toward the woman who's now smiling at me, her neck gracefully tilted upwards. "This is Mollie. She and I used to hang out, but she's been traveling a lot, so we're just catching up."

"Plus, I went off to Germany for an assignment, and I come back to Florida to find out you've taken off for the Mid-West." Her voice is low and melodic. I want to hate her, but she almost seems kind of nice. Dammit.

"Assignment?" I question, figuring she's got some super-intelligent job like a top-level journalist or a secret government agent.

"Yeah. Mollie's a model." Nico reaches over and tousles her hair, like she's a dog or something. "She flies all over the world for photo shoots."

That figures. A model. Yup, that's about how my luck runs lately.

But that name . . . Mollie. When I hear of a woman with that name, I expect to see cut-off denim shorts, a gingham shirt tied at the waist and braided pigtails. This chick doesn't come off like a Mollie at all. She's all deeply bronzed skin, accented by the simplicity of her tiny black bikini. Her stomach is flat and toned, her legs look endless, and her boobs-well, fuck. They're spilling over the cups of the bathing suit top, and if I were a guy or a woman who swung that way, I'd be drooling over the sexy Ms. Mollie.

"It's nice to meet you." I offer her my hand, even though I've decided to hate her. "I'm Jenny."

"Oh, I know who you are." She arches one eyebrow behind her dark sunglasses, and I wonder what the hell that means. "Nico has been telling me stories."

Oh, has he now? I nail him with a withering stare. In my mind, I'm suddenly imagining the two of them laughing at me as Nico tells Mollie that I begged him to pretend to be my boyfriend. I have an ugly dread of the words he might have used.

Can you believe it? She actually thinks people will believe that I'd ever be with someone like her.

"Hey, I'm going to make us some tacos for dinner." Nico seems like he's in a hurry to change the subject. "Do you mind if Mollie stays?"

I shrug and force myself to smile. "Of course not. This is your house, Nico. I'm just a tenant." Realizing how that might sound, I add quickly, "It would be great to be able to get to know you better, Mollie." I pinch the fabric of my scrubs top and pull it away from my stomach. "I'm going to grab a shower and get changed. Then I'll be out to help with dinner."

"No help needed. You worked all day." Nico's voice is firm as he sits up and swings his feet down to the cement. "Plus, Mollie will give me a hand. She's used to being my sous chef. Right, Mol?"

"Sure." She beams at him.

"And Jen, why don't you just throw on your bathing suit?" Nico calls after me as I head for the house. "I figured we'd eat out here. It's not that hot today, and once the sun goes down, it'll be pretty pleasant."

"Okay." I go inside to my room, strip off the scrubs and hop in a quick shower, just because that's my protocol after work. I don't like to worry about bringing home anything that could be potentially infectious. Generally, I prefer to get changed in the laundry room, but today I'd been so tired that I'd forgotten.

I'm just stepping out of the bathroom, with my towel wrapped around me, when Nico opens my bedroom door. I'm so surprised, I give a little screech-totally attractive, of course, kind of like a barn owl in heat. (I don't think barn owls are ever in heat. But in my head, that's what they'd sound like if they were.)

"Sorry!" He covers his eyes with one hand, and I shake my head.

"Dude, I don't know what you think you saw, but I'm covered by a towel. You can look. It's safe."

"Oh." He lowers his hand. "Then why did you scream?"

"Because you startled me. Did you need something?"

"Ah . . ." He looks like he's totally forgotten why he came in here. "Oh, yeah. You're allergic to cilantro, right? I was going to put some in the pico, but I thought I remembered that."

"Yeah, I am. Completely allergic to it." I am not at all allergic to cilantro, but I hate it. It seems I have the gene that makes that creepy little spice taste like soap or something even worse. I just always tell everyone I'm allergic so they don't add to my food. I've found that people are much more respectful of potential death than they are of something like a gag reflex.

"Okay, cool. I'll leave it out." He looks like he's going to go, but then he hesitates. "You're okay with Mollie staying, right? I realized I put you on the spot out there---what were you going to say when I asked you, right? But if it's a problem, I'll figure out a way to get rid of her."

This is actually incredibly sweet, and all the snippy little irritation I've been holding onto since I came home evaporates. "Don't be ridiculous. I want her to stay. She seems really . . . uh, sweet." That's not the word I really want to use, but honestly, she was pretty nice when we met.

"Yeah, Mollie's a peach." Nico's tone is filled with admiration, and I'm eaten up with envy. "We met at a party not long after I moved here, and we just hit it off."

The words I don't plan to say are spewing out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Were you two . . . did you, um, date?"

Nico's shoulders tense, and he scowls. "Why does that matter?"

"Oh, it doesn't." I wave my hand, and my towel nearly falls off. I grab the top just in time. "I was just curious."

"We didn't . . . date." Nico is hedging, and I'm pretty sure I know why.

"Just friends with bennies?" I offer it lightly, hoping I don't sound judgy, even though I am so wishing he'd tell me no, that she's not his type at all . . . maybe she's taken a vow of chastity. Or she's engaged to a wealthy, jealous sheik. Or-

"Maybe a couple of times." He crosses his arms. "Nothing serious, though. Not ever. She's not looking for it, and neither was I. But she's a great person and lots of fun. You'll see."

He backs out of my bedroom and closes the door. With a groan, I drop the towel and fall onto my bed. Jesus, the last thing I want to do is go out there in my bathing suit and eat tacos with the woman Nico was fucking before I got down here. I won't even be able to look her in the eye. I'm not that great an actress.

And what if they plan to enjoy some of those friendly benefits tonight? What am I going to do? Sleep with my pillow over my head as their moans of passion fill the house? Holy shit.

I don't want to do it, but I force myself to slip into a bathing suit-mine is a hell of a lot more modest than Mollie's, which is okay because I don't have what it takes to fill out something like that. And then I shrug on a cover-up and get ready to go out to the pool to force down some tacos and small talk.

All I know is that there had better be beer, because God knows I'm going to need a lot of it tonight.