Crazy Imperfect Hearts

Chapter Twenty-three

Regan

I stare at myself in the mirror. Plain blue shirt. Yoga pants. Long, lightweight cardigan. Tennis shoes. I look like I should be going to the gym, not going to get laid. I turn sideways, then fully around, looking at myself from all angles.

I look stupid. I feel stupid.

But I suppose it’s better than having to let Lucas stay until after midnight and then sneak out in the dark and jog home.

I can’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy. Once again, he failed at his quest last night.

It’s not so much he failed as I didn’t succeed. Didn’t even try is more like it. Wham bam, thank you sir was the order of the day—and all days. I know myself. It’s just been far too long. Add in the fact that all I can think about is getting pregnant, and it’s just not going to happen.

“Be a good boy,” I tell Joey, feeding him and then grabbing my purse and heading out the door.

I go out the back. Halfway down the alley, the back door to Maddie’s flower shop opens and her grandmother steps through holding a bag of trash. She does a double take. “Regan? Why, I almost didn’t recognize you.” She eyes me up and down. “Is it laundry day, my girl?”

I laugh awkwardly as my head spins, conjuring up a believable story. “I was, you know, just on my way to Truman’s for some sugar. Don’t you hate it when you run out?”

“Truman’s doesn’t have a back entrance, dear.”

“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t want people seeing me like this. As you said… laundry day.”

“As it happens, Maddie keeps a large container of sugar in the shop. She does love her coffee. How much do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

“Um… that’s very kind of you, but, um… it’s brown sugar I’m in need of.”

“Oh, well, I can’t help you then. What are you making?”

Think. Think. Cookies? Oatmeal? “Coatmeal.”

“Coatmeal?” She cocks her head.

“I mean… I meant oatmeal.”

“Mmm. An interesting choice for dinner.”

I shrug. “I was craving it. I mean, not craving it. I just was watching TV and there was a commercial for it and so I thought I’d make some.”

Oh my god, stop talking.

I am such a bad liar. I’m not sure how I think I’ll be able to go several months without telling anyone about this.

“Let me take this to the dumpster for you,” I say, reaching for the trash.

She lets me take it. “Thank you. I’ll just go back inside and close up then. Enjoy your oatmeal.”

“I will.”

After getting rid of the trash, I glance back to see Rose is still in the doorway. She waves, but doesn’t move. I look back once again when I’ve made it to the end of the alley. She’s still standing there. I have no choice but to turn left instead of right. Right is the train station. She’d know I was full of shit and up to something. Rose Gianogi always has her ear to the ground. And she’s the last person I need a lecture from, especially since she already laid into Lucas this morning.

I stand along the end of the building, wondering how long I need to wait. If I peek around the corner and she catches me, she’ll know something’s up. So I lean against the brick building as I wait and weigh my options.

“Regan?”

Oh, for fucks sake.

It’s Nikki Calloway. She must have gotten off the train and is walking home.

I put on a big smile. I haven’t seen her since I ran into her outside the hospital last month. “Hi, Nikki,” I say, trying to think up yet another lie because I just know the question is coming.

Like Rose, she takes in my unusual choice of attire. “I’ve never seen you look so, well… not flamboyant.”

“I was just out for a walk. Getting a little exercise.” I stretch my arms over my head. “Got winded and stopped for a bit.”

She points up. “Best not be out here long. It’s going to rain soon.”

Nikki should know, she’s a meteorologist as well as being the co-host of a super popular news show on XTN. She’s for sure living her best life. Great career. Great kids. Great husband.

“I’m heading home now,” I say. “Say hello to everyone for me.”

“Will do.”

It occurs to me that she can’t say the same. She can’t say it because I don’t have an everyone . It’s quite the opposite. I have no one. Before jealousy can take hold, I remind myself that it’s possible in nine months, I will have someone. And then Nikki would be saying, “Give Mitchell a kiss for me.”

My heart thunders and I just know, despite those pesky doubts that lie in the back of my mind, I’m doing the right thing.

Just as she walks away, a raindrop hits my face.

“Wow,” I yell after her. “You’re good!”

She laughs and gets an umbrella out of her pack.

Not a minute later, it starts really coming down. I’ll get drenched for sure. I contemplate scrapping this whole idea and going back to my place. Then I remember why we’re doing this and decide I don’t want to give up a chance to conceive.

When I realize everyone coming from the train station is running for their cars or homes, not concerned about me in the least, I make my break for the back parking lot, turning to look down the alley to see Rose is no longer lurking.

By the time I reach Lucas’s car, the top half of me is soaked. He leans across the console and pushes open the passenger door. I look inside his sleek car. “You sure you want me getting in like this?”

“Get in, woman!”

I slide into the seat, feeling guilty about getting his car all wet.

“That came out of nowhere,” he says, looking up and out the windshield.

“Good thing.”

“Why?”

I shake my head, irritated. “People.”

He laughs, puts his car in gear, and takes off. He keeps stealing glances at me. I must be a sight. Wet hair. Clothes clinging to my body. And I wonder if my makeup is running.

A few minutes later, when we pull into a parking lot, I remember where he lives and my heart sinks.

“I forgot you lived in an apartment.” I look left and right as he pulls into a dedicated spot, right in front of the building. “Yeah, not conspicuous at all.”

“Right,” he says, and backs out. He pulls around back. “Go through that entrance. The code for the freight elevator is 9638. Take it to the top floor. The code for my penthouse is 4413. It’s the one on the right.”

I close my eyes and burn it into my memory. “9638. 4413. Got it.”

I hop out and race to the door through the rain.

Luckily, I don’t run into anyone, and by the time I’m closing the door to his penthouse, I’m letting out a relieved breath. Then, it hitches again when I look around. Holy crap. This place is immaculate.

It’s not often I have the occasion to be in places like this. Sure, Maddie’s grandmother lives in a mansion with her husband Tucker McQuaid. And Amber and Quinn’s house is pretty stellar. But this—I turn in all directions—why would a bachelor need all this space?

The living room and kitchen have ceilings so vaulted it’s like they’re two stories, making the space seem even larger. I walk to the huge wall of windows that overlooks a picturesque grassy park-like area below.

The door opens behind me. “Nice place,” I say. “Sorry I’m dripping on your floor.”

“Not a problem. Hold on a sec.” He disappears down a hallway and returns a minute later with a sweatshirt. He hands it to me. “There’s a bathroom down there. You can change into this.”

“Thanks.”

I almost ask what the point is. Aren’t we about to get rid of our clothes? But the part of me that’s curious about his penthouse keeps me from saying it.

On the way to the bathroom, I peek into two rooms. One is a home gym, the other looks like a wine cellar. I’ve never seen so much wine. Rows and rows of it. There must be hundreds of bottles in here.

“See something you like?”

“Why do you keep all this here? Don’t you have room at the winery?”

He chuckles and passes me in the doorway. “This is nothing, just my private collection. The winery has room for much more. We produce over three hundred thousand cases of wine per year.”

My jaw drops. I knew they made a lot of wine, but I had no idea it was that much. “How many in a case?”

“Twelve.”

“That’s… I can’t even count that high.”

“Well over three million bottles.”

“Holy shit, Lucas. How do the six of you manage?”

“It takes a lot more than just the six of us. We have a full staff. You should come by sometime. I’ll give you a tour.”

I snort. “As if that wouldn’t have rumors spreading.”

“Okay, after everyone knows. Come by then.”

I laugh. “When I have absolutely no use for wine?”

“I’ll have you know we make some of the best non-alcoholic wine in the country.”

“You mean grape juice.”

His head shakes. “A common misconception. Grape juice is simply the unfermented juice of grapes. Non-alcoholic wine goes through the full winemaking process, including fermentation, but then has the alcohol removed. It gives you a more developed taste profile and it’s much less sugary than grape juice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Want to pick a bottle?”

I shoot him a hard stare. “Not a date, Lucas.”

“Neither were the others, but we still drank wine. Come on. Any bottle.”

“Okay, fine.” I close my eyes, spin around twice, then walk forward, carefully extending my arm until my fingers touch one of the racks. I wrap my hand around the first bottle I come to. “This one.”

He takes it from me. “I’ll open this. You change.”

The bathroom is across from his wine room, so I don’t get a chance to see what’s behind the other two doors at the far end of the hall. I know there’s another hallway at the other side of the penthouse, too. That one must lead to the master bedroom. Are there really two more bedrooms over here? And if so, what on earth does he need them for? A home office perhaps. I can just imagine it—a desk packed with lists, calendars, and Post-it notes—all organized and not looking the least bit messy. There would be some sort of ultra-tech high res monitor for video conferencing. Tasteful artwork on the walls. A custom-built desk and ergonomic chair that he drapes his suit jackets over after a long day.

Oh my god, why am I standing here imagining his home office?

I glance at the fourth door, wondering if maybe that room holds even more wine. To impress the ladies? I doubt it. With what he’s got below the belt—and I mean both in his wallet and in his boxer briefs—he hardly needs anything else.

Then I remember it’s not wine, riches, or a big cock that he lacks. It’s respect. The one thing he’s lost in this town, and probably the hardest thing to regain.

In the bathroom that I presume is one of many, but that’s still three times larger than my only one, I change into the sweatshirt. I’m glad it fits. It would have been embarrassing had it not. But Lucas is a big guy. Not fat big. Muscular big. And tall.

I look at myself in the mirror, running fingers through my wet hair to tame it, and try to figure out if I’d be interested in him if circumstances were different and he weren’t the man that he is. Then again, if he weren’t the man that he is, he wouldn’t be thirty and still single. He’d have been married long ago, probably with at least a few kids.

He’s very handsome. Hot even. That’s for sure. And he’s genuinely nice. I’m sure, having abandoned all the women he has, a lot of people think he’s some cocky rich guy. But it’s quite the opposite. The man is truly the whole package. With one exception—he’s never going to commit. That’s what makes this what it is—a business transaction. Nothing more. Even before we were going to try for a kid, it was still basically a transaction. I was giving him sex when nobody else would, and he was going to give me an orgasm.

Has sex always been transactional? I scrunch my face. Now that I think of it, I swear it has. Especially with David. He got his rocks off and I got what I needed: love, affection, adoration. The longer we went without sleeping together, the less I’d get those things. So, yes… it was transactional.

What about before David? And the few times after? I think back and rack my brain. Was any of it unconditional?

A tap on the door interrupts my mental spiral. “Regan? Everything okay?”

“Be right out.” I hang my wet cardigan, shirt, and bra on hooks by the shower and open the door.

“Hmmm,” he says, standing back.

I quickly look myself over. “What?”

“You just look so normal.”

“Is that bad?”

He shrugs, offers, “It’s just not… you,” and turns to walk back to the kitchen.

I follow, nearly asking what he means by that, but don’t. Could it be that he actually likes the way I dress? Surely not. Not the guy who’s never seen out of business attire unless he’s out jogging. I narrow my eyes at him as he walks away. Could it be that he likes… me?

I shake the ridiculous thought from my mind, not even wanting to think of the ramifications of trying to have a baby with a guy who’s been carrying a torch for me all these years.

Lucas pours us each a glass. “To successful baby making,” he says, his glass held high.

“I’ll drink to that.” The incredible flavor of the wine explodes in my mouth. “This is really good.”

“I’m glad you think so. It’s one of our best.”

I almost spit out my next mouthful. “One of your best? Lucas, you shouldn’t have let me pick this one. I’m sure it’s expensive.”

“It retails for about four hundred a bottle.”

Now I do choke.

“Lucas, I—”

“Do you think I care, Regan? I have five other similar bottles. And an unlimited supply at the winery.”

I put my glass down and glare at him. “I’m telling you right now that I’m going to teach any child of mine the value of money. He or she isn’t going to grow up with a silver spoon in their mouth. I get that you have an unlimited supply of cash, but I don’t want my kid growing up with a stick up their ass.”

“Do I have a stick up my ass? What about Blake—does he? And Dallas and Allie?”

He’s got me there. They are all normal people, far different from how the uber-rich McQuaids were when they were younger. In fact, if you were out with a Montana and didn’t know they were wealthy, it’d be hard to tell. His parents too. They are incredibly nice. And, wonderful role models for parenting.

This kid hasn’t been born yet—heck, he or she probably hasn’t even been conceived—but I feel a sense of peace knowing the kind of people he’ll be surrounded by.

“Sorry. I was out of line. I, of all people, shouldn’t be making assumptions based off stereotypes.” I pick up my glass and take another sip. “This may be the best glass of wine I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

He smiles. I like his smile. And I realize I won’t be disappointed if we have a son who gets it.

I thumb to the opposite hallway. “Is your bedroom in there?”

He corks the bottle, tucks it under his arm, and leads me to a massive master bedroom suite that could swallow my entire apartment.

“Would you mind if I… I mean it’s silly, but I’d love to see your closet.”

He laughs heartily. “Go ahead.”

I walk through the archway to the bathroom. To the right, a set of open double doors lead into the most impressive closet I’ve ever seen. Floor to ceiling shoe racks line the far wall. On the right are hanging racks of various heights. On the left are drawers, dozens of them, with cubicle-like shelf space above. There’s a tie rack in the corner, electric I presume, with what must be a hundred ties. In the middle of the large closet, a settee covered in brown velvet backs to an island with more drawers and pull-out shelves. On top of the island are fancy trays that hold cufflinks, empty money clips, and cologne.

This closet is every fashionista’s dream.

“I could live in here,” I say, plopping on the settee and running my hands over the soft seat.

It takes a minute for me to realize the closet is half empty. Right, Lissa used to live here. I look over at him as he leans against the doorframe and wonder if he still regrets what he did to her.

Reluctantly leaving the room, because, come on, I’ll never have a closet like this one, I glance in the bathroom on our way out. It’s as impressive as the rest of the place. Walking to the bed, I see a picture of Lucas and Lissa on the nightstand. Yeah—definitely not carrying a torch for me.

He follows my gaze then strides over and puts the picture in a drawer. “Sorry. Probably not what you want to see when we’re about to do what we’re about to do. Guess I should have gotten rid of this a long time ago.”

I shrug. “It’s not like I’m here for your heart, Lucas.”

For a second, I think he looks sad. He must really miss her.

“Get the light?” I ask. “It’s time to get down to business.”