Hidden Gems

“I said not to move.” Marissa dug the heel deeper.

She looked at Harry, who was calmly washing his face with a paw. Simultaneously, Marissa recognized the thief’s curly blond head. Her remaining fear drained away.

She dropped the shoe. “Shandi?”

The woman corkscrewed around to gape at Marissa, then flopped over on the cushions facedown. “Chh’yah, girl! You scared me to death!”

“I scared you?” Marissa stared down at her former roommate, wondering why she even bothered to be surprised. Shandi Lee was the proverbial bad penny. “I thought I was being burgled.”

Shandi rose up on her elbows. “What are you doing here? You said you were going on vacation for a week.” She was a pretty girl under the glitz, but beginning to look run down from not taking care of herself. A heavy application of lipstick, mascara and eyeliner had melted and smeared, giving her the look of a sad-eyed clown.

“I’m back early. Man troubles.” Marissa crossed her arms. “And you?”

Shandi attempted a chagrined grin, which wasn’t very convincing. Her misdeeds were too frequent to be excused as momentary lapses or bad judgment. “You caught me. Since I knew your apartment was empty, I crashed here after Ming kicked me out.”

“Ming kicked you out?” Oh, hell. Another roommatebites the dust. But Marissa wouldn’t be persuaded to provide shelter. Not again. “What did you do this time?”

“Spent my rent on a Fendi purse. Look at it.” Shandi pointed at the coffee table, where a pink leather pouch perched atop the stack of fashion magazines, newspapers and junk mail. “It’s adorable. So worth it.”

“The purse is cute,” Marissa conceded, adding quickly, “but you can’t stay.” The roommate before Ming had given Shandi the boot after a raucous New Year’s Eve party had resulted in three arrests, two infidelities and one hole punched in the wall. That time, Shandi had bunked on Marissa’s couch for a week.

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t make me pack up.” A pair of Chinese silk pajamas spilled from the open tote bag on the floor. “I’m ready to pass out.”

Harry tightroped the back of the couch to press against Marissa’s arm. She rubbed the cat’s head, weakening. Shandi was like an alley cat—superannoying when yowling at night, but scruffily irresistible when she meowed on the doorstep in the rain. “Okay, you can stay until morning. But you have to find another place tomorrow, okay?”

Shandi flopped again. “I could ask Jamie to lend me a corner.”

Marissa stiffened, but she kept her voice casual. “You could.”

Shandi’s visible eye opened. “If I can get past you.”

“I’m not his bodyguard.”

Snort. “You’re each other’s bodyguards. I wish you two would get over yourselves and just do it already.”

“Let’s not get into that again.” Marissa resisted, then couldn’t help herself. “We’re dogs and cats.”

Shandi yawned. “Like that matters when you know he wants to ride you like a mustang.”

Marissa didn’t reply. The kisses with Jamie remained a bright neon sign at the back of her brain. ¡Dios! Middle of the night and she was lit up like Broadway. If the mugger hadn’t knocked some sense into her earlier, there was no telling how naked they’d be right now.

But she didn’t want that…not really. Her resolution was to make no more mistakes. Fooling around with Jamie could be a huge one.

Shandi was smirking into an Ultrasuede sofa pillow. To avoid another bawdy comment, Marissa went to the linen closet and selected a pair of sheets, a blanket and an extra pillow from the jumbled contents. She came back and dropped them on her guest’s backside. Not up to Martha Stewart’s standards, but then, Marissa hadn’t sent out any engraved invitations. “At least take off your shoes.”

Shandi lifted her feet up and toed off her Reebok sneakers. The shoes must have weighed five pounds. They hit the floor like andirons. Better weapons than the sandals, especially when inserted into an open mouth.

Making a note of that, Marissa chirped to Harry and walked back to her bedroom. She softened her tone. “Good night, Shandi.” Then couldn’t resist. “Please don’t get makeup on my pillows.”

She left the door open a couple of inches for the cat and crawled into bed. The Habaneros T-shirt she slept in rode up around her waist and she pulled it down, humping her hips a couple of times. The bedsprings squeaked.

In a voice filled with deviltry, Shandi called, “Ride me, big Sheldon,” quoting from When Harry Met Sally, one of their favorite movie night chick flicks.

“Oh, just shut up,” Marissa murmured. She was usually quicker with a comeback, but the skin on her thighs had jumped to her own touch and she was busy thinking how she would have reacted if Jamie had been waiting in bed for her. Gone on a bucking bareback ride? With her platonic pal?

One day ago that notion would have been laughable. Now it wasn’t. And what had changed? There was her breakup, but she’d lost boyfriends before and hadn’t turned to Jamie except for brotherly comfort. Maybe she was only having an unusually adverse reaction to a bad vacation, complicated by loss of sleep.

She’d be sane by morning.

Instead of wanting Jamie like crazy.

“GIVE ME BACK MY KEY,” was the first thing Marissa said the next morning when she passed through the living room to get to the galley kitchen, her eyes crusted into slits. If she didn’t take a firm stance from the start, she’d find herself giving in, one night at a time, until she had herself a new roommate.

Her resolve was reinforced when she stumbled over the junk that had been scattered throughout the room. Shandi’s worldly possessions—basically a wardrobe, a collection of shoe boxes, one packet of important papers like tax returns and inscribed cocktail napkins and the toolbox that held an oversize makeup kit. Marissa shoved the meager belongings into one big pile. Harry danced ahead, meowing for Fancy Feast.

Shandi muttered something unintelligible and pulled the blanket over her head.

In the kitchen Marissa popped the top of a can of turkey giblets, filled the cat’s dish, then got the arabica dark roast coffee beans from the expanding igloo of her freezer. She made the grinder sing like a swarm of killer bees.

Shandi got the hint and staggered to her feet, saying, “Coffee. Need coffee,” as she lurched toward the bathroom.

“You’re going in the wrong direction.” Marissa gave the beans one more good buzz. The rich smell was waking her up too. Soon the past thirty-two hours would make sense.

She was picking at the corners of her eyes, waiting for the coffee to brew and going over all the reasons that Jamie was no good for her as a lover even though he was nothing but good as a friend, when the doorbell rang.

Jamie’s eye met hers in the peephole. Marissa wanted to run away back to the bedroom and execute a frantic

twenty-second toilette, but Shandi was occupying the bathroom. Acting differently around Jamie would only call attention to how really different Marissa felt since The Kiss.

She scrubbed her hands on her shirt and opened the door, glad she’d pulled on a pair of yoga pants.

A wet nose thrust into her crotch. “Sally!” Jamie tugged at his dog’s leash. He offered an easy smile that lessened Marissa’s self-consciousness. “Sorry. I was taking the beast out for a run at George’s when I heard your coffee grinder.”

“I’m still waking up.”

His face changed when he heard the shower. “You have company.”

Marissa weighed her options. She could tell him Paul had followed her home, they’d made up and that would be that. Except that wouldn’t be that. Anyone who’d ever seen a romantic comedy starring a Hollywood It girl knew “that” only led to more complications.

Besides, she couldn’t lie to Jamie.

Yeah, except about your feelings.

“Shandi showed up after the bars closed, looking for a soft place to land.” Marissa leaned in. “Start thinking of your excuses now.”

Jamie pulled back. “Uh, the Village chapter of the Angelina Jolie fan club is meeting in my apartment.”

“Not bad, but I have lice.”