One Good Thing

Chapter One

I was a failure. Officially. The evidence couldn’t have been more obvious if it had punched me in the face—Friday night at a Halloween contest for pets. I didn’t even have a pet. I was here because my roommate had entered the contest, and I didn’t have anything better to do than tag along.

And if that red flag wasn’t enough, a dog had just stuck its slobbery nose up my backside.

I shouldn’t have worn a flirty, short skirt; the hem lifted and air brushed the part of my leg where the upper thigh curved; maybe more important, I shouldn’t have worn a thong with the skirt. It wasn’t one of my brighter moments.

But what I’d been thinking was this: my boyfriend and I were supposed to go on our first real date in weeks, and even though it wasn’t the kind of thing I would normally do, I thought he’d appreciate both the skirt and the thong.

He’d canceled.

Now the only one appreciating it was the dog, whose moist breath I could feel against my bare ass.

This was why I avoided impulsive moments. Impulse and I just didn’t get along. And I didn’t even like wearing thongs. Whose idea was it to stick fabric between someone’s butt cheeks and call it underwear?

It was unnatural. And I was paying for the travesty.

I reached behind me, my hand landing not on the dog’s thick, furry skull but on some sort of plastic helmet. I gave it a fierce shove and the dog whined. Like I was being really cruel for

dislodging its nose from my crotch. But my skirt didn’t fall to cover me. The hem had somehow gotten stuck in the top band of my underwear. How had the stupid mutt managed that?

I yanked the fabric back into its proper position and turned slowly, hoping that no one stood behind me, but half expecting the entire population of the park to be pointing and laughing.

Was it too much to ask that the earth crack open and swallow me into its fiery depths before I died from mortification?

When I faced the park, there was no crowd gathered, but I didn’t manage to walk away unscathed. A small group of people were gathered around a nearby park bench, and a man jogged over from their direction. I glanced past him to the others, but they were deep in their own conversation and didn’t notice me.

He stopped in front of me and knelt to pick up the leash that trailed on the ground.

I stared down at his head. He looked young. He might have been attractive but it was difficult to tell at this angle. He had on dark jeans and a well-fitted black T-shirt.

Earth, now would be a good time.

“Sorry,” he said. “Vader got away from me.”

A German shepherd stood at my feet with a lopsided grin and tongue lolling out. He sported a Darth Vader helmet and cape and was wagging his tail as his wet doggy eyes stared up at me like he’d done something praiseworthy.

The creature was beyond evil. Horns and a pointy tail would have been a more accurate costume.

And then I looked back to the owner to observe him more closely. It was a mistake. Now that he was standing and I could see him straight on, I could tell that he was sort of cute. And that just made everything worse. His brown hair glinted with reddish highlights, ending past his

ears with a curl. His face was longish with high cheekbones and a straight nose that had a slight bump on the bridge. Light blue eyes held mine steadily.

I looked down; that was a bigger mistake. My gaze fell on his mouth.

His lips. I swallowed. They were full, curved, sensual, and right now they were tilted in an apologetic smile.

Which meant, most likely, he’d glimpsed some or all of my butt, possibly even my lacy red thong.

Hot lips or not, my body heated with embarrassment that quickly morphed to anger. It was my coping mechanism for shame—probably not a good one. Even though it was warm for mid-October, I pulled my jacket tighter around my torso, my arms wrapping around my chest.

“Keep track of your stupid dog,” I snapped.

He patted the dog’s side like I might have hurt its feelings. “He just does that sometimes.

I guess he thinks he’s being friendly.”

That was it then. He’d seen the whole thing—the whole thing. I actually felt vaguely nauseous.

Why was this happening to me? Why did it have to be a young, attractive male? The only young, attractive male who should have seen my thonged ass was my boyfriend. Not to be perverted or anything, but I’d rather have an old lady check out my butt than this guy.

“That’s great,” I said, taking refuge in sarcasm. “I hope lots of strange dogs want to be friends with you. You’ll see how fun it is to have their nose up your . . .” I didn’t finish that statement—the word got stuck in my throat and I could feel my face burn.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I noticed his lips were pressed together, like he was trying not to smile. Or laugh. “It’s not a big deal.”

I hadn’t realized my mortification was so hilarious. If looks could kill, the glare I shot him then would have made his face melt off his skull, like something from an Indiana Jones movie. At my level of pissed-off-ness it was hard to be clever. “That’s great,” I said.

But at least I said it in a really seething way.

He actually did laugh then, a little huff of amusement that made me want to disappear off the face of the planet. He started to say something, but I brushed past him and he fell silent.

I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Of course, that meant turning my backside to him again. Surreptitiously, I ran my hands down my hips to make sure the skirt covered everything it was supposed to cover. And then, with long strides, I crossed the mulch path to find my roommate.

As I diverted from the trail, my flats crunched over fallen leaves, and I took cover behind an oak tree. I leaned against the trunk and looked up through withered branches that were barren and vulnerable without their autumn crown. The sky through the limbs was just starting to darken toward twilight.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, pressing my palms against my face. My skin felt overheated.

“Dani?”

It was my roommate’s voice. She veered toward me, crossing ground with quick strides and a hefty costumed cat reclining in her arms. Her eyebrows were drawn together, forming wrinkles along her forehead. “You okay? Where did you run off to?”

I pushed away from the tree; the bark scratched against my hands. “I’m fine,” I said. “I wanted to get a better view of the sunset.”

There was a clearing in the park that pointed west, away from the trees and the farther-off concrete, metal, and glass of the city toward the open sky—the clearing where Darth Vader and

Hot Lips had been waiting to ambush me. Every sunrise and sunset was a little bit different. I liked to think about what colors I would mix to come up with the perfect pinks, lavenders, oranges, and reds for each unique one.

“How was it?”

I lifted my shoulders. “Brief.” Mortifying, I added silently. I should have just stayed home in my frumpiest pair of flannel pajamas. Nothing awkward ever happened to people who stayed home in their frumpy pajamas.

“That’s too bad,” she said.

Alyssa had been an art major at the same college I’d attended. But she’d been more practical (one of the three words I would use to describe her most prominent traits if anyone asked, along with efficient and blunt) and done a concentration in graphic design. Now she had an entry-level job at a marketing firm. Graphic design was a lot more applicable than painting.

Not to say that I wasn’t practical. But I loved painting more than anything else— majoring in it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

“I might take off, if you don’t care.”

“Do you want a ride?” she asked.

“I’ll take the L.” Alyssa lifted her flat-faced cat, Princess, who sported an expression like she’d just eaten a smorgasbord of mice and was thoroughly satisfied. On her head sat a fake gold tiara spotted with paste-on jewels; her front paws peeked out from puffed sleeves. “She won second place!”

“Yeah?” I said, noticing the second place ribbon they’d hung over her neck, like the kind students won at the science fair. “Congratulations. Who got first?”

She pointed across the park. “The tiger.”

I followed the direction of her gesture, where a big dog slept in the grass next to a wrought iron bench. Its owner had painted orange and black stripes all along its body and face.

“Is that allowed?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. But I think Princess is much prettier, aren’t you, baby?” She nuzzled the cat’s face, and it responded with a deep-throated purr.

That was my cue to leave. I always thought it was a little weird when people cooed over their pets. At least Alyssa hadn’t started calling herself Princess’s mom. Yet. “I’ll see you later.”

The ride on the train was a long one, the hum of distant conversations filling my ears. I managed to get a seat and kept my forehead pressed against the cool window as my eyes watched the reflection of the other riders in the glass. They all had places to be on a Friday night, most likely. Or people to be with.

I assumed most of them were going out. Not going home.

I wondered what Drew and I would be doing if he hadn’t canceled. Probably watching a movie or eating at one of the restaurants we liked. Drew and I had similar taste: in food, in movies, in music. He wasn’t as interested in art as I was, but it had never bothered me before.

Everything else just fell into place naturally. Things were easy between us.

Or they had been. Drew’s father had given him a management job at SLQ, the actuarial consulting company he’d cofounded, right after college. Drew’s parents were divorced, and he’d never had much of a relationship with his father. So when his dad offered him the job, he accepted it as a chance to get closer to him.

Drew had started out near fifty hours a week, but he’d reassured me his hours would dwindle once he got the hang of things. But so far, his workload just kept increasing. And I saw less and less of him.

Which meant I was alone more and more.

Solitude didn’t bother me. Sometimes in college I’d holed up for days working on an art project, emerging from my den like a hibernating bear on the first day of spring only after the project was complete. But I’d had purpose then. It was more difficult to be alone when you felt aimless.

And when you didn’t know if the distance between you and your boyfriend was permanent or temporary.

Once I was back in the small apartment I shared with Alyssa—one bedroom, which was hers; I slept on the pull-out couch in the living room because I wasn’t paying rent—I flopped down in the recliner and flipped on the television. Mindless TV watching was a good distraction; one I’d been using a little too often of late.

Titanic was on. With commercials.

And even though I owned the DVD and knew watching any movie that long on network television was a waste of time, it was ridiculously easy to be drawn into the whirlwind romance.

And the dresses. The dresses were gorgeous.

I would have watched all five hours of it, but at some point as the ship and its passengers met their icy fate, I fell asleep.

Alyssa must have switched off the TV when she came home because I woke up in the morning to a black screen and sunlight slanting through the window.