Chapter 18
“Do I need to remind you that you are not in a relationship with your mechanic?”
Megan rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. Just like the other four times you’ve mentioned it today.”
Dressed in tight black leather pants and a heather gray cropped cable-knit sweater, Calli shook her head as she filled two wineglasses. “I can tell you’re moping about it.”
“I’m not,” Megan insisted, opening the oven door. “Can you please stop judging me for a second and help me get this turkey out of the oven?”
She’d had a hell of a time getting the twenty-pound bird in the oven to begin with, and there was no way her lean muscles were going to be able to lift it and the roasting pan with its scalding-hot juices.
Calli shoved the cork back into the wine bottle. “You’ve been pouting all day like you’ve lost your puppy.”
“Have not!”
Megan wouldn’t call it pouting exactly. She hadn’t seen James since their night at the Langham nearly two weeks ago, and they’d only exchanged a handful of texts since then. She couldn’t help being disappointed. But she definitely wasn’t pouting.
“Have too,” her roommate joked, sticking her tongue out. Calli donned a pair of oven mitts, and together they lifted the turkey out of the oven and onto the stove top. “That looks delicious.”
Megan hoped it was good. Fifteen complete strangers were currently roving around their tiny apartment and would be tasting the fruits of her labor as soon as they rang the proverbial dinner bell. She swore she’d seen a few of them licking their pierced lips like starved dogs while she basted the turkey, and it had begun to make her nervous.
Getting up before seven, she’d started her preparations. Besides the turkey, the menu featured mashed potatoes, sausage and apple stuffing, corn bread casserole, blanched green beans with almonds, and pumpkin pie.
Putting her hands on her hips and staring at the enormous turkey, Megan saw the bottleneck in her operation. “How the hell am I going to get this turkey onto the serving platter?”
“Need a hand?” a smooth voice came from behind her.
Megan turned and offered a timid smile. Poe was a co-worker of Calli’s. He was a tattoo artist, and he was covered head to toe in ink. And by covered, she meant covered. The only place he didn’t have tattoos—at least the parts of his body that were visible—was his face.
His black glossy hair was combed back from his broad forehead, and he wore black pants and a dark gray T-shirt that both clung to his strong body. He reminded her of a muscular and highly decorative Johnny Depp.
And he was grinning at Megan like he knew what she looked like naked. Or like he wanted to know.
“Think you can move this turkey onto the serving platter without dropping it?” Calli challenged.
“Step aside, noobs,” he muttered. Grabbing two large carving forks, he stuck one into the cavity of the turkey and one into the neck. “Okay. Calli, when I lift it, you slide the pan out of the way. Megan, you put the platter in its place. On the count of three. One…”
“You’re so bossy,” Calli quipped.
“Bossy can be fun sometimes,” he replied, flashing another smirk Megan’s way. “Two…”
“This could potentially be a Turkey Day Disaster,” Calli ribbed him some more.
“Fuck you,” he laughed. “Three.”
Poe lifted, Calli pulled, and Megan replaced. They collectively breathed a sigh of relief as the succulent bird rested perfectly on the oval serving dish.
“Thanks,” Megan said, smiling at Poe.
He shrugged his shoulders and rested his hands on his hips. “Anytime you have turkey troubles, you know who to call.”
Megan started moving around the kitchen to spoon everything into serving bowls. Without being asked, Poe grabbed the large bowl of mashed potatoes and placed it on the middle of the kitchen island.
Megan handed him the long dish of green beans, followed by the corn casserole. When she turned back for the turkey, Poe nudged her aside with a wink.
He lifted the large platter effortlessly, his biceps bulging from the weight. When all the food was on the island, Calli dinged on the side of her wineglass with a butter knife.
“Okay, gather round!”
People made their way toward the kitchen. All the guests were either Calli’s co-workers or partners of co-workers. Megan had never seen so many tattoos and body piercings congregated in one place. By comparison, she felt boring and extremely colorless. The beige taffeta sheath dress, pale pink cardigan, and white pearls she’d picked out didn’t make her feel any brighter.
“Before we dig into this amazing spread of deliciousness that my gorgeous and single roommate prepared,” Calli said to Megan’s horror, “we need someone to say the blessing.”
A tall woman with tomato-colored hair said a short but poignant prayer of thanks, and then everyone started digging in at once. Megan stepped back, letting their guests fill their plates as she watched for reactions that her food was at least palatable. After a few people offered their compliments, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had a newfound respect for her mother, who prepared a huge Thanksgiving spread every year. And she always made it look so easy.
After filling her own plate, Megan leaned against the kitchen counter and took a sip of chardonnay. Poe swaggered over and stood next to her.
“Thanks for cooking for us misfits this year. If not for you, it would have been Colonel Sanders.”
“You’re welcome. I was happy to do it. It was kinda fun in a tiring, thank-God-it’s-only-once-a-year sort of way,” she joked.
His dark blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a masochist.”
Pink crept into Megan’s cheeks as she looked down at her plate. She needed to change the subject because his salacious thoughts were clear from his expression. “So how long have you worked with Calli?”
“About two years now. How long have you two been roommates?”
“About three months.”
He stuffed some green beans into his mouth and chewed. When he was done, he said, “You and Calli seem to be total opposites. She’s loud and in your face with jagged edges. You’re soft and smooth and polished.”
“We get along pretty well,” she replied.
Poe was definitely masculine, yet his perfect symmetry and angular facial features were beautiful. When she’d met him a couple hours ago, all she could take in were the assortment of mostly black-and-white tattoos climbing up his neck. It made her swallow involuntarily thinking of the amount of pain that tattoo must have caused.
As if he read her mind, he said, “It hurt like a motherfucker.” Her eyes snapped to his and she blinked. “The tattoo at the front of my neck. The sides and the back not so much.”
“What made you get it?” she asked.
“Nothing really,” he shrugged. “I just thought it would look cool.”
She thought of James’s tattoo and the special reason he’d gotten it. She remembered how smooth his skin felt under her fingertips.
Disappointment bloomed in her chest. Calli was right. Megan and James weren’t in a relationship, and he didn’t owe her anything. He didn’t have to call her or text her or offer her explanations. She wished he would though.
“Have you ever thought about getting any ink?” Poe asked, pulling her attention back to him.
She quickly shook her head. “No, not really. I’m not sure tattoos are for me.”
“How about a piercing? You’d look seriously hot with an eyebrow ring.”
She scrunched her nose and shook her head again.
“Not that you aren’t seriously hot without one,” he said, leaning into her.
Her already flushed cheeks were on fire now. Poe noticed, and he laughed. They were silent for a moment as they watched the room. Calli was perched on the arm of the couch, talking to a tall, skinny guy with dark-framed glasses. Another group of her co-workers were laughing hysterically about something on the other side of the kitchen island, and a few stragglers were smoking out on the balcony.
Megan fumbled for a conversation topic. “Is Poe your real name?”
He shook his head. “Poe is my middle name. My real name is Allan. Allan Poe Edgars.”
Megan raised her brow. “Allan Poe Edgars? Like Edgar Allan Poe?”
“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “My parents were weird. While all the other kids were being read Dr. Seuss, my bedtime routine consisted of ‘The Raven.’”
Megan couldn’t help giggling into her wineglass. Somehow the unusual name was part of Poe’s mystery. Now that she knew he was named after the early American poet, she had to admit some of that mystery was a little less…mysterious.
“So in the phone book you’re listed as Edgars, Allan Poe?”
“Yeah, laugh it up, Blondie,” he huffed, shooting her a scathing look she knew wasn’t real because his eyes still smiled. “And when’s the last time you looked at a phone book?”
She shook her head, liking the fact that he could laugh at himself. Their conversation was interrupted when two of Calli’s co-workers came over for seconds and offered Megan their compliments.
She was full but left some room for pie. It was the only time of year she ate pumpkin pie, and she was damn well going to stuff a piece into her mouth. Knowing James’s preference for cake, she wondered if that kept him from eating pie on Thanksgiving.
Not for the first time that day, Megan wondered what he was doing. She wondered if he was enjoying the holiday with his family. She wondered if he had thought about her at all.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Megan looked up at Poe, who had turned toward her, one hip leaning against the counter.
“Ah.” She paused. “I am seeing someone, but I wouldn’t say we’re serious.”
Poe nodded, his midnight-blue eyes assessing her. “In that case, do you wanna grab coffee sometime?”
Recognizing that she was at a crossroads, she bit her lip. She could politely decline and continue to hope James called her. Or she could accept Poe’s offer of coffee and leave her options open.
Just because she went out for a drink with Poe didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to see James. And for all she knew, he was also seeing other women. She’d asked that he tell her if he wanted to sleep with someone else, not date someone else.
Megan knew it was the right thing to do in order to convince herself she wasn’t horrible at this casual dating thing. But she also didn’t miss the fact that with Poe, there was no swirling of excitement in her belly like there was at the thought of seeing James.
“Sure. I’d enjoy having coffee with you, Poe.”