Free Desperate Measures by Fern Michaels

her lips shut and opened the door. He would never forget the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m drunk,” she said as she pushed him out the door. “Don’t pay attention to anything I say.”
    He’d walked for hours trying to figure out what it all meant. When he returned to his own room, he decided he would never understand women.
    â€œYour problem, Sorenson,” Mark Ritter had said, “is you love her, but you aren’t in love with her. Maybe she feels the same way and doesn’t know how to handle it.”
    â€œDon’t you have to love someone before you’re in love?” Pete asked.
    â€œHow the hell do I know?” Ritter said. “I just love ’em and fuck ’em and go on about my business. I don’t want any emotional baggage standing in the way of my career. When it’s time for me to tie the knot, I’m going to marry some senior partner’s nubile daughter.”
    Pete felt that Mark Ritter was stupid, dense. “What about love?” he asked. “Don’t you want to spend your life with someone you love, have a family and look forward to your golden years?”
    â€œIn your dreams, Sorenson. You know, you’re an asshole if you believe all that crap. Love is for fools. Women suck you dry. Financially and emotionally. I’m not going through that bullshit. Trust me, I’ll make sure the nubile daughter is good-looking, with a body to match. I can handle the rest.” Pete never felt the same about Mark Ritter after that. In fact he went out of his way to avoid him.
    He hadn’t dated much while he was in law school; there simply wasn’t time for the party scene, and he’d pretty much gotten that out of his system during college days when, like Ritter, he’d had so many one-night stands he lost count of them.
    Pete envied Annie for her uncanny ability to live in the moment. To her, anything before the moment was history and didn’t bear thinking or talking about. He wished he was more like her. He dwelled on everything, worried to death, dissected it and then worried some more. Maybe it all stemmed from his childhood. Maybe he was fucked up. Hell, yes, he was fucked up.
    Where the hell was Annie? She said she’d meet him at eight o’clock, and it was nine now. He wondered if she was sick. But then, Annie never got sick, she simply wouldn’t allow her body to carry germs. And then he saw her and knew immediately what the sappy smile on her face meant. He didn’t recognize the stirrings he felt as jealousy, but he wanted to throw his book through the window.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” she said, sitting down across the table from him. “Let’s get right to it. You look like you’re in a daze, Pete. Is something wrong?” Her sappy expression was gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern.
    â€œI was thinking.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t do that, Pete. You’re dangerous when you think.” She smiled, and he felt better right away. Today she was wearing something that was as blue as her eyes. A little gold pin was on the collar. He’d never seen it before. He knew everything Annie owned, which wasn’t much. She wore just the right amount of makeup, kept her pale hair short; “wash and wear” she called it. She always looked professional. She’s beautiful, Pete thought. “You look pretty this morning,” he said.
    â€œThanks, but don’t think that compliment is going to make me go easy on you. Just two more months, Pete, and we’re outta here.”
    â€œI’m going to miss you, Annie.”
    â€œMe or the security blanket I represent?” Annie said warily.
    â€œBoth. Annie?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you and I ... that night when we had the wine after moot court ... what is it about me that . . .”
    â€œPete, you’re my best friend. I don’t think I will ever have a