Free Breakfast in Stilettos by Liz Kingswood Page B

would have sent them to work. I know how you like the thrill of feminine envy.” His voice had a conspiratorial luster. “But I figured Kenner would go ballistic, so I took a chance on Sal. Trying to make a grand gesture to you is akin to coming up with a seven-letter word at the end of a Scrabble game. There’s just no place to play anymore.”
    I didn’t understand what Frank was really after. “I’ve been trying to figure out why you sent them. That’s why I called. To talk.”
    I knew how much he hated those words, but I wanted answers. Frank did what he could to avoid long conversations about the state of our relationship. He fidgeted with the stem of his wine glass. “Oh come on. I thought I was pretty clear in my note.”
    “Frank, sending red roses with a sleazy poem is not the epitome of clarity. What do you want? Are you trying to get back together? Do you want sex? Or are you just trying to convince me to comp you a pass to the Salon ?”
    “And you said I was being unclear.” Between the smirk on his face and the mocking tone in his voice, I knew Frank’s impatience meter had been activated.
    I’d be sorry if I pushed it, but I wanted a straight answer for once. If he wanted to be with me, why couldn’t he just say it? “What is the crime in being honest? With you it is always dancing around the truth. I get so tired of it.” My voice sounded overly sharp, even to me. I was tempted to apologize until I saw the look on Frank’s face. His jaw was clenched in anger.
    “Well, fiddly dee. Miss literature major is having a crisis de communiqué .” He was being really sarcastic now.
    I felt his words like a slap and held my breath as a whirlwind of possible retorts gathered momentum. But they were all dammed up inside. Maybe all relationships reach a point of fragility where nothing can be said, good or bad, without damage. Like two ancient pieces of parchment that had been glued together, the bond itself tore the paper at the slightest touch.
    My hand was shaking slightly as I took another sip of the Chateauneuf-du-Pap e. It tasted flat and lifeless as though my taste buds had gone on strike at the first sign of discord. I could almost imagine the Pope giving me a good finger wagging. This was one of those times where my assertiveness deserted me. I thought back on Dr. Steiner’s comments. I needed to speak up and say what I wanted, or at least what I didn’t want. Persistence was key.
    I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to have this conversation. Not like this.” It felt good to say. The tension in my body released a little.
    Frank snorted and stood. I couldn’t help noticing a glimpse of his smooth stomach as his shirt flashed open. He had great abs and skin that begged to be caressed. At the crossroads of heaven and hell. That was Frank. I averted my eyes.
    We were silent for a moment longer before David came back out of his room, dressed in casual gay chic. He gave us one quick glance and shook his head. “Ah, the love birds are at it again.” He began rummaging through one of the cabinets, his back to us so I couldn’t see his face. “A word of advice. You two should either incorporate or dissolve the partnership. Life is too short.” He paused, his fingers gripping the cabinet for a moment, before he released it and moved to the faucet to fill a glass of water. He drank it in one long gulp.
    Nothing sobers you quicker than someone else’s pain, especially when that pain is so much greater than your own. Even Frank looked abashed.
    David grabbed his keys and waved as he passed us. “I’m going out to dinner and then a little dancing. You two play nice.”
    He was out the door a moment later, and Frank and I were left in our uncomfortable silence. I took another sip of wine and then set my glass on the table. I was tempted to leave, to run away as was my wont in the midst of an argument, but I stayed put, looking at Frank expectantly. I wanted something different to