An Offer He Can't Refuse (22 page)

"Gotta See Baby Tonight"

/p> Louis Prima

Strictly Prima
(1959)

Rachele let herself into the house, the low glow from the den
letting her know that her father was waiting up for her. "I'm home, Papa," she called out, happiness bubbling over into her voice.

"You have your backpack?" he asked.

Guilt bounced right off her good mood as she walked into the room where her father was settled into his recliner, watching Jay Leno in the darkness. "I have it right here," she said, holding it up. Retrieving the item left at the design office "by mistake" had been her excuse for getting out of the house in order to meet Cal. Her recent little white lies had made time for coffees and ice cream cones and kisses.

From that first day in the Inner Life office when she'd seen Cal, she had known that he was meant for her. Call her crazy, but love had come to her just like that. What she hadn't known was just how sweet and gentle Cal was, his absent-minded braininess dropping away whenever he was with her. Then, the dark-lashed eyes behind his glasses focused, seeming to see past her hair dye, her facial piercings, and her exaggerated makeup to the secret corners of her heart.

A geek with a sensitive side. What more could a girl—no, a
woman—
ask for?

Her father broke into her thoughts. "You took long enough," he grumbled. "I was starting to worry."

Rachele grimaced.
Starting
to worry? Her father had been worried, maybe downright depressed even, for as long as she could remember. "I ran into Téa, her sisters, and mother, and we chatted a while."

Her father's head jerked toward her, the light from the TV giving his face a blue cast. Blue, like her father's perpetual state of mind. "You saw Bianca? How's she doing?"

Rachele slid onto the couch. "She seemed fine." Especially after Rachele had explained her goof-up with the security panel. What she hadn't explained though, was that it was Cal kissing her silly that had caused her to nearly forget the alarm code and then fumble at the keypad. No one had appeared to catch on that they'd been together at the office. "They're all fine."

Except maybe Téa, who had shown up with mussed hair and wearing a baggy sweatshirt. The boss never let herself look so disheveled. She never let a man touch her like Johnny Magee had been touching her either, Rachele thought, remembering how he'd been holding the boss's hand between both of his. She grinned to herself and couldn't help but bounce a little on the tweedy cushion. Love was in the air.

She glanced over at her father, his attention back to the television. On the small table beside him was a framed photo of Rachele's mother. Rachele dusted it herself twice a week, and Windexed it often to keep the protective glass streak-free. Her heart twisted, the exuberance inside her tempering a little.

How lonely her father must feel with his wife forever out of reach. No wonder he tried to keep his only child under glass and close to him.

But if he knew she'd found her soulmate, wouldn't he relax his hold on her?

"Papa," she ventured, wondering if she could really bring herself to tell her father what was going on in her life, "how old were you when you married Mama?"

"Twenty," he said, still focused on Leno and the NASCAR driver he was interviewing.

"I'm older than that," she replied, not sure he'd believe it. "And Mama was only eighteen, right?"

Her father grunted. "You're stupid when you're young." His voice lowered, sounding almost bitter. "Even stupider when you're in love."

Rachele grimaced, her upbeat mood fast deflating. Sighing, she toyed with the ring in her left eyebrow. Maybe tomorrow she should return to the Palms Piercing Parlor and get another beside it. Or perhaps a colorful tat somewhere on her neck or on her shoulder. Better yet, she could go into the bathroom right this minute and see about adding some peroxide streaks to her purplish, spiky bangs.

But none of those would change her father.

And there was already a man in her life who liked her just as she was.

The laptop computer sat on the coffee table in front of her. She reached for it, then quickly folded her legs Indian-style and balanced it on her knees. The Instant Messenger screen opened in a blaze of colors.

Papa wouldn't approve of her making a call this late at night—nice girls wouldn't!—but she could still make contact with Cal. He'd bring her back to bliss-level.

If he was logged on.

And there he was, YAUN4U—Yet Another Unix Nerd 4U—the #1 buddy on her list.

rehi, she typed, knowing it would show up on his monitor along with her screen name, ITchick, for "Italian chick." It was hi again, though technically they hadn't even said—let alone kissed—a good night. The arrival of the security cruiser and the Carusos and company had put a kibosh on that.

Her cursor blinked without pause for long seconds. Maybe he'd left his keyboard for a soda or a bowl of cereal or—

HT

His "hi there" seemed less than enthusiastic. miss u, she typed quickly, needing reassurance. The pause was longer this time, and Rachele couldn't hold out against it.

r u there? She typed.

here, YAUN4U wrote back.

For some reason the four-letter word looked pissed off.

Rachele's fingers flew, what? she wrote.

WE CAN'T KEEP THIS UP.

Her stomach clenched, this? she wrote back, what

"THIS?"

SNEAKING. HIDING.

private! She protested, glancing over at her father, alone time!

YAUN4U just repeated himself: sneaking, hiding.

Rachele replayed the evening in her mind. They'd met outside the office, and Cal had lifted her up and swung her around in his arms. She'd laughed and run her fingers through his Beatles-mop, then kissed the top of his head. As he'd brought her feet back to the ground, her chin had bumped his glasses askew.

He'd looked so darn cute with them half-hanging off his face that she'd gone on tiptoe and planted a big wet kiss on his smiling mouth.

And like every other time they'd kissed before, she'd felt that Cupid-wound over her heart reopen and spill that perfect mix of exhilaration and certainty through her bloodstream.

But now Cal didn't seem as certain as she.

Was this the infamous electronic dump? A blow-off by e-mail was supposed to be bad, but via IM was ranked the lowest of the low.

r u… Her fingers stumbled over the letters. R u saying ljbf?

Let's just be friends.

no. The answer came back with gratifying speed. I'm saying TELL YOUR FATHER ABOUT US.

Tell her father? Rachele glanced over at him, lost in Leno, so lost to her. Could she break his concentration and break the news that his daughter had another man in her life?

soon, she typed. Soon she
would
tell him. But how would her father take the news? Would he see her finally growing up as a defection or a natural progression?

She would hate to hurt him. Hate it.

But Cal would hurt
her
if she didn't come clean, because losing him would break her heart. And then she'd be glued to the daughter seat on the den's plaid couch for the rest of her life.