Fair Play (20 page)

“This was wrong,” Theresa said quietly, knowing she was lying. It was anything but wrong, yet her feelings for this man terrified her more than she could even articulate. “Dinner was wonderful, and I enjoy talking to you, but I don't have romantic feelings for you. I'm sorry.”

Pain flickered across the handsome face, followed by a stubborn set of the jaw. “I don't believe you, Theresa.”

“Michael—”

“Do you have any idea how you were kissing me just now?” he challenged, his expression reflecting the sense of wounded outrage he was trying to contain. “With joy. With passion.”

“It was my body responding, Michael. Not my heart. Not my soul.”

“Bullshit.” His expression softened. “Look, I know you're scared because of what happened—”

Theresa's hand instinctively shot out as if to push his words away. “Don't even go there, because you don't know what you're talking about, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael said cautiously.

“I'm going to go home now,” she announced.

Michael looked uneasy. “Don't you think we should talk about this?”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Theresa insisted. “You promised that if I had dinner with you, you would get off my case. That's what I'm asking you to do.”

“So even though you thoroughly enjoyed dinner, this is it, done,
finito.
No more spending time together.”

“Not like this.”

“Like how?”

“I need to think about it, Michael, okay?” she said lamely.

“Okay.” Frustration danced at the edge of his voice. “You think about it. You think about how you're attracted to me, but keep pushing me away.”

“I'm going now,” Theresa repeated, more to herself than to him.

“She's going now,” he muttered to himself. “Great.” He looked around the living room almost as if he didn't know where he was and was trying to get his bearings. “Let me just get my shoes on and I'll drive you.”

“That's ridiculous,” Theresa said, grabbing her purse. “I can take the subway.”

“You are
not
taking the subway at this hour.”

“I'm an
adult,
Michael, I can do as I please.”

“You're right,” he capitulated. “But if you won't let me drive you, at least let me call you a cab for my own peace of mind.”

“Fine.” She knew she should be grateful for his concern, but she wasn't. Having to wait for a cab meant spending more time in his presence, time he could use to wear her down and make her open up. She wanted to run home, remember who she'd been striving to be and erase this whole evening from her mind.
That's
what she wanted to do.

Thankfully, the cab showed up within minutes. Theresa slid into the back seat, eager for Michael to slam the door and walk back inside. But being Michael, he couldn't.

“You know, one of these days you're going to get tired of running, Theresa. You're going to get tired of denying who you are.”

She jerked her head to look at him. “And?”

“You figure it out,” he said, finally slamming the cab door and walking back up the steps of the brownstone.

Little did he know that was the
last
thing she wanted to do.

 

 

Gemma lived in
a studio on East Twenty-fifth and Third. Michael knew his cousin was no Martha Stewart. But he wasn't prepared for the chaos of her small apartment: Arcane books on the occult crowded nearly every surface, while herbs and plants competed for space on the floor and at the windows. Just as in her store, the scent of incense was overpowering. Peeling off his coat, Michael wondered if the neighbors ever complained. If he were her neighbor, he sure would.

“What can I get you?” Gemma asked cheerfully. That was one of the things Michael loved about her: She always seemed to be in a good mood. No making him feel guilty for not being in touch for a while, just, “Sure, come on over, no problem.”

“What have you got?” Michael asked.

“Cinnamon apple tea, chamomile tea—”

“How about coffee?”

“Coffee's really bad for you, Mikey.”

“I appreciate your concern, Gem, but I didn't sleep too well last night and I could use the buzz.”

Her lower lip curled down disapprovingly. “You've never had trouble sleeping before. I'll see what I can find.”

She walked over to her small kitchen area, bidding him to follow. Michael leaned against the wall, watching as she fished around in various cabinets until she came up with a jar of instant coffee that looked like it had been buried in a time capsule in 1972 and dug back up again.

“This okay?” she asked.

“It'll have to be.”

Gemma tried opening the jar herself, but when it wouldn't budge, she handed it to Michael. “So, what's going on with the restaurant? My mother said you guys have been doing Friday night specials, and you're actually going to do a Thanksgiving Day dinner this year.”

He handed the open jar back to his cousin. “The restaurant's doing really well.”

“That's great. Any write-ups?”

“Not yet, but Theresa said to be patient. We need strong word-of-mouth first.”

At the mention of Theresa's name, curiosity flickered in Gemma's eyes. “How are things going with you two?” she asked coyly, filling the tea kettle.

“A dead man gets more action than I do,” Michael replied disgustedly. “Those candles you gave me are worth
bupkus.
”

“Uh huh,” said Gemma, nodding sympathetically.

“And forget the moonstone! It's brought me nothing but
agita!
”

“Talk to cousin Gemma,” she cooed, half teasing him as she extracted two coffee mugs from a cabinet beneath the avocado green counter.

“Explain to me how the female brain works,” Michael demanded.

“In fifty words or less?”

“I'm serious, Gemma. I arrange this wonderful romantic dinner for us, she loves it, we go back to my place for coffee, we're kissing, and the next thing I know I'm being told she's not attracted to me romantically. What's the deal?”

“She's frightened.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Michael concurred gloomily.

“She's attracted to you but she doesn't want to be,” Gemma declared, putting a tea bag in one of the cups.

“Why? Am I such an ogre?”

“You must represent something that terrifies her.”

“Being Italian?” Michael mused aloud. “What?”

“I don't know,” Gemma said. “Maybe it's because you're a hockey player.”

“I don't know.” Michael rubbed his forehead, forlorn. “What should I do?”

Gemma thought. When the kettle emitted an ear-piercing shriek, she hurried to silence it, pouring the hot steaming water into the two mugs. “Well, I can perform a spell—”

“No.”
Michael was adamant. “No more quackery.”

Gemma grinned at him. “Scared?”

“Skeptical.”

“I could give you some dried hibiscus flowers to carry in a little pouch,” Gemma continued, bobbing her tea bag up and down in its cup. “They're renowned for attracting love, lust and passion.”

“Forget all that stuff, okay?” Michael begged. “Just give me some straight advice.”

Gemma puffed up her cheeks and blew out, sending a horizontal stream of steam from her coffee mug. “Don't give up.”

“Because?” He took the mug filled with coffee and opening her fridge, pulled out some soy milk. “Do you have any regular milk? You know, the kind that comes from one of those animals that say
moo
?” Gemma shook her head no. “I'll drink it black, then.” He took a sip of the putrid liquid in his mug masquerading as coffee. “You were saying?”

“Don't give up. She obviously likes you. If she didn't, she would never have agreed to go back to your place after dinner.”

“And the kisses?”

“Same thing. She's got some stuff to work out, maybe even past life stuff and—don't you dare roll your eyes—”

Michael made his eyes behave.

“All you can do is wait it out.”

“What if I'm waiting in vain?”

“We've been over this, Mikey,” Gemma admonished. “What did I tell you the first time?”

Michael squirmed like a kid who'd been called on in class to answer the same question repeatedly. “Have faith,” he muttered resentfully.

Gemma nodded her approval. “That's right.”

Michael followed her back out into the living room, where she shifted to the floor a pile of books on alchemy (
What the
—? Michael thought) so they could sit on the couch.

“I would do one thing differently, though,” said Gemma thoughtfully as she eased herself down.

“What?” Michael took another sip of coffee, then put the cup down on the floor for good. It was undrinkable.

“Play it cool. Don't make any more attempts at wooing her. I bet you she'll come sniffing around, wanting to know what you've been up to.”

“You think?” The idea of Theresa pursuing him was exciting.

“I
know.
” She took a long, slow sip of tea. “I'd like to meet her some time. Read her aura.”

Michael practiced further eye restraint and said, “She'll probably be at the grand reopening of the restaurant. You can meet her then.”

“I'd like that.” She peered at Michael with interest. “So what else is going on?”

Michael told her. He told her of his troubles with Anthony and the annoyance of having to deal with van Dorn. About how ever since his “wine, dine and leave you to pine” experience with Theresa, his mind was a mess. How even his coach had noticed that he had the attention span of a gnat, and asked if he was losing his edge. What he didn't tell her was that the criticism hurt, because he feared it was true. Maybe his hockey playing days were coming to an end.
What then?

In return, he listened avidly to what was going on in her life, mildly envious she seemed so well-balanced. He toyed with the idea of setting her up with one of his teammates, then thought better of it. All he needed was one of them finding out his cousin was a
stregh
and his life would be hell.

Two hours flew by. “Shoot,” he said, taking his cup from the floor and hustling into her kitchen to deposit it in the sink. “I should get down to Met Gar.”

“Who you playing tonight?” asked Gemma.

“Colorado.”

“You did really well against Dallas,” she noted proudly.

“Yeah, but not so good against Detroit and Tampa.” His brows furrowed. “I have to put all this outside stuff in perspective. It's really messing with my concentration.”

“Frosted quartz can help with balance,” Gemma told him.

“Frosted flakes?” Michael teased, pretending he hadn't heard correctly.

Gemma smacked his arm. “My cousin, the comedian.” She raised up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Give my love to Anthony. Tell him I'll come by soon.”

“Tell him yourself. I have to go to the restaurant after the game. Why don't you come with me? You could even come to the game if you want.”

“Okay,” Gemma said brightly. “That would be fun.”

“Just one thing.”

“What?”

“No hexes on the other team, okay?”

Gemma placed her hand over her heart. “You have my word of honor,” she replied fervently. A mischievous expression played across the soft features of her face. “But if you lose, don't come crying to me.”

Scott Strauss was
a chunky, handsome man in his early forties. He had been Janna and Theresa's accountant since their days at the network. They liked him because he was smart, direct and personable. Riding the elevator to his office with Janna, Theresa tried to distract herself from thinking about the meeting they were about to have. She found her thoughts drifting to Reese. If he were only a stronger presence in her life, then all this agonizing over her attraction to Michael would be moot.

“Theresa.” Scott's handshake was warm and firm as he motioned for her and Janna to sit in the vacant Eames chairs in front of his desk. After they were all seated, his gaze ranged over both women. “Well, I've had a chance to look everything over.”

“And—?” Janna prompted. The trip over from their own office had been largely silent, each of them hoping for the best, but not expecting it.

“I have good news and bad news.” He flipped open a folder on the desk in front of him and skimmed it. “The good news is FM PR's current revenue covers its ongoing expenses, which, in the best of all possible worlds, means the business would be profitable.”

“Would
be?” Theresa echoed, flashing Janna a look of concern.

“That's the bad news,” Scott continued. “Even though you were able to finance start-up costs with cash, you had to borrow two hundred thousand to cover operating expenses while you were lining up clients.” He paused, once again studying the paperwork before him. “Your current revenue isn't enough to cover expenses and your accounts payable.”

“No?” Janna said, sounding shocked.

Theresa felt a small, hard kernel of fear forming in her gut. Janna had gone to business school. If
she
was shocked, it had to be bad.

Theresa looked at Scott questioningly. “So this means—?”

“You need to bring in more money so you can pay back what you borrowed.”