Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (26 page)

He glanced at his watch. He reckoned he could get a few more hours of sleep at home before he needed to be back here. He just wouldn’t sleep as well without her.

* * *

Kai perched on one of the kitchen stools while Libby made coffee, one of the few beverages exempt from the Fish Food restrictions.

“I heard you were sick last night,” Kai said.

Libby was surprised, but decided to play it cool. “Oh, no—was I that loud? Sorry. I think my stomach rejected all that cardboard,” she explained.

“That’s okay. But why didn’t they get you a doctor?” Kai demanded.

Libby shrugged as naturally as she could. “I didn’t think I needed one. I got sick, they talked to me about it, then put me to bed. I didn’t sleep well, though—”

“I can tell. You look like hell,” Kai said.

Libby hid her smile in the coffee canister. “Yeah, well, I feel worse. Anyway, they checked on me again at some point, but I managed to drink some water and not throw up, so they sent me back to bed.”

“So is coffee the best thing for a bad stomach?”

“Oh, it’s probably the worst thing, but if I don’t have any caffeine, I’ll be a wreck for today’s competition.” Libby didn’t much care about the game, but her competitive instincts weren’t completely dead.

They talked a bit about the game while the coffee brewed, then Kai startled her by changing the subject.

“So, do you have a guy waiting for you?”

Libby fussed with mugs and teaspoons while she tried to remember what she had said about her dating life as Lissa. A new guy every week, right? That was an exaggerated but not entirely inaccurate version of Lissa’s love ’em and leave ’em approach to dating before she met Duke.

But what came out of Libby’s mouth was a surprise, even to her. “No. No, the guy I really want won’t be waiting for me back home,” she said softly.

“Did he dump you or did you dump him?”

“Star-crossed lovers, I guess,” Libby said, mentally wincing at the cliché. “I don’t think it would have worked out, but it was sad not even to get the chance.”

“Tell me. I want deets,” Kai said.

Libby picked one of Lissa’s pre-Duke boyfriends at random. “Andrew. He’s a nice guy. I met him at the bar, and we dated a bit, but he wasn’t from Philly, so eventually the time came for him to go home.”

“Sounds like he was married,” Kai said cynically.

Libby tried to imagine the real-life Andrew—a frat boy from a small college in Schenectady—as a married man. “No, he wasn’t married. Cute enough, sure, but he didn’t have that aura, you know? That vibe that says he’s playing at being squeaky clean.”

Kai’s lips twitched, “Yeah, I know that act.”

Libby went on, but she was talking now about Rand, “When I was with him, I felt as though he really saw me, not just the package I come in. You know?”

“Mmm-hmm. Go on.”

“He wasn’t rejecting me. I think…” Libby trailed off, her mind drifting a bit. “I think he wasn’t sure yet who he was.”

At Kai’s intent stare, Libby shook her head. “Sorry—got lost there for a moment. Anyway, Andrew was a long time ago. He’s just hard to forget.”

Kai stirred her coffee intently but didn’t say anything. When Libby asked about Kai’s husband, she deflected the question. “He’s okay. I love him. He loves me. We work well together. He doesn’t make me stare off into space much anymore,” she added drily.

Libby laughed. “Well, you asked. I don’t think I’ve thought about Andrew for ages.” Now, that was a true statement.

As usual, Kai got the last word. “Lissa, I would strongly urge you to look that man up as soon as this game is over. You still have feelings for him.”

Alone at the table, Libby took a sip of her coffee. Kai was right—not good for an empty stomach.

Did she? Real feelings, worth disrupting her life to pursue? Libby wondered about that moment when it seemed Rand wanted to ask her to move to L.A.

Lissa would have done it in a heartbeat, obviously—it was why she’d moved to Alaska, to be with Duke. A man she’d known for less time than Libby’d been on
The Fishbowl
.

For Libby, though, there was a big difference between using an unexpectedly free summer to get to know a guy, and deciding to relocate her entire life for him. Her legal career, her family, her friends—they were all in the Northeast. She’d always assumed she’d meet someone with similar geographic ties. That is, on the rare occasion Libby’d thought about meeting someone.

Rand changed all that. How could she return to Philly if it meant turning down a chance to be with him? Even now, sleep-deprived and feeling like Alice down the rabbit hole, she throbbed with memories of last night. She could still feel the sea air and hear the waves through the open window.

He affected even her downtime inside the ’Bowl. Her entire body was tuned to Rand—when it was time for the Journal Room, she felt like she was waking up for the day. She didn’t need a clock to tell her when she was next going to see him, touch him. She could recall his scent, the taste of his kisses, the feel of his fingertips and tongue. The idea of moving to L.A. to be with him didn’t seem crazy no matter what her brain said. As far as her body was concerned, leaving Rand might be the definition of insanity.

Libby’s existence had been officially turned inside-out. She needed to get back to the stability of her normal life. How could she know what to do while she was so mixed-up?

Oh, yeah, and just when did she plan to tell him that she was the law student twin? That might make a big difference to her options, she reminded herself acidly.

She had given herself a headache. It was a relief, she realized, to be called to the garden for another competition.

“Marcy got reamed out by a network suit about the low ratings for this season of
The Fishbowl
,” Debbie told Rand when he came in for the Monday morning staff meeting. “As it can’t possibly be her fault, she’s decided to change everyone’s assignments.”

“Oh joy.” Rand said as he took a seat.

“Rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic,” Debbie whispered to Rand as Marcy stood up to explain her new scheme.

Debbie had to take over Rand’s night shift duties, Rand was moved to mornings, and all their writing assignments were jumbled up. Rand knew not to complain, but it sucked for a lot of reasons. Debbie would have to send her son to live with her mother in Hemet because she couldn’t afford a sitter every night. And Rand knew he’d barely have time to kiss Lissa after the early Journal Room sessions before she was needed for the day’s competition.

As he waited for Lissa, Rand worked out how to deal with Marcy stalking the Control Room. No hope of getting Lissa’s mike turned off, but if he didn’t explain the changes she might worry she’d gotten him in trouble. He started to scribble out what he had to tell her.

After she’d answered his questions in her slow, careful, mildly ditzy way, Rand opened the door to the Journal Room and put his finger to his lips. He held up the paper he’d written on. He watched her face as she read the first message:
Marcy on warpath. Not bec. of us. Low ratings! I’m on a.m. Deb on nights. Yr mike not turned off
.

When she looked up, her dismay echoed what he was feeling. He flipped the sheet over and showed her the rest of it.
No idea when things might change—soon I hope. I miss you
.

She nodded slowly, then looked at him. She pantomimed, “I miss you too,” and he kissed her silently. After what they’d done the night before, it was a travesty. He’d kissed cousins with more feeling. But it was quiet, and if he even touched her body, he was certain he couldn’t stop.

He watched her turn and leave.

After that, his days were grim ordeals. He stayed out of Marcy’s way, got his work done, and watched Lissa as much as he could. Apart from the few minutes each day when he conducted a ludicrous interview—who cared what Susie had said at breakfast?—he was no closer to Lissa than the average viewer. He missed their conversations as much as the freedom to touch her, and got distinctly nostalgic about those long, silent make-out sessions.

Agony to see her on the monitors or through the windows and have no chance to talk to her. Every night, as he returned to his empty apartment, Rand’s frustration grew. He had X-rated dreams about her. In the daytime, he walked around in a fog of arousal. Rand was getting desperate.

Surreptitiously, he followed as much of Lissa’s moves in the game as he could. She’d done a good job convincing Greg to put up both Chris and Dylan. In her taped interviews, Lissa said she hoped she, Jim or Kai could win the Get Off The Hook competition that week, and the Chris-Susie-Dylan alliance could be broken. But Dylan won and Greg had to put Jim up, who was then fished out.

Rand was actually watching
The Fishbowl
at home when, for the first time, Dylan won the Shark Fight. Lissa looked calm, but he knew her face so well he had no trouble detecting those tiny signs of disgust. Rand wondered what she knew about Dylan’s antics, particularly the vile things he’d said about her in his interviews. Rand hadn’t told Lissa anything about Dylan’s profanity-laced rants to others or in the Journal Room. It was against the rules and anyway, Rand figured it wouldn’t help her.

Three days later, Lissa acted surprised when she was put on the hook with Chris, Dylan’s ally. Dylan was really gunning for Lissa, certain that one of the trio in his alliance would win the Get Off The Hook contest. Kai pulled Lissa aside to explain Dylan’s animus. Unless she won the Get Off The Hook, Lissa was getting fished out.

“I guess I’ll have to win,” she said cheerily in her next interview with Rand.

Rand cheered as Kai won the Get Off The Hook competition and promptly rescued Lissa.

Lissa discussed it in her Journal Room entry that night. “Dylan couldn’t put Kai up in my place, so he had to put Greg on the hook with Chris. I’m afraid we all know it’s Greg who’s going to get fished out.”

None of this made Marcy happy, Rand discovered the next day. Marcy summoned him to her side for Thursday’s live show to see the not-very-suspenseful vote between Greg and Chris.

“Damn,” Marcy muttered as they watched the obligatory damp hugs in the ’Bowl before Greg joined Jeremy in the “Kiss-and-Cry.”

“You would rather Chris got fished out?” Rand asked her.

Marcy grimaced. “Of course not. I wanted the Ditz gone. She is about five weeks overdue for dismissal. Now we’re going to be stuck with her in the Holding Tank and the final Fish Market ceremony.”

After a crummy few days, Rand was amused by Marcy’s vehemence. “That’s assuming she doesn’t win.”

Marcy wheeled on him. “No fucking way that can happen! She has no allies. She and Kai seem to get along, but your Ditz is too stupid to promise anything in return. I swear, she’s playing as if she wants to lose the money. And she makes for crappy TV. We’d have done better with the weepy woman from wherever it was.”

“For a stupid player, the Ditz hasn’t done too badly for herself. I really think she could win,” he said. He loved yanking Marcy’s chain.

“That’s such bullshit. She is so goddamned boring,” Marcy fumed. “No effing alliances, she doesn’t talk strategy. She doesn’t have any friends in there, only no one hates her enough to get her fished out.”

“Dylan hates her,” Rand said mildly.

“Which is the only good thing I can say about her. Why the hell did you pick her, Rand?” Marcy demanded.

After Chris won the Shark Fight to end the live episode, Marcy poked Rand in the chest with her industrial-strength manicure. “I want her off the show if I personally have to rig the competitions. Make it happen.”

“What do you suggest I do with her?” Rand asked.

“I don’t fucking care. Kneecap her in the Journal Room if you have to. That should keep her from winning something.” Marcy looked ready to spit at him. “I want the Ditz gone next week. She’s sucking all the ratings out of the room,” she yelled to him as she left.

* * *

Rand dragged himself home as soon as Marcy left the studio. His body hadn’t yet made the adjustment to the day shift. He wanted a beer, thirty minutes of a baseball game and his bed. He’d only gotten the beer when the phone rang.

He glanced at the display. Not his parents.

“Hello?”

“Randy, you old goat!”

“Phil? What are you doing calling this early? You must have two or three hours left to bill someone,” Rand teased.

“Oh, please—spare me the lawyer jokes. I work late because I’m busting my ass to make partner in a crappy economy—what’s your excuse?”

“Hunh?”

“This is maybe the tenth time I’ve phoned your home—sometimes as late as one in the morning. Nada. Where’ve you been?”

“Work.” Rand grinned at how loosely he meant that term.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching the show. That’s why I’m calling you. I want an intro.”

“Intro to what? Or is that to whom?”

“Lissa Pembroke,” Phil told him.

Rand was stunned. There was no point asking why. He knew damned well what Phil Gaffney wanted with Lissa. “What makes you think I can introduce you to a contestant on the show?” Rand stalled.

“Dude, don’t stonewall me. The last time I was in L.A., you told me you got to know the Fish fairly well. You even told me some gossip that did not make it into the tabs, if you recall.”

Crap. Rand knew what he meant. “Okay, so I get to know them. That’s not the same as being comfortable slipping one your number,” he said.

“Please, you underestimate my cunning. I figure you’re going to have some after-party, right? With the cast? To congratulate the winner—that sort of thing? Just invite me to that.”

“Phil, this is awkward,” Rand started.

“Hey, if it was easy, I wouldn’t need the intro. I’d just get on a plane for Philly as soon as the game ended. She works at a bar called—” Rand heard a crinkle of paper “—The County Cork, right? I’d just go there and meet her. Thing is, I don’t want to wait that long.”

This was a freaking nightmare. “Is this a joke? You see some woman on TV and you have to meet her?”

“I know, I know. It’s crazy, right? But she’s—” Phil stopped. “She’s special.”