Playing for Hearts (89 page)

“Have you seen her?” Bruce chuckled. “She's fucking gorgeous. Her body is killer. I can ignore what comes out of her mouth or how she acts around other women by keeping her mouth busy. She can't talk if she's giving me a bl—”

“You won't even catch her attention.” She shook her head. “I'll tell you in your language, so you can understand what I'm saying. The bitch is a piranha. She'll only go for you if you're attached to a girlfriend.”

“I fish for a living.” He grinned, giving her a creepy I-know-something-you-don't-know look. “I know my bait.”

She glared. “What are you talking about?”

“You and me. If she thinks I'm your boyfriend who showed up in town and will be staying with you, she'll be easier to hook and tag,” he said, puffing out his chest. “It'll be another trophy catch I can sit back and brag about to the guys in my old age. Once I pull her in, appreciate the catch, I'll let her go back in the water for the other men in the world to enjoy.”

“Speak in layman terms.” Crista blinked at him, lost in Brucespeak.

“The more she watches me getting friendly with you, the more tempted she'll be to steal me away.” He twined his fingers together and clasped them behind his head. “I don't spend all my time on the water. I know women. Some females would even call me an expert. Other men only wish they knew what I know.”

She snorted. “I'm trying to de-friend myself from her. With my luck, you two would fall madly in love, and I'd be stuck with you both for a lifetime. You, I can handle. Her … hell no. She's a deal breaker in our relationship.”

“I'll take her off your hands.” He raised his brows. “Then you won't have to break her heart when you lock the door on her. I'll be getting busy in her apartment. Besides, I have two weeks here. If I get together with her, I won't have to sleep on your couch the whole time.”

“I'll think about it,” she said, lying to him. If she thought anymore about Janelle and Bruce getting together, she'd have her own puking problem.

Just imagining what could happen if those two hooked up made her sick to her stomach. She did not want to hear about Bruce's sex life, at all. Out of her and Bruce's mutual friends, he was the one man who'd never tried to date her. He never even flirted when he drank too much. Nothing was going to come between them. He was her best friend.

“Oh, hey.” He leaned over and pulled his duffle bag closer. “I got you something in Venezuela.”

She leaned forward, trying to peer inside his bag. “What?”

“This.” He passed her a sack. “Open it.”

She grinned, glancing at him when she opened the bag. “You really should've.”

“I knew you'd bug me if I didn't bring you something back. I forget one time to buy you a surprise while I'm traveling, and I hear about it every time I call you.”

She pulled out a small wicker basket, the size of an ice cream dish. Inside the rim, paintings of purple and white orchids lined the bowl. She studied it closer, and noticed the inside of the flowers had red painted dots.

“It's beautiful.” She smiled, warmed from the gift. “Thank you. I think I'll put it on my dresser and use it to hold my earrings.”

“Uh.” He stifled his laughter. “Good idea.”

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“The Venezuelan women set it on their nightstand. It's a—” he barked out a laugh, “good luck totem for fertility.”

His snorts and chuckles filled her small apartment. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, why were they still friends?

Each time he visited, she looked forward to the surprise gift he brought her, a sign that he appreciated their friendship as much as she did. And every single time, he turned into a twelve-year-old boy who'd rather snap her bra than show his true feelings regarding their friendship by buying her a T-shirt or souvenir like she always begged him to.

“I'll put it in the bathroom next to the phallus-shaped coconut you brought me back from the Bahamas last year.” She rolled her eyes, because once he started to outdo her in the gift giving department, he went all out to give her the funniest, most useless gift

She walked out of the room and continued the conversation. “Talk about an item that causes a lot of questions from friends. The coconut gets more attention than I do. I'm going to get you next time. That's two gifts in a row you've blown. I'm upping the competition the next time I travel. You'll get the ugliest and most useless gift I can find. You're going down.”

This meant war. He'd burned her so many times with his choice of gifts, she'd lost count. She'd have to step up her game. The backscratcher she brought home from Hawaii for him to use when he was alone and had no one to scratch his itch didn't compare to an edible penis or fertility bowl.

“So, are you going to be my girlfriend?” Bruce called from the other room.

She walked back. “Whatever. If it'll get you out of my hair for two weeks after putting up with
that
gift, I'm willing to do anything.”

“Great.” He snatched her cell phone off the table and tossed it to her. “You and Janelle have plans to go out on Friday. All you have to do is call and tell her you want to bring your … lover. Use that exact word, too. Lover.”

The way he over exaggerated the pronunciation would've made anyone laugh. She snorted, shaking her head to keep from falling into his trap. During his absence, Bruce had sunk to a new level. He must be desperate.

“You're sick. You know that, don't you?” She dialed Janelle's number, curling her lip. “I'm sure she's going to know I'm lying through my teeth.”

Her soon-to-be
unfriend
picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“It's me … Crista.” She turned around because Bruce was staring at her. “I'm calling about the party on Friday. I wasn't thinking when you were here, but I can't leave Bruce alone when he's expecting to spend every spare moment with me. So, I was wondering if I could bring my, um,
lover
to the party, too?”

“You have a lover?”

Janelle didn't have to sound shocked. Crista's shoulders sagged. She had three men she'd slept with in the past. Not boyfriends, more like one night stands with men she knew having sex with would be safe. God, she wasn't a prude.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. You met him. Bruce.”

“Oh,” Janelle said. Crista wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a higher lift in her voice.

She waited. In the phone, she could hear Janelle tapping her ninja-sized nails. “What do you think? Will it be okay?”

“I guess.”

“Fabulous.” She pretended to sound excited. “I'll see you Friday. Bye.”

She disconnected the call and pretended to gag. No way was this going to work. Janelle wasn't stupid.

Bruce held his palms up. “Well? Do we have a date?”

“Yeah.” She glared in his direction. “We've got a date for Friday night.”

“I told you she'd go for it. Can I predict women or what?” Bruce stretched back out and crossed his ankles. “And because you did this favor for me, I'll pay for dinner tonight.”

Bruce seemed really excited about the Janelle prospect. She tilted back her head and closed her eyes, praying for intervention. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the party. Not even pretending to date her best friend would provide enough entertainment to make up for being stuck making nice to a room full of models.

Bruce and Crista sat alone on the patio at Fisherman's Bay overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Bruce appreciated Crista putting some thought into their first night together. The seventy-degree weather, the breeze coming off the ocean, and comfortable companionship relaxed him more than anything did after a busy trip.

Well, except for sex, and Crista in her own way was going to help him out there, too.

If he got lucky, he'd soon have a rousing tumble between the sheets with a knockout supermodel. He glanced at the water. Then he'd go to Moses Lake and win the next bass tournament.

“I'm stuffed.” Crista wiped her fingers off on her napkin. “I can't believe I ate so much.”

He pushed his empty plate out of the way and leaned his elbows on the table. He watched, fascinated, at the way her not-quite-shoulder-length hair kept blowing a wayward strand in her mouth whenever she tried to talk or take a bite of food.

“What's your schedule like these days?” he asked.

“I do an hour run in the morning, followed by an hour on the bike, and two hours of laps in the swimming pool in the evening. Seven days a week.” She sipped her beer. “Besides doing clinics and speeches when I can find any extra time, I teach a two-hour training class twice a week in the gym at the apartment. I have a contract with the manager of the building to work off rent by giving classes, which is nice and freeing. He also gives me time off to do the Ironman in exchange for free advertising for the classes.”

“Four months until the big race.” He whistled. “Are you still thinking about making this your last Ironman event?”

“It depends. My goal was to go out on a win—which I think I'm capable of doing again, but the right job hasn't landed in my lap.” She shrugged, hooking the pink striped strand of hair that ran along the curve of her cheekbone behind her ear. “I'm probably in the best shape of my life, but you know my desire to be in the best shape possible and the enjoyment I get from competition always leaned more toward training others. I went to Kona last December to help in a three-week training program for the sole purpose of proving to myself that I'm up for another year of competition. God, you should've seen the trouble I had. The high winds on Kawaihai Harbor almost knocked me off my bike. It's just time to retire from competition while I still have the energy.”

“One of your problems is you're too small.” He lifted his mug and eyed her over the rim. “Now if you were Janelle's size … you'd have no problems staying on your bike.”

She curled her lip. “She's six inches taller, but I bet I'm at least twenty pounds heavier. So, your theory sucks. She'd tip over if I blew on her.”

“Mm hm.” He winked in male appreciation for knockout supermodels, and she threw her wadded napkin at him. “Blow her … ”

“At least I'm maturing faster than your one track mind. It's time for me to go in a new direction.” She sighed, her blue eyes narrowing on him. “What about you? Where are you off to next?”

“After I'm done visiting you, I'm entered into the Pacific Northwest Moses Lake Tournament to defend my reigning championship for the states.” He scratched his whiskered jaw. “When that's over, I believe I'm teaching a fishing seminar to raise money for the Children's Hospital in Seattle. Then I might take a break until next spring. I'm getting burnt-out on traveling.”

“Geez, it sounds like we're both getting too old for our sports.” She laughed. “You're in your prime. Thirty-six years old and the world's at your beck and call. And, someone else pays your way. I envy you. There's no free ride in the Ironman, and the older I get, the harder it becomes to stay at the top.”

He lowered his voice. “It's lonely. I thought I'd never admit that, but it's true. I need to settle down and stay in one place. At least contain my travels to one season. I have a house in Napa Valley, a new home on the coast of Oregon, and a cabin in the Gifford National Forest up in Washington state. Yet I spend more time sleeping on my friends' couches than I do enjoying what I have.”

She nodded. “Before long, you'll drop out of singlehood the way the rest of our friends have in the last couple of years. First Grayson, then Dominic, even Juan, and now Gary found someone to make him happy.”

“What about you? Ever think of tying the knot?”

“Yeah. I think about it. Sometimes.” She looked at her watch. “We better head back. I want to get swim time in before the pool closes. Do you feel like pushing me on the laps?”

“When have I ever turned down being in the water?” He laughed at her challenge. “I'll even give you a twenty second start.”

“You're so going down.” She stood and looped her arm through his. “It's nice to have you here.”

“Tell me that when you're dragging my sorry ass out of the pool.” He strode along the dock, making her hurry to keep up with his longer legs. She'd outswim him. The least he could do was make her work to keep up with him on land.

A half hour later, dressed in swimwear with their towels hung around their necks, Bruce and Crista exited her apartment and headed for the elevator. He flicked her ass with his towel. She screamed and jumped to the other side of the hallway to avoid another sting.

“You are so paying for that.” She held her stance and wound the length of her weapon in her hand. “Prepare to die.”

The end of the towel snapped him on the chest. He winced and set foot after her, not willing to let her win.

She shimmied quickly and then ran. He took his time because the hallway came to a dead-end only ten feet away. He had her cornered.

He aimed and prepared to do damage. She dropped her towel and held her hands out in front of her. “Don't do it.”

“Dance, sweetheart, dance.” He flicked her feet. “Say it … ”

“No.” She hopped side to side, avoiding the stinging end of the towel. “Never.”

“Faster.” The white towel blurred in front of her and he laughed. Damn, she was light on her feet.

She screamed and plastered herself against an apartment door. “Okay. Okay. Bruce Coldwell, you are
the
man.”

“I'll take that for now. Next time, I want you to do better. I prefer you to acknowledge my stamina and prowess.” He wiggled his brows. “Feel free to compare me to the coconut in your bathroom, if you prefer.”

She shook her head and laughed, trying to catch her breath. “Your ego is going to kill you one—”