Playing for Keeps (8 page)

It was time to put it to an end. I stepped down. “That’s it. We need to get some lunch. And I’m sure the Mistr—er, Devon needs to help other customers.”

Actually, it looked like the other sales associates had it covered, but Devon was quick to nod in agreement.

“Nell, why don’t you take care of putting a deposit on your dress while Chloe and I get changed.” I grabbed Clo by the elbow and dragged her away.

It took another half hour before we concluded our business. Deciding to have lunch at an Italian restaurant we all liked, we headed for the car.

Nell unlocked the doors with her remote control key. We opened our respective doors in unison.

“
What the hell
.” Chloe gagged and slammed her door shut.

The stench must have hit Nell and me at the same time, because we both closed our doors at once.

We all peered in the window. George sat, tail happily wagging, in the front seat. On the floor behind the driver seat was a pile of doggy vomit that could have drowned a small child.

“What do you feed that dog, Nell?” Chloe scrunched her face.

“I just had the car detailed, too.” Nell sighed. “Well, there’s a nice Thai restaurant around the corner.”

Ten minutes later, we were seated with Thai beers in our hands and fresh spring rolls. Minor catastrophes were always easier to face after something to eat.

“I can’t believe you decided on a dress so quickly,” Chloe said, sipping her drink. She’s not twenty-one yet, but she never gets carded. “I would have wanted to check out a bunch of stores before making a decision.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“Do you think I should have looked around?” Nell asked, suddenly concerned.

“
No
.” I shook my head vigorously. “No, I think that one was perfect.”

“You’re right.” Nell grinned. “I looked beautiful.”

I was quick to agree. “You did.”

“You know, I think the first dress you and Chloe tried on is the one I want you guys to wear. I think you’d both look smashing in gold.” Nell turned to Chloe. “But maybe we should look at a couple more stores after lunch.”

Chloe nodded. “Definitely. It’s the only way to be sure.”

I wanted to burst out in hysterical sobs of “You can’t make me!” but I decided that wasn’t becoming of someone my age. Instead, I waved at our waiter, pointed at my beer bottle, and lifted a finger. If I had to do more shopping, might as well anesthetize myself.

Chapter Seven

Attack where the enemy is unprepared; appear where you are not expected.

— Sun Tzu, The Art of War

“Am I late?” I slipped into the booth across from Pete and dropped my bag on the bench next to me.

I’m not really sure why I carry such a big bag. I don’t really need anything in it. I tried to whittle it down once but then I thought what if the situation arises that I need an emergency sewing kit or a shower cap? I guess bursitis is preferable to being caught unprepared.

Pete smiled at me. “I’ve only been waiting forty-five minutes.”

I winced. “Sorry. I needed to finish the ad I was working on and then there was an accident and—”

Pete covered my mouth with his hand. “It’s okay, Grace. I don’t mind.”

It was a testament to my mood that I wanted to ask him why not. I mean, shouldn’t he have been a little pissed? But I swallowed my disgruntled response and signaled to the waitress for a beer.

Pete studied me with his clear gaze. I tried to ignore it but his scrutiny finally got to me. “What?” I asked.

He cocked his eyebrow. “Hard day?”

“Hard week.” The waitress slid my pint across the table, giving Pete a warm smile before she sashayed away. I rolled my eyes. “Could she be any less shameless?”

“How do you mean?”

“She was flirting with you.” Outrage made my voice high-pitched.

He had the nerve to shrug. “So?”

“So? So I’m sitting here with you. For all she knows I could be your girlfriend.” I didn’t taste my first sip of beer because I was so busy scowling at him.

“Grace, how often do we meet here?”

“Is this a trick question?”

He just regarded me steadily.

I did what I do best: pout.

“Every week,” he said reasonably. “And since we come here every week, don’t you think she would have figured out we aren’t dating?”

The fact that his lips were twitching really pissed me off. “Why would she think that?”

He sighed and drank some of his beer.

“What?” I didn’t get it. “Why would she think that?”

“Anybody with eyes can tell we aren’t lovers,” he said in exasperation.

That shut me up. I was glad the lighting was so dim because it hid my blush. “Pete” and “lover” were too words I didn’t need to string together.

But why not? I frowned. Why would anyone know we weren’t lovers? Pete may be hunky and deserve a supermodel girlfriend but I wasn’t
that
hideous.

He sighed again and lifted my chin so I had to look him in the eye. “It’s nothing against you. It’s a body language thing. You can tell when people have been intimate.”

“I know,” I said defensively. And I did. In theory.

Truth was I didn’t have that much experience when it came to sex stuff. Relationship stuff too. Mom and Dad had been really happy, and I vaguely remember them being affectionate, but it was something I took for granted. And I never had time to date much. Kevin (that jerk) had been my first in a lot of ways—the important ways. I think I was cheated.

I’d never thought about couples and how they interacted with each other. I thought being reserved in public was the norm. Sure, there were the couples who hung all over each other regardless of where they were, but they were few and far between.

I tried to remember what Nell and Riley were like together and if you could tell they were intimate.

“What is your mind churning through now?”

I blushed. “Nothing.”

He didn’t believe me but he didn’t say anything. That was how great he was. “So why was your day hard?” he asked instead.

“Do you have a week?”

He grinned. “For you, baby, I have a lifetime.”

I ignored the little surge of pleasure in my heart. “It’s the wedding.”

“You aren’t still dwelling on that, are you?”

“It’s not that, though I think they should take more time to think about this. It’s a big step.”

He didn’t say a word. Smart man.

I slumped in my seat. “It’s this planning stuff.”

“Not going too well?”

“It’s not going at all.”

He reached across the table and took my hand, flipping it over and running a finger over the calluses on my palm. “Want to tell me about it?”

“No.” I sat there for several seconds, letting him massage my hand. It felt good. Then I looked into his eyes and I couldn’t help blurting it all out. “It’s just that they haven’t set a date and I talked to Nell about it two weeks ago and we can’t reserve anyplace to hold the wedding without a date. I’m happy to help out but I can’t make decisions if I don’t know what Nell wants or even just how much I can spend. That was two weeks ago.”

“Why don’t you talk to her?”

“I have. Repeatedly. She’s avoiding the issue.”

“Grace”—his voice was gentle and understanding—“it’s not your problem.”

“But—”

“There’s no ‘but.’ If Nell and Riley can’t get their act together they shouldn’t be getting married.”

Okay, that was true.

Then I got an absolutely brilliant idea.

“No.” Pete tugged my hand. “You can’t deliberately set out to keep them from getting hitched.”

I frowned but I knew he was right. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He called me
liar
with his gaze.

“I wouldn’t.”

He grinned. “So what’s really bothering you?”

“Isn’t all that enough?”

“Sure, but it’s not the root of the trouble.”

Sometimes I hate that Pete knows me so well. “Well, I went to check out florists for Nell.

He watched me, intent on what I was saying.

“Well, I like flowers.” It came out more defensive than I meant.

“I know you do. I’ve helped you mulch.”

“I can do the flowers for the wedding as well as any florist.” I said it in a way that dared him to deny it.

“You could. Have you told Nell you want to do the flowers yourself?”

I wilted. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted to but I haven’t gotten a chance.”

“Don’t you think you should make a chance?”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“If you’ve got it…” he joked. He sobered and said, “Seriously. Ask her. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“She can say no and I’ll still have to wear a dress.”

He laughed from deep in his soul. A weight lifted off me. I loved being able to do that to him.

“I’ve never seen you in a dress,” he said after he recovered. He motioned for a couple more beers.

“You must have.” I don’t wear skirts very often, but I’ve known Pete for over two years. I must have worn a skirt at least once during that time. I squinted, trying to remember.

“Nope.” Pete shook his head, his eyes glued to mine. “Trust me, I’d remember.”

What did that mean? I was about to ask him when the waitress insinuated herself in our private world.

This time she hung around longer, making eyes at Pete. I tried not to gag but it was really difficult.

I couldn’t resist harassing Pete when she left. “Better check the condensation on your pint glass for her phone number.”

“You’re funny.”

That was me—the comedian. “You wouldn’t go out with her?”

Pete barely gave the woman a second glance. “She’s not my type.”

I craned my head over my shoulder. The woman could have been November’s centerfold. Not that I have much experience with porno mags. I’ve only seen some of my dad’s.

Ahem.

I turned back to Pete. “She’s every man’s type.”

“Not mine.”

Like I was going to believe that. “So what’s your type, studmuffin?”

He raised his brow at me. “Studmuffin?”

I shrugged.

He looked at me over the rim of his pint glass. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Serious as cellulite.”

He stared at me, not speaking, until I started to feel uncomfortable. I almost sighed in relief when he finally spoke. “I don’t think you could handle it if I told you.”

“That’s not true.” I felt insulted. He was my friend. Of course I could handle knowing what his type was. It wasn’t like I was promising to make her my best friend.

“Tell you what.” He rubbed the pad of my thumb. “I’ll point her out when I see her.”

I considered this. “You’ll really point her out?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He smiled.

There was something behind his smile that I didn’t understand. Like he knew a joke I wasn’t privy to. I didn’t like that at all.

Before I could say anything, he changed the subject. “Want to order a pizza?”

I looked at the clock. I needed to go home and make dinner for Daddy and Chloe.

I looked at Pete. He watched me with a vaguely disappointed expression, like he knew I was going to ditch him.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

But Daddy and Clo…

To hell with Daddy and Clo.

I blinked. That was a first for me.

But why shouldn’t I stay here with Pete? Daddy was rarely home these days. I still hadn’t figured out what was up with him, but something was definitely going on.

And Chloe—well, she was young. What were the chances she’d be home? Even if she were home, she could fend for herself. I deserved a night to myself.

I looked Pete in the eye. “I want pineapple on my half.”

He smiled, slow but full. “The sacrifices I make for you.” He squeezed my hand. “At least you’re worth it.”

The studio was open six days a week, Monday to Saturday. Daddy and I didn’t work six days a week. Daddy had student teachers—black belts—who taught the lower belt classes whenever he wanted to take time off.

My job was more flexible in some respects. I tried to be in the office during the business day but if I had things to do I could always leave and do my work when it was more convenient. That was another reason I started working for my dad. It gave me the flexibility to be around for Chloe after school when she was younger.

Sundays were my own though, and this Sunday I had plans to pamper myself.

Pampering yourself was an art. I wasn’t an expert yet—I’d spent too many years sacrificing for my family—but I was trying hard to earn master status.

In my book, there was one rule when it came to pampering yourself: only do what you really love. It didn’t matter what that was—if you love vacuuming, go for it.

I happened to love pedicures. I wasn’t a real girly girl but having attractive toes made me happy.

There was a little nail salon in a strip mall about ten minutes from our house, and in this salon there was a Vietnamese woman who was a miracle worker with a pumice stone and cuticle pusher. I didn’t make appointments with her too often—she charged an arm and a leg—but I’d decided to splurge and treat myself.

After my appointment, I was going to pull out the Die Hard Trilogy, hole myself up in my room, and watch movies all afternoon and evening.

And eat junk food. Junk food was a key part of the whole pampering experience. I’d stocked up on Haagen Daaz ice cream bars, Kettle salt and pepper potato chips, chocolate covered strawberries from Godiva, and Oreos. It was no small feat hiding all that food from Chloe and my dad but I was crafty.

No, I wasn’t necessarily going to eat
all
that food, but I didn’t know what I might be in the mood for and I wanted to be prepared. Nothing sucked more than having to interrupt Bruce Willis kicking butt to go to the store because I didn’t have any popsicles.

I worked out that morning, extra hard to preempt some of the calories from my planned binge later. After my shower, I threw on my favorite pair of jeans, a baby tee, and flip-flops. As I was trying to decide what to do with my hair, the phone rang. Because it was my day, I let the answering machine screen it.