The Jock (4 page)

His
hand shaking in anger, Sam located the photograph and caught his breath.
Cupcake's face was black, blue, and puffy as a blowfish.

Carr
was a dead bastard.

From
the way the photo had been snapped, it was hard to make out much of Gwenyth's
face aside from the pummeling it had taken. He noticed, however, that her hair
was still sleek and long, pulled up on top of her head in that sexy,
come-hither topknot she'd always favored. Damn, but the sight of the pudgy
little vixen could still make him hard enough to split a diamond into halves.
'Course, he wasn't sure she was still pudgy since the photo was only a mugshot
of her face, but it didn't matter. Gwenyth Marie Jones could make Sam "The
Slam" Trevianni hard as a baseball bat even if she weighed in at 300
hundred pounds, sported a beard, and wobbled around on a gimp leg. Always
could.

Sam
reclined back into the chair and hiked his legs up onto the desk. Crossing them
at the ankles, he allowed himself to think about Cupcake for the first time in
many years.

There
had always been something between them. Something special. Something more than
friendship, although that had been pretty damn good too. Sam knew that Gwen had
loved him when she was a girl. That much would have been obvious to anyone with
half a brain. He still grimaced whenever he thought back on how badly that
lyin' bitch of an ex-wife of his had belittled Gwen to her face.

And
he'd let her.

God,
but he'd never forgive himself for the way Stacy'd hurt her. He wondered if
Gwen had forgiven him either.

Sam's
large, callused fingers absently brushed the outline of Gwenyth's face as he
studied the only link he'd had to her in ages. He hadn't felt right going back
to the Jones house after he'd married Stacy. His ex-wife had known straight up
how he'd always felt about Gwen and he'd owed it to Stacy at the time to make a
go of their marriage. How was he to know she'd faked her pregnancy?

Besides,
Stacy had called him a pervert for even thinking of Gwenyth in that way, and at
the time, Sam had agreed. She'd only been sixteen after all.

After
the divorce, Sam had been afraid to call Harry and try to patch things up
between them. He didn't know whether or not his old pal would accept him back
into the familial fold. So he'd taken the coward's way out and done nothing.

Sweet
Jesus, but was he still payin' for it now. He truly missed Harry. They'd been
tight since grade school. Sam was just glad he'd worked up the nerve to call
Harry again after he'd seen his picture in the paper. It would be good to hang
out with his old pal again.

Sam
studied Cupcake's photo more intently. Damn, but he missed her too. He ran his
thumb over her cheeks, knowing good and well that if she smiled, those adorable
dimples would pop out and bedevil him all over again. Grunting with remembered
satisfaction, he then ran his index finger over her glossy mane of hair. The
photo wasn't of the finest quality, but he knew what the silky stuff would
look, smell, and feel like in person.

Shiny
and light brown with golden, sunny highlights.
Ahh
yeah
. And it
would be satiny to the touch, and smell of strawberries too. He couldn't eat a
strawberry to this day without getting a hard-on.

All
that hair would go great against her tanned skin and her big green eyes. The
contrast between Cupcake's vixen tresses and the demure innocence of those wide
jade eyes could do to him what no other woman could ever hope to.

Sam
cursed himself a fool when he felt the familiar ache take over his groin. What
an ass he was! Cupcake's face was battered and broken and here he was getting
all hot and erect just looking at her.
Fully erect
, he qualified,
glancing down at his lap.

No
wonder he had always taken such great pains to steer clear of Gwenyth in the
past. Sweet Jesus! He would have been arrested if he'd done half the stuff he'd
wanted to do to her back when she was sixteen. And fifteen. And .oh God . he
refused to think back further than that. Fifteen. Fifteen was as far as he'd
admit to. Okay, alright damn it, so she'd started growin' those huge breasts
around fourteen. But he hadn't allowed himself to
really
look at them
until she was fif—no
six
teen. Definitely sixteen.

Sam
stilled when a thought struck him. He was already planning to attend Harry's
campaign dinner at the

University
of Tampa in a couple weeks. Maybe Gwen would be there too. Hell, of course
she'd be there! She and Harry were tight, always had been. Cupcake would never
miss an opportunity to be there for her big brother.

Sam
smiled when another thought came to him as bold as it pleased.

Gwen
wasn't a little girl anymore.

Cupcake
was all grown up.

Sam's
groin grew heavier. Sweet Jesus, he couldn't wait to get back to Tampa.

After
paying her fare, Gwenyth alighted from the inside of the cab and slung her
duffel bag over her shoulder. She walked at a leisurely pace toward Sherry's
Place, a diner she frequented in Culver City whenever she happened to be in the
LA area. The eating establishment's eccentric staff and owner reminded her of
the old episodes of
Alice
that still occasionally ran on TV. Her
favorite waitress Liz even looked like the woman who played "kiss my
grits" Flo on the situation comedy.

As
usual, a long line of hungry patrons was waiting on the curbside for seating in
the trendy dive. Groaning, Gwenyth shuffled to the back of the line, preparing
to wait her turn. She wasn't patient by nature, but Sherry's cooking was worth
the inconvenience.

Crossing
her arms over her chest, she bided her time in the same courteous, stoic manner
as the rest of the patrons. Bored, her mind soon wandered to this morning's
photo shoot at Vantry Sportswear. She had been delighted to call back home
afterwards and let Grandmama know that the first session had gone extremely
well and that the assignment was turning out to be a highly enjoyable
experience.

"I'm
so glad to hear it, sugar," Verlene had enthused. "How long do you
expect the whole shoot to last?"

"Perhaps
four more days, a week at best. I'm cataloguing their entire swimwear
collection for women. No matter what, I'll be home in time for Harry's
reception, though." Gwenyth smiled into the phone, her excitement
radiating over the connection. "I'm hoping if I do a good job they'll ask
me back next month to do the same for the men's swimwear line!"

"I'm
sure they will, sugar. You're more talented than even me," Verlene
admitted with a touch of pride. Gwenyth blushed. "You go too far,
Grandmama. No one is
that
good."

Verlene
chuckled. "You are, honey. By the way, did I mention that Sam Trevianni
will be here the day after tomorrow?"

Gwenyth's
heart rate accelerated. A fact that annoyed her mightily. "So soon?"
She cleared her throat, aware of the fact that her tone had risen a few shrill
notches. "So soon? I thought he was coming into town only for the night of
Harry's reception?"

Verlene
sounded amused. "Said something on the phone about seeing you in the
paper." She clucked her tongue. "The boy was awfully concerned about
the skirmish you had with Webster Carr. Claims he's gonna kill the man."

Gwenyth
was disgusted with herself for being so elated by Verlene's proclamation. She
ruthlessly squelched the traitorous feeling of pleasure that arose from the
knowledge that Sam still cared about her. Besides, he'd always thought of her
as a little sister. He'd never viewed her in the same amorous light she'd seen
him in. Gwenyth sighed. Sam's anger was no doubt a manifestation of his
continued, brotherly feelings of affection toward her. Well, she thought
morosely, he could keep them.

"Uh
huh. So like I was saying, Grandmama, Isabelle Vantry has already been dropping
me a bunch of not so subtle hints that she still needs a photographer for the
men's wear shoot next month." Gwenyth squirmed restlessly in the hotel
room's chair. Whether it was from worrying that Verlene had failed to pick up
the cue and drop the subject of Sam Trevianni altogether or from the fact that
her underwear was wedging up her butt in the worst way, she couldn't say.
"Do you think she might ask me back?"

Verlene
made an unladylike snort reminiscent of the exasperated sound Elvis would have
made if asked by a reporter whether peanut butter really did go well with
bananas in a sandwich. "Of course she and Tom Vantry will ask you back,
sugar. How can you doubt it?"

Gwenyth
shrugged her shoulders, though Verlene couldn't see that over the telephone
connection. "I guess I'm just nervous, Grandmama. This is my first really
big account as a solo artist for
Jones
& Jones
. Most of the
big names want
you
to do the majority of the work."

"That's
only because they aren't aware of your talents until they see for themselves
how voluptuous you can make all their gangly, rail-thin models look."
Verlene chuckled. "You even made that AAA cup model Vendetta look like
Jane Mansfield for the 'Kiss Me' lingerie line last fall."

Gwenyth
grimaced at the memory. That task had been no small feat. Like most fashion
models, Vendetta had been shaped like a twelve-year-old boy, not like the
thirty-something year old women the "Kiss Me" line had been hawking
their underwear to. But somehow Gwenyth had given Vendetta breasts. And hips.
And curves. Hell, the ads were so good she'd even bought a few pairs of the
tacky scraps of silk and lace for her own use. Remembering as much, she shifted
on the chair again, angling her butt in such a way that made it easier to pull
the wedgie out from between her rear bumper cheeks. "Well Grandmama, perhaps
you're right."

"Of
course I am, sugar."

Gwenyth's
name
was
finally starting to get noticed. She was at long last jumping
out from behind Verlene Jones' formidable shadow and casting one of her own.
Some assignments, like the "Kiss Me" line were real tough, but
sometimes they weren't too bad. Such was the case in her current assignment.
Luckily, Epiphany—the model she was working the most with for the Vantry's new
line—was slightly better endowed than Vendetta. Epiphany was a full A cup. And
if she sat just so, she even had a curve or two.

"I
appreciate your confidence in me, Grandmama." Gwenyth glanced at her watch
and sighed. "But I better go. I'm supposed to meet up with Candy at
Sherry's Place in an hour."

"What's
Candy doing in Los Angeles?"

Gwenyth
groaned. "Don't ask. Let's just say that her stint as a tabloid journalist
ended the day after it began. She claims it's too dangerous." Gwenyth
chuckled. The affection she harbored for her closest friend was an apparent
one. "Candy's decided to write again—for now. But in the mean time, she's auditioning
for a part in that new soap opera,
Nights
of Ecstasy
."

"An
actress now, eh?"

"Something
like that."

Gwenyth's
reflecting over the telephone conversation she'd had with Verlene came to an
abrupt halt when she spied Candy enthusiastically waving at her through the
plain, undecorated windows of Sherry's Place. Gwenyth smiled back. Good, she
thought. No more standing in line. Her best friend had already acquired them a
table.

A
few minutes later, after assuring Candy repeatedly that her eye looked a lot
worse than it felt, Gwenyth accepted her drink from the waiter, then proceeded
to gulp down a huge portion of her iced tea. She hadn't realized she was so
thirsty until Jon had set the glass in front of her. She absently noted that
Liz wasn't working today, but said nothing of it. The staff here tended toward
the melodramatic. If she asked Jon about Liz, he'd only assume that she found
his service somehow faulty.

"Slow
down already, Gwen, or you'll have to pee before our burgers get here."
Candy blew out a bubble as she watched Gwenyth chug down her drink. She smiled
bemusedly as she continued to crack away at the gum. "I can't say for
certain, but I really think I did a good job at the reading today."

Gwenyth
set her glass down and grinned back at Candy. "Yeah? That's so cool, Can.
I hope you get it."

Candy
let out a dramatic breath of air as she ran her fingers tersely through her
shiny black hair. "I just don't know if I want it," she mumbled.

Gwenyth
raised a brow, but said nothing. Candy sighed again, then gave her the best
explanation she could come up with. "I mean acting is fun and all, but it
doesn't
call
to me the way writing does." She shrugged absently, a
thoughtful look permeating her features. "I suppose I'll stick with the
romance books until something comes along that calls to me more."

Gwenyth
shook her head. She wasn't certain if she should be irritated or amused by her
best friend's lack of direction. "Candy, when are you going to realize
that writing romances
is
your calling?" She sipped from her glass
of tea as she studied her friend. "I never see you get as worked up over
anything as you do over one of your novels."