The Name of the Game (12 page)

“Nice,” Anne said, nodding approvingly at him. “But no cigar, buddy.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “You may have conveniently come up with an excuse not to introduce us, but we kept an eye on her.”

“Which was quite easy, I might add,” Anne said.

“Yes, we know you like her, but she belongs to James,” Jane said, grinning.

Yes. No. Yes.
Hell, James needed another run to clear his head. Or maybe he'd go lift after he left.

Jane turned back to him. “Back to the point. Any fool can recognize she has a warm, magnetic personality. People don't gravitate toward assholes.”

“Ha!” James scoffed. “You've never seen her around me. She hates me.”

“See,” Anne said, pointing at him. “This is why I'm gay. Men are so dense.”

James cocked a brow. “Me? I'm why you're gay?”

She wrinkled her cute little nose. “Well, that and I'm not a big fan of the cock.”

Jane choked on the water she'd been sipping as she started laughing, and James couldn't help but join in. It's why he loved them. It was hard to take life too seriously when they were around. And, as Jane had pointed out when they first met, he needed that sometimes.

When the laughter finally faded away, Jane sighed. “Oh, James, you have so much to learn about women.”

“I know plenty about women.” Only Gracie stumped him. With the rest of the female population he had a pretty good track record.

Anne cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “She likes you, you idiot.”

And that's what they didn't understand. She didn't like him. Yes, maybe she found herself attracted to him, but she didn't
like
him. “You're wrong.”

Jane started to speak but he held up his hand and cut her off. “Let's say for the sake of argument you're right. What does it matter? We are fundamentally incompatible.”

Anne shot a peek at Jane before shrugging. “People thought Jane and I didn't have anything in common.”

“You have different backgrounds. That's not the same thing,” James said. Jane came from a well-to-do, stuffy family that ultimately disowned her for falling in love with Anne. A stark contrast to Anne's artistic, hippy family; they'd taken Jane in and accepted her as one of their own.

Jane nodded slowly, her expression pinching with the concern he recognized only too well. “Ah, I see what this is about.”

He stiffened. Did they think he was stupid? That he hadn't thought about it? He'd examined this attraction from all angles, and didn't see the point in pursuing the chemistry that simmered below the surface since he and Gracie had met, and had now reached the boiling point. Nothing good would come from it. “There's nothing to discuss. We have nothing in common. And, I promise you, I'm her least favorite person.”

“And it has nothing to do with her reminding you of the cheerleaders you couldn't land in high school,” Jane said, her voice soft, without even a hint of amusement.

“Don't be ridiculous,” he insisted. Yes, growing up he'd been riddled with insecurity, but that was long behind him. He'd conquered his past and buried the boy he'd been. A fact he was compelled to remind Jane. “I've dated plenty of beautiful women.”

“True, but she's different, isn't she?” Jane asked. “You like your women contained and refined. Pliable and agreeable.”

James clenched his jaw tight as a muscle jumped in his cheek. She made it sound so boring, and maybe it was, but debating the point didn't help his overall thesis, and he would not be trapped in an illogical argument. “Exactly. And she likes men like Evan. Hence, the not compatible comment.”

“You could have fooled me. She didn't know Evan was alive.” Jane could be quite ruthless when she wanted to be and today wasn't an exception. “You, on the other hand, she couldn't stop staring at.”

Anne put a hand on his arm and offered him her sweetest smile. “Just because we don't want to sleep with you, doesn't mean most women don't. You still don't seem to pay attention to the way women look at you.”

“For the love of God,” James said, dragging a hand through his hair. “What am I, a sixteen-year-old? I know that. I'm not an idiot; I'm well aware of the attraction. But attraction is not compatibility.”

Jane narrowed her gaze, looking him up and down. “Then why aren't you dating? That pretty, dark-haired psych professor has been trying to catch your attention for months.”

He snapped back, his spine straightening as he frowned. Yes, that was a good question actually. Why wasn't he? Alison Benson was exactly his type. Smart, beautiful, agreeable, and she did triathlons.

He knew the answer, and she was in Revival, Illinois, haunting him from afar.

Chapter Ten

A week later Gracie slid five drawings across her large farmhouse kitchen table to Maddie. “Okay, which is your favorite?”

Her artistic best friend had recently taken to creating murals for several businesses around town. Word of her talents had spread, and slowly but surely Maddie had fallen into an unexpected career she'd always been destined for. Maddie's opinion was the only one Gracie would trust with the cake design for the Sorensons' sweet sixteen party, which was turning out to be quite a challenge.

The problem lay between the mother and the birthday girl. Tiffany Sorenson wanted a bubble-gum pink debutant ball, but her daughter was a soft-spoken bookworm whose favorite color was black.

During their phone consultation, when Gracie had asked to speak to the teenager, Tiffany had sounded reluctant but handed the phone to her daughter. As Alexandria's resigned voice conveyed her favorite things, Gracie became determined to come up with something exciting for the teenager. Sixteen was too young to hate your birthday.

But, since Tiffany Sorenson was paying, Gracie needed to please her too.

Maddie studied each of the pages in front of her. “I think these two are the best.”

Gracie breathed a sigh of relief when Maddie picked her two favorites. “Me too.”

“What are you thinking for colors?” Maddie asked, pushing her auburn hair back from her face.

“The mom wants pink. The birthday girl is in that teenage black-only phase, so I was thinking pale, pale pink for the base, with black details.”

Maddie tapped her nails on the table, studying the pictures she'd drawn—one design had a stack of books written by Alex's favorite authors, and the other had an open book with Happy Birthday on one side and the girl's Tolkien favorite quote on the other. “I think the open book will create a cleaner look. I worry with the other one, the stack will compete with the sophisticated design on the bottom.”

“But is it good?” Gracie worried her bottom lip.

Maddie glanced up from the sketches she'd been studying, a frown on her face. “It's perfect. What's wrong? It's not like you to be insecure.”

Gracie shrugged. “I get insecure sometimes.”

“When?”

“Like right now.” She wanted the cake perfect.

Maddie leaned back in her chair. “But why? You know how talented you are.”

“Sure, the people in Revival are great, but these orders are different. These Chicago clients have different expectations. They haven't pinched my cheeks as a baby, or held my hand while my mom was sick. And, well, I don't know . . . things are changing and I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

Maddie nodded, and ran her finger over the edge of the papers. “Maybe you're ready for a change. You've seemed different lately. Restless, not as happy.”

“Of course I'm happy,” Gracie protested. But was she? She seemed to be struggling with restlessness and couldn't put her finger on why. Maybe it was because all her friends were moving forward in their lives and she was just sort of stuck. “I have a great life and a lot to be grateful for.”

“You do, but that doesn't mean you can't want more.” Maddie smiled, the soft, warm smile that had endeared her to Gracie since the day they'd met. “I love you, but I miss you.”

Gracie couldn't explain the distance, other than petty jealousy. Well, that and lust for her friend's brother, who wouldn't get out of her head for five freaking minutes! “Mads, I'm right next door.”

“Maybe I'm being silly, but it seems like you want to talk to me, but something is stopping you.”

“I'm fine,” Gracie insisted, not sure what else to say. She couldn't admit her infatuation with James and she couldn't admit her jealousy over Maddie's relationship with Cecilia. Both of which were too stupid for words and would upset her friend unnecessarily. “I'm overwhelmed with the logistics for these Chicago orders, but that's it.”

Maddie's forehead creased. “Promise?”

Gracie crossed her fingers under the table. “Promise.” Needing to change the subject, she asked, “Hey, do you want to go to Big Red's tonight?”

Big Red's was located in the town over, a raucous Western bar filled with rednecks, line dancers, and margaritas the size of her head.

A grin flashed over Maddie's face and some of the concern slipped from her expression. “Yes, I have to get my drinking in now. Mitch is starting to talk about kids.”

A pang of envy sat heavy in Gracie's chest, but she'd never show it. She loved kids, and dreamed of her own, but the problem lay in that pesky little commitment thing with the potential father. She was great with fun, no strings attached, but anything else made her nervous. She made a big show of exasperation, throwing her hands in the air. “That Neanderthal! You just got married!”

“That's what I said.” Maddie wrinkled her nose. “Don't get me wrong, I love kids, but I'm not ready yet, especially now that my business is starting to get off the ground. And I just started those graphic design classes over at the community college. There are a million things I want to do first.”

Gracie stood and grabbed the batch of cranberry muffins she'd made that morning for this afternoon's Lions Club meeting. She set the plate down in front of her friend and Maddie took one automatically.

Gracie asked, “Did you talk to Mitch?”

“Of course, and he understands. He wants me to accomplish everything on my list, but he's thirty-five now and doesn't want to be an old dad.”

Instead of devouring her muffin as Maddie normally did, she picked at the liner.

“And?” There was more.

Maddie shrugged one shoulder. “I went to the doctor the other day for a physical and got ‘the talk.'”

“The talk?”

“Yes, the talk. The ‘you're married now, when are you going to start having babies because your fertility is heading south' talk.”

There was a talk? Gracie had never gotten a talk, and they went to the same doctor. The doctor who, because they lived in Revival, knew she wasn't married, had no prospects, and might never have sex again.

“You're thirty. I thought you had until you're thirty-five.” Gracie was thirty-three. Only two years away from the magic number.

Maddie shook her head. “That's what I said. But Doctor Jacobs said that's when you become high risk, but your actual fertility starts to decrease after thirty.”

So she was already behind the curve. “That's ridiculous!”

“It is,” Maddie agreed, before her expression fell. “Unfortunately, it's also reality.”

“Well, margaritas will dull reality considerably.” For both of them.

Maddie laughed. “Agreed.”

Gracie leaned her elbows on the table. “But seriously, Maddie, the biology of it is only half of the equation. Emotional readiness also matters. Don't let fear guide you.”

A lesson she should take as well.

“I won't. I'm done with all that. And Mitch gets it. He knows how long I spent doing things because of other people's expectations, and that's the last thing he wants. But he's been thinking about it. I wish . . .” She trailed off.

“What?”

Maddie smoothed the papers under her hands. “I wish I hadn't wasted so much time trying to walk the straight and narrow. Then maybe I wouldn't have so many things left undone.”

“True. But if you'd stayed a wild child you wouldn't be here now. You'd probably be married to some convict and have to face Mitch in court on larceny charges.”

After spending her childhood as a wild troublemaker, Maddie had reformed into a model citizen after her father's death, had lived a staid adulthood filled with obligation and too much Catholic guilt, until she'd run away from her wedding and right into Mitch.

Maddie laughed. “You're right. See, this is what I love about you. You always put things in perspective.”

Gracie grinned and waved her hand. Advice was so much easier when directed at other people. “That's what I'm here for.”

Maddie's expression once again creased in concern. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” Gracie asked, jumping up, thankful when the phone rang. That didn't sound like a question she wanted to answer. She pressed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Hello, Gracie, it's James.” His deep voice rumbled over the line and her whole body broke out in goose bumps.

Her gaze flew to Maddie, who watched her with a big question mark written across her forehead. Gracie swung around and put her hand on the counter to brace herself as she remembered what she'd done this morning while thinking about the last time the professor kissed her.

“Did I lose you already?” he asked. Oh man, when had he started sounding like pure sex?

“No,” she squeaked and then cleared her throat. “I'm here. Are you looking for Sam?”

“I'm looking for you.”

Surprise raced through her. In all this time, he'd never called and she'd never expected him to, regardless of how hot their kisses were. He'd made himself clear and she knew how disciplined he was.

She could feel Maddie's eyes burning a hole in her back. Determined to play it cool, she asked, “How may I help you?”

“Let me guess—you're not alone?”

“That's correct.”

There was a pause over the line. “Is my sister there?”

“Yes.” Her throat had gone bone-dry. When was the last time she'd been this nervous talking to a man? She thought back . . . um, never.

He chuckled and it about seared her through the phone. “Then I'll make this quick. Shane told me you'll be in Chicago to deliver a cake to the mayor's chief of staff.”

“Correct.”

“On Friday, two weeks from now?”

“Yes.” She felt like an idiot. Where was he going with this? She honestly had no idea. Maybe he wanted her to do a cake for some professor thing.

“What time is your delivery?”

“Three o'clock.”

“Would you like to have dinner after?”

Was he asking her on a date? Her fuzzy brain, shocked at hearing his voice, found it difficult to string together coherent thoughts. “With who?”

He outright laughed now. “With me.”

She gripped the counter.
Yes. Yes. Yes
. “But . . . why?”

“Because I can't stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try, or how many arguments I make about what a bad idea it is.”

“It is a bad idea.” A terrible idea, but the more she'd thought about him, the more she knew she had to find a way to get him out of her system.

“I agree. Are we on for dinner then?”

This had disaster written all over it. Her relationship with her friends. The way he refused to eat sugar. That she'd never get rid of him. And someday she'd watch him bring some other woman, who looked a lot like Lindsey Lord, over for Christmas. Her breath came fast. “Yes.”

“Will you stay at my house instead of Shane and Cecilia's?”

She had a thousand questions and couldn't ask any of them with Maddie listening to every word. What about sex? Yes, she'd propositioned him, but that was before he'd kissed her and blown all her preconceived notions about him out of the water. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“You can stay in my spare bedroom. I'll be a perfect gentleman.”

“That doesn't seem smart.” God, she cursed having to answer this call now while stuck with the ability to only deliver vague responses.

“Maybe not, but I was hoping I could persuade you to spend Saturday with Declan and me.”

She could only blink down at her hardwood floors. He wanted her to spend the day with him? And his cousin? Her head spun. This was the last thing she'd predicted when she woke up this morning. “I don't know.”

“If you stay with Shane and Cecilia, I'll have to come pick you up. Which is fine by me, but you do understand we'll suffer a lot of questions, and every person we know will find out before we even get in the car and drive away.”

He played dirty. Damn him. She sighed. “Fine. As long as there's a separate . . .” With Maddie behind her she couldn't say
bedroom
without raising suspicion, so she settled for a less meaningful word. “Area.”

“Deal. Then it's a date?”

“Yes.” In a daze she hung up the phone.

She had a date . . . with the professor.

 

 

In the end, what to do about Gracie had been a spontaneous decision.

James, who thought through every detail of his life with careful, methodical reason, wasn't quite sure what had come over him. In his office at work, sitting at his desk, ready to work on his recent publication about body mass estimation from cranial variables. His research had been organized, his document open, fingers on the keyboard.

The next thing he knew, twenty minutes had passed and he'd written the word
the
.

Instead of working, he'd stared off into space, thinking about Gracie. Her mouth. The flash of her blue eyes when she was mad at him. Which was always. The way her body felt under his palms. And how he didn't think he could live without touching her again. Without tasting her. He thought about what Jane and Anne had said. He either needed to take action or ask out the psych professor who had been tossing him signs so blatant they may as well have been in neon. The kind of woman he always dated.

And there had been no contest. Every time he attempted to conjure up Alison's face, she morphed into Gracie.