The Trouble With J.J. (3 page)

“Oh,” Genna scowled, tossing the note aside. “Of course I’m happy for her, but I’d love to beat her with my bankbook! I was counting on that money when I bought my car. What do I do now?”

“You’ll find something else,” Amy said matter-of-factly.

“Sure,” Genna said, her spirits sinking. “You know as well as I do that all the summer jobs are taken by the end of March.”

Amy was silent for a moment as she stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the striped lawn next door, the kernel of a harebrained scheme
forming in her mind. “Oh …I’ll bet something will turn up.”

Genna was too busy feeling sorry for herself to notice the odd note of excitement in Amy’s voice. Here she was, just back from her disastrous vacation, with a sprained ankle and a budding migraine, Jared the Jerk had moved in next door, and her summer job had flown the coop. She loved her position at the Tory Hills Elementary School, but it didn’t pay well enough for her to afford a brand new car. Damn! If only Mary could have eloped before the interest rates on car loans had lowered so temptingly!

It wasn’t just the money either, though Genna was almost a fanatic about financial security. She had been looking forward to her usual summer stint in the catering business. If she had one fantasy occupation, it was to be a chef. She loved to cook and bake and took great joy in creating wonderful meals and desserts. The summer was Mary’s busy season because she specialized in catering outdoor affairs. Working with Mary had given Genna a chance to make a little extra cash and live out her fantasy.

Amy heaved a sigh that mixed relief with frustration. She had feared Genna would catch the
suspicious tone in her voice and make her spill the beans, but Genna was staring glumly at a stack of bills. That was good, she thought, except that in a way she had wanted to spill the beans. Her mouth was just aching to blurt out that J. J. Hennessy had intercepted her in Genna’s driveway and asked all sorts of questions about her.

She swiveled her head back in Genna’s direction, her mop of blond curls bouncing, her smile sunny.

“Have you met our new neighbor?” “Jared the Jerk, God’s gift to women?”
Uh-oh
. Amy kept her smile frozen firmly in place. “He’s a nice guy, Gen. I know he comes on a little like—”

“A jackhammer,” Genna supplied. “I’ll admit he’s a little … different—” “He’s an oddity.” She said it as if she were saying “he’s a toad.”

Amy bit her lip and tried to regroup her thoughts. “So he’s a little … flamboyant,” she said, gesturing airily with her chubby hands. “But he’s really sweet once you know him, and he’s been unbelievably patient with the neighborhood kids. They’ve been hounding him day and night.” A
man who was good with kids would appeal to Genna, Amy realized.

“If he’s so famous,” Genna said, ignoring the obvious man-who’s-good-with-kids ploy, “what’s he doing in Tory Hills?”

“If? If
he’s so famous?” Amy questioned, incensed. “Genna, where have you been? J.J. Hennessy is
the
most famous quarterback! He ranks right up there with McMahon, Kramer, Simms, Montana. He put the Hawks on top. They won the
Super Bowl
last January!”

Amy had nearly died and gone to Hartford-Hawks heaven when she’d heard who was moving in across the street from her. How could Genna live on the same planet and be so indifferent?

“You know I don’t follow sports, Amy,” Genna said, pouting, as she doodled sad faces on the envelope of her electric bill with a ball-point pen.

Amy cast her gaze and hands heavenward. “His face has been on every major magazine cover:
Sports Illustrated, People, Playgirl
.”

Genna just shrugged and brushed back a lock of wavy, chin-length chestnut hair.

“He does commercials on television.”

No response.

“He’s been on
Donahue
, for Pete’s sake!” she said shrilly.

“Enough about this guy, Amy,” Genna complained. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my vacation?”

Amy gritted her teeth but let the subject of J. J. Hennessy drop for the moment. She took a deep breath, forced a smile, and asked, “How was your vacation, Genna?”

“Hell on earth.”

Genna still couldn’t believe it herself. Who would’ve thought a week on Cape Cod would turn out to be like living out a Stephen King novel? Not Genna. She’d been looking forward to it for months. All she’d had to do was get through her cousin’s wedding. After that she was going to lie in the sun on the patio of the hideously expensive beach cottage she’d scrimped and saved to rent and enjoy the peace and quiet while reading a stack of romance novels. But no …

“First there was Lauren’s big surprise,” she began. “My sweet cousin canceled my reservation and arranged for me to stay with her in-laws. I lost a sixty-dollar deposit.”

Amy grimaced. “So what were the in-laws like?”

“Rich. Their summer house was just a few bobbing boats down the beach from the Kennedy place.”

Amy’s brown eyes almost popped out of her head as she went through the stack of photos Genna had shoved at her. She was looking at an estate complete with tennis courts and a private boat launch. “Holy buckets, this place looks like a Club Med! What the blue blazes are you whining about?”

“You’ll see,” Genna replied placidly. When Amy came to the wedding pictures, Genna pointed out the groom. “That’s Robert. He’s an investment banker from a long line of investment bankers. The Holmes-Cummingses were the investment bankers on the
Mayflower
.”

“Was he born wearing pinstripes?”

“Yes. And when he smiles you can see that being born with a silver spoon in his mouth gave him the overbite of a parrot. But Lauren loves him and he’s good to her ….”

Genna felt an undeniable twinge of envy. At thirty, she was the eldest of three daughters and the only one as yet unmarried. She wasn’t holding out for an investment banker, or even a surgeon. She
just wanted a nice, safe, normal kind of guy with a steady, normal job.

“You looked nice in your dress,” Amy commented.

“Thanks.” Genna frowned. “I’ve been maid of honor so many times, they’re going to start calling me
old
maid of honor. If I had a dollar for every time my mother said, ‘That’s my Genna, always the bridesmaid, never the bride,’ I could pay off the national debt. Then there was her oft-repeated explanation of her eldest daughter’s unmarried state, complete with apologetic face and tragic blue eyes—‘Genna is
career oriented
.’ As if that were some sort of a birth defect!”

Abigail Hastings never said “Genna graduated summa cum laude,” or “Genna is an excellent teacher.” If Genna had become president of the United States, it wouldn’t have impressed her mother half as much as her marrying a gynecologist and becoming secretary of the PTA.

That idea didn’t sound so bad to Genna either, but she was proud of her accomplishments. She’d done a lot on her own. To her, a woman’s worth was not contingent on her having a husband. That was icing on the cake. A person could have cake without icing; it just wasn’t as sweet.

“Oh, yuck! Who is this?” Amy’s disgusted voice brought Genna back to the present.

She smiled unpleasantly at the photo of a buck-toothed super nerd with Coke-bottle-lens glasses. “That, as Paul Harvey says, is the rest of the story. That is Cousin Lauren’s cousin Rodney, who also answered to ‘Dinner is served.’ Rodney the instant migraine, the family oddball, my constant and unwelcomed companion for the entire week. He’s a Roto-Rooter man.”

Amy looked as if she’d just swallowed a bug.

“That about says it all.” Genna nodded. “Did I mention he’s on parole? He tried to rob Dunkin’ Donuts with a gun carved from a bar of soap.”

She proceeded to tell the tales of her misadventures with Rodney, which included swamping a sailboat, nearly falling overboard while on the Nantucket ferry, and spraining her ankle when Rodney mowed her down during a game of mixed doubles.

“So, that’s the way of my life. My cousin marries a Holmes-Cummings and I am relentlessly pursued by a Roto-Rooter man.”

“Poor Gen.” Amy patted her friend’s hand. “You need a vacation.”

“Howdy, neighbor!” came J. J. Hennessy’s voice through the screen door.

“Or a gun,” Genna amended Amy’s statement, her teeth gritting automatically at the thought of J.J.

Jared let himself in. He had changed into a pair of cutoffs and a blue Hawaiian print shirt that hung open over an orange T-shirt. He had a Red Sox cap turned backward on his head and was brandishing a measuring cup in one hand.

“Just come on in, Mr. Hennessy,” Genna drawled sarcastically.

Amy grimaced at her tone but then caught the twinkle of amusement in Jared’s eye. He was up to something.

“Nice pad you got here, Gen,” he said, nodding approvingly as he looked around.

“I’m
so
glad you like it.”

“Hey,” he said as he grinned and shrugged, “it’s you, gorgeous!”

The house had looked like a cracker box from the outside, but inside, the first floor was almost totally open, giving the illusion of space. The living room, dining room, and kitchen all flowed together, decorated in various shades of blue. The look was cozy and welcoming. It was the kind of place that would offer comfort and haven after a
long day. It suited her, Jared thought, even if she didn’t seem too welcoming herself at the moment.

Jared suppressed a chuckle. He was definitely getting her attention. Never mind that she looked ready to spit tacks. He had her emotions running high. Eventually he would turn that to his advantage.

Genna was a challenge. Not that Jared was conceited, but he usually had to beat women away with a stick. Now here was one that not only snarled at him, but practically sizzled when he touched her. She was a challenge all right, and Jared had been schooled from an early age to approach every challenge like the football field general he was. Strategy was the name of the game.

“Aren’t you going to give Jared the grand tour?” Amy asked innocently. “I’m sure he’d enjoy seeing the loft.”

Genna gave her smiling friend a meaningful scowl. She turned her attention then to her unwelcomed guest and asked, annoyed, “Did you come here to borrow something? The traditional cup of sugar, perhaps?”

“Naw.” He leaned negligently across the counter that divided the kitchen and dining room,
a teasing smile twitching the corners of his lips. “Too cliché for me. Do you have any coffee?”

“You want to
borrow
a cup of coffee? And you drink your coffee out of a measuring cup?”

He shrugged, an elegant lifting of his magnificent shoulders. His gorgeous eyes crinkled at the corners. “Why not? Live it up, Gen. Life’s too boring. I’d prefer something with an international flavor if you have it—café au lait, mocha mint—”

Genna gritted her teeth and lied right through them. “I don’t have any coffee.”

“No coffee.” He pretended to frown. “Frosted Flakes?”

Amy giggled, earning her a baleful glare from Genna.

“No.”

“M&M’s?” He tried a boyish grin. “They’re my favorite.”

“No, Mr. Hennessy.”

He could almost hear the threads of her temper beginning to snap. He came around the counter and put a brotherly hand on her shoulder. Genna’s hair nearly stood on end from the electricity that zinged between them.

“You don’t have to call me mister, Gen. We’re neighbors! J.J. or Jared, whichever you prefer.”

Genna glared at him. “I prefer not to call you at all.”

He mussed her hair and smiled. “You can call me a cab, but I won’t pay the fare.”

Peals of laughter that sounded like a flock of geese in a frenzy erupted from Amy.

Jared spotted the photo of Rodney on the table. “Hey, who’s the Roto-Rooter man?”

Genna bit her lip.

Amy fell off her chair.

TWO

“O
F ALL THE
insufferable clods to have move in next door,” Genna grumbled to herself as she settled on her lounge chair. She fluffed the pillow under her sore ankle, arranged the ice pack just so, then carefully eased her foot onto the pile. Leaning back on the smoke-blue flowered cushion, she adjusted her bikini top and picked up her book.

“I can’t believe the nerve of that guy. Just walking into my house as big as life,” she muttered after reading three sentences.
As big as life
. That phrase conjured up a memory of mile-wide shoulders and rippling muscles. She frowned. “So he’s decent looking. So what?”

… sparkling ice-blue eyes, a wry, quirking mouth …

“Okay. Gorgeous. Big deal.”

Three more sentences passed before her eyes.

“Arrogant doesn’t even begin to describe him.”

… humor in his eyes. Humor at what? Her? Himself? The folly of life?

She let the book in her hand dangle down near the red brick of her tiny patio. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had flustered her as badly as J. J. Hennessy had. Rodney didn’t count; he could almost be considered a lesser life form. Jared Hennessy was a man. All man. Every sexy inch of him.

A scowl pulled at Genna’s features. Not only was he arrogant, she told herself, he was obviously an irresponsible goof-off. Not her type at all. Anybody could tell that just by looking at him. Where did he shop for his clothes, rummage sales? He probably thought Brooks Brothers was a comedy act.

A football player. Huh. That said it all, didn’t it? He must be about thirty going on seventeen. A man playing a boy’s game for a living. The word “responsibility” was undoubtedly absent from his vocabulary.

With him living next door she was definitely going to have to invest in high blood pressure medication. It had been hours since the scene in her kitchen, and she could still hear her pulse pounding in her ears when she thought of him. He had to be the most obnoxious man in the tri-state area.

Then why do your hormones go into overdrive when he touches you, Genna?

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered to the annoying little voice in her head.

Suddenly something cold and wet was nudging her hand. Genna’s eyes went huge with fright and she jerked her head around. Two china blue eyes stared up at her from the face of a fat, furry black and white puppy. He sat perfectly still, waiting for her reaction. Genna laughed her relief, which the puppy took as a good sign. His tail wagged, wriggling his entire chubby body.