Triple Score (11 page)

“Besides,” Dylan continued, “there’s not much else to do in this joint.”

True that.
Jace ran his fork through what was left of his eggs and played along. “And where, pray tell, should I take the lovely lady? We’re in the middle of nowhere here.”

It was twenty miles to the nearest town, if you called an intersection with a gas station, mini-mart and municipal building that served as the police station/post office/county courthouse a town, and Phoenix was a two-hour drive. Great for keeping the paparazzi and lookie loos away but hell on the social life.

Dylan half lifted a shoulder and peered out through too-long bangs. How the kid found the strike zone with that shit in his eyes was beyond Jace. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. What’s she into? Other than you, I mean. Girls dig it when you pay attention to stuff they like.”

Damn.
Kid had game. Maybe Jace could learn something from him after all.

He stared at Noelle across the cafeteria, as far from him as she could get and still be in the same room. Her parting words to him that morning were a challenge, one he was all too willing to accept. He wasn’t the type to sit on his hands and wait for a woman—or anyone—to “get back to” him.

It was two outs, two strikes, bottom of the ninth. Time for him to hit one out of the park.

He turned to Dylan. “I’ve got an idea. But I’m going to need help.”

“Sure thing.” The teenager lit up like he’d struck out the side in front of a capacity crowd at Fenway. “Whatever you need, I’m your man.”

“Great.” Jace downed the rest of his coffee, picked up his tray and stood. “Let’s get started. First things first. We need to make an appointment with the hairdresser. She’s usually here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Oh, I get it. You want to look dope before you make your move.” Dylan put the manila envelope on his tray, one-handed the whole thing and followed Jace across the room. The kid was adapting quickly, even without a prosthetic. Good sign.

“Not me, hotshot. You.”

Dylan put his tray on the conveyor belt leading back to the kitchen and ran a hand through his shaggy blond locks, remembering at the last minute to snag the envelope back before the tray moved too far down the line. “I always look dope.”

Ah, the blind confidence of youth.

Jace set his tray down behind Dylan’s and watched them both disappear. “That may be true, but you can’t play ball with your hair in your eyes.”

Christ.
He was barely thirty years old. When had he become his father?

Dylan gave him a blank stare. “I thought this was about you and the ballerina chick.”

“It is. But that doesn’t mean I can’t give you a little friendly advice.” Jace clapped the boy’s shoulder and led him into the hallway. “So what do you say?”

“Okay,” Dylan said after a moment’s thought, drawing the word out like it was four syllables instead of two. “Just don’t let her make me look like a total gomer.”

“Sure, kid.” Whatever that was. Damn, he was turning into his father. “Sure.”

9

“
M
ISS
N
ELSON
!
M
ISS
N
ELSON
!”

Noelle turned to find Dylan sprinting down the hall toward her.

“Slow down, buddy,” she teased. “Where’s the fire?”

He pulled up short next to her. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure I caught up with you so I could give you these.”

He held out a delicate bouquet of flowers in varying shades of pink, purple, orange and yellow.

Noelle took an uncomfortable step back, shoving her hands in her pockets. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to let down a starstruck fan with a crush, but it never got any easier. Especially when said fan was an impressionable teen. “Dylan, you shouldn’t have...”

“I didn’t.” He thrust the flowers at her. “Read the card.”

She took the bouquet, fished out an envelope from among the blooms and slit it open with her finger, reading silently.

Follow the kid. Don’t ask questions.

“Who sent this?” Like she didn’t know. Only one smug, self-important, sinfully sexy shortstop was bold enough to order her around like a drill sergeant.

“He told me not to say.” Dylan looked down at his Air Jordans. “And that you should come with me, no questions asked. That’s what the note says, right?”

“I’m not one to blindly follow orders.” Even if they were from the man who’d given her her only non-self-induced orgasm in the past six months.

“He also told me you might be less than agreeable. And if you were, I should give you this.”

Dylan pulled out another envelope and handed it to her. Noelle ripped it open impatiently and mouthed the single word on the card.

Please.

Damn him. All her righteous indignation seeped out of her, curiosity rushing in to take its place. What did Jace have up his sleeve now?

“All right, lead on.” She gestured for Dylan to go ahead, cringing a little inside when he took her past the pool. “Any idea what Ja—uh, the man who sent you has planned? I was hoping to squeeze in a late-night swim.”

She’d been doing that a lot lately. Sara said it was a great low-impact, non-weight-bearing workout. And Noelle could swim longer, and with less pain, than with any other activity.

Dylan gave her an oh-no-you-didn’t finger wave. “No questions, remember?”

With a resigned sigh, she followed him to the lobby. But instead of crossing through to the other side of the clinic, like she expected, he headed for the main doors. Outside, she could see a sleek, cherry-red, classic sports car parked at the curb and an equally slick shortstop lounging against it. His gaze met hers, and his face split wide in a shit-eating grin.

She came to a quick halt, careful even in her rapidly escalating pissed-off state not to jar her knee. He’d gotten the same spiel on admission as every other patient. Twice, since he was a repeat customer. No going off the grounds without prior permission. Mr. Hotshot Major Leaguer might think he was above the rules, but she didn’t.

“Hold the damn phone,” she said, talking to Dylan but her eyes never leaving Jace, boring holes through his skull through the closed door. “You never said anything about leaving the clinic.”

Dylan looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I never said anything, period. But don’t worry, he’ll fill you in.”

The teen took a step toward the automatic doors and they slid open, belting her with a blast of hot, July air. Whoever said it was the humidity, not the heat, that made you miserable had never spent a summer in Arizona. Hot was hot, humid or not.

“I am not going out there.” She planted her feet wide.

“She says she’s not going out there,” Dylan called through the door.

“Thanks, man,” Jace called back, not bothering to move from his relaxed stance against the car. “I’ve got it from here.”

“That’s what you think,” Noelle muttered as Dylan gave Jace a thumbs-up and took off.

“I mean it,” she said, louder this time so Jace could hear her. “I’m not going out there.”

The doors started to close, but Jace sprang forward and stuck out his hand, stopping them. “Give me one good reason.”

“I’ll give you two.” She held up a finger. “One, it’s hot as hell. And two—” she added another digit “—I don’t have medical authorization to leave.”

“Easy.” Jace crossed back to the curb in two strides and thumped the roof of the car. “I’ve got the air conditioning in this baby cranked as high as it’ll go and a note from Sara springing you for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Almost unconsciously, Noelle stepped outside, feeling the doors whoosh shut behind her. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

“Only one way to find out.” He sauntered around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Hop in.”

She crossed her arms and stood firm. “Not until I see the note.”

“Don’t trust me?” he asked, one brow raised.

“Bingo.”

“I’m wounded.” He staggered back and put a hand to his heart like he’d been shot, but when he was done with the theatrics he produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it to her.

She smoothed it out and studied it carefully before looking up at Jace, who was half sitting, half leaning on the hood of the car. The man was like a Bengal tiger, coiled and ready to spring. Long legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his massive chest and those biceps—
gah
. She had to look away before words would form. “It looks legit. You’re sure Sara’s okay with this?”

“Her exact words were, ‘Get her out of here. That girl needs a change of scenery, stat.’”

“Sounds like Sara,” Noelle conceded with a wry chuckle.

“So what’s the verdict? You coming?”

As much as Noelle hated to admit it, Sara made sense. She’d been starting to go a little stir-crazy cooped up at the clinic. Last week, she’d even resorted to pulling out a needlepoint kit her well-intentioned but delusional mother had sent her. A ladybug pillow. Seriously, who under the age of sixty did that stuff any more?

She did, apparently, if she got desperate enough.

She didn’t want to be that desperate. And how much damage could one night out do, even if it was with Jace? Heck, she’d already slept with him. Things couldn’t get any more complicated.

Could they?

“Okay,” she said, throwing caution out the window and into the arid desert. “But this doesn’t mean we’re an item.”

“An item?” He snickered. “What is this, high school?”

“Fine. We’re not a couple, then.”

“Understood.” He rushed to beat her to the still open passenger door. “Now can we blow this popcorn stand?”

She looked down at her outfit. Athletic shirt, yoga pants, sneakers. Standard attire at Spaulding. But probably not for whatever Jace had in store for her. “I have to change.”

“Don’t go changing to try and please me.”

“It’s not for you, Billy Joel. It’s for me.”

“Whatever butters your bagel.”
Yeah, right.
Like she ate bagels. Way too many carbs. “But make it snappy. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

“Want to give me a hint as to the dress code?”

His eyes raked her up and down. “Like I said, you look fine to me.”

Typical guy
.

“Some help you are.” She mentally cataloged the meager inventory of her closet. She hadn’t brought along much more than workout clothes, but she’d thrown in a cute little two-piece skater dress and a pair of jeweled Gucci thong sandals at the last minute that should work for whatever he had planned. After all, it wasn’t like they were going to be horseback riding or skydiving with their respective injuries. “Be back in ten.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” he called after her as she went in.

That remained to be seen. With an uber alpha male like Jace Monroe, anything was possible. She held in a breath, the thought both exciting and terrifying her.

And she didn’t know which of those warring emotions she wanted to win out.

* * *

“
H
ERE
WE
ARE
.”

Jace pulled the 1965 Mustang GT to a stop, almost disappointed the drive was over.

What a sweet ride.
And he didn’t just mean the expensive rental.

Two hours was a long time to be trapped in a car with someone, especially a car with quarters as tight as the Mustang. And as intimate as he and Noelle had been, they hadn’t exactly done a lot of talking.

Until now.

Her large, loud family. His father. Their respective careers. Even normally off-limits topics like politics (Republican for him, Democrat for her) and religion (she was a lapsed Catholic, he an agnostic). Despite their differences, not once had the conversation turned ugly or lagged. And not once could he remember a conversation with a woman—just conversation—being so...stimulating.

“Phoenix Fright Fest.” Noelle read the marquis on the historic downtown theater they were parked in front of. “Is that where we’re going?”

He studied her for some reaction. He’d gone out on a big-ass limb bringing her all this way on the basis of nothing more than a random comment in a years-old interview with some podunk newspaper.

Her head swiveled slowly away from the window, her jaw slack and her eyes uncertain as they turned on him. “You drove over a hundred miles to take me to a slasher flick?”

The big-ass limb cracked underneath him.

“Not just any slasher flick,” he scrambled to explain. “It’s...”

“Are you kidding?” She cut him off, her voice rising to a decibel level only dogs could hear. “I love horror movies. They’re my guilty pleasure. No matter what hotel you’re in, in what city, you can always find one with the click of a remote from the comfort of your bed.”

“Kind of like porn.” He slipped a finger under the strap of her dress.

“Like you said, whatever butters your bagel.” She slapped his hand away. “How did you know?”

“About the porn?”

“No, smartass.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “About my secret, borderline unhealthy obsession with horror movies. It’s not something I usually share. My agent says it doesn’t fit the public image of a ballerina. I’m supposed to be the cultural icon of idealized femininity, or some crap like that. I think he read it somewhere.”

She was babbling, almost bouncing out of her seat, and it was unexpected, uncharacteristic and utterly adorable.

Score.

“The magic of the World Wide Web. You mentioned it in an interview you gave to a small-town newspaper a few years back.” Turned out Dylan wasn’t just a crack pitcher, he was a computer whiz, too. A few creative searches and he’d managed to not only dredge up the long-ago article but find the website for Fright Fest as well.

“Must have been before Garrett put the gag order on me.” Noelle fumbled under her legs for her purse. “So are we going to sit here all night or go in?”

“Go in.” He exited the Mustang, went around to the passenger side and opened her door. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“There’s more?”