Читать книгу One Bride Too Many: One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go - Jennifer Drew - Страница 11

THERE WAS NOTHING Cole liked less than waiting for a woman to get dressed—except, of course, looking for a wife he didn’t want.

He told Tess he’d wait in the truck while she changed her torn dress, but he was too restless to sit. He got out of the driver’s seat and started pacing in a broad circuit in the parking area as soon as she went inside her ground-floor apartment.

She lived in one of a hundred or so small units in the brick complex, all with individual entrances either on the ground level or off a second-floor balcony that ran the length of each building with stairs at both ends. He approved. He liked a floor plan that allowed tenants their own private entrances and didn’t waste space on a lobby.

The apartments were thirty or forty years old, built when buildings were still laid out in rectangular patterns with straight service roads. Today builders, including Zack and him, favored curving roads and cul-de-sacs for an illusion of spaciousness and privacy, but the place was well maintained and still looked good. Much of the vast sprawl in Wayne County was a conglomerate of enclaves linked by expressways and major roads. He knew it like the back of his hand, but never tired of the architectural diversity.

He’d rate Tess’s place as ho-hum, a haven for singles and young couples with a smattering of seniors who’d given up their homes in favor of easy maintenance and social-security living. At least she didn’t live with her parents.

Stopping to look at his watch, Cole thought about the evening so far.

The wedding reception had been about what he’d expected—a bunch of casual acquaintances and a few strangers pretending they lived the high life all the time. At least no one had challenged his presence.

He even got propositioned. Mrs. Donaldson wanted to give him a tour of the clubhouse, promising she knew some hidden niches where no one ever went. She’d conveniently forgotten he’d played soccer with her son in middle school. He politely declined!

As for the younger women, he’d had a hard time separating college girls from jailbait. Except for seeing Tess again, the evening had been a bust, but it forced him to be realistic. He wasn’t going to find the girl of his grandfather’s dreams at a party or a bar, which pretty much eliminated his usual stomping grounds.

Maybe Tess would open some doors for him, not that he deserved her help after the rough time he gave her in high school. But they were both adults now, right? Fortunately, she didn’t seem to hold a grudge. She was the kind of woman who could be a good friend without all the game-playing that went with relationships. And she was the only person he knew who could help him meet some nice girls.

First he had to beat her at pool. He’d be sporting, though, and not win by too much. He couldn’t expect her to help solve his problem if he humiliated her.

“Bailey, where are you?” she called, managing to startle him, because he’d expected to wait the typical half hour most females required for a simple change.

“Here.”

He walked toward her from a row of cars parked south of his truck.

“Are you ready for a…” He nearly said lesson, then saw what she was carrying—a case that could only contain one thing. “You have your own pool stick?”

“I play in a league in the winter. If you want to call off the bet…”

“No way.”

He had a hard time seeing Tess as a pool hustler, but she’d suckered him into a challenge he really needed to win. At least it would be more fun—and easier on his conscience—if she could give him a good game.

“Get in.” He opened the door of his truck for her.

“I thought I’d drive my car, and you can follow. That way you won’t have to bring me home.”

“Get in. I don’t mind bringing you back.”

In the light from the cab she looked more like her old self, only better, much better. Jeans and a form-hugging white tank top did a lot more for her than the bridesmaid getup. She’d pulled all the sausage curls into a ponytail that bounced as she scampered into the pickup.

One of the nice things about taking a date in the truck was checking out her back view without being obvious as she climbed to the seat. Tess had a round, firm bottom, but of course she was no date prospect and never would be. Being with her was more like taking a ride with his sister—if he had one—or maybe a first cousin, which he also didn’t have as far as he knew. No telling what his biological daddy had in the way of relatives, since Cole had never heard boo from the man. Apparently he’d taken Marsh Bailey’s threats seriously way back when. Cole’s deceased stepfather was the man who’d been a true father to him, and Zack felt the same way.

“I know a place not too far from here where we should be able to get a table without a long wait,” she said.

He shrugged and let her give him directions.

“It’s not a tie-and-jacket kind of place,” she warned.

“All the better. Where did you learn to play pool?”

“My dad loves it. Has a table in his basement.”

“Now I’m getting worried,” he teased.

“Yeah, sure. How many times have you lost at anything?”

“Well, I’m still single. I certainly haven’t won the girl of my dreams yet.” And he wouldn’t be looking for her if he hadn’t lost the toss to Zack with his own coin.

“About what you want me to do—not that I plan to lose,” Tess said, “you actually expect me to fix you up with a blind date?”

“Maybe several.”

“You’re serious? I mean, you’re not going to break any of my friends’ hearts just for fun, are you?”

“I’m serious.” His answer came out sounding grim.

“Why now?

“You have a mother. You know how they get when grandkids fever hits,” he said, giving her the first plausible reason that came to mind. The truth was too bizarre to lay on someone he hadn’t seen for ten years.

“I guess, but my sister has two kids. I’m more or less off the hook for now. So you want to meet a nice girl to make your mother happy?” She sounded puzzled but not disapproving.

“I promised to give it a try, but working in construction I don’t meet many girls I’d want to take home to Mom.”

He didn’t like this conversation, and the pool place wasn’t as close as he’d like it to be.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint your mom.” She patted the case resting on her thigh. “But I’m looking forward to a sneak preview of Bailey’s new line. My shop is getting a reputation for handling the latest baby products.”

He urged her to tell him more about her store without paying much attention to what she said. His interest in baby monitors and infant seats was nonexistent, especially since anything baby related reminded him of his grandfather’s high-handed manipulations.

They got to the pool hall. Buck’s wasn’t the kind of place he would’ve expected Tess to like. It was a workingman’s tavern with thick black glass windows and a neon beer sign over the door. He left his jacket and tie in the truck and followed Tess into a murky interior that reeked of smoke and boilermakers.

“Hi, Tess! How’s my sweetie?” a bearded little man who’d never see seventy again called as she walked in.

“Doing great, Barney.”

“Gotcha self a live one?” another grizzled old man asked from the brass-railed bar.

“Ready for plucking.”

Bar regulars were territorial, and the stools belonged to old-timers, mostly men and a few women with faces that didn’t match their vivid hair colors. What Cole saw at the tables helped explain why Tess felt comfortable here. They’d largely been taken over by twenty-somethings, young professionals trying to dress down and still look cool in designer jeans. The two groups seemed to tolerate each other well enough, with the possible exception of a few tough-looking young guys probably looking to prove something by hitting on classy girls.

Tess waved at a few younger people but headed directly toward the rear of the building. The pool tables were behind swinging Dutch doors in a back room with an old-fashioned metal ceiling. She’d chosen well. She scrawled her name on a chalkboard, but they were the only ones on the waiting list for a table.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asked

“A light beer, please. Playing pool is thirsty work.”

He’d expected her to order a soda or possibly white wine, but then, he didn’t know much about the Tess of today. He fetched a couple of brews and stood with her watching the action. Finally a couple of giggling girls abandoned their table and left with some guys in motorcycle boots and belts so heavily studded they probably pinched their bellies when they leaned over.

“You’re the challenger,” she said.

He racked the balls and tested the weight of the stick he’d chosen. The shaft had been sanded and the tip replaced recently. This place took their pool seriously.

Tess broke the rack and sank a striped ball. He liked the way she leaned over the table and studied her options. She had a loose, casual style, but once she committed to a shot, she went for it like a pro.

She impressed the hell out of him. This bet wasn’t the sure thing he’d expected.

“Nice shot,” he said as she sank another ball.

In fact, it was too nice. Beating her was going to take some off-table strategy. He stepped behind her and leaned when she leaned, reaching over her to take her wrist as she lined up her next shot.

“Maybe if you straighten your wrist just a little…” He began coaching.

“Cole Bailey!” She used her hips like a pair of cannon balls and knocked him away from the table. “I do not need lessons!” she said, confronting him like a raging rhino. “If you touch me again, the match is off.”

“Understood,” he said, feeling like a jerk. “Some girls appreciate a few pointers.” And a little touchy-feely to go with the sport, he thought, vowing not to forget Tess was different from most women.

He walked to the other side of the table so he wouldn’t have to watch the little tail twitch she used unconsciously when she was ready to take her shot. She might play killer pool, but she was still at square one in the boy-girl game. Men challenged each other for the competition, but it was a whole different contest to play with a woman.

I’m a chauvinistic jerk, he thought when she missed her next shot. He could win this bet without rubbing against her backside or distracting her with thinly disguised hugs. After all, this was Tess. He still owed her for getting him through English lit.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he stepped up to take his first shot. “I was only trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah, sure.” She frowned in disbelief.

He called his shot, knowing he deserved to flub it for trying to use sex to distract a friend. But Tess would keep her word if she lost the match, and he didn’t have any better ideas for meeting nice women. He couldn’t get help from Zack. His brother wouldn’t recognize a nice girl if she came wrapped in tissue and ribbons.

He cleared the table and won the first game handily. Fortunately, guilt didn’t blunt his skill.

“That makes me one up,” he said cordially. “Want to concede now?”

“No way! The bet is two out of three. I’m always a slow starter.”

“Nice stick you have,” he said, because he found silence between them awkward, not that balls crashing and people talking and laughing at the other eleven tables didn’t fill the room with noise.

“Seventeen ounces. My dad gave it to me when our team won the league championship last winter.”

“I’m impressed.” He actually was. He’d never played league pool, but he knew it attracted good players.

It was his turn to break, and he found himself wanting badly to win without giving her a turn to shoot. Maybe he needed to prove to himself he was the better player. No question his dirty trick had distracted her in the last game. Hell, it was hard for him to concentrate just thinking about it. He could still feel her snug against his front, her bottom wiggling just enough to make him wish she was a date, someone he could take home with him.

“Idiot!” he muttered under his breath. This was Tess. She’d lost the baby fat, but that didn’t make her fair game. He felt uncomfortable enough using her to meet other women without toying with her. A friend didn’t treat a friend that way.

He made a couple of mediocre shots, but his heart wasn’t in them. He’d basically stolen the first game. When his third shot bounced an inch away from the hole, he was happy enough to relinquish the table to Tess. He hadn’t exactly thrown the game, but his sloppy playing gave him what he deserved—a loss.

“Even up,” she said with satisfaction. “Now let’s see some real pool.”

As the winner of the previous game, it was her turn to break the rack. Cole narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the balls and trying not to see the way her breasts filled out her tank top when she leaned over the table. Women always had the power of distraction on their side, but he had more riding on this game than an opportunity for cheap thrills.

He squeezed the pool cue until his knuckles were white. He wanted out. He didn’t want to get married, especially not on his grandfather’s timetable. But he knew darn well his mother would be ousted as CEO unless the stock stayed in the family. A young hotshot MBA would come in and take Mom’s place. Even assuming Nick, his half brother, would get his share, he and Zack had to come through for her.

Balls moved on the bright green table, but his gaze was unfocused. His whole future could depend on Tess Morgan’s ability to push balls with a stick. If she introduced him to someone he decided to marry…

Or if she won and refused to help…

Cole forced himself to pay attention. He was in trouble. Two more shots, and she’d be the winner. He’d lose the game and the bet without getting another shot.

“Oh, no!” She sounded genuinely distressed.

She’d missed her shot. He’d been sure she was going to beat him, and it took a minute to realize he still had a chance.

He bit his lower lip, telling himself not to get cocky. He could still blow it. Wiping first one palm, then the other, on the sides of his pants, he tried to psych himself up to win.

“Number seven in the side pocket.” He called his shot as a courtesy of the game even though it was obviously his only option.

The cue ball banged the seven ball in with a satisfying thud.

“I knew you couldn’t miss that,” Tess said in a tone of disgust.

As the shooter, he could still miss the next shot and lose the bet. He didn’t like the angle between the eight ball and the cup. He’d made harder shots, but he’d missed easier.

Holding his breath, he went for it.

The thud of the eight ball going down the hole was music to his ears.

“Well, I guess you’re the winner,” Tess conceded.

She put out her hand to congratulate him. It was soft against his work-hardened palm, and he didn’t feel particularly elated at beating her.

“You shot a great game,” he said.

“Oh, sure, I lost two out of three, and I was trying hard to win,” she said with a look of disgust. “Getting a blind date for you of all people seems ludicrous. Tell me you were only kidding.”

“Not kidding.”

“Do you have a list?”

“List?” He reluctantly dropped her hand, but still felt a vague need to comfort her for losing.

“Shopping list, wish list, list of likes and dislikes.”

“No, nothing like that.” He laughed self-consciously.

“Everyone has some likes or dislikes. Give me a clue of what kind of person you have in mind.” She sounded grumpy.

“Well, I’d rather she didn’t pick her teeth in public.”

“Be serious!”

“I am. I went with a girl—briefly—who had a teeth fetish. The minute she finished eating, out came the floss.”

“None of my friends would be that gross.”

“That’s why I need your help. You know things about them. I trust your judgment.”

She was putting her stick in the case when two women walked up to the table.

“Are you through for the night?” A platinum blonde batted lashes heavy with mascara.

“The table is all yours,” Tess said. “I’m leaving.”

“How about a challenge match?” the other woman said to Cole.

He checked out her breasts—it would be hard not to notice them since they stuck out in all the glory silicone could produce—and backed away a step.

“Thanks, but I’m calling it a night,” he said.

“Pool isn’t the only game we play.” The blonde was wearing a skirt so short it looked like black leather underpants. She sidled up to Cole, took his arm and rubbed her hip against his.

“I’m leaving,” he insisted.

On his other side, the well-endowed friend wrapped her arm around his waist with the subtlety of a boa constrictor closing in on its prey. He tightened his buttocks when her hand crept downward.

“He’s with me.” Tess faced down the two predators, cue in hand.

Cole didn’t know whether to laugh or be embarrassed.

“Too bad.”

One of them—he didn’t know or care which—patted his butt. Any annoyance he might have felt was tempered by the fact that he’d tried to win a pool game by snuggling up to Tess’s backside.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking her cue and her arm.

Women, he’d learned early on, could be just as obnoxious as men when they were on the make. He had to credit Marsh for trying to protect him from the dregs of the female gender, but the old man should give him credit for some sense, not to mention taste in women.

“Well, that was fun,” Tess muttered as he followed her out to the parking area. “Where were those two when they could’ve done my game some good?”

“By taking my mind off mine? I don’t think so.” He didn’t tell her she was distraction enough. “How about stopping for something to eat?” He was reluctant to let the evening end although he didn’t know why.

“No, thanks. I’ve had enough excitement for one evening.” She wasn’t exactly sarcastic, but she made her point.

“Coffee then?” He knew he was a glutton for punishment.

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m pretty busy at work,” he said, slightly miffed by her refusal, “but I can be free next Saturday.”

“Free?” She seemed distracted as she got into the truck.

“To meet someone. You know, a date to pay off your wager,” he said, after climbing in on his side.

“I’m surprised the barflies back there didn’t interest you.”

“You think bimbos are my type?” She’d scored a point there.

“No, I guess not, but in high school you did—”

“That was ten years ago. Even the Bailey boys have to grow up eventually.” He wasn’t so sure about Zack, though.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“That’s okay.” He was still disgruntled, but he wanted to close the deal on the blind dates. “Maybe one date Saturday and another Sunday.”

“How many friends do you expect me to serve up?”

He didn’t miss the distaste in her voice, and he felt like squirming on the seat of the truck. But she’d lost the pool match, and he wasn’t going to let her welch on the bet.

“Even though I won, I’ll be more than happy to give you a tour of the factory,” he offered, hoping to soften her resistance.

“And a sneak preview of the new product line?”

If seeing a bunch of baby stuff would make her less reluctant to help him, it was a small price to pay—even though it meant deluding his grandfather into thinking he cared a rat’s ass about the business. He couldn’t show the new line without going to his mother, and she was sure to mention it to the almighty chairman of the board, Marsh Bailey. Damn, life was complicated for a guy who only wanted to build houses.

“Yes, a sneak preview,” he promised. “I’ve heard about a baby-wipe warmer that plays a lullaby. And remember how happy my mom will be if I finally meet some nice girls.”

“I suppose anyone you’d go out with has to be good-looking,” Tess said.

He’d only managed to mollify her for a minute.

“Not conventionally pretty. I can appreciate an interesting face.” He felt challenged not to sound shallow.

“Tall, short, blond, brunette?”

“Personality is more important.” She was making him sound like the blurbs on women’s magazines by the checkout counter at the supermarket.

“How do you define nice?” she pressed.

“Be reasonable, Tess. It’s not about defining anything. It would be nice if she doesn’t sleep around. Is that nice enough for you?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

She sounded so prim he wanted to shock her pants off by planting a good, hard, lip-smacking kiss on her disapproving lips. Wouldn’t that be a good way to scuttle the whole plan? Just make his little matchmaker so mad she’d get him the blind date from hell.

“I’m sure any friend of yours is a good person,” he assured her.

“Except maybe Lucinda,” she said thoughtfully. “That was the worst bridesmaid’s dress in the history of weddings.”

He laughed in agreement. “But you did look cute with those curls.”

She slapped his thigh. A little gasp told him she’d acted on impulse and surprised herself.

“One of the deadly duo in the bar slapped my butt as we were leaving,” he said, wanting her to know women stepped out of line as often as men, herself included.

The high moral ground was a sweet perch, he discovered. He wasn’t sure whether his comment would help or hurt his cause, but even in the dark he could tell Tess’s cheeks had flushed apple red.