Читать книгу Angel In Disguise - Patt Marr - Страница 11

Chapter Two

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Sunny lay on her cream leather sofa, uncomfortable in a pair of too-tight jeans and a skimpy sweater, while the team finished her “home-cooked” meal. One of the mothers had made Pete’s cheesecake, and another had taken care of the rest. The girls had arranged everything, right down to setting the table with her grandmother’s china. They were such good kids. Working with them this past year had been the happiest time of her life.

Mouse, the team’s point guard, bent over her and used a pick to lift sections of Sunny’s hair, squirting spray as she went.

“Mouse, don’t you think that’s enough?” Sunny didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, but already her hair was a wild, sexy mane with a life of its own.

“It’s gotta be perfect, Coach. Once everybody sees this on TV, your ex won’t bother you anymore and the talk ’round school will shut down. Everybody’s gonna know he’s a liar.”

That was youth speaking. Sunny knew people could say and print almost anything, and others would believe it. Her skin was thick, but the girls were still idealistic enough to expect fairness. It bothered them that people believed Bruce and were describing her as coldhearted, self-centered and worse.

She didn’t like the idea of the kids being involved with her problems, but getting them to leave her alone was like getting a fast-breaking team to stall.

Leteisha, the team’s six-foot center, hovered above her. “Coach, are you concentrating on your date?”

“Not really,” she answered honestly.

“There’s nothing more important than your date, Coach. You gotta focus.”

Words from her own mouth.

“That’s right,” Mouse said, her dark eyes shining. “You are supposed to think about this hot guy. He is, like, very sexy, and you want him madly.”

“Easy, Mouse,” Leteisha warned.

“But I think Coach ought to…”

“Not now, girl!”

Sunny hid a smile. Leteisha ran the team with a firm hand.

“Okay, Coach,” Leteisha said, her dark eyes sincerely determined. “Let’s go over what you’re supposed to do. Have you got your plays straight?”

Obediently Sunny recited, “Take the pot roast and mashed-potato casserole out of the oven. Nuke the corn. The gravy’s on the range. Salad and cheesecake in the refrigerator. Okay?”

“You forgot the apron.”

She wished they had.

“You need it, Coach, for realism.”

“And to protect your outfit,” added Mouse, who’d chosen the miniskirt for the TV show and the tight jeans and sweater tonight.

Sunny disliked the sweater as much as she had the miniskirt. The sweater was white—never her color, though with the amount of makeup they had on her, it probably wouldn’t matter—and it clung like a second skin. Surely Mouse would take pity on her if she complained once more.

“This sweater is so tight, I can’t breathe. Please, Mouse, choose something else.”

“No, no! You must wear it! My brother says a man cannot resist a woman in a tight, white top.”

“Ooooo,” the girls crooned.

Sunny lifted a brow at them, but it didn’t have its usual sobering effect. In fact, one of them, probably Heather, couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Circling Sunny as an artist would study her masterpiece, Mouse said, “Coach, you’ve got to help that sweater. Use better posture. Throw your shoulders back, and…”

“I’ve got the idea, Mouse.”

So did the team. They hooted, loving every moment despite her embarrassment.

“All right, you guys,” Leteisha ordered, pulling Sunny to her feet. “Huddle up.”

The girls swarmed Sunny as they did during a time-out. Leteisha held up her hand, and a hush fell.

“Okay, Coach, after this date Mr. Big Deal Bruce Daniels is going to know for sure he’s been ‘exed.”’

“He’s history,” somebody said.

“For-got-ten!” said another.

“That’s right,” Leteisha confirmed, shushing further comments with a look. “Now, we’ve got you this far, but, Coach, you’ve got to do your part.”

“We’re counting on you, Coach,” Mouse said. “When the TV camera’s on you, you gotta make the date look real good.”

“’Real good?”’ she repeated, not at all sure she’d want to comply with their standards.

“Just be all over the guy, Coach.”

“Yeah, make him sweat.”

“Put a liplock on him.”

“Practice safe—”

“Enough!” Sunny shouted. She loved these kids, but they got out of hand so quickly.

“Settle down,” Leteisha bellowed. “You know how Coach feels about that kind of talk. How’s she gonna go on national TV with all this hassle? We’re here to give her our support.”

The girls quieted down but grinned, unrepentant.

Mouse waved an emerald-green chef’s apron and sung out, “Coach needs to put this on.”

“Thanks, Mouse. Let’s get that apron on you, Coach.”

Sunny groaned.

“See how nice it goes with your hair?” Mouse coaxed, slipping the apron over Sunny’s hair.

At least it would cover the tight, white sweater.

“Go over the game plan, Mouse,” Leteisha ordered.

“Okay. Coach, after you answer the door, pretend you forgot to take the apron off and act real embarrassed.”

She probably would be.

“Then take your time untying the strings.”

“Take a lot of time,” Leteisha added with a wicked smile.

“Slip the apron off slow,” Mouse coached.

“Yeah, reeeeeeal slow.”

“Yeah, like you’re doin’ a striptease.”

“Then the guy sees you in that tight, white top and…”

“It blows his mind!”

The girls high-fived and yelled like they’d just scored the winning basket on a shot from midcourt.

“That does it!” Sunny ordered. “You’re out of here!”

Proud of themselves, the team called out outrageous advice all the way to their cars.

Girls! You took two steps forward with them and one step back. She’d never been as bold, but then Eleanor Keegan’s daughter had known her manners before she’d known her ABC’s.

They were good kids, and they’d worked hard all season, playing with more heart than ability. She’d felt safe promising them anything if they’d win the championship. Of course, now that she knew kids could play over their heads, she’d be careful giving out blank checks.

Winning a championship had been an unexpected thrill and confirmation she was making her life count. Things would be great once she convinced her family to leave her alone. For the girls and herself, she would get through this evening and do her best to dazzle Pete Maguire…if she didn’t break out in hives.

Her burst of confidence lasted until the doorbell rang. “Take deep breaths,” she told herself. “Lots of deep breaths. Focus. Be convincing. Pretend you’re happy to see this guy.”

Donning a welcoming smile, she opened the door in a swoop and struck a pose.

But Meggy, the woman from Dream Date, stood there.

So much for dazzling.

“Hi, Sunny,” the woman said brightly. “We’re set up and ready for Pete to arrive. Everything okay here?”

She nodded, forcing her plastic public smile.

“Good. Like we said on the phone, try to ignore the cameras. We’ll shoot some stuff to establish Part One of your date and be gone before you know it.”

“Great. That’s just great. Really great.”

Pull yourself together, Sunny. Use that college education. Speak in multisyllables. “Are we on schedule?”

“Yes, we are. In fact, Pete ought to arrive in just a few minutes. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” Sunny closed the door and worked on the breathing exercises she’d taught the girls for pre-game jitters. From now on, she’d have a new respect for people who went before the cameras for a living.

She wondered if Pete was as nervous about all this as she was. Probably not. Not with his experience charming the ladies.

Pete popped a fourth antacid into his mouth and wished he’d been an only child. It was plenty nerve-wracking sitting here in the rental new-model pickup Meggy had paid for so he wouldn’t look like a pauper on national TV.

A pauper. He could buy a fleet of new pickups if he wanted to. It was his business what he drove, and he liked driving Old Red, no matter how much money he had. Things like loyalty were important, and he’d had Old Red since high school.

The Dream Date staffer who’d stopped him a block from Sunny’s place handed Pete a two-way radio. Meggy’s voice came through. “Pete, how are you doing?”

“How do you think? Let’s get this over with.”

“Uh, Pete, the audience always loves it when the guy brings the girl a flower. Teresa’s got one there for you.”

The staffer handed Pete a red rose.

“What next, Meggy? A stuffed animal?”

“No, we didn’t think Coach Keegan seemed like the stuffed animal type. But it would be nice if you’d give her a hug.”

“It would be nice if you’d ease up.”

“Sorry, Pete, the staff and I—” she paused, letting it sink in that others were listening “—don’t mean to be pushy. We’re here to make your date successful.”

For the benefit of those others, he gushed. “You’ve done a super job, Meggy. I mean it. If I sounded…unappreciative, it’s because all this is pretty strange to me.”

“We understand. No problem. When you’re ready, drive on down to the house. Try not to look at the cameras.”

Nervous as a kid up to bat at his first big game, Pete approached Sunny’s condo, where a TV van and dozens, maybe hundreds, of teenagers surrounded the place.

Lord, if you’re out there and listening, get me through this. I’d take it as a personal favor if You’d see to it that my hip doesn’t act up and I don’t make a fool of myself.

When he stepped out of the pickup, his eyes swept the scene to get his bearings. Naturally he looked right into a camera. Sorry, Meggy.

Fixing his eyes on Sunny’s door, he made his way there. Concentrating as hard as he was, he forgot the rose clutched in his hand until he knocked on the door, and the thing jiggled in his grip. When the door swung open, his hand held the rose in midair, raised in a salute. He felt like a fool.

But Sunny’s smile was so beautiful and warm, it didn’t seem to matter. Those soft butternut eyes affected him the same way they had on the show. He felt the same zing in his gut. The same shortness of breath.

She glanced at the rose in his hand, and he remembered his manners, offering it to her.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, touching her nose to the flower, sniffing its fragrance. “What a nice thing to do.”

He thought about giving Meggy the credit, but noticed from the corner of his eye that the camera was recording the whole thing. This was as bad as being on the show.

What else had Meggy said he should do? Oh, yeah, the hug. Well, he wasn’t giving hugs because his sister said to; however, Sunny looked as if she could use one. Unless he’d lost the ability to read a woman’s eyes, she was plenty shaken by this.

As she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in, Pete slid his arm around her waist tentatively. He didn’t want her to get the idea that he was a lech or anything, but a friendly “we’re in this thing together” kind of hug should be okay.

As if the hug were her own idea, Sunny snuggled into it, and Pete felt his heartbeat pick up. Except for Meggy and his mom, it had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman. It was ridiculous how much he liked it.

She lifted her face and there wasn’t a thing he could do but give her a kiss—just a friendly “glad to see you” kiss. That’s what he intended. Who knew it would ignite into a genuine, man-to-woman, take-his-breath-away kiss? Panic ripped through his brain before instinct took over, and he deepened the kiss.

“Get a bucket of water,” someone said, “or hose ’em down.”

The rude interruption pulled them apart. Pete’s heart pounded as if he’d jogged for miles. Sunny’s face and neck were flushed, and those big, golden brown eyes looked flustered.

Her embarrassment was his fault. On second thought, the loudmouth had a lot to answer for. Pete turned, ready to silence the man, but Meggy beat him to it.

“Shut up, Brad,” she said to her camera operator.

“But we’ve got enough of this shot. They can do that on their own time. I don’t want to be here all night.”

“Shut up, or give me the camera and go to the van. We can do this without you.”

The guy clamped his jaw, and Pete grinned. Watching his sister back the guy down was sweeter than doing it himself.

“Score one for Meggy,” Sunny whispered as she pulled him inside. “I’m ready to join her fan club.”

That made two of them.

Sunny had set a table for two in a bay window. Classy, he thought. Real classy. He didn’t know they made glasses with stems that tall. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” he said.

“Actually I haven’t,” she said, an honest-to-goodness blush on her cheeks.

Pete liked modesty in a woman. “Everything looks great, and the food smells good, too.”

“Thanks. Dinner’s ready. Shall we eat now?”

“Why don’t we get our guests out of here first?” Turning toward the door as the crew struggled in with their equipment, he said, “Meggy, I believe you said this wouldn’t take long?”

“It won’t. All we need is a few seconds of this and that to establish Part One of your date. Let’s start with a shot in the kitchen.”

Sunny led the way into a large, light-filled room filled with sleek cupboards, expensive-looking appliances and lush plants. Pete had worked on units like this. They didn’t come cheap. Teachers’ pay must be better than he thought.

Sunny was taller than he’d remembered, about five foot eight or nine, tall enough to be a presence in a girls’ basketball game, though her slender build belonged to a model. Her gorgeous legs were covered by jeans, but there was no way a guy could complain about the way she looked in those jeans.

Meggy removed the lid from a pot and said, “Umm, gravy. Pete, would you mind standing here while Sunny stirs this?”

Not any more than he minded everything else.

“Sunny, taste the gravy, reach for the salt and shake a little into the pot.”

For a woman who liked cooking for her dates, Pete thought Sunny seemed rather ill at ease following Meggy’s orders. Of course, a person was probably awkward doing commonplace things in front of cameras.

“Good,” Meggy said. “Now, remove whatever’s in the oven.”

Pete edged Sunny aside and said, “Let me.” He looked around for an oven mitt or pot holders, but didn’t see any. “Where are your pot holders?”

She looked at him blankly. “Pot holders?”

This TV thing must really be hard on her. “Or an oven mitt?” he suggested.

Sunny felt heat crawl up her neck. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she knew she ought to.

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling as he reached behind her. “I’ll use this.” He grabbed a towel off the counter and used it to protect his hands as he lifted the hot pan from the oven.

Ah, that’s what he meant. He must think she was a real idiot. A person who supposedly “loved to cook” ought to have a working knowledge of basic kitchen equipment.

How was she going to get through this charade? She still felt unsettled at the way she’d greeted Pete, kissing him as if he’d just come home from a war. Though she’d offered the kiss for the folks in TV land, she’d felt its impact down to her toes. And Pete? He’d reacted as if it were his homecoming.

“Did you get the shot of Pete taking the pan out of the oven, Brad?” Meggy asked.

“Got it. You’re gonna love the shot of his backside.”

This guy’s survival instincts were pretty weak. From the set of Pete’s jaw, Sunny would say Brad was asking for trouble.

“We’re almost through,” Meggy said grimly, apparently fed up with the guy herself. “Let’s get a shot of you two at the table, toasting each other.”

Toasting she knew how to do, and Sunny breathed easier. From the refrigerator she pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and handed it to Pete. “Will you do the honors?”

The label seemed to surprise him. She wouldn’t argue about it and he didn’t have to drink it, but that’s all she kept in the house. “Nonalcoholic,” she said with no apology.

“Good,” he said, going to work unwrapping the seal.

That was different. Her ex always ridiculed her beverage preference.

Muscles rippled in Pete’s arm as he opened the bottle, and the fabric of his blue denim shirt strained across his broad, muscular back. This was a guy who worked out.

There was a tiny scar intersecting his left eyebrow that she hadn’t noticed before, and faint scars near his ear and under his chin. Strangely, the imperfections made her more comfortable.

“Do you want to get the glasses?” he asked.

“What? Oh, sure.” Sunny retrieved them from the table, wondering why he hadn’t taken the bottle there. Maybe he wanted more time away from Brad and his camera. That she understood.

He took one goblet and filled it. “I thought we could use a minute without an audience,” he said, confirming her suspicion. “Your dinner looks great.”

“I just hope it’s half as good as your mother’s,” she said, knowing it wouldn’t be if she’d cooked it.

“I expect it’s even better.”

He smiled again, and Sunny’s heart seemed to contract. The shine in those blue eyes made her wonder if all handsome charmers had to be bad.

They carried their glasses to the dining area, and Meggy asked, “Sunny, do you want to keep the apron on?”

Oops. She’d forgotten the thing, maybe subconsciously, for as much as she had resisted wearing the apron, she now dreaded taking it off. She knew she had a good figure, but she took pride in the condition of her body, its strength and health, not its shape, and she never purposely called attention to herself. However, she’d better follow orders unless she wanted to hear about it from Mouse.

Untying the apron was a bit tedious because somehow she’d knotted the strings. Getting the apron over her head without messing up her big hair was slow-going, too. Finally she tossed the apron aside and sneaked a glance at Pete to see if Mouse’s brother was right about the tight white top.

He was. Appreciation registered in Pete’s eyes.

“N-i-c-e sweater!” Brad said with a low whistle.

Pete’s head whipped around, and he took a threatening step toward the man, but Meggy said, “Brad, for the last time, if you want to work for Dream Date again, keep quiet.”

“You’re the boss,” he said irreverently. “What do you want to do about the glare from the window by the table?”

“Should I pull the shade?” Sunny asked.

“No. It’ll make a tighter shot if you sit beside, instead of across from Pete.” Meggy maneuvered them into position, changing the place settings as she talked.

“Sunny, hold your goblet in your right hand, rest your elbow on the table and lean toward Pete. Pete, hold—”

“I got it, Meggy,” he interrupted.

“It’ll be over soon,” Sunny whispered.

His rueful smile was endearing. “Sorry about the attitude.”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand.”

“We’re rolling,” Meggy said. “Touch glasses, take a sip, do what comes naturally.”

Pete touched the rim of his goblet to Sunny’s and whispered, “Punching Brad’s face in comes naturally.”

“Let me be the one to do it,” she whispered back.

He grinned and toasted her again.

Her heart did its strange flip-flop just like before.

“Did I see antipasto on the table, Sunny?” Meggy asked.

“Yes. Shall we eat some?”

“You might feed each other a bite or two.”

“I don’t usually finger feed on a first date,” she said, a nervous giggle escaping. Mortified, she covered her mouth, struggling for control.

Pete looked longingly at the door. What if he balked here and now? As long as she’d endured the torture of the TV taping, she’d like to see this through.

Sobering, she said, “You go first. I like those big black olives. Do you want to pop one of them into my mouth?”

He followed her directions to the letter, popping the olive into her mouth with all the aplomb of a guy feeding a heartworm pill to his dog.

“C’mon, Pete,” Meggy complained, “you can do better than that. You’re on a date. Make it look sensual.”

Pete raised an irritated brow. “What do you think?” he murmured. “Should we try it her way?”

“I like black olives so much, I can probably make it ‘look sensual.”’

“Okay, one sensual olive coming your way,” he warned, leaning toward her, teasing her mouth with the olive, outlining her upper lip and tracing the lower lip back and forth before slipping it between her teeth. She bit down slowly, covering his fingers with her lips. Slowly he dragged his fingers away. She had no idea that such a simple thing could be so erotic.

“Whew,” he breathed softly, watching her lips as she slowly chewed. “I like the way you do that.”

“Really,” she murmured. “It didn’t look stupid?”

“Are you kidding?” His eyes glowed with approval.

The approval caught her by surprise. It felt warm, wonderful and better than she could have believed.

It would have to be better still without an audience. She whispered, “Don’t you think we’ve been cooperative long enough?”

Nodding, he stood and said, “You’re through here, aren’t you, Meggy?”

Something unspoken passed between the two. Sunny didn’t understand it, but Meggy quickly agreed and managed to get the crew out within minutes. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It was just good to have their audience gone.

Standing next to Pete in the doorway, seeing them off, Sunny felt awkward, almost shy. It was ridiculous, feeling this nervous about being alone with a guy. She was twenty-eight, not sixteen, and it sure didn’t matter if he invited her to the prom.

Pete closed the door and gave her one of those lopsided smiles. “Coach, you were awesome. Poised. Cute. A dream date, for sure.”

It was a line. It had to be, but she didn’t feel nervous anymore. “You were pretty great your-self,” she said, wanting to return the good feeling. “An old pro, in fact.”

“That’s me, all right. An old pro. I can’t wait to see myself on TV.”

The sarcasm surprised her. She must have shown it.

He added, “Well, it’s not like I’m the most photogenic guy in town. I always look awkward in home movies.”

Awkward was not a word she would have used to describe Pete Maguire, not in a million years. “You’ve got to be joking. You couldn’t look bad if you tried.”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Well, you couldn’t,” she insisted.

As quickly as a cloud steals the sun, Pete’s blue eyes dulled. The sadness, the loss in those eyes took her breath away. What was wrong? Was it something she said?

Pete felt like a fool. It wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten the new cheekbones, Roman nose and classic chin. When he looked in a mirror these days, it wasn’t him. Sometimes he felt like an alien the way people treated The Face as if it were real. The few times he tried to explain, he got pity or skepticism. Even worse was the advice he should be grateful.

Why didn’t people understand he wasn’t somebody brand-new just because he looked it? Whoever said what counted was the person inside had never had reconstructive facial surgery. People wouldn’t let you be the person inside. They reacted to what they saw. Or thought they saw.

It was better to live like a hermit, hang out at the beach by himself and get through the days, one at a time, until he got comfortable with all the changes. If he ever did.

He should never have let Meggy talk him into this date.

Determined to escape, but not wanting to hurt Sunny’s feelings—she was too nice a person for that—he said, “Now that the cameras are gone, I should probably head out, too.”

“Head out?” she echoed, her pretty brown eyes perplexed. “You want to leave now? Was it something I said?”

“No!” He didn’t want her to think that. “It’s just… I think I should go. I’m not very good company.”

She shrugged. “You’re a lot better than Brad.”

He liked her quick comeback even if she wasn’t letting him bow out gracefully. “I may be better than Brad, but believe me, you can do better than me—a whole lot better.”

“The audience didn’t seem to think so. What am I supposed to do with all this food?” she asked, her hands on her hips, her stance defiant, as if she were arguing with a ref who’d just called a foul on a good blocked shot. “We’ve got pot roast, Pete, and mashed potatoes with gravy, corn on the cob and the cheesecake. In fact, everything but your mom and her backyard.”

“What would you say if I told you I don’t eat red meat, I hate cheesecake, my mom never cooks and she has no backyard.”

Surprise flared in those butternut eyes, but she quipped, “What would you say if I told you I didn’t cook a speck of this food and, in fact, can’t even boil water?”

He felt the smile break across his face.

“You think that’s funny? We’ll see who’s laughing if you don’t eat this food. My girls will track you down and use that ugly tie you wore on Dream Date to hang you by your neck.”

Maybe he ought to try the pot roast. If Sunny served it, he might even like cheesecake.

Angel In Disguise

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