Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (v1.2) (12 page)

“Bobby, bus that table, please, and then take those dishes in to be washed. It doesn’t add to the ambience, seeing them piled there. Thank you.” She turned to Tabby, who was adding up a check. “Good work tonight, Tabby,” she said brightly, almost laughing out loud when the waitress’s head snapped up in surprise. “Thank you.”

“You’re… you’re welcome.”

“But Tabby?” Shelby continued, feeling rather drunk with her own new power. “In the future, I would really appreciate it, and it would be so much nicer, if you greeted the customers with a simple ‘Hello,’ or ‘Good evening.’ “

“Yeah. That’s what I do,” Tabby countered, looking confused.

“No, Tabby, you don’t,” Shelby persisted. “And I really do believe that ‘How’s it hanging’ is
not
a proper greeting in a family restaurant, don’t you?”

“Jeez,” Tabby said, shaking her head as she stabbed a pencil into her ponytail and stomped into the kitchen, “like this
place’s got
class
or something…”

“It will when I’m through with it,” Shelby vowed quietly, then headed back across the restaurant and sat down in the chair directly across from Quinn Delaney.

“You’re looking pretty smug,” Quinn said, as he seemed to think he could say anything that might be on his mind, anything that might pop into his mouth. The man had no reticence, no respect for the fact that they were strangers, or at least near-strangers, having only met that afternoon. “What happened, you get a raise?”

“That would be personal,” Shelby told him primly, then couldn’t contain her smile any longer. She leaned her elbows on the table and looked at Brandy and Gary. “He likes me. Tony
likes
me.”

Brandy looked at Quinn. “Translated, that means he didn’t bite her head off. Good going, Shelley. I told you you’d be fine.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you?” She sat back and sighed. “I don’t believe how
good
I feel. I’ve never felt like this before, never—”

“So why did Tony call you Philadelphia ?” Quinn broke in quickly. He could foresee Shelby rhapsodizing herself right into giving away her true identity, so he stopped her. He didn’t take the time to figure out why he stopped her, why he didn’t let the charade end now so that they could both go home to civilization. He just acted. “I thought you said you were East Wapaneken born and bred.”

“She is,” Gary said quickly.

“I am.”

“Hey,” Brandy interrupted, “anybody want to go bowling tomorrow night?”

Quinn looked from Gary , to Shelby , to Brandy, and said, “Bowling? You’re kidding, right?” He tried to imagine Shelby Taite in rented bowling shoes, trying to navigate the alley. It just wasn’t happening. Talk about your piece of fine china in a bull shop. “I don’t know, Brandy… .”

But, being so grateful for Brandy’s timely interruption, and not knowing Quinn was actually trying to save her, Shelby quickly said that bowling sounded just fine, and why couldn’t they go tonight instead of tomorrow? After all, it was almost nine, and she was wide-awake, and… and…

And twenty minutes later she was gingerly holding on to a pair of red and green bowling shoes that still smelled of the disinfectant the young boy had sprayed in them and wondering when she was going to be smart enough to keep her big mouth
shut.

The bowling alley smelled of disinfectant, cigarettes, and spilled beer, all nicely underlain with the odor of hot dogs that came from a nearby snack bar. It sounded like thunder on a rainy night, and looked like something out of a surreal painting, all overhead lights and wood and people in funny shirts and electronic signs showing the scores of those already on the alleys.

“Come on, I’ll help you pick out a ball,” Quinn told her, taking hold of her elbow and steering her toward racks and racks of bowling balls.

Shelby looked over her shoulder, hoping to locate Brandy, but couldn’t find her. “A ball?” she said weakly. “Do I really need one?”

“If you want to bowl, you do,” Quinn told her, doing his best not to laugh in her face. That lovely face that was no longer marred by dead brown eyes. Now she had Bambi’s wide eyes, and they’d just been caught in headlights. “Let me see your right hand.”

“My right… Oh, this is ridiculous. I’m repeating everything you say, aren’t I? I’m sorry. But I think I ought to tell you, Quinn. I’ve never bowled before in my life.”

“You haven’t?” Quinn questioned, raising his eyebrows as he grinned at her. “Who’da thunk it?”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” she answered, bristling. “That’s not nice.”

“No, not telling me you’ve never bowled before until after Gary and Brandy put me on your team wasn’t nice. We’re going to get creamed.”

“And that bothers you? Losing a simple bowling… session?”

“Match,” he corrected. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. Except that I’ve got a feeling Brandy and Gary have high league averages to go with their matching bowling shirts and custom shoes and balls, so we’ll probably be buying all the beer frames. We’ll go Dutch, all right? You bring your wallet?”

Shelby had no idea what “going Dutch” meant, but she was reasonably sure it had something to do with her buying her share of the beer. She’d already paid for the shoe rental and chipped in toward the alley. Now beer? She’d have to work two or more hours to make that much money.

And then she smiled. Yes. She’d have to work to spend money. Not just ask Somerton. Not just tap her charge card. Not just spend and spend, without a thought to how much she was spending.

How wonderful!

“Sure,” she said, suppressing a desire to wipe a hand under her nose, as she’d seen Tabby do when she was talking, getting in to the swing of being just one of the guys. “I’d be happy to pay my share. But aren’t you any good at all?”

“Oh, I’m good, Shelley,” Quinn told her, picking up her right hand and placing it palm to palm with his own, measuring the length of her fingers. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

Shelby’s fingers tingled all the way up to her elbow. Her stomach turned to mush. Her knees all but buckled. She was being hit on. Oh, yes. She’d heard the term only that afternoon, listening to two teenage girls complaining to each other about their dates of the previous evening, but that was what was happening. She was being hit on. By a tall, dark, and gorgeous man. A man who didn’t know she was worth thirty million dollars. A man who just might be hitting on her because he thought she was… nice.

Or not so nice.

That wasn’t so bad, either.

“How… how do we find a ball for me?” she asked as Quinn let go of her hand and bent over the ball rack to hide a satisfied smile. Forget his name, would she? Not remember him?
Oh, baby. You’re going to pay for that one.

He fitted his fingers into a ball, found the fit tight, and picked it up and handed it to Shelby . “Here, try this one.”

She looked at it for a moment, then placed her fingers in it the way he had done. Quinn let go and the ball hit the floor, missing his foot by no more than an inch. “Hey! You’re supposed to hold on to it.”

“With what? My
fingers?
that heavy thing? Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Nobody could do that.”

“Lighter ball,” Quinn muttered, replacing the black one Shelby had dropped. In the end, he finally fitted her with a child’s ball, one with large red and blue triangles painted on it, not that Shelby knew the difference. She just told him that at least this one was “pretty.”

Ah, the rich. Let them loose in the real world and they wouldn’t
last five minutes.
He didn’t stop to consider that he hadn’t added the usual “and repulsive” to that last thought.

Quinn was having a good time. A really good time. A ball. Watching Shelby slide out of her Prada shoes and into rentals was worth the trip to East Wapaneken all by itself. But when Gary got up onto the lane, bent down low over the ball, went into his approach, then sent his green and white ball singing down the lane two boards from the edge only to veer into the pocket and send all ten pins reeling—well, that was when Quinn really did have to laugh out loud.

“I’m supposed to do
that?”
she asked him, clutching his forearm with both hands. “I can’t do that. Can
you
do that?”

“We’ll soon see,” Quinn said, disengaging her fingers from his arm and going up onto the approach to pick up his own rented ball. A few moments later Brandy was writing down his strike and Gary was high-fiving him as he returned to his seat.

“Hey, he’s the enemy, remember?” Brandy admonished Gary, who only winked and grinned. “Okay, Shelley, your turn. I’ve got to take off these rings anyway.”

Shelley had been watching, doing her best to learn enough not to look like a complete idiot when she took her turn. But Gary had nearly bent himself in half over the ball, and Quinn had stood nearly upright. Which was right? Could she do either?

Quinn waggled his eyebrows at her—the louse—and bowed to her, throwing one arm out in a flourish, indicating the approach lane.

“I see it, I see it,” she muttered as she passed by, wiping her suddenly sweaty hands on her skirt.

She picked out her ball, spun it in the rack until the finger holes appeared, speared it, picked it up, and turned back to walk to the very end of the approach lane.

Quinn was standing there, waiting for her. “It’s simple enough, Shelley. Just do as I say, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, then lifted the ball in both hands, cupping the bottom with her left hand, holding her right hand directly below her nose. “Now what?”

“You’re a quick study. Your hands are right for a novice, as I don’t think you’re ready to throw a hook. But bend your knees a little. I said a little, Shelley; you’re not curtsying to the queen. Okay, that’s good. Now, look at the pins. Stare at them, Shelley. Glare at them. They’re the enemy. They’re everybody who ever slipped into a parking space ahead of you. They’re your third-grade teacher, the one who stood in front of your desk while she talked, and sprayed you with spit.”

Shelby turned around and looked at him. “My third-grade teacher was a doll. She’d never do that.”

Quinn turned her back to face the pins, his hands cupping her elbows, his sweet breath close to her ear. “Work with me, Shelley, work with me. Now relax your shoulders. What you’re going to do is simple. Right, left, right, slide. Can you remember that?”

“Right, left, right, slide. Okay. But what happens to the ball?”

Quinn sighed. This wasn’t easy. Especially when he was close enough to smell her perfume, feel the sweet warmth of her blond hair against his cheek. “Push out the ball, straight in front of you, on
right.
Bring it down to your side on
left.
Bring it behind you on
right,
throw it on
slide.
And Shelley? Don’t let go until you’re on slide, okay? Not on the backstroke, okay? I’m not as fast on my feet as I used to be. Do you want to practice a few times without the ball?”

She shook her head, not wanting to speak.
Right, push.
Left, drop. Right, back, don’t let go. Slide, let go.
She had enough to do, to remember, without having Quinn hover over her while she practiced. With him being so close she could feel the heat of him, feel his thigh against the back of her leg. Close her eyes and imagine turning around, going into his arms, beginning a mad adventure that she’d only dreamed of before tonight.

“Okay, then. Let her rip,” Quinn said as he let her go; then he walked back to stand beside Brandy as she sat at the scoring desk. “Be ready to duck, guys,” he told his friends, and Shelby, hearing him, stiffened her shoulders once more. Kiss Quinn Delaney?
Ha!
She didn’t even
like
him.

And she’d show him. It was only a ball, after all. Only a few pins. Only a few pins about five miles away from the ball that was still in her hand. Stuck to her hand.

She relaxed her fingers slightly, before they went into a cramp, took a deep, steadying breath, and set off.

Right, push. Left, drop. Right, swing back. Slide, push front, let go.

Let go!

She finally released the ball and it went nearly straight up into the air, then traveled about ten feet down the lane before finally dropping onto the boards with a dull thud. And then it began to roll.

Quinn walked up onto the approach and stood beside her as the ball rolled toward the pins.

And rolled. And rolled.
Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.

“Want to catch a bite to eat before it hits?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear.

“What happens if it stops before it gets there?” Shelby asked, feeling as if every eye in the bowling alley were on her, or on the ball now making its painfully slow
ba-bump, ba-bump
progress down the lane.

“I’m not sure,” Quinn said, biting his bottom lip. “You get to meet the manager?”

“Oh, God,” Shelby breathed, pressing her hands to her mouth. And then, finally, the ball made contact with the pins. Nearly bounced off the pins, actually.

“Three,” Quinn said as the pins tipped over in slow motion, as the ball finally rolled off the alley and into the gutter. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Shelby dropped her hands from her mouth and turned to look at him, her smile wide, her eyes shining. “No, it’s not bad, is it? In fact, it’s very good for my first bowl.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it, Shelley,” Quinn said, retrieving her ball from the return rack, “because now you get to do it again.”

“Again? Really? But you and Gary had only one turn. I don’t want any special favors, Quinn. I want to be treated just like everyone else.”

After Quinn sketchily explained the rules of bowling, Shelby colored slightly. “Oh. I get two turns because I didn’t hit them all down. I suppose that’s only fair.”

“Gonna be a long night, guys,” Quinn said as he left Shelby on the approach and returned to his seat. He felt good. Felt like he was her date. Her boyfriend. Her mentor.

Her mentor?

Damn, what a thought.
But an interesting one. She wanted real life? He could give her real life. In spades.

“Did you see? Did you see?” Shelby called out excitedly as she ran back to him. “I got four more! Isn’t that wonderful?”