Knock Me for a Loop (17 page)

Row 16

Grace and Zack spent the rest of the week and weekend slowly packing and making arrangements for being out of town, then set off first thing Monday morning for New York. Being behind the wheel of his big, blue Hummer was kind of like driving a tank, Grace thought, and for the first hour or two of their trip, she had an overwhelming urge to put on camouflage and combat boots.

But the ride was smooth and comfortable, even for Bruiser, who sat like a third passenger on the floor of the backseat, head hovering between them. Thank goodness she’d given him one of his special breath-freshening bones before they left, otherwise the Saint Bernard’s heated panting would have knocked them out within the first five minutes. As it was, every once in a while he would slap his lips together, and she and Zack would both be sprayed with little dots of doggy slobber.

Grace was surprised, actually, by how comfortable the drive turned out to be. She’d expected at least a modicum of uneasiness after the kiss, especially considering her mind-set when she’d left The Penalty Box Wednesday night. But Zack had been in such a good mood all week, she found his upbeat demeanor infectious.

Was he so chipper because he thought she was going to let him kiss her again? Or worse yet, that he might get laid?

Or was he simply feeling better and feeling more relaxed around her?

That would be okay, she decided. She was starting to feel more comfortable around him, too. And she was trying, really trying, to take Ronnie’s advice and give him another chance.

Not that she’d printed up some giant banner or made a flowery speech to alert him to her latest resolution. No, she was going slow, playing it smart.

She was going to try her best not to constantly think of him as a cheater or the man who’d betrayed her, letting that perception color her every interaction with him. She was trying to go into this with a blank slate, treating him the same as she had when they’d first met and begun dating.

Or trying to, anyway. Because Ronnie and Jenna and Melanie were right—if he hadn’t cheated on her, it would be a true shame and the biggest regret of her life for them
not
to be together.

Traveling the straight shot of Interstate 80 through Ohio and the entire length of Pennsylvania, they stopped regularly at rest areas and fast food restaurants so Zack and Bruiser could both stretch their legs. Though Grace could have gone much longer, she didn’t mind the frequent breaks, and took the opportunities to walk around or use the restroom, too.

They took turns staying with Bruiser and picking where to eat. It was all very amicable, almost as though they’d never separated. She imagined if they’d taken road trips together while they’d been engaged, they would have been just like this—slow and easy and even fun.

It was dark out, already seven or eight o’clock, and Bruiser was sound asleep stretched door to door on the backseat when she asked Zack to dig out the Map-Quest directions she’d printed that would get them to their hotels each night. Turning on one of the overhead interior lights, he studied the pages and started telling her where to turn until they reached the parking lot of a Holiday Inn Express right off the main highway.

Twenty minutes later, they were checked in, and she’d made a couple extra trips to get all of their luggage to the room while Zack stayed in the suite with Bruiser. She’d allowed Quentin to talk her into sharing a room and a king-size bed with Zack at each of their stops along the way, her agent’s rationale being that if word got out they were traveling together, but staying in separate rooms, no one would believe they were
really
a couple again and Insides Out might get nervous about the deal they’d struck. A deal with very meticulous, very precarious clauses, of which I.O.U. could renege at any time if they discovered claims she and Zack had made or agreed to within the contract were false.

She didn’t think sharing a room and a bed made much difference in the scheme of things. After all, they were both adults, and because they’d been involved once before, they were used to sharing a bathroom and close quarters.

And as far as sex went, she knew her mind well enough to be sure that if she wanted to make love with him, a wall, door, or even floors between them wasn’t going to stop her. In the same vein, if she didn’t want to be with him, then the fact that they were only a few inches away from each other under the same sheets and covers wasn’t going to give her a sudden case of brain fever and cause her to do anything she wasn’t one hundred percent willing to do.

Even so—even though she’d agreed to go along with everything the endorsement deal required—she didn’t particularly want to advertise her association with Zack to the general public just yet. They might be traveling together and sharing a hotel room, but she’d asked Quentin to make their reservations under a different name, and the fewer people who recognized her or Zack and put two and two together, the better.

Thus her desire to check into the hotel at night, with a hat and sunglasses still on, and to park at the back of the building where she could move all of their things in and out on her own.

They were pretty much sneaking Bruiser in and out, too, since pets weren’t normally allowed, and the fact that Bruiser spent a lot of time drooling on his own paws and sniffing, licking, or leaning against the walls precluded him from passing as a seeing-eye dog.

She didn’t know how much money or how many firstborn children Quentin had had to throw at the hotel managers to get them to let the Saint Bernard indoors, but he’d managed. Just one more reason he was such a good manager, and why she kept him on the payroll.

When she returned to the room a final time, slightly out of breath from toting suitcases up four flights of secluded back stairs, Zack was seated on the end of the bed, left leg propped out in front of him. Bruiser, of course, was stretched full-length across the wide, king-size mattress, taking up seventy-five percent of the plain maroon spread.

It was going to be interesting to see if they could get him to stay on the floor when they were ready to climb into bed themselves. Even though they’d brought his favorite blanket—a thick, soft throw with the Rockets emblem that was large enough to cover a small sofa—Bruiser was a dog who preferred his creature…scratch that…
human
comforts. And since he weighed in at a hefty, often immovable hundred and fifty pounds, she wouldn’t be surprised if
they
ended up sleeping on the floor and letting Bruiser take the bed.

“Sorry you got stuck doing all that yourself,” Zack said.

“That’s all right, I don’t mind,” she told him, moving things around, finding places to lay down and open their luggage. Since they were only staying the one night, it didn’t seem worthwhile to unpack anything but the bare necessities. “This was my idea, after all. I’m the one who talked you into letting us drive instead of flying, and it’s my fault I forgot to ask for a ground-floor room.”

“I don’t mind.”

His voice was low, and she glanced at him in the process of pulling a pair of pajamas and some toiletries out of her suitcase. He looked earnest and a little contrite, and she smiled to let him know she didn’t hold the manual labor against him.

“How’s your knee feeling?” she asked him.

“Fine. Great, actually,” he said, flexing it a bit to show her that it hadn’t stiffened up on him in the car. “You were right about driving, I think. I can’t imagine it feeling this good after a few hours crammed on a plane, even in first class.”

She gave a small nod, still smiling. “I’m glad. Mind if I use the bathroom first?”

He shook his head. “Help yourself. Bruiser and I will get comfortable and see if there’s anything on TV.”

“Bruiser’s already comfortable,” she told him. “Good luck finding room to stretch out on there with him.”

Zack’s chuckle followed her as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. She sank back against the thick metal panel and let out a long, shuddering breath.

Oh, man. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

She’d been fine all week, staying in Zack’s apartment and making plans for this trip. She’d been fine all day, riding in the close confines of the Hummer with him. She’d even been fine in the small hotel room, contemplating the evening ahead and having to share a bed with him. Through all of that, she’d been fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

Then he’d looked at her in just that way he had—that soft, dark, kind of smoldering way that made her knees weak and dampened her panties.

Not that it was the first time she’d been turned on by Zack—before or after their breakup—or any other man. She wasn’t exactly a stranger to sexual arousal or how to handle it when it struck.

But then his low, throaty chuckle had joined the flashing eyes and sultry expression, and she’d felt as though an atomic bomb had detonated inside her chest. It stole her breath, knocked her back a step, and filled her with so much pent-up longing, she’d nearly moaned aloud.

Which would be bad, of course. No doubt if she gave Zack even the tiniest hint that she was still attracted to him, he’d be on her like a moth on a bug zapper.

Hiding out in the bathroom was definitely the best plan of action. And if she could find a way to sleep in the tub without waking up with the mother of all neck cramps, she might just do that, too.

When she could breathe again and her knees had stopped knocking, she set her things on the sink countertop and started getting ready for bed. After taking as long as she could to shower and wash her hair and face without prompting Zack to come check on her, she closed her hand over the round silver doorknob, inhaled as deeply as she could, and steeled herself for what was to come.

She needn’t have worried that Zack would be stripped down and ready for action, or have the lights off, the room bathed in flickering candlelight and strewn with rose petals. He hadn’t been
that
kind of guy even when they were engaged.

No, Zack didn’t do candlelight and romantic dinners he’d cooked himself. He didn’t do candy for Valentine’s Day or cards for birthdays.

He was more about the big gestures. The ones that came less often, but definitely had a larger impact.

When he’d proposed to her, he’d been sweaty and stinky from hours on the ice. But the Rockets had won the game, and immediately afterward, he’d skated up to the first sports reporter he spotted who had a camera and microphone, and started talking about Grace, and their relationship, and how he’d promised himself if they won that night’s game, he’d do something he’d been contemplating for the past couple months. Next thing Grace knew, he’d been on one knee in front of her, camera and microphone in tow, asking her to marry him.

Their pictures, his question, and her answer had flashed across the giant overhead monitors for the entire stadium to see, followed by massive coverage on every sports channel and news segment in the country.

Thank goodness she’d loved him and been more than ready to say yes, otherwise the entire event could have been hugely embarrassing.

For Valentine’s Day, he bought her diamond earrings. For her birthday, he flew her to the Bahamas. For Christmas, he made her go on a scavenger hunt all around town to find her gift, which was usually something gigantic and hugely expensive.

At first, everything with him
seemed
simple and easygoing. A small box, plain wrapping, no bow. But then whatever was inside turned out to be something amazing, like an autographed first edition of
To Kill a Mockingbird
or an emerald necklace that was worth twenty-five thousand if it was worth a dime.

His presents and his idea of romance were a lot like Zack himself: calm and unassuming on the outside. But inside, pure gold.

She’d forgotten that about him until just now. Forgotten how thoughtful he could be underneath the rough jock exterior, and how there were times when he’d treated her like an absolute princess.

Provided he
hadn’t
cheated on her, hadn’t been a wolf in sheep’s clothing, she could definitely see herself going back with this man. Marrying him, even.
If…

At the moment, he wasn’t trying to seduce her. Probably wasn’t trying to impress her at all, unless he had a mariachi band stashed under the bed ready to pop out and serenade her.

Instead, he was lying on the bed, using Bruiser as a pillow. His head was propped on the dog’s belly, the Saint draped full-length across the top of the mattress just in front of the real pillows. Zack’s fingers were linked together on top of his flat, T-shirt-covered stomach, his heavy-lidded gaze locked on the television screen.

“Find something to watch?” she asked in a low voice.

He blinked and rolled his head in her direction. She expected him to answer her with a drowsy “yep” or simply the name of the show.

But he didn’t. He didn’t say a word, just stared at her, eyes wider now than they had been before.

He raked her from head to toe, his look so heated that she glanced down at herself, wanting to make sure she hadn’t accidentally forgotten to put on pants or something.

She hadn’t. She was fully dressed, and not in her usual choice of nightclothes.

The one thing she’d gotten from her mother, without a doubt, was überfeminine genes and a love for slinky, sexy things. At home, she wore satin nighties and matching robes. Heeled slippers decorated with brightly colored feathers or sparkling rhinestones.

But since she hadn’t wanted Zack to get the wrong idea—or any ideas at all—when she’d moved in to his apartment to help him get better, she’d left the Hollywood starlet wardrobe in her closet and opted instead for a few sets of nice, sturdy, flesh-covering pajama sets. The one she was wearing now had long legs and long sleeves. The bottoms were a thin flannel material in vertical rainbow sherbet stripes. The top was a solid lavender to match one of the wide stripes in the pants. She was even wearing a bra and panties underneath because she hadn’t wanted to risk erect nipples peeking through the fabric or shadows in the wrong places as she moved around.