Love Game (2 page)

I
T WAS ONLY HER CHEEK
he
kissed. But still, her husband might not appreciate the way he lingered. The hint of cinnamon on her breath and the scent of apples lifting from the hair he impulsively fingered, prompted a quick bite of envy inside him.

Judging from Chris’s high color she was either embarrassed or transported with him to another place and time: necking like crazy to make-out music on the car radio until he was ready to say he loved her, anything, if she’d give in. His “Please, let me. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” And then her grip on his wrist, leading his hand away from her panties.

He was there again and feeling the yank in his groin. It was crazy, insane. A man his age didn’t get a hard-on with the turn of a dime.
Married.
Shit, wouldn’t you know it.

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly. Once in the car, he started to give her directions. “No need,” she interrupted. “I still know the way by heart.”

“But I only took you home to meet my parents that once.”

“But I only drove by with my girlfriends to check up on you at least a dozen times. I quit after you dumped me for Tiffany Goodbody. Remember? The bad girl with a good body.”

“I remember.” Groaning, Greg shook his head.
“I’m not proud of the way I treated you, Chris. I was immature and a little too full of myself, putting more stock in scoring with a bimbo than waiting for an extra-special girl. There’s more than one thing I’d change if I could turn back the clock.”

“Same here.” That said, she let it drop.

As they tooled down the rain-slick road, neither spoke. The swish of wipers and the patter of a heavy drizzle seemed louder than it should. Didn’t they have anything left to say? Strange, but he felt a loss that they had crossed paths again only to part with a “Thanks for the ride and take care.” Then again, maybe they’d run into each other at a checkout stand and wave, or fumble for conversation now that they’d hit another dead-end street. Second verse, same as the first.

Their arms and thighs were separated by a stick shift between bucket seats. He took up a lot of room but the car felt crowded with more than the space their bodies consumed. When she turned on the radio he sensed it was more from a need to fill the silence than to listen to “Carol of the Bells.”

“Are you sure it won’t be an imposition to leave my car in your parents’ driveway until the—”

“Of course not.” She slid him a brief smile.

“I hope you don’t mind what I did,” he offered, turning down the radio. “You know, kissing you in the foyer.”

“Mind? Hardly. It was the best Christmas present I’ve had all night.”

“No kidding?” At her nod, he touched her hand, which gripped and ungripped the four on the floor. “You look great, Chris. Even better than I remember. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“His name was Mark, but I wouldn’t exactly call him
lucky. Thirty years old and he had a heart attack. It happened when he was jogging, trying to work off the love handles he’d picked up behind a desk.” She laughed—a brittle sound. “Staying-in-shape heart attack, get it? Life’s a real joke. It sure had the last laugh on me.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, it was a surprise to me, too.”

“Recent?”

“Almost four years ago.”

Reaching over, he tapped her gold band against the steering wheel. “Four years and you’re still wearing a wedding ring?”

Her shrug he took to mean indifference, but the passing streetlights illuminated the strain in her profile.

“I’ve had trouble letting go.” She glanced at him sharply, then returned her attention to the road.

Another two miles and they’d be at his drop-off. Another mile and a half…then, maybe a mile to go. Why did her wedding ring bother him? Why did her loss of weight, the tension in her smile? He’d seen friends die. He’d made plenty of personal sacrifices and they’d aged him, too. But none of that seemed to compare with the emptiness he read in the shuttered gaze of a woman who seemed too old too soon.

“We’re here,” she said, pointing a red fingernail at the solid-as-they-come ranch house.

Who had she done her nails for? he wondered. That ring declared her still bound to a dead man, so she’d likely painted them for herself. Yeah, women were funny that way, making themselves look pretty on the outside when they didn’t feel so pretty in places the eye couldn’t see. He saw…a terrible waste. Chris probably wouldn’t like what he had to say. Tough, Greg decided. He was saying it anyway.

“I’ve never gone through your situation, so if I sound
insensitive, I don’t mean to be. But look, you’re plenty young to make a new life for yourself. Seems to me you’ve hung on to your grief, Chris, that you’re still tied to the past. Not to say you need a man to make your life complete, but surely it would be fuller with some company. A wedding ring does
not
spell opportunity for any man who might be interested in getting involved with you.”

She said nothing but stared straight ahead. Before his parents peered out the window, he killed the engine and turned off the headlights.

Chris slowly turned to him. Even more slowly she slid a finger down his gloved hand.

“And would you be…interested?” A smile crept to the corners of her lips, then wavered. “I can’t believe I said that, Greg. Flirting, I was actually flirting with you!” She laughed self-consciously. “Trying, anyway. It’s been so long, I don’t even remember how. I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like me brushing up my skills on her husband.” She paused, waiting for confirmation. He gave her none, wanting a confirmation of his own. “You are married?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.” She summoned a jaunty smile that didn’t quite make it. Giving it up, she admitted, “Wouldn’t you know, I finally hook up with someone whose company I like and—bummer, he’s taken.”

“Yes, ma’am, he is. Worse than married, he’s sworn to a jealous mistress—the Marines.” Greg tipped his hat. “Sorry I set you up but a week’s leave doesn’t give me much slack for subtlety. I want to see you again.”

“For old times’ sake?” Even in the dim light he could see the hint of a blush. Oh yeah, she remembered the magic they’d made. Question was, just how open was she to making some more?

“Old times are just that. I’d rather enjoy the present
than dwell on the past.” He caught the lapels of her coat and pulled her closer. Her willingness to let him kiss her, as he fully intended to do, didn’t mesh with the apprehension etched in her face. “I’m sorry you lost your husband but I am glad that you’re not spoken for.”

“But I am! I mean…I have a little girl, Greg. Audrey, she’s six.”

Hiding behind her child, was she? Chris, he decided, was actually afraid of a simple kiss. Hard to imagine that, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off. Besides, it wouldn’t be much of a kiss if she didn’t loosen up.

“I’ll bet Audrey’s a cute kid,” he said, easing his grip.

“Darling. She looks just like her dad.”

“And every time you look at her, you see him, right?”

“How did you know?”

“Doesn’t take an Einstein to read between the lines.” He pried free the fingers she’d frozen over the stick shift. A soft kiss to their tips, then he urged her arm around his neck. Even through the layers of her coat, he could feel her shaking. His sympathy mingled with frustration as he watched her left thumb work that damn ring like crazy. “Are you cold?” he asked when her teeth began to chatter.

“Freezing,” she confirmed.

“I can’t imagine why. After all, there does seem to be four of us in here—a ghost, a daughter, you and me.” When she blanched, he paused. The most decent thing he could do would be to send her running. “Hey, what say we have a party, add in a few more guests. Think we can make room for my two ex-wives? And how about my hellion teenager? That should heat things up considerably. Warm yet?”

He was glad her shaking stopped, but regretful he’d surely eat her dust without so much as a goodbye kiss.

“So, you have a teenager. What’s her name?”

Hot damn, surprise, surprise. Maybe she was staying to chat, but even
hanging out with bad news wasn’t smart for a woman as vulnerable as Chris obviously was. Greg studied her, eyes narrowed on her too-soft features.

“Arlene. She’s fourteen.”

“From your first marriage?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. A paper with an unwilling signature does not a real marriage make.”

“I see,” Chris said with an understanding he hadn’t expected. “Even if you weren’t happy about it, you did do ‘the right thing,’ which is more than a lot of boys are willing to do these days.”

“At twenty-two, I wasn’t exactly a boy. I was old enough to live up to my responsibilities. Unfortunately, Arlene’s mom didn’t take hers seriously enough. To be exact, she wanted to get married but I wasn’t ready to settle down so she conveniently forgot a few pills.” When Chris nodded sympathetically, he went on. “Once it was a done deal, I tried—but I didn’t try hard enough. I cheated on my first wife, Chris.” He touched his nose. “Frying pan, right between the eyes.”

“She caught you?”

“No, I confessed. I didn’t love her but I did have a bad case of the guilts—until that cast-iron skillet cleared my conscience. I told myself she deserved it, that it was her fault I was trapped with a wife and baby I didn’t want. Her fault that I didn’t make the pro-ball cut because my head wasn’t in the game. Because it was her fault that I was already worried about finding a job with a history degree that was fairly useless in the job market.”

“Oh, Greg,” she said softly, “you must have been terribly unhappy.”

“Miserable. And misery liking company, I made sure she was just as miserable as me.”

“You mean, you kept cheating to get back at her?”

“That look on your face tells me you’re almost as disgusted as you are curious.” He laughed at her, and then, at himself. “The hell I ever cheated again. I didn’t feel man enough to satisfy one woman, let alone two. The truth is, if I’d really been man enough, I never would have stepped out on her. It was inevitable that we’d split, but after we did I came to terms with where a good part of the blame belonged.”

“And where
was that?”

“Right here.” He tapped a finger to his chest. “Of course, that didn’t keep me from making bigger and better mistakes. After divorce number two, it dawned on me that I make a lousy husband.”

“Maybe the third time will be the charm.” Greg stared at her red nails as she patted his gloved hand. He wasn’t one for playing on a woman’s sympathy and the fact Chris’s felt so good and welcome was enough to make him wish those nails of hers were clawing his back. That was familiar and safe; this warm-fuzzy something he felt wasn’t.

“Won’t happen, Chris. Three strikes, you’re out. I’m not going back to bat now that I’ve finally reached a place where I’m satisfied with my life. Living alone suits me. So does having no demands other than my career. If I get lonely sometimes, Arlene comes to visit me every other summer and that’s enough to make me appreciate loneliness for company.”

“I take it you don’t get along.”

“It’s not so much that as the fact she scares the hell
out of me. Arlene is The Teenager from Hell. She’s the kind of bait that can’t wait to get bit, and all I can do is shake my head from the sidelines. It’s where I’ve been all her life, so, as you might guess, I’m no better in the Daddy department than I am at marriage.”
Why was he telling Chris this stuff?
Comfort and conversation were luxuries in his wasteland of a personal life and he had no intentions of developing a taste for what he couldn’t have for keeps.

Quickly, he shifted the conversation her way. “You, on the other hand, strike me as a devoted parent. It’s my guess you won’t have the same problems when Audrey’s older.”

“They grow up no matter what, don’t they?” Chris sifted her fingers through the hair at his nape, the motion more distracted than intentionally provocative.

“We did, didn’t we? Some of us just take longer to grow up than others.” The feel of her nails skirting his neck was intensely arousing. He wanted a kiss—a deep, wet kiss—and he wanted it now. Only he didn’t get the feeling it would be wholeheartedly returned. Yet. Intimacy—the emotional kind that Chris demanded—was not his forte. But if that’s what it took to get the kind of kiss he wanted, well, a man had to do what a man had to do.

“You know, Chris, I’m a very private person. I’ve told you more tonight than I’ve let on to friends who have known me for years.”

“Then, why me?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because I’m hoping you’ll ditch this ‘I’m okay, you’re okay’ attitude that I don’t buy for a minute. I’m
not
okay, Chris—unless we’re talking professional. I think you know where I’m coming from and that’s where I’m trying to connect. Do we?”

“Enough that you’re making me feel uncomfortable.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Uncomfortable’s up-front and personal. And personally, I could use an okay feeling with someone who doesn’t have any expectations of me. You?”

Something flickered in her eyes—an eager, hesitant something.
“Yes, Greg, I
could
use an okay feeling for a change. I need it so much I’ll even return the doubtful favor you’re asking for. I’m a mess. A god-awful mess. You’re looking at a closet basket-case who can’t get her act together. My life—” Her catching sob tugged at him with a force more startling than the raw pain he saw in her eyes before she turned away. “My life is so screwed up that I wouldn’t mind trading places with you. I mean, you’re happy with what you’ve got, right? I’m not. I hate my life the way it is. I
hate
it.”

“Then why don’t you change it?”

“Because…I want to. It’s just that I don’t know how.”

He had hoped her exposure would tumble some walls and get him the touch he was after, but this was more than he’d bargained for. He felt no pride for his selfish manipulation, but he did feel a keen compassion as he absorbed what he’d laid open.

Drawing her close until she buried her face in his neck, Greg asked gently, “Want to talk about this?”

“No.” She caught her breath and took a dry heave. Clasping his shoulders, she pulled away and gave him an overbright smile. “I’m fine, really. I don’t know what got into me. The holidays, I guess. They’re always the worst. It’s a shame, but I can’t wait to get past New Year’s Day. Less than a week and I’ll be—”