No strings attached (5 page)

Eric tossed his head back and laughed, adjusting the flow of refrigerated air. “I would’ve turned it on a long time ago if I’d known you’d be sticking around to need it. But you were so gung ho to get back to your car.”

“I know. I was.”

“But you’re not now? What’s with the change of heart?”

She turned her head, returned her sunglasses to her face. But not before a hint of grudging respect flashed in her eyes. “Nothing but that little ol’ promise I made to grant you three wishes. A deal is a deal.”

Eric rubbed his hands together. “My own personal genie in a bottle.”

“Just keep that rub-a-dub-dub business to yourself,” she said, slicing him with a sharp sideways glance.

“So, we’re ready to hit the road here again?”

She sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much choice.”

“What’re you talking about? You have all kinds of choices.” But he put the car into gear anyway, exited
Haydon’s parking lot and headed again for Stratton Field.

“Sure. Like choosing between saving my job or giving it up to Poe without a fight.”

Poe. Eric’s first problem to tackle. Or to let Chloe talk herself into tackling. Women liked to talk. All those lips movin’ and jaws flappin’ seemed to jar loose whatever it was keeping their brains from calling the right play.

Give ’em a willing ear, and most of the time they worked things out just fine on their own. He didn’t claim to understand how it worked. He just knew that it did.

“I guess first thing you need to decide is if the job’s worth fighting for.” He downshifted as they rolled up to a traffic light and stopped.

“You have got to be kidding me.” She shifted in her seat, fighting with the seat belt in order to face him. “I
am
gIRL-gEAR. This is my career. My future. I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life.”

There it was again, that passion. He wondered how aware she was of her nature, and how it must be killing her to rein it in, to bite her tongue when her tongue had so much to say.

And it was more than her mouth. Even the way she wore her makeup fit her personality. That and the way she culled her dates, a sort of aggressive search-and-destroy for…what? he wondered. What was it that drove her?

“Then I guess that answers my question. Though I do think that part about you being gIRL-gEAR is a bit over the top.”

“That coming from Mr. Sports Bar?”

Eric paused to consider the comparison. “Not the
same at all. Eric Haydon. Haydon’s Half Time. Chloe Zuniga. gIRL-gEAR. Nope. Totally different arena.”

Chloe snorted. “You can’t even carry on a conversation that isn’t littered with—” she gestured dismissively “—your sports expressions.”

Eric had never really thought about it, but he supposed Chloe was right. He did think in the lingo. But athletics and competition had been so much a part of his life that he didn’t remember a day going by without it. Sorta like he didn’t remember a day going by without food or sleep.

“Besides,” she continued, “even if I am over the top about gIRL-gEAR, it’s a reflection of me. I’m fairly over the top about a lot of things. I don’t think that’s much of a secret. Between my profanity issues,” she said, sketching air apostrophes with her fingers, “and my problems with Poe, I’m a walking talking cry for intervention. Or so Sydney thinks. Having intervened.”

Eric chuckled and signaled his lane change. “So, how long has she been with gIRL-gEAR? This Poe of yours.”

“She’s not mine and she’s been there a little over a year. She started as Sydney’s assistant, but now she works as a buyer. When the position became available, she flexed her claws and got what she wanted. I don’t think she liked working directly under a younger boss,” Chloe said, and redirected the air-conditioning vent. “This way she has more autonomy.”

Eric adjusted the temperature of the refrigerated air. “How old is she?”

“Thirty, I think. And way more suited for a corporate environment. Not conventional, just…I don’t know. gIRL-gEAR seems too funky an atmosphere. I
can picture her in Leo Redding’s law office. Though Macy’s only slightly more tolerant of her than I am.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure I can put it into words. You almost have to work with her, see her in action. She’s got this whole
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
thing going. Very composed, serene even. But you know behind those eyes she’s just waiting to go all martial arts on your ass. She…simmers, if that makes any sense.”

Checking the traffic in his rearview mirror, Eric couldn’t help but grin. “Simmers, huh? Takes one to know one, maybe?”

“I do not simmer.” Chloe pulled herself up straight in the seat. “I boil.”

“Right over the top.” Eric made a diving motion with his hand.

“Exactly.”

She seemed so proud of her fiery nature, he hated to bring up the obvious. “So, you don’t think your tendency toward, oh, I don’t know, aggressive behavior has anything to do with your dating problems?”

“Why would it? It’s not like I’m running them down with my car or—” she smiled to herself “—drop-kicking them over the goalpost.”

“Whoa. Be still my heart.” He pressed his palm to his chest and beat his fingers in a thumping tattoo.

“Don’t get too excited. I don’t plan to make a habit of it. Even for you.”

“You enjoy being a tease?”

“I am not a tease.”

He wanted to tell her to prove it. Instead, he said, “If you give the guys you date what they want to hear, then a lot of them are going to think you’ll give them anything they want.”

“All because I’m making the effort to be polite? To show interest, even if it’s bogus?”

“Oh, so now you’re a tease
and
a fake. A guy won’t know if he’s coming or going.”

“Sure he will.” Chloe paused, then added, “If he’s going, it’s yellow. If he’s coming, it’s white.”

Eric choked on a snort of laughter. “That is the sort of gutter mouth comment that’s going to get your ass fired.”

“Because I’m female. But if we were two guys talking, I could get away with referring to any bodily function I wanted to. And I wouldn’t have to worry about losing my job.”

“First of all, no guy I know is going to tell that joke.”

“Maybe not that one, but ones equally offensive.”

Eric continued to shake his head. “Not on the job, if he doesn’t want to find himself facing a sexual harassment suit.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have more class than to tell that joke at work. I usually have more class than to tell it at all.” Her tone was a cross between apologetic and defensive.

More than a little aggravated himself, Eric muttered, “Glad to know hanging out with me doesn’t require any class.”

She banged her head back against the seat. “Hanging out with you means I can relax. I don’t have to censor everything I say. But I do have an understanding of what is and is not acceptable in the workplace.”

“Just not what’s acceptable on a date.”

“No, actually. I think I am well versed in dating etiquette.”

“That’s right. This isn’t a date. You and me, here and now.”

“Duh. No. It’s blackmail.”

Eric took a deep breath and focused on the road ahead. He was so close to saying something he knew he’d regret. He had no business letting her get to him. She was right. This wasn’t a date. It was a deal. And getting mad wouldn’t do anyone any good, anyway.

“So, tomorrow? Is that going to be a date?” he asked, jumping from the frying pan into the fire. “I mean, I want to be sure I don’t get out of line. That I treat you like a date, if that’s what it is. Or that I treat you like one of the guys and swap smut jokes if it’s not.”

For several moments Chloe seemed more interested in the road flying by beneath the Mustang’s wheels than anything Eric had to say. A part of him wanted to take it back. A more perverse part was glad for every word he’d said, even though her hands remained locked around the strap of her knapsack and her feet pressed primly together on the passenger-side floorboard. Her posture was straight and her voice was soft when she spoke.

“I know what you’re doing. Don’t think I don’t. You’re trying to make me behave the way you think I should behave. I get so sick of conventions. Who decided girls had to wear the ruffles and sit on the sidelines? I tell you,” she added, this time her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m sick to death of sitting on the sidelines.”

Eric didn’t know if she was speaking literally or making another sports analogy. He wanted to find out, to explore where Chloe came from, because he was curious to find out how she balanced her bad-girl body
and her baby-doll face with her mouth that belonged in the gutter.

“Well, this should be right up your alley, then. No one does any sideline sitting when Haydon’s Half Time Hammers meet Big Boy’s Bad Boys for the city’s unofficial coed sports bar volleyball championship.”

“Y
OU WANT ME TO PLAY
volleyball? In a pit filled with dirt?”

“It’s a court, not a pit. It’s sand, not dirt. And it’s clean.”

Having plopped down on the grass outside a court squared off with a permanent barrier of hard black rubber, Eric unlaced his high-tops. “C’mon, Chloe. Get rid of your shoes and socks. It’s too hard to maneuver with all that bulk.”

Oh, she knew what it took to maneuver. She knew exactly. And she couldn’t believe that of all things athletic Eric might choose for his wish, he’d conned her into playing volleyball. Volleyball! Screw her career. She should’ve stayed in bed.

She’d left her knapsack in the Mustang, realizing Eric’s little wish for a sporting adventure did not include a locker room or a shower. But taking off her shoes and socks and exposing the pedicure she’d had refreshed first thing this morning to the abuse of gritty sand? She did not recall this being any part of any deal.

Volleyball. She could only shake her head.

Still, she couldn’t deny that, on the drive from Haydon’s, Eric had given her a lot to think about. She wasn’t ready to cut him loose as a source of good conversation—or as the escort she needed. Besides,
she was not completely unfamiliar with the concept of payback being hell.

As other players began to arrive and teams checked in with the league officials stationed across the court beneath a striped awning, Chloe crossed her ankles and sank to the ground. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you own a tux.”

His fingers fumbled with the lace he was loosening and he came close to ending up with a big messy knot. “I hope you’re not expecting me to come up with a tux by tomorrow. You’ll be escorting yourself if that’s the case.”

Chloe wiggled the toes of her first bare foot, reached for shoe number two. “Oh, no, sugar. The tux is for the Wild Winter Woman fashion show.”

His hands stilled halfway through pulling off his second shoe. He finally looked up with one eye narrowed. “The one with the supermodels?”

Men.
Eyes rolling, Chloe nodded.

“Would that be your function number two or three?” Eric asked, his narrowed gaze roaming down to Chloe’s naked foot and smooth bare calf.

She finished stripping off her second shoe, then set about tucking both socks inside, flexing her toes, her feet, stretching the muscles of both inner and outer thighs and her calves, realizing halfway through her warmup that Eric appeared to have been struck dumb.

She moved on to working the kinks from her torso, not totally for her own benefit, either. “Number three. Two is our first gIRL-gEAR gIRL awards ceremony and should merely require a nice suit. I’m just giving you fair warning here. Sort of like you did me when you ordered me to show up at Haydon’s this morning.”

Eric had the good grace to glance up from her legs and look guilty. “I wasn’t sure you’d show if I told you where we were going.”

“And you were right to worry.” Chloe handed Eric her shoes when he held out a hand. Then she got to her feet and brushed the loose grass from her backside. She wiggled her toes in the freshly mowed lawn, deciding gRAFFITI gIRL’s Bubbling Parfait was a perfect color and that her toes felt as good as they looked.

“Damn, Chloe.” Still sitting, Eric stared at Chloe’s legs. “Where’d you get those calf muscles?”

Chloe looked down, turning her legs this way and that while wondering what he’d think if he saw all the exercise equipment in her spare bedroom. “These little ol’ things? Why, I was born with them, sugar.”

“Well, if they work as good as they look, I might just have to revise my opinion of girls like you.”

Her hands went to her hips. Her chin went up and she waited for an explanation. “Girls like me?”

“Yeah, you know.” He grabbed up all four shoes and stood. “Powder puffs. Cotton candy. Marshmallows.”

Marshmallows?
“You think I’m a marshmallow?”

“Not after seeing those legs.”

“You’ve seen me in shorts before. And I know you’ve seen me in skirts.”

“Yeah, but never from ground zero. Puts things into an entirely new perspective.”

“Well, then. This should really rock your world.” And tugging her jersey free from her shorts, she grabbed the hem and jerked the shirt over her head and off.

Eric obviously didn’t know where to look. For the longest time, he kept his gaze locked with Chloe’s
until, at the tentative uncertainty she saw in his eyes, her heart softened and she gave a quick grin and granted him permission to ogle.

His gaze took in her full-coverage sports bra before moving down to her bare belly. The waistband of her shorts rode right below her navel and exposed the toned abdominals even Chloe recognized as music video material.

Eric let loose a long low whistle. “Woman, where have you been all my life?”

“Right here, sugar. Under your nose.”

“If you’d been under my nose, I would’ve caught your scent.” He shook his head, eyes wide with admiring disbelief. “Where you’ve been is under too many clothes.”

“Think so, huh?” Chloe moved two small steps forward, keeping hands tucked in the rear pockets of her shorts and her shoulders back. “Would you like it if I got rid of more?”

Eric tossed the shoes—one, two, three, four—into the back seat of the Mustang through the convertible top he’d lowered when he’d parked.