Chasing Stanley (21 page)

“It matters a lot. Stan's not the only dog living here when you're away. I didn't know what was going on at first; I was afraid he might have had some kind of virus he could pass on to the others.”

“Well, he doesn't.”

“That's not the point,” Delilah said sharply. His cavalier attitude was annoying, not to mention baffling. One minute he was on the edge with concern over Stan. Now he seemed defensive. It was crystal clear he didn't like being reprimanded.

“Can we start over?” Jason asked. “I hate that I just got back and we're starting off on the wrong foot.”

“You're right,” Delilah conceded.

Jason took her hand in his, brushing his lips softly across her knuckles. “Did you really miss me?”

“I really did.”

“I missed you, too.” He nuzzled his nose in her hair. “Your hair smells great.”

“It's Mane 'n Tail Shampoo.”

Jason pulled back. “Isn't that for horses?”

“People can use it, too,” Delilah explained enthusiastically. “It makes your hair very shiny.”

“I see.” Jason was staring at her head. “Please don't tell me you moisturize with Bag Balm, or I might have to rethink this whole relationship.”

“I'm shocked you even know what Bag Balm is!”

“I grew up on a farm, remember? I smell Bag Balm in my dreams.” He stole another look at Stan, who was sleeping peacefully. “He's okay now, right?”

“He's okay
this time
.” Delilah reached forward, pulling a piece of paper off the ugly but trendy kidney-shaped coffee table Marcus had bought for her at a yard sale. “I came up with this diet for Stanley. I think you should follow it.”

Jason studied the paper. “Vitamin supplements . . . kelp . . . alfalfa . . . raw meat . . . cooked yams . . . this seems a little complicated, Delilah.”

“It is at first, but once you get into the routine, it's pretty easy.”

Jason appeared unconvinced. “Is this what you feed your dogs?”

Delilah nodded.

“With three of them, it must cost you a small fortune.”

“They're worth it.”

“So's Stan, but I don't see why I can't keep feeding him his regular dog food and just cut out the table scraps.”

Delilah hesitated. “He doesn't like that kibble you feed him. It tastes disgusting.”

Jason looked distressed. “Please don't tell me you eat dog food.”

“Of course I don't!” Delilah hesitated. “He told Marcus.”

Jason looked confused. “Who told Marcus what?”

“Stanley told Marcus he hates the kibble you feed him.”

“I'm sorry, could you repeat that, please?”

“I know, it sounds nuts. But Marcus can read animals' thoughts. They talk to him. And Stan told Marcus he hated that kibble. He hates those liver treats, too. But he likes the little doggie bagels you get him.”

“Okay, um, Delilah?” Jason rubbed his forehead as if warding off a headache. “I'm not really sure I'm up to having a conversation like this right now. Could we just unwind?”

“Sure. But promise me you'll at least try the diet.”

“I promise. Now you come here.” Jason drew Delilah to him. “Two things.”

“Mmm?” said Delilah, leaning against him. He looked tired; there were faint circles beneath his eyes and the first hints of stubble on his chin.

“Thing number one,” said Jason, kissing the top of her head. “Can I stay the night?”

Delilah flushed with pleasure. “Of course.” She hadn't made any assumptions on that front. She was afraid if she did and he wanted to go back to his own place with Stan, she would feel slighted. His wanting to stay spoke volumes.

“Thing two: what are you doing Wednesday night?”

“Nothing that I know of,” Delilah answered slowly.

“Great. I want you to come to my game, and afterward we'll grab a drink with some of my friends.”

“Oh.” Delilah's pulse began fluttering. “That sounds . . . fun.”

“It'll be fine. I promise.”

“I know, it's just I'm not really good with people, you know? I mean groups of people. I—”

Jason silenced her with a kiss. He smiled at her playfully as he pulled away. “I'll ask all of them to wear dog collars. How about that?”

“That's not funny.”

“There's nothing to be scared of, Delilah. It's just one drink.”

“Okay.” Delilah knew his expectation wasn't unreasonable. This is what couples did. They met the people in each other's lives. So what if the only people in her life at present were two bat shit crazy parents and a frustrated dancer slash dog psychic? That didn't mean
his
friends were screw-balls. In fact, they were probably refreshingly normal; so normal they'd think
she
was a screwball. She'd give anything not to have do this, but she knew it wasn't right. There was a possible out, though. “I don't know anything about hockey.”

“You'll be fine.”

Was he getting tired of saying that? Of having to hold her hand and reassure her before she splintered into a million irrational pieces? Delilah checked his face; he didn't seem particularly bothered.

“Just tell me when and where, then,” Delilah heard herself say in a voice shockingly convincing. Her arms were beginning to itch. She was worried she was about to break out in hives. But she wanted to make Jason happy, and so she agreed to attend the game.

 

 

Walking down the
street with Brandi, who kept referring to herself as Delilah's “stepmom,” Delilah tried to think of creative ways she could exact her pound of flesh from her father. He'd been haunting her for
weeks
to go shopping with Brandi, hammering home the point that it was important that “you girls get to know each other better.”

So here she was, helping Brandi carry her many packages after an exhausting morning of traipsing from store to store. They'd shopped the East Side. They'd shopped the West Side. They had even ventured into the crowded hell that was midtown. Brandi bought lingerie, a number of tight sweaters with plunging necklines, five pairs of shoes, and a pair of fur-lined handcuffs that Delilah preferred not to think about. Delilah bought a new leash for Shiloh.

“Oh, this has been so much fun!” Brandi squeaked.

Delilah imagined dogs for miles around covering their ears and howling. Delilah herself longed to howl. From boredom.

“This is a darling little neighborhood,” Brandi continued. “But aren't you nervous living in the city?”

“Why would I be?”

“It's so dangerous. You could be mugged or raped or murdered or run over or kidnapped or pushed under a subway train or—”

“Gotcha.”
The shoe-laden bag on Delilah's shoulder began slipping, and she paused to hoist it back up. “Those things can happen on Long Island, too, you know.”

“But it's more likely to happen here,” Brandi insisted. “I haven't seen one spalon,” she noted with disdain.

“Nope. We don't have dinerants, either. Yet somehow we survive.”

They had just rounded the corner of Delilah's street when they ran into Eric.

“Hello, Delilah,” he said smoothly. Delilah noticed right away the way Eric sized Brandi up, his eyes lingering on her impressive chest and tiny tush. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” He flashed a smile that could charm the spots off a leopard.

“Eric, I want you to meet my
father's fiancée,
Brandi. Brandi, this is my friend Eric.”

Eric gave a small bow. “Enchanted, I'm sure.”

“So gallant.” Brandi turned to Delilah, impressed. “Isn't he gallant?”

“Very gallant,” Delilah agreed flatly, glaring at Eric. Her shoulder was beginning to throb. She dropped the bag of shoes to the sidewalk.

“I bet you're a model,” Eric said to Brandi.

“I am!” Brandi grew excited. “Maybe you've seen me? On the Mattress Maven commercials? I'm the girl who rolls around on the bed in an angel costume and says, ‘Oooohh, this bed is heaven.' ”

Eric's gaze again traveled her body. “I think I've seen that, yes.”

“We have to get going,” Delilah said coldly.

“What's the big rush?” Eric asked, winking at Brandi as if the two shared a secret. Brandi covered her mouth with her hand, giggling girlishly. “Can you guess what I do for a living?” he asked Brandi.

Brandi fluttered her eyelashes. “You're a model, too?”

“I'm sure I could have been,” Eric boasted. “But no, I'm a professional hockey player.”

Brandi was awed. “You are?”

“For New Jersey.” He seemed to remember Delilah was there. “I'm playing Jason tonight.”

“I know. I'm going to the game.”

“Really.” Eric seemed intrigued. “Well, you'll have to let me know what you think.”

Brandi sighed. “I would love to go to a hockey game sometime.” She clutched Delilah's hand. “Maybe I could go with you? Tonight?”

“You're having dinner with my father tonight, remember?” Delilah pointed out frostily.

Brandi dropped her hand. “Oh. Right.”

“There's still lots of games left in the season,” Eric assured her. “I can get you free tickets any time. Just say the word.”

“I would looove that,” Brandi purred.

Eric smiled slyly. “I thought you might. Do you have a pen and paper? We can exchange numbers, and maybe I can arrange for you to come to a game sometime.”

While Brandi fumbled in her new Fendi bag, Delilah couldn't decide whether to kiss Eric or kill him.

Brandi found a scrap of paper and scribbled on it, handing it to Eric.

“That's my home number
and
at the spalon.”

Eric's nose crinkled in confusion. “The—”

“Don't ask,” said Delilah.

“Thank you,” Eric said to Brandi, slipping the info into a back pocket of his jeans.

“Don't you have to be somewhere?” Delilah asked him pointedly. “Resting for tonight's game, maybe?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He leaned over to kiss Delilah's cheek. “Good to see you, Delilah.” His gaze fastened onto Brandi. “A very,
very
great pleasure to meet you, Brandi.”

“You, too,” Brandi said breathlessly, watching him as he walked away. Once he was out of sight, she turned back to Delilah. “Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“He's so, like, hot.”

“And you're so, like, engaged to marry my father.”

“I know,” Brandi sniffed. “But a girl can still
look
.”

“Looking's fine,” Delilah agreed. “But don't touch. Because if you hurt my father—”

“I would never hurt my Sy Guy,” Brandi insisted. She actually looked insulted, which Delilah took as a good sign. “Never, ever, ever.”

Delilah hoisted the bag of shoes back onto her shoulder. “Glad to hear it.”

 

 

“Goddamn, Eric's on
fire tonight.”

Jason grunted in response to Thad Meyers's comment, watching as Eric broke up another cross-ice pass, thwarting a Blades rush. The first period was nearly over, and Eric was playing like a man possessed. The two hadn't yet met on the ice, but given how Ty liked to switch lines to generate sparks, Jason had no doubt they would.

He had seen Delilah briefly in the Green Room before the game. She seemed overwhelmed. She smiled and nodded politely to everyone he introduced her to, but she looked petrified. He saw to it she was seated with Barry Fontaine's wife, Kelly, and hoped it would work out.

“Mitchell, get out there for Webster!” Ty barked.

Tully Webster came sailing back to sit on the bench as Jason jumped over the boards and headed up the Blades' left wing. Eric was on the ice. The Blades dumped the puck into the Jersey corner. Jason went to dig it out. He and Eric got there at the same time. “I hear Delilah's here,” Eric panted, scrambling furiously for the puck that Jason was trying to keep away from him by kicking it along the boards. “Wait until she sees what a pussy you really are.”

“Bite me,” Jason replied, snapping the puck into the slot where center Duncan Connors deflected it just wide. The crowd groaned.

In the middle of the second, it was still deadlocked 0-0. Jason nailed Eric in the corner with a hard check. “Who's a pussy now?” Jason breathed in his ear. “At least I've
got
a girlfriend.”

They froze the puck, and New York won the subsequent face-off. A slap shot by Duncan Connors from the point caromed off the goal post, sending it to Jason near the half boards. As he went to one-time it, he was knocked off balance by a spear in his side. It was Eric.

“You're stupid as shit,” Eric taunted as he picked up the puck and sent it sailing to center ice. Furious, Jason smashed his brother's helmeted head into the boards. The whistle blew.

“Number Fifteen, New York, two minutes for roughing!” the ref called.

Jason's mouth fell open. “What are you, shitting me?” he yelled. “He speared me!”

The ref glared at him. Jason took the hint and skated to the penalty box. He wondered what Delilah was making of all this, if she was even cognizant that he and Eric were battling.

After the Blades killed off his penalty, Jason skated to the bench, where his team captain stood glaring at him. “Ignore your fucking brother,” Michael commanded. “He's trying to get in your head.”