“Stand up and fight, you coward!” Carl challenged.
If Catherine hadn’t rushed forward, she might have missed the deadly glint in Joe’s hooded eyes. The warning stopped her cold and drove Carl back one step. The next instant she wondered if she’d imagined his lethal expression.
“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he said, dabbing at his nose with the end of his Rockets T-shirt. A grin flirted with his mouth. “You didn’t learn that at any Ivy League school.”
Carl obviously didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. “There’s a little poison ivy at every school—even Princeton. I ran across my share.”
Catherine threw up her hands and walked to the table. “I need a drink.”
Four wine bottles sat in a row. She set about uncorking each one, ignoring the talk behind her of hooks and undercuts and Tyson’s latest match. The evening was a joke. She’d set up this wine-tasting lesson thinking Carl would join in, then the two of them would go out to dinner afterward. Instead, he’d brought an apology with his 1991 Georis Carmel Valley Merlot.
He’d completely forgotten that his parents were expecting him for dinner, he’d said, and he mustn’t disappoint them at this stage in the game. Meaning, before he’d provided an heir of course. Interesting that they hadn’t invited the heir’s future mother to dinner, as well.
Catherine pushed down the corkscrew levers and popped open a 1993 Sonoma chardonnay. Arms closed around her midriff from behind.
Carl nuzzled below her ear and murmured, “I’ve got to run, darling. I’ll make it up to you this weekend. We’ll settle that…issue we were discussing earlier, hmm?”
An urgently pressing issue, from the feel of things.
Aware of Joe watching them, she unwrapped Carl’s arms and turned. “Do tell Charlotte and Jeffrey I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”
Her fiancé had the grace to look guilty. “I’ll get theater tickets. We’ll go to Tony’s afterward for a light supper.”
She was acutely aware of Joe standing up and walking to the sink. He turned on the faucet and made splashing noises.
Carl lifted one hand and brushed back her new bangs. “Wear something red, why don’t you? It suits you.” His gaze drifted over her sleeveless scarlet shirt
and slim white jeans, his eyes turning smoky with admiration.
It was impossible not to feel flattered. Still, the last thing she wanted was a clinch at the front door. “Go on now or you’ll be late. Bye-bye.”
He cast a sullen glance toward the sink.
Joe paused in the midst of patting his nose with a paper towel and wiggled the fingers of his free hand. “Ta-ta.”
Scowling, Carl bussed Catherine’s cheek. “I’ll call you,” he promised.
She nodded and shooed him off, waiting until the front door opened and closed before turning back to the third unopened bottle. Suddenly she was all thumbs.
“This cabernet sauvignon is Father’s favorite wine. Charlotte ordered several bottles for the party. We’ll start with it while your palate is still clean.”
Odd how she knew exactly where Joe was even with her back turned. He was approaching from her right. Damn, the corkscrew was going in crooked. “Father will have already approved the first glass, so we don’t need to fool with the sniffing ceremony. But it would really make points if you could compare tasting notes.”
She pushed down the corkscrew levers then pulled. Nothing. She pulled again.
“What are tasting notes?” His question rumbled next to her ear.
The cork thwopped out. Her hand flew up, her knuckles ramming hard into his face. “Oh!”
He cupped his nose with both hands and swore.
She dropped the corkscrew and grabbed his wrists. “I’m so
sorry.
Did I hurt you?”
The eyes above his knuckle registered disbelief.
She tugged at his wrists. “Let me see.”
“Promise you won’t hit me?” His muffled voice sounded suspicious.
“Not as long as you behave. Now quit being ridiculous and put your hands down.”
He did, revealing red swelling and a renewed trickle of blood. She bit her lower lip.
“That bad, huh? You and Pretty Boy have some humdinger spats ahead of you.” He started to smile and winced. “My money’s in your corner.”
She hurried to the freezer, wrapped several ice cubes in a dish towel and returned to the table. “Sit,” she ordered, pulling out a chair.
He sat, one tooled-leather ankle over the opposite knee. Denim pulled taut in places she struggled not to notice. Lifting his chin with two of her fingers, she positioned the bundled ice against his nose. “Give me your hand.”
It came up large and beautifully formed, made for cradling a woman’s hip or a baby’s head. Foolish thought. So foolish. She pressed his fingers against the cloth and hoped he couldn’t, feel her slight tremble.
“Stay still,” she commanded, removing her own hand.
His slitted eyes gleamed. “When do I get a Milk-Bone?”
“Not until you speak, Rover.” She drew out a second chair and made herself comfortable. “Why did you stand there and let Carl do this to you?”
His propped ankle slipped off his knee. He braced his boots wide. “What do you mean?”
Any doubt she’d possessed vanished at his defensive body language. She leaned over and patted his rock-hard thigh. “You’re a nice man, Joe Tucker. But I promise not to tell Carl.”
They exchanged a long look, his wariness relaxing into a warm and comfortable silence, an acceptance that nudged up the corners of her mouth. She realized that among all the men she’d known, past or present, Joe was the first she considered a true friend.
“Want some wine now?” she asked softly.
He lowered the ice pack and probed his nose. “As long as I don’t have to sniff it.”
A
LLIE TIED
the laces of her scuffed rental ice skates and rose from the bench, wishing she’d never agreed to come. But Joe’d had some wine thing to go to at Catherine’s, and Holly had sounded like an infomercial over the phone…
Her mother would drop them off at the Sharpstown rink and pick them up
hours
later. Holly would pay all fees out of her baby-sitting money. No, dorkhead, she didn’t want to ask someone from her own school. Yes, she would teach Allie how to skate. The place would be packed with kids—at least half of them boys! Wearing jeans was…fine. No really, it was. But Holly could bring some of her extra practice clothes for Allie to wear if she liked.
And Allie had said okay. Not only that, she’d changed into her friend’s clothes at the garage apartment before leaving.
Eyeing the skaters whizzing past now, she wanted to turn around and walk home. Oh, there were lots of kids here all right, most of them close to her age.
And most of them were wearing jeans.
The few dressed like her spun and leapt and hot-dogged like the expert she wasn’t. “I’ll get you for this, Holly. You won’t know where or how or when, you’ll only know it’s coming. And it’ll be ba-a-ad.”
Holly finished lacing her skates—the snowy white unscuffed skates she’d brought in their own padded case—and glanced up. “Would you quit with the \\\ jeans thing already? I wish
I
filled out that dress like you do. You could pass for fifteen.”
Allie wiped her palms down her thigh-length flared skirt. “You think?”
In the apartment mirror, she’d liked what the clinging white material had done for her figure. And her hair had seemed glossier, her dark eyes brighter than usual. Even her legs had seemed longer in the short flippy dress and opaque white hose.
She smiled at her sandy-haired friend. “You look nice, too. That color matches your eyes perfectly.”
“Maybe. But all the guys will be staring at you,” Holly predicted.
Staring at her? “How could you
do
this to me?”
“Would you chill? What is your problem?”
“Me, have a problem? Just because I’m dressed like Nancy Kerrigan and
I’ve never skated in my life?
”
“I told you, I’m a good teacher. I’ve taken lessons since I was six.” Holly stood and prodded Allie’s mincing steps toward the ice.
“Slow down, will ya?” Wobbling worse than if she wore spike heels, Allie watched the younger girl step through a gap in the railing down onto the ice. When she stood in the opening herself, she teetered on the spongy surface. “You go ahead. I think I’ll just watch.”
Grinning, Holly grabbed Allie’s hand and yanked.
Allie’s blades hit the ice and slid in opposite directions. Flailing, she managed to catch her friend’s arm and rise from a split. Once their noses were on the same level, she looked deep into Holly’s laughing blue eyes. “You won’t know where—or when. But I’ll be your worst nightmare.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Do you
see
all these guys? Omigosh—”
“Hi, Holly,”
“Hey, Holly.”
Holly stared dazedly after the two teenage boys who’d blown by skating low to the ice. “That was Brian and Steve. They’re a grade ahead of me and they’ve
never
talked to me before.” She turned and looked at Allie as if she were Glenda, the good witch, materializing from a shimmering ball.
“I didn’t do anything,” Allie protested.
“Are you kidding? You’re good luck. I’d wear you around my neck if I could.”
Which was practically what she wound up doing. Only Allie’s death grip on her friend, strong ankles and fear of making a fool of herself kept her from falling those first couple of times around the rink. By the third lap she was starting to get the hang of it. By the fifth, she’d mastered the basics and let go of her friend. Alone and laughing out loud, she picked up her speed.
It was like putting her face in front of an air-conditioning vent. No, like sticking her head in a refrigerator freezer. Colored spotlights pulsed to the beat of a Marian Carey song. Kids talked and shrieked and flirted in a revolving merry-go-round on ice.
“How’s it goin’, Holly?” a boy shouted from behind.
Holly’s head swiveled. “Uh, good. It’s goin’ good, Kevin,” she repeated more loudly, waiting until he’d rocketed past before clutching Allie’s arm. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up. I’ve liked him since the third grade.”
Allie had caught a glimpse of Kevin’s Brad Pitt grin as he passed. “I’m sorry,” she said with true sympathy.
“Yeah. Well.”
They skated for a while without talking. The sixties’ tune of “Johnny Angel” blared from the speakers, bonding them to every girl who’d ever had a hopeless crush on an incredibly fine boy.
When the song ended, Holly pivoted on one blade and skated backward. “So, you’re not still mad at me, are you?”
“Nah.” The music, the lights, the frosty air so different from the mugginess outside—it was all too magical. “I’m having an okay time.”
“I knew you would. You’re skating like a pro already.”
“It’s not that different from in-line skating.”
“Is there
any
sport you’re not disgustingly good at? I’d hate you, except I’ve had more guys talk to me tonight than in six years of coming to this rink. They’re working up the nerve to meet you, ya know.”
Allie blushed. She’d noticed the increasing number of skate-by glances. Their interest amazed and thrilled her. She didn’t quite know what to do with the attention, but she could get used to it real easy.
Holly spotted someone across the ice and waved. She lowered her hand and her voice at the same time.
“Becky Dawson. Biggest snob in the whole freshman man class. She must’ve seen Kevin say hi to me.” Her eyes widened. “Speaking of snobs…”
Allie followed her friend’s riveted gaze. Sarah Sokol was stepping onto the ice with Tommy Burton right behind! Allie’s right skate nicked her left. She stumbled and would’ve eaten ice if Holly hadn’t grabbed her elbow.
“What are
they
doing here?” Allie wailed.
“Oh, jeez, they’re meeting up with Becky.
Perfect.
She’s waving Kevin over.” Holly whirled around and skated forward again. “I hate her!”
“I hate her worse.”
“You hate Becky?”
“No, stupid. I hate Sarah.”
“Yeah. Well.”
Yeah. Well. Hating hot babes was just as futile as liking incredibly fine guys. Unless…unless you could show them up.
Allie thumped her friend’s arm. “I’ve got it! Has Kevin ever seen you skate, Holly? I mean like that.” She flung a hand toward the center of the rink, where Ice Capades wannabes did their thing.
“You mean show off? No way.”
“Trust me Holly, if you’re good he’ll see you and be impressed. I’ll bet Becky can’t do anything but bat her eyes fast.” She let that sink in, then gave Holly a little push. “Go on. Get out there and make him look at you. Really
look at
you for once.”
Holly’s jaw firmed. She grabbed Allie’s wrist and yelled, “C’mon.”
Allie didn’t have a choice. It was either “c’mon” or be dragged on her stomach across the ice. They wove
to the inside fast lane and Holly took off like a speed skater, hanging on to Allie with a pit-bull grip.
She wanted to scream stop. Staring faces flashed by and her pride kicked in. She concentrated on matching Holly’s powerful gliding motion and found her own body’s rhythm, the coordination that never failed. Then suddenly she was alone.
Holly veered off to the center and started spinning, faster and tighter until she became a human top. Allie grinned and located Kevin far ahead. He was watching! She turned back in time to see her friend’s twisting leap.
Go, Holly!
Filled with a rush of triumph, Allie surged past slower skaters. Cold air stung her cheeks. Her leg muscles burned. She was flying, soaring, invincible…
Her right skate hit something thin and black on the ice. Her body flung forward. She landed with stomach-jarring impact and skidded for at least a year, piling up the makings of a snow cone with her crossed forearms. When she finally stopped, she wished the fall had killed her.
“Are you okay, Allie?” Strong arms helped her to a standing position.
Allie blinked up into Tommy’s worried blue eyes. She doubted she’d feel a broken arm right now.
“That was a pretty hard fall you took.”
Her face grew hot. “I’m fine, really.” Turning, she brushed slivers of ice from her skin and torso and noticed Sarah standing nearby. Her smirk oozing spiteful glee, she patted a thin black rubber skate guard against her thigh.