No Strings Attached (15 page)

“Zinotti’s” said Zane. “We can order take-out until four a.m.” He reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table, then looked to his grandfather, who gave him the number. Frank didn’t cook much. He had a speed-dial memory for the local fast food restaurants that delivered.

“Isn’t that Eddie Z’s shop?” asked Dune.

“Same guy,” said Zane.

Dune had gone to school with Eddie. Eddie’s goal in their high school yearbook had been to be a millionaire by the age of thirty. He’d fallen short. Town gossip had Eddie spending money as fast as he earned it. Most times he was flat broke. He had loans up his ass. He often borrowed from his employees and there were weeks when he didn’t make payroll.

“I’d hate to be dropping off pizzas at this hour,” said Zane after he’d placed their order. “Suck-ass job.”

There was nothing wrong with pizza delivery, Dune thought. It was the kind of job that paid the bills, but wasn’t a permanent career. Sophie and her adventures came to mind. Unicyclist wasn’t her calling in life. He was certain of that. Neither was stilt walking. Still, she tried what was new and different in order to experience life to its fullest. It was her summer.

Mac and Zane cleared their throats at the same time, drawing his attention. “What?” he asked.

“We’re talking, you’re tanking,” said Zane. “What’s the Best-Ever drinking hole? Mac wants to go back to Crazy Kate’s in Houston and I vote for Booze Camp outside the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs.”

“Nothing wrong with the Blue Coconut here in town,” Dune said. “We’ve all gotten drunk and been bounced.”

“Your local cocktail waitresses are as hot as any chick at Hooters,” said Mac. “What about you, Frank?”

The older man scratched his chin. “I traveled to Chicago years ago before I got married.” He smiled at the memory. “Wally’s Back Alley served a strong rum and Coke.”

Mac raised his beer. “A toast to Wally’s.”

The men all drank.

“Best-Ever car?” Mac asked next as he reached for another lager. “I’m going with Mustang.”

Frank pursed his lips. “1947 DeSoto was well built.”

“My 1967 Chevy Impala shits and gets,” said Zane.

Mac grunted. “You pour your paychecks into repairs.”

Zane shrugged. “It’s all worth the howl and growl.”

“I heard you coming down the road,” said Frank. “You rattled the windows.”

“I’ll stick with my Harley,” said Dune.

“Fast bike, faster women,” said Mac. “You are the man.”

Not
the
man, but a man, Dune thought. His reputation was larger than his actual lifestyle. He was selective. He’d been with fewer women than the men thought. Just because he was surrounded by hot chicks following a volleyball tournament didn’t mean he took one home. Most nights he crashed with Ghost. His dog was good company.

He absently wondered if Sophie had ever had a pet. He figured she’d be good with animals if she didn’t fear them. Perhaps something small like a hamster, rabbit, or turtle. Maybe a cat or pocket-sized dog. He’d suggest it to her. She had a big heart.

“Dune?”
Mac threw one of Ghost’s dog toys at him. “You’re zoning again.”

Dune caught the Nylabone Frisbee before it took out his eye. “What was the question?”

“Best-Ever date,” Zane said.

“For me, any date I get laid,” said Mac.

Grandfather Frank snorted. “You’re young yet, boy. When the right woman comes along, it won’t matter if you share a cup of coffee or take a walk, being together is what counts. Holding hands becomes special.”

Mac pulled a face. “No disrespect, but sex tops coffee and a walk.”

Frank closed his eyes. “All men get a wake-up call sooner or later. Just you wait.”

Dune agreed with his grandfather. The right woman would knock Mac on his ass. Dune waited for that day.

Beside him on the couch, Zane had gone quiet. Dune knew the reason. Any discussion on women drew his brother to Tori Rollins. Zane had fallen hard for her in high school. They’d sneaked off and gotten married after their June graduation, only to divorce when Zane received last-minute acceptance to the Air Force Academy in August. It had been a whirlwind three months.

Zane wanted to fly and Tori wanted him grounded. The thought of him becoming a hurricane hunter only added fuel to their fire. Damn, they could fight. No other girl could go toe-to-toe with Zane and not start crying, yet Tori had. She had a temper to match Zane’s own.

Zane stuffed a throw pillow behind his head and said, “I play and lay. I’ve been dating an exotic dancer from Naked Thighs for a few months. Ava has great hands. She flips me on like a light switch. Nothing serious, though.”

Mac looked at Dune. His know-it-all expression was irksome. “You?” he asked. One corner of his mouth curved slightly. “Best-Ever date.”

Dune exhaled slowly and pretended to give it some thought. He didn’t have to think very long. Sophie Saunders and the Sneaker Ball were foremost on his mind. There’d been no pretense. She was unassuming and easy to be around. She saw him as a man and not just as a sports celebrity.

Mac’s smile broke. “Dude . . .” He let the sentence hang. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

Dune worked his jaw. “What are you getting at?” he asked.

“She’s getting to you.”

Mac was far too perceptive for his own good. “Drop it,” Dune said.

Their exchange caught Zane’s interest. “I want in.”

“No, you don’t,” said Dune.

“I think I do,” from Zane.

“Do not.” That was final.

A knock on the front door brought momentary reprieve from their conversation. Zane pushed off the couch. “Pizza’s here. I’ll buy. Let me grab my wallet.” He headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

Mac belched, then muttered, “Worst-Ever date. Nothing could beat tonight. Jen is everything I’m not looking for in a woman.”

“Careful, son,” said Frank. “She’s a Cates.”

Mac snorted. “Faulty DNA.”

A second thump on the door and Dune rose. He didn’t want to keep the delivery boy waiting. The boy turned out to be a woman. Dune’s jaw dropped. There stood Tori Rollins, his brother’s ex.

“Hello, Dune. I heard you were in town,” she greeted him. She looked tired. “You’re having late-night Sneaker Ball munchies, I’m guessing. I’ve been delivering pizzas to several who attended. You’re my last drop.”

Dune attempted a smile. Shit was about to hit the fan.

She held out three pizza boxes. “Forty-two dollars even,” she said. “I tossed in a free order of cinnamon strips, Frank’s favorite. There are extra jalapeños and garlic dip, too.”

Dune accepted the pizzas. “Money’s coming,” he said.

His brother was about to be zapped by a blue-eyed, redheaded, long-legged stun gun. There was no time to send up a smoke signal.

Across the room, Mac noticed Tori. He pushed off the papasan. The basket chair rolled and he nearly fell on his face. Recovering slowly, he hiked up his boxers and crossed to the door. All curious, charming, and under the influence. He had no idea the deliverywoman had once been married to a Cates.

“Hey, sweetheart, stick around for a slice,” he invited.

“I eat pizza twice a day,” she said on a yawn. “Hot, cold, burned. There’s not a topping I haven’t tried. It’s been a long day and I’m headed home to bed.”

Mac pointed down the hallway. “Shortcut to my bedroom, if you want to crash here. I’d hate to have you falling asleep at the wheel.”

“I’ll manage,” she said. “I’m used to the graveyard shift.”

Mac didn’t pursue her further. He took the pizza boxes from Dune and returned to his chair. “Shot down by two women in one night,” he mumbled as he cleared the empty bottles from the coffee table, then spread out the boxes. He dug in with both hands.

Tori glanced at Dune. “Poor guy.”

“Trust me, he’ll bounce back.”

She slapped her palms against her thighs. “I hate to hurry you—”

“Sorry, I couldn’t find my wallet,” Zane apologized as he cut across the living room, his head down, counting bills. “How much?” he asked, looking up.

Tori saw Zane a split second before he saw her. Dune caught the flicker of pain in her eyes, followed by the flint of her anger.

Memories slammed between them, the good times shuffled beneath the bad. “What the fuck?” came from Zane. She’d definitely stunned him.

“Bastard!” Tori spun on her heel, shot across the porch, and down the steps. The lady hauled ass.

Zane colored the room with profanity, then took off after her.

Lingering animosity, thought Dune, was enough to lay a man low. “Forty-two for the pizzas,” he called after Zane. “Tip big. She was family.”

He swore his brother flipped him the bird from the shadowed darkness of the yard. He heard the sound of raised voices followed by the slam of a car door. He squinted. Tori was driving a yellow Volkswagen with a pizza sign on top.

The engine turned over and she hit reverse, stripping the gears. She spun the car around like a stunt driver, then floored it. The Volkswagen sped down the road.

Was that his brother chasing her taillights? Damn sure was. Zane was fast, but he wasn’t
that
fast. Tori never slowed down, never even tapped the brakes.

Dune knew they had a shitload of baggage. They were both damaged from their relationship. Old wounds took a long time to heal. They needed to move beyond the dark glares and harsh words. They’d found no middle ground.

Dune held the door wide on Zane’s return. His brother climbed the front steps, sweaty and breathing heavy. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was here?” he accused. “I had no prep time. I walked straight into a nightmare.”

“I was as shocked to see her as you were.”

Zane backhanded the sweat off his brow and growled, “She’s as stubborn as ever. She won’t give me the time of day. She still drives bat-ass crazy.”

“She almost ran you down.”

“Pretty damn close.” He looked down at his bare feet, streaked black from her fantail of dirt when he’d raced after her down the road. “She dusted me good.”

Dune couldn’t help himself. His smile broke. “You actually thought you could catch her?”

He patted his belly. “I’m in good shape.”

“The beer slowed you down.”

Zane exhaled, turned serious. “She looked good.”

“She gave you her back.”

“I saw her face right before she rolled up the car window on my hand.”

“Did she catch your fingers?”

“Minor pinch, but I’ll live.” Zane rolled his wrist, then his shoulders. “She still hates me.”

Dune agreed. “I got that impression, too.”

“Shit,” Zane muttered. “Not much more I can do tonight.”

“You could send flowers tomorrow.”

“Wildflowers for a wild child?” Zane thought it over and liked the idea. “I’ll call the florist before I leave town. I’m assuming Tori’s at the same address.”

“Last I heard she was still living with her crazy kid sister and hell-raiser brother. They recently put their grandmother in a nursing home. Nana Aubrey escapes once a week.”

“Her whole family was nuts, especially Grandma,” Zane recalled. “All Tori ever wanted was to leave her past behind.”

“Yet she stayed in town after you two divorced,” Dune said. “She became the responsible parent when her mom and dad were killed in a small plane crash. That was tragic.”

“I tried to contact her afterward, but she refused to take my calls. Seeing her tonight was a kick to my groin.” Zane scratched his stomach. “Enough talk on Tori. I’m hungry after my run. It’s pizza time.”

“Mac’s already eaten one and is halfway through the second,” Dune said as they retreated to the living room.

Soft snoring drew his gaze to his grandfather. Frank had fallen asleep on the La-Z-Boy. The men lowered their voices and let him be.

Dune’s Weimaraner made an appearance shortly thereafter, trotting in from the back porch. Ghost had sniffed out the pizza. The dog loved pizza, but pizza didn’t love him. He had gastrointestinal issues. The dog passed gas when they fed him spicy food.

Mac was feeding Ghost pepperoni at that very moment. “No more, dude,” Dune warned.

“Dog’s hungry.” Mac snuck him another bite.

“Ghost sleeps in your room tonight,” Dune stated as he lowered himself onto the couch and reached for a big slice with the works.

They ate in silence, polishing off all three pizzas.

The moon had lowered behind the orange grove by the time the men crashed. The sun would rise in two hours. Dune and Zane could live on little sleep, but Mac required six hours. Less than six and he was one cranky bastard.

They cleaned up and turned off the lights. Dune gathered a quilt from the hall closet and tucked in his grandfather. He then headed to his bedroom.

He stripped down, took a quick shower, and crawled naked into the double bed. Being six foot six, his feet hung off the end and he had little room to stretch out. He’d have a crick in his neck by morning.

His last thought before sleep claimed him was of sweet, shy Sophie Saunders. The creak of his bedroom door wakened him a short time later. Dune knew without looking who had disturbed him. Mac was ditching the dog.

He stuck his head inside and muttered, “Fart-a-roni.” He ducked out.

Dune heard the click of Ghost’s nails on the hardwood floor before his dog hopped on the bed and took over the end. Dune shoved open the window on the wall over his head. Ghost was downwind.

Eight forty-five a.m. and Sophie Saunders breathed in the pungent scents of the boardwalk as she strolled toward the T-shirt shop. She inhaled the freshly made coffee from Brews Brothers and the sugary sweetness of oven-warm doughnuts at The Bakehouse. Outdoor vendors teased beachgoers with cinnamon churros and caramel funnel cakes.

Sophie felt at home here, far more than she did at Saunders Shores. Her heritage oftentimes smothered her. She’d spoken to her mother that very morning, and their conversation had unsettled her.

Maya so seldom dropped by unannounced, yet she’d arrived in tennis whites with a purpose. She had a standing nine-thirty lesson three days a week at the country club with the tennis pro.

Her mom was a beautiful woman, classically featured and perfectly coiffured. She was a noted philanthropist and kept her finger on the pulse of the family.