Blue Christmas (The Moody Blue Trilogy | Book One) (33 page)

“Jennifer.”

She looked up at
him, a polite smile passing across her face. “Hi.” She walked to the other side
of the pool table and lined up a shot.

“I looked
everywhere for you. I’ve been all over town, called your cell phone . . .
I’ve been by here twice. Where were you?”

She took her
shot, a striped ball in the side pocket. She didn’t answer.

“Jennifer?”

“I was around.”
She continued her game.

He watched her.
All afternoon he’d struggled with what to say once he found her. His stomach
had been in knots for days. He headed for the bar. “Can I get you something to
drink?”

Clink.
Four
ball in the corner pocket.
“Water.”

Jason grabbed a
bottle for her and one for himself from the small refrigerator. He approached
her, handing the chilled bottle to her. She turned slowly, reaching for it but
not meeting his eyes. He leaned against the back of the sofa and took a long
drink.

Clink.
Another
ball dropped in the side pocket. She was good. He’d forgotten.

He prayed for
wisdom. Draining his bottle, Jason took it to the trash can and headed for the
rack of cue sticks. He chalked the tip of one and passed her as she took
another shot. She missed.

“Mind if I
play?”

No response.

She shot again. Seven
ball in the corner pocket. It was her last.

He racked the balls.
“You break.”

She chalked her
stick and aimed at the triangle of shiny balls.
Whack.
Jason winced. The
balls flew across the felt-covered table.

He aimed. His cue
stick didn’t come near the ball. He aimed again. He missed again. He cursed
under his breath then immediately prayed a silent plea for forgiveness. She
still didn’t look at him. He aimed once again.

“There are rules
and you’re breaking them,” she stated just as he made the shot.

It bounced
across the table, nowhere close to a pocket. “Excuse me?”

“You’re
cheating.” She moved to the other side of the table lining up her shot.

“Jennifer, what
are—”

“You can only
take one shot. If you scratch, you lose your turn.”

“Oh.” He watched
her pocket the six ball.

“Sorry, I
thought it was just a friendly little game of pool,” he answered, attempting
humor.

“Even ‘friendly
little games’ should be played fair.”

“My mistake. I’m
sorry.”

“Uh huh.” She
missed her shot. He noticed she clenched her jaw.

He lined up his
shot and missed it. Leaving the stick on the table, he held up his hands. “Your
shot.”

“You don’t have
to pout.”

“I’m not pouting.”
He picked up the stick again.

She lobbed the
two in the side pocket. “Your shots are lousy. You used to be an excellent pool
player.”

Her tone was
caustic. It grated on his nerves. “So I’m a little tense. It’s been a long
day.”

“Oh? I hadn’t
noticed.”

“Jennifer, stop
with the games—no wait. I didn’t say that.” He hadn’t intended to use the
lyrics from one of their biggest hits.

“Cute, Jason.
Did you want to sing the song or just recite the words?”

“Knock it off,
will ya?”

“Or what? Are
you going to smack me too? That reporter at the press conference has probably lined
up fifteen attorneys by now. I’m surprised you haven’t been subpoenaed yet.”

He fired his
shot, the eight ball slamming into the corner pocket. “Great,” he muttered.

“Nice game.
Shall we play another?” She stared at him with an expression completely devoid
of feeling.

He jammed his
stick back into the rack on the wall. The photographs on the wall caught his eye.
There he was with Jennifer . . . a picture taken two years ago.
He remembered the last time he looked at this picture. Christmas Eve. He was
standing right here looking over Hannah’s shoulder as she studied it. The fresh
lavender fragrance of her hair swept through his memory.

Suddenly, he
felt a presence behind him. He snapped out of his daydream.

“That was at the
Grammys, wasn’t it?” she whispered close behind him.

He turned to
face her. There was so much pain in her eyes, those eyes he had loved for so
long. Her clear blue eyes seemed to study his face, as though desperate to find . . .
what? He reached out to gather her into his arms. She stiffened.

He took a long,
hard breath and looked away. When he looked back at her, her face crumbled. A
tear broke free, rushing down her flawless cheek.

“Oh Jason . . .
”

The coarse
whisper broke his heart. His throat tightened as he clutched her in his arms, burying
his face in her silky hair. “I know, Jen. I know.”

Chapter 23

K
ylie tossed the empty bag of popcorn
on the coffee table. She settled back in her rocking chair, pulling her pajama-covered
legs up against her. A chill swept over her. She grabbed the quilt off the sofa
and wrapped it around her then rocked, slow at first then faster.

The silent phone
on the table beside her drew her attention. She shook her head and rocked faster.
She snatched the remote control and surfed for a while.
Tired of sitcoms. Tired
of news. Tired of television.
She clicked off the remote and tossed it back
on the coffee table.

“Come here,
Katy,” she beckoned the calico cat rubbing its back against her legs. The
Persian pounced into her lap with a loud purr as Kylie rubbed her behind the
ears.

She stared at the phone again.
Jason
McKenzie’s mom. I met Jason McKenzie’s mom. I met Laura. She told me to call
her ‘Laura.’ We’re on a first-name basis. Laura, Kylie. Kylie, Laura.
She
grabbed the piece of paper with Laura’s number on it. Not that she needed it. She
already knew it by heart now.

“Kylie, when
we get all this behind us, I want you to come to the house. We’ll get
acquainted. Deal?”

She could see it
all in her mind . . .

They sat on
expensive furniture, sipping tea from exquisite china cups. Delicate pastries rested
on hand-painted plates. A butler in full dress tuxedo refilled her teacup. Laura
wore a fine linen suit, tailored to fit her perfectly. Kylie was dressed—

She looked down
at herself. Her navy plaid pajama bottoms clashed with the oversized orange
t-shirt, the one with a big hole near the hem. She patted her wild hair,
harnessed into two radical pig-tails and sticking out at crooked angles from
her head. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the grease
residue from her popcorn dinner.

“Yeah, me and
Mrs. McKenzie having our own little tea party . . . riiiiight.”

The phone rang, jolting
her out of her thoughts. She jumped, Katy’s claws digging into her thighs.
“AHHH!
Katy!”

She grabbed the
phone and dropped it. “Ouuuuch! Ouch ouch ouch!” Kylie picked up the receiver,
grimacing as she answered it. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Kylie?”

“Yeah, that’s
me. No! I mean—who wants to know?”

“This is Sergio
Cruz. Laura McKenzie gave me your number and—”

Kylie froze. Her
mouth fell open.

“Hello?”

She could hear
his voice. Hear the accent.
Sergio Cruz’s voice. On my phone. Asking for
me
?
Then it hit her. No way.
It has to be the press or someone playing a
prank.

“Oh sure. Sergio
Cruz. Right.”

“No, really—”

“Uh huh.” She
rolled her eyes, angry that she’d almost fallen for it.

“This is Sergio.
I swear it!”

“Sure it is,
sweet cheeks. Then I guess I should tell you right here and now,
Sergi-O,
that I think you’re the
hottest
member of
Out of the Blue
.”

I can play
this game too, buster.

Laughter drifted
through the receiver. “Is that a fact?”

“NO, you
pervert! You’re not Sergio Cruz. Besides, your lame attempt of an accent sounds
ridiculous! So whoever you are, Mr. Paparazzi, just leave me—”

“Laura McKenzie talked
to you this afternoon.”

The words stopped
her cold.

“She wanted to
find out where Hannah Brooks is. You refused to tell her. Does any of this
sound familiar?

No. No, no,
no, it can’t be  . . .
She swallowed hard.

He laughed. It
was a great laugh. Even in her horror, she loved the laugh.

“Look, Kylie. I
have to talk to you. Would it be okay if I stopped by?”

“No! I mean . . .
oh, you can’t. I’m not dressed and it’s late and—”
I’m saying
no
to Sergio
Cruz?

“Kylie, I
promised Laura I’d talk to you and it won’t take but a minute. So if I could
just come over—”

“Now?!” Her
heart pounded in her chest. Her hand flew to her hair, her face . . .

“Yeah, in fact,
I’m in your parking lot as we speak.”

“WHAT?!”

“You’ve got to
realize we have a lot of connections. I got your address because I was hoping
you’d agree to see me. So what do you say?”

“Now?” Her
nervous giggle eclipsed her response before she could stop it.
Just let me
die right here, Lord. End the tragedy. Beam me up, God.
“Uh . . . well,
uh—”

“Great. I’ll be
right up.”

“NO! I mean, well,
can you give me a few minutes?”

“Sure. No
problem. Say about five minutes?”

“Make it ten.”

“Ten it is. And
thanks, Kylie. I really appreciate it. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

Kylie raced
through her apartment, peeling off her pajamas, snatching up yesterday’s cereal
bowl, and the laundry basket of clean underwear waiting to be folded. She threw
open three drawers looking for a fresh t-shirt then bolted for the closet to
find her jeans.

She narrated her
own warped-speed marathon with a running commentary. “Ten-minutes-oh-my-gosh-Sergio-Cruz-is-coming-HERE-right-now-what-does-he-want-what-should-I-say-my-hair-is-a-disaster-glory-these-jeans-are-so-tight-Hannah-how-could-you-do-this-to-me-where’s-my-hairbrush-oh-gross-the-litter-box-stinks—”

The doorbell
rang.

“Eeeeoooww!”

“Oh Katy! I’m so
sorry!” The colorful ball of fur darted under the sofa as Kylie wrestled to zip
up her jeans. She lowered her voice, continuing her tirade. “He’s-only-a-regular-person-chill-out-Kylie . . .
WHAT AM I SAYING?! I’ll never pull this off! Never!”

It rang again.

“Okay. I can do
this. I can.” She charged toward the door. Just before answering, she stopped, yanked
the bands off her pigtails then bent over to rake her fingers through her uncontrollable
red curls. The blood rushed to her head making her feel even dizzier. She stood
back up, hand on the wall to steady herself, then nonchalantly opened the door.

Sergio Cruz
pulled off his sunglasses as he looked at her from beneath the curved bill of
his baseball cap. His eyes popped.

What? What’s
he looking at?
Kylie patted her hair which seemed to be the focus of his
attention, then followed his eyes as they landed on her face. Her hand
instinctively went to her cheek. She could feel the heat.
No, please, no. I
must be eight shades of purple.

“Kylie?”

“Uh, hi! Sergio!
How-are-you-I’m-Kylie-come-on-in-can-I-get-you-something-to-drink-would-you-like-a-snack-or-maybe—”

“Whoa! Hold up,
there. Take a breath, okay?”

“Oh. Sorry! I
guess I’m a little nervous here. Sorry. I’ll try to calm down. Here, watch—”
She blew out a quick breath. “See? Breathing. All better. Now. Please. Come in.
Have a seat.” She rambled on, turning to point him toward the sofa. As he
approached the plaid sofa, they
both
noticed the package of feminine hygiene
products sitting there atop an empty Wal-Mart bag.

“Whoa!” she
yelped, turning to grab the package behind her back. “Second thought, you can
just have a seat over there in that chair. It’s comfortable. You’ll like it. No
problem.” She faked a cough.

“Are you always
this hyper?” He laughed as she tucked the package under an afghan.

He sat down and
pulled off his cap, running his hand through his dark curly hair. The tiny
diamond stud on his ear caught her eye. But it was his eyes that grabbed her.
She stood there, swimming in those dark brown bedroom eyes . . .

“Aren’t you
going to sit down?”

She fell back
onto the sofa, then tucked her legs beneath her, never losing eye contact with
him. She started to say something then stopped. He was smiling at her.
I
swear his eyes just twinkled. And look at
those perfect white teeth . . .
those dimples . . . and those eyes . . . those
amazing eyes . . .
A long sigh escaped but she didn’t care.
Not one bit. She felt the grin slide across her face.

“Kylie, it’s
really nice to meet you.”

She grinned some
more.
I love how he says my name—Kah-lee. With the emphasis on the second
syllable. Kah-lee. It just rolls off his tongue with that delicious accent . . .

“Laura said you
and Hannah are—OUCH! ¿Qué diablos?!”

“Katy! Get
down!” Kylie scolded as she sprang toward him. The kitten was climbing up Sergio’s
leg. She tried to pry the feline loose but Katy scurried around him, tunneling
behind Sergio’s back. “Uh, well . . . I don’t want to—”

He laughed. “It’s
okay, don’t worry about her. I was just a little shocked, that’s all. She’s
fine. I love cats. As long as she doesn’t claw me to death.”

“Are you sure?
Because I can put her in my bedroom.”

“No, she’s fine.
Really.”

Katy proceeded
to burrow all over him, finally crawling up on his chest and tucking her head
inside his jacket. He laughed at her, stroking her patchwork coat.

Kylie sat back
down. “You know, that’s really incredible. She doesn’t usually like strangers. Normally,
she hides until they leave.” She smiled at the sight of him with her cat.
Sergio
Cruz. Petting my Katy. I wonder where my camera is.