Impulsive (21 page)

Tom sneered. "Oh, how sweet. The irate boyfriend coming to
the rescue. You drumming up brownie points, James?"

Ty's smile was as false as Tom's. "Don't need them, Tom, old
boy."

Tom's features tightened even more. "So that's the way the
wind blows." To Jess, he added spitefully, "I thought I warned you
about letting any of these jocks cozy up to you, thinking they'd get in good
with me that way."

Jess's eyes narrowed. "That tears it, Tommy. I've taken all
the flak I'm going to take from you today. I'll be waiting for an apology, when
you've had time to cool off and think things through properly. Until then,
don't call me. I'll call you."

Ty took her arm, escorting her out the door. As they left, he sent
a parting shot. "If you can't reach Jess at her place, Nelson, she'll be
at mine. Just phone any time. Day or night. But like the lady says, don't
bother until you're ready to apologize."

Jess could not recall when she'd last been this depressed. First,
this dreadful business with Ervin, then the fight with Tommy. For his part, Ty
was angry on her behalf and equally mystified as to how to console her. But
there had to be some way to cheer her up. He fell back on some of the things
that always worked for his mother and sisters.

"Would you like to go shopping?" he suggested.

"Not really."

"How about getting gussied up and going out to dinner? My
treat. The place of your choice."

Jess shook her head. "Thanks, but I'm not in the mood."

Ty figured it would be a bad move to buy her flowers at the
moment. They would probably only remind her of a funeral arrangement.

"Do you want to rent a video, or go to a movie? Isn't there a
new comedy playing?"

She gave him a weary look. "Wagara, James. Give it a rest,
okay?"

"You keep hitting me with that word at the oddest
times," he mused. "I'm going to guess it yet." He thought a
minute, and said, "Women's Automatic Guy Alteration/Reformation Act?"

"Not even close."

But he had gotten half a grin out of her, so he tried again.
"Wanted: Assorted Gods And Reverent Angels?"

She smothered a chuckle. "Not bad, but way off base."

"Okay, how about Who's A Grinning And Retarded Ape?"

Jess burst out laughing. "You are! Now stop this nonsense."

"Why? So you can go back to wallowing in your own guilt and
feeling miserable? No way, lady. Say, why don't we trot down to the store and
buy about a ton of ice cream and chocolate goop?"

"That doesn't sound half bad. Why don't you go while I wash
my stringy, greasy hair?" She plucked at a limp strand, eyeing it
balefully from the corner of her eye. "Yuck! I think I could wear a dirty
mop and no one would tell the difference."

"A permanent might help. Curly hair doesn't get oily as fast
as straight hair," Ty informed her.

Jess cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, you're just full of
surprising little tidbits. But a perm wouldn't do the trick, I'm afraid. Not
for me. My hair is too fine. A body perm lasts me about a week and a half, and
a full perm leaves me looking like Little Orphan Annie. Or Ronald McDonald's
sister. Take your pick. Either way, it's not a pretty sight."

"Then why not get your hair frosted, or streaked, or
highlighted? That usually adds a bit of body, besides giving you a change of
color that's not too drastic. And if you do it lightly enough, you don't even
have dark roots to touch up."

Jess eyed him oddly. "Just where are you picking up all this
information, Tyler James? Are you secretly hooked on
Woman's Day
or
Cosmo?
Or are they putting this stuff in
Playboy
these days, just to give
you guys something to discuss on a date?"

Ty scowled at her. "My mom's a beautician. I spent half my
life hanging around her shop, watching her work her magic on little old ladies
who wanted to look like Farrah Fawcett." He gave a sheepish shrug.
"Guess my brain absorbed more than the perm fumes, huh?"

"Your mom is a hair dresser?" Jess was intrigued.
"What does your dad do?"

Ty hesitated. "I'll only tell you if you promise not to freak
out on me."

She gave him a curious look, but agreed. "Scout's
honor."

"Dad is a mortician."

"A what?" Jess's mouth flapped open.

"So much for promises," Ty groused.

"Your father is an undertaker? Like in, working with
corpses?"

"What's wrong with that?" Ty inquired defensively.
"Somebody has to do it, or the bodies would be stacking up like cord
wood."

"I suppose you're right, but of all the occupations you might
have mentioned, that's the last one I would have guessed." She paused a
moment, then asked almost tentatively, "So, are you planning on following
in your father's footsteps after you quit playing football?"

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Jess," he said with a
grin, "but, no. Actually, I got my degree in accounting."

He'd done it to her again. Thrown her two curves in a row.
"Accounting?" she repeated dumbly. "No announcing games? No
coaching? No selling sporting goods? No sports bar?"

"Nope. Accounting and business administration. See there,
Jess? I'm not just your run-of-the-mill super jock or ditso blond, after all,
am I? You're talking to an actual Certified Public Accountant and investment
management graduate. If I have to, I can even use words with more than two
syllables."

"Don't get snide, Ty. I never said you weren't intelligent. I
just thought you'd probably go into something related to football, since you
like it so well."

He speared her with a knowing look. "C'mon, Jess. Admit it.
You're harboring a few biased opinions of your own about me, the way I did
about reporters."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "Primarily before I got to
know you. You've already destroyed a lot of my preconceived notions, however,
and I have a sneaking hunch you've still got a couple of surprises up your
sleeve."

"If you really want to make me feel better, and yourself in
the bargain, you could let me do your hair," he told her.

"Is that where all this was leading?" she asked
suspiciously.

He gave her a look that might have passed for innocent if not for
the twinkle lurking in his blue eyes. "Well?" he prodded.

"What did you have in that warped mind of yours?"

"I thought we might highlight it a little."

"How little?" she inquired dubiously.

"Not much. When it's done, it'll look sun-streaked.
Basically, you'll still have your own color, only brighter, with strands of
blond mixed in."

Her brows knitted, wrinkling her forehead beneath her
stick-straight bangs. "Do you know how to do that, or would I just be some
stupid guinea pig at the mercy of a novice dabbler?"

"Trust me, Jess. You'll love it."

Trust him. That was what it all boiled down to. Jess sighed.
"Okay, but if you make me look ridiculous, I'm going to retaliate in equal
proportion, buster. I'll dye your face green while you're sleeping. I'll paint
your fingernails with a red permanent marker. I'll..."

"I get your drift, you vengeful witch. Now, go wash your
hair, and I'll run down to the store and get the stuff I need and be back in a
jiffy."

"Don't forget the ice cream and chocolate syrup while you're
at it," she reminded him. "I've got a feeling I'm going to need the
consolation. And a can of black spray paint for the mirrors might not be amiss,
either."

"Wait!" Jess threw up her hand to catch his—the one in
which he was holding the scissors—and stared in horror at the lock of hair that
had just fallen into her lap. "You didn't say anything about cutting it,
too."

"I'm just going to reshape it, and get rid of the split
ends," he assured her. "Nothing that drastic."

Jess let loose of him and groaned. "How did I ever let you
talk me into this?"

He snipped another section. "Too late now, darlin'. So hold
still
so I can get it even. And shut your mouth, unless you want a glob of hair in
it."

"Give me a mirror first."

"Not on your life."

Jess closed her eyes and commenced to pray. Twenty minutes later,
he ceased whacking at her hair. Jess chanced a peek. The floor was littered, as
was she, and her head felt noticeably lighter. "Are you done with the
scissors? Am I completely bald?"

Behind her, Ty chuckled. "Yes, and no, in that order. Now
comes the fun part." For her perusal, he held out a shower cap dotted with
tiny holes. "You get to wear this while I pull strands of your hair
through the holes with this." He showed her something resembling a crochet
needle.

"Oh, yippee!" she quipped, eyeing the items with growing
dread. "What then? You make a sweater for Josh?"

"Not quite. Then we mix up the solution, glop it on, and wait
the prescribed amount of time. About half an hour or so."

As he plied the pick, it felt as if he were yanking the remainder
of her hair from its roots. "Ouch!" she complained for the umpteenth
time. "Take it easy, will you?"

Then, when he applied the bleach mixture, her eyes began to water.
"Are you sure you don't have it too strong?"

"Stop whining. I swear, Josh wouldn't complain as much as you
are."

"Then work on Josh next time you get a whim to play
beautician."

"You'll be singing a different tune when you see the final
result," he predicted immodestly.

The last forty minutes seemed like a century. Finally, Ty deemed
her hair the correct shade. "Now, we rinse, condition, and style."

"Can I look yet?"

"Absolutely not."

He brushed, he fluffed, he dried it with her hair blower. He
spritzed, sprayed, turning her this way and that. At long last, he handed her a
mirror, claiming as he did so, "Not bad, if I do say so myself."

Jess was almost afraid to look. On a deep breath, she held
up
the mirror. That same breath rushed out again as she stared at her image in
total disbelief. "Oh, my gosh! Ty! What did you do? That can't be
me!"

Only now did Ty display the slightest apprehension. "Do you
like it?"

"Like it? I love it!" she squealed, angling for a better
view. "You're an absolute miracle worker!"

She swished her head back and forth, watching her hair bounce and
shimmer. It had body, and shine, and... pouf! Ty had feathered it away from her
face, leaving it long enough to fluff out and over her ears. He'd cut the crown
shorter, giving it lift where it had hung limply before. He'd also layered the
back to give it more volume. And the color—streaks of pale gold, artfully
intertwined with her original brown, which no longer seemed so drab now.

Her image wavered as tears gathered in her eyes. "Oh, Ty!
It's so pretty! And it makes my face look fuller. Not so long and thin. I
actually look..."

"Go ahead, sweetheart," he urged softly. "Say it.
You're beautiful. Downright, indisputably gorgeous. Which is precisely what
I've been telling you all along. Until now, you simply haven't been
accentuating your best features, that's all."

"I really am pretty, aren't I?" she said incredulously.

"No. Pretty doesn't begin to cover it, Jess. What's it going
to take to convince you? You truly are beautiful, inside and out. Now say it.
Out loud. Say, T, Jess Myers, am a beautiful woman.' "

"Ty, that's silly, not to mention outrageously
conceited."

"It's the bare-faced truth. Now say it, dammit, or you don't
get any ice cream. I'll eat it all myself, right in front of you."

She felt foolish, and shaky, and unsure of herself as she stared
at the unfamiliar image in the mirror. But something inside her, a skinny
little girl with freckles and braces, was pleading for her to do as Ty asked.
"I... am beautiful," she whispered.

"Louder. Stronger. With conviction this time, like you really
believe
it," he prodded.

A smile tugged at her lips and traveled to her eyes. "I am
beautiful," she stated more firmly. Swiftly, she turned, caught him around
the neck, and pulled his face toward hers. "And it's all because of you,
Ty. No one else but you."

Because of Wednesday's funeral service for Ervin, which most of
the team attended, the Knights were cut short one practice session that week.
Nevertheless, by the time Sunday rolled around, they were more than ready for
their bout against the Portland Rangers. Like the Knights, the Rangers were a
newly formed expansion team, still fledglings in the league. The Knights, with
their fans rooting for them on their own turf, beat the Oregonians handily.