Impulsive (27 page)

"Will you please stop trying to sell me on some fast, fancy
car, Ty?" Jess and Ty were out, for the third day in a row, shopping for a
replacement car for her.

"Sure," he agreed. "When you stop considering
models that look like Fred Flintstone's jalopy, or something your grandmother
would drive. Get wild. Get crazy. Get something with a little pizzazz, Jess.
After your second spectacular game, without a single missed kick, you've earned
it. You deserve it."

"I can't afford your brand of pizzazz," she informed him
flatly. "I want something economical, with good gas mileage and a decent
insurance rate."

"Okay, okay. But you have to admit, a station wagon is a
stupid pick, and you need a van like you need three armpits."

Jess shrugged. "I want something substantial. What I'd really
like is one of those sport utility vehicles. They're heavy enough to suit me,
have lots of space plus seating, and four-wheel drive would really come in
handy in the snow when winter sets in."

"Actually, those aren't too bad," he said after
contemplating the idea for a moment. "They're sporty, in a rugged kind of
way, and not truly ugly, either." He grabbed her arm, towing her toward
that section of the car lot. "C'mon, let's take a closer look."

"Ty! Have you seen the sticker price on those things?"

"What is it with you and a dime, lady?" he griped.
"You earn good money as a reporter, and now you're making a bundle as our
kicker—even if you are giving half of that away. Take advantage of the
windfall, loosen your purse strings for once, and buy yourself a decent car,
will you?"

Her hesitation lasted only as long as it took her to spot a gold
Ford Explorer. To Ty's amusement, she examined it thoroughly from bumper to
bumper, inside and out—going back to the price listing at least half a dozen
times, as if hoping it would diminish if she did so often enough.

He had to laugh. "Jess, you're like a kid in a candy store.
You can dicker on the price, you know."

"Yes, but I've been through this before, and these salesmen
always try to take advantage of a woman. It's downright maddening the way they
throw technical terms around in an effort to confuse you, and then act as if
you can't add past ten without removing your shoes first."

"Babe? All you have to do is ask, and I'll be glad to help
out," he tendered. "That is if you can put your feminine pride aside
long enough to let me."

Jess frowned. "Am I really that bad?"

"Only when you want to be."

"Okay, let's go make this guy's day," she decided.
"Just don't exclude me from the conversation altogether. It is going to be
my car, after all, and it really gets my goat when people talk over and around
me as if I'm invisible."

Actually, the salesman was quite nice, and wound up giving her a
great deal on the car, after the company rebate was factored into the final
tally. Jess's insurance check was a more than adequate down payment, and the
additional financing went off without a hitch. By late that afternoon, she
drove the Explorer off the lot, well-pleased with both her selection and a
monthly payment that wouldn't send her straight into bankruptcy.

That evening, she took Ty for a short spin.

"Don't you just love that new car smell?" she sighed.
"I think they should make a perfume like it. And men's aftershave."

Ty chuckled. "I'll see if I can buy you some for Christmas.
What I like are the heated side mirrors and seats."

"And that gizmo that tells you the outside temperature,"
she added.

"The compass will come in a lot handier," he predicted.

"So, you like my new hot wheels?" she inquired, lifting
an eyebrow in his direction.

"Yes. I think it suits you to a T. Modern, stylish, and
sporty, all in one neat package."

"Why, Tyler James," she gushed, batting her lashes in
exaggerated flirtation. "You and that silver tongue of yours are enough to
turn a girl's head."

A severe bout of the flu kept Gabe out of their next game against
the Patriots. He didn't even fly with the team to Massachusetts, but stayed at
home with Corey—who nursed him as best she could, primarily with lots of
liquids and large doses of sympathy.

Fortunately, Sir Loin Simms was back in action, albeit amid a
flurry of controversy. The lawyer he'd hired was in the process of trying to
ascertain why Sir Loin's supervised drug test at the university hospital had shown
no traces of cocaine—clearly in opposition to the results obtained twice over
by Doc Johnson's testing. Meanwhile, as a conglomerate of medical and law personnel
worked on the mystery, Sir Loin was restored to his usual slot on the team.

Brice Tackett was also back in the line up. After tests determined
that it was a double dose of antihistamine in his system, and not alcohol or
illegal drugs, he'd been let off with a warning to limit either his medicinal
intake or his driving during allergy season.

As was his habit when an out-of-state game was slated, the
Knights' manager booked a Saturday flight from Columbus to Boston. The man was
conscientious to the point of paranoia when it came to making certain that
flight delays, weather, and so forth would not prevent the team from reaching
their destination in time for a scheduled game. This also usually allowed the
Knights at least one practice on the unfamiliar field.

To the layman, this might have seemed silly, since one football
field is basically the same as any other. But some coaches insisted that—given
the different surfaces, weather conditions, directional layout for sun, shadow,
and wind—it often made a significant difference. Additionally, travel was
wearing, no matter what the means of transportation, and you wanted your team
as fresh as possible in preparation for the match on enemy turf.

They touched down at Boston's Logan Airport just before noon.
After checking into their hotel, the team piled into rented buses for the
twenty-odd-mile drive to Foxborough, where the stadium was located. After
practice, it was back to Boston, with the rest of the afternoon and evening to
enjoy themselves.

"What would you like to do?" Ty asked Jess. "If we
hurry, I think we've got time enough to catch the last afternoon whale watch
cruise."

"I don't do water sports anymore, other than swimming in the
occasional pool and chancing a few of the water rides at King's Island,"
Jess told him. "But go ahead if you want. I wouldn't want you to miss it
just because I'm too chicken to go. I can while away the time shopping, or take
in some of the tourist sights."

Ty declined. "It wouldn't be much fun without you. Are you
sure I can't talk you into it? The weather is perfect, and the water is really
calm. You shouldn't get too seasick."

"I don't get seasick," Jess informed him. "At least
not the way you mean." She sighed deeply. "Ty, I haven't gone close
to a body of unchlorinated water larger than a mud puddle since Dad and Mike
died. I hate driving across bridges, for pity sake. I'd probably keel over from
fright if I got within ten feet of a boat again."

Ty was immediately contrite. "Oh, God, Jess, I'm sorry. I'm a
thoughtless ass for even mentioning it."

"No, you're not. You just didn't know, that's all. Besides,
you can't be expected to tiptoe around the subject whenever we're together
simply because I've got this phobia about boats and deep water."

Perhaps it was just that he wanted to make her feel better, or
maybe his subconscious mind was replaying the advice Gabe had given him last
week. Whatever it was, Ty found himself saying, "Why don't we go shopping
before the stores close? Maybe hit F.A.O. Schwartz? Oh, and don't let me forget
to get a new watch battery before this one conks off altogether. I've had to
reset everything from the time to the date three times this past week. Then we
can stop by this little place on the North End that is famous for its
cappuccino. A trip to Boston wouldn't be complete without visiting there at
least once."

Jess chuckled. "You and your cappuccino. I swear I'm going to
buy you your own machine for Christmas."

Ty gave her his cute-little-boy grin. "Aw, gee! Do I have to
wait that long? My birthday's coming up November 12th," he reminded her
pointedly.

"I'll think about it," she told him, shaking her head
over his antics. "You're worse than Josh at wheedling and whining."

Unlike most people, who would dash into Walgreens or Kmart and buy
a new watch battery, Ty had to choose the most expensive jewelry store in town
in which to purchase his. As he ushered her into the elite shop, Jess couldn't
help but chide him.

"Wal-Mart would probably have it for a tenth the cost. Why
come here, when you know it's going to cost you the earth for the very same
battery?"

"Because I bought the watch here," he informed her,
"and I know they'll stock it."

Jess had been in some fancy establishments, but this place was
really swank: Thick carpeting that absorbed every little whisper of sound,
making people inclined to walk and speak softly. On the walls, interspersed by
panels of mirrors, was what appeared to be gold-embossed wallpaper. Scores of
little vanity stools were lined up along the shiny mile-long counters. Inside
the glass display cases, set against a colorful background of silk and velvet,
was every item of jewelry imaginable, all polished to a high sheen, the
radiance of which almost made Jess reach for her sunglasses.

"Why don't you window shop while I see about the
battery?" Ty suggested, waving her toward a display case.

"It's for sure I can't afford to do anything more than
look," she replied in a low voice. "Most of this stuff isn't even
tagged, which I take to mean 'if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it.'
"

Jess wandered around, peering into case after case, trying not to
drool at the exquisite merchandise within. Normally, she didn't wear much
jewelry, except for earrings, for which she had a passion. But this array was
enough to tempt even her.

"May I help you with anything?"

Jess glanced up at the saleslady. "No thank you. I'm just browsing."

Ty stepped up beside her. "See anything you like?"

"Only everything," she admitted ruefully. "Now I
know what they mean about having a champagne appetite and a beer
pocketbook."

Ever so casually, Ty steered her over to a case containing
rings—solitaires, engagement rings, wedding sets—any and every kind imaginable.
There he stopped and leaned an elbow on the counter, as if totally unaware of
its contents. "It'll take a couple of minutes to install the
battery," he remarked lazily. "You don't mind waiting, do you? It
would be silly to have to come back later, when we're right here."

"As long as they don't charge anything for breathing the
rarified air in here," she quipped. "You can almost smell the money,
can't you?"

Ty laughed. "That's gold and diamond dust, darlin'." He
glanced down, into the case on which he was leaning. "And little wonder.
Get a gander at some of these, Jess. That one's bright enough to glow in the
dark. And over there, look at the size of that rock."

Jess stepped closer. "They're all beautiful."

"Which do you like best?"

"I can't afford to like any of them."

"But this is only window shopping, Jess, where you're allowed
to pretend you can buy anything your heart desires. At least that's how my
sisters taught me to play the game. So how about it? If you didn't have to
worry about the price, which one would you choose over all the others?"

She perused the display, nibbling on her lower lip as she examined
each ring in turn. Finally she made her choice. "That one," she said,
pointing it out to him. She'd selected a round, brilliant-cut diamond of
moderate size, flanked on either side by a smaller stone. All three gems were
mounted over a brushed gold band.

Ty blinked in surprise, then wrinkled his nose. "That dinky
thing?" he jeered.

"Dinky?" she echoed. "For crying out loud, Ty. The
center stone alone has got to be a half carat. And look at the way it's cut,
all the facets. I'm no expert, but even I can tell that it reflects the light
much better than some of the others."

"She's absolutely correct," the saleswoman agreed in her
soft-spoken manner. "Your lady has impeccable taste, sir. Size alone does
not determine the quality of a gem." Unlocking the cabinet, she reached in
and withdrew the ring Jess had selected. "This is an excellent example of
the four C's. Color, cut, clarity and carat weight. Still, no matter what it looks
like in the case, it can look altogether different on a person's hand. You
really can't tell if it's going to be flattering until you wear it."

She held the ring out to Jess. "Go ahead. Try it on,
dear."

"Oh, I shouldn't," Jess protested, even as she reached
for the ring. "After all, it's not as if I'm going to buy it."