See Jane Score (18 page)

She sat next to Darby as she strapped them on. “What do you think?” she asked him as she pulled up the legs of her jeans and looked at the sandals from different angles.

“I think they look like scarecrow shoes.”

She glanced over at him in his favorite silk skull shirt and leather pants and considered the source.

He leaned over and said next to her ear, “I need you to put in a good word for me with Caroline.”

“No way. You insulted my sandals.”

“If you get me a date with her, I'll buy you the shoes.”

“You want me to pimp for you?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

Jane glanced at her friend, who was at the Ralph Lauren table eyeing a pair of slides. “Ah—yeah.”

“Two pair.”

“Forget it.” She took off the sandals and shoved them back into the box. “But I'll give you a few pointers. Lose the skull shirt and don't talk about Mensa.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

When they finished in the shoe department, she and Marie rode the escalator up to lingerie, while Caroline and Darby headed to the men's department.

Jane and Marie were loaded down with bags as they found racks of bras.

“What do you think?” Marie asked as she held up a lavender lace bra.

“It's pretty.”

“I bet it's uncomfortable, though.” She tilted her head to one side. “Don't you think?”

“Sorry, but I'm not going to be able to help you here. I don't wear bras. I never really have.”

“Why not?”

“Well, as you can see, there isn't much need. I've always just worn camisoles or a bandeau or nothing at all.”

“My mom would have killed me if I wore just a camisole.”

Jane shrugged. “Yeah, well, growing up, my dad didn't like to talk about girl stuff. So I think he just pretended I was a boy for a lot of years.”

Marie flipped over a price tag. “Do you still miss your mom?”

“All the time, but it isn't so bad now. Just try and recall all the good memories of your mother before she got sick. Don't think about the bad.”

“How'd your mom die?”

“Breast cancer.”

“Oh.” They looked at each other over the rack of bright lacy bras, Marie's big blue eyes staring into Jane's, and neither of them had to say anything about watching a loved one die that way. They knew.

“You were younger than me. Right?” Marie asked.

“I was six, and my mother was sick a long time before she died.” Her mother had been thirty-one. One year older than Jane was right now.

“I still have a few flowers from my mom's casket. They're dried up now, but it makes me feel somehow still connected to her.” Marie looked down. “Luc doesn't understand. He thinks I should throw them away.”

“Have you told him why you've kept the flowers?”

“No.”

“You should.”

She shrugged and picked up a red bra.

“I have my mother's engagement ring,” Jane confessed. “My father left her wedding band with her, but he kept her engagement ring, and I used to wear it on a chain around my neck.” She hadn't talked about the ring in years and what it meant to her. Caroline didn't understand, because her mother had run off with a trucker. But Marie did.

“Where is the ring now?”

“In my underwear drawer. I put it away a few years after my mother died. I imagine you'll put your flowers away when the time is right for you.”

Marie nodded and chose a white water-bra. “Look at this one.”

“It looks heavy.” Jane picked one from the rack and squeezed the bottom. It was heavy and squishy and she wondered what Luc would think of his little sister wearing a push-up bra. She wondered what he'd think if
she
wore one. “Luc might not want you to buy a big ol' padded bra.”

“Oh, he won't care. He probably won't even notice,” Marie said and took four bras and disappeared into the dressing room. While Jane waited for her, she picked up the numerous shopping bags and moved a few feet away to the panties department.

Jane might not know a lot about bras, but she was a panties connoisseur. Two years ago, she'd become a thong convert. At first she'd hated them, but now she loved them. They didn't ride up like conventional panties because, well, they were already up. While she waited, she bought six cotton and lycra thongs with matching camisoles.

Once Marie emerged from the dressing room, she placed a handful of panties and three bras on the checkout counter. The cell phone in her purse chirped and she flipped it open.

“Hello,” she answered. “Hmm. . . . Yeah, I think so.” She glanced at Jane. “I'll ask her. Luc wants to know if you're hungry.”

Luc? “Why?”

Marie shrugged. “Why?” she asked him. She handed the clerk Luc's credit card, then told Jane, “It's his night to cook. He says since you're coming over to interview him, he'll throw something on for you too.”

Two things occurred to Jane at the same time. That Luc cooked, and that he must not be mad at her anymore. “Tell him I'm starved.”

Chapter 12
Put in the Third Row: Hit Hard

“I
t's weird not having a yard,” Marie said, talking about the differences in her life now that she lived in Luc's Bell Town condo. “And I don't do laundry anymore,” she added as they stepped out of the elevator on the nineteenth floor. “That's nice.”

“Luc does your laundry?”

Marie laughed. “No.” They moved down the hall to the last door on the left. “We send it out and it comes back all clean and folded.”

“Even your underwear?”

“Yep.”

“I don't think I want anyone touching my panties,” Jane said while Marie opened the door. At least not strangers, she thought as she stepped inside and came to an abrupt halt. The impact of the windows stopped Jane in her tracks and replaced thoughts of strange people folding her thongs. The windows ran from floor to ceiling and took up an entire wall. Beyond the tops of buildings, she could see the ships in Elliott Bay. The room was filled with a deep blue couch and chairs and wrought-iron-and-glass coffee and end tables. The angles of the rooms seemed to flow in on themselves and big potted plants thrived in brushed stainless steel pots. To her left, the Devils battled Long Island on the big-screen televison, while Dave Matthews pumped through the stereo fit into a huge entertainment center.

Luc stood in the open kitchen separated from the living room by a granite bar. The cabinets behind him had glass fronts with chrome handles. The appliances were stainless steel and a bit futuristic-looking. Luc picked up a remote and cut the sound to the stereo. A smile curved his mouth and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You look great, Marie.”

Marie dumped her bags on the floor and tossed her coat on the couch. She spun around for her brother. “I think I look twenty-one,” she said.

“Not quite.” He turned his smile on Jane, and she once again felt like a magnate, pulled by a force stronger than herself. “Wanna beer, Jane?”

“No, thanks. I don't drink beer.” She set her briefcase and jacket on the couch.

“What do you drink?”

“Water's fine.”

“I'll take Jane's beer,” Marie volunteered, bless her heart.

“As soon as you
are
twenty-one,” he said as he pulled a bottle of water out of a stainless steel refrigerator.

“I bet you drank before you turned twenty-one.”

“Yeah, and look how I turned out.” He shut the door with his foot and pointed the bottle at Jane. “Don't say it.”

“I wasn't going to say a thing.” She moved across the room and stepped between two chrome and gray leather barstools.

“Better not.” He tossed a few ice cubes in a glass and twisted the top off the bottle. He'd pushed up the sleeves of a plaster-colored ribbed sweater, and the edge of a white T-shirt showed beneath the crew neck. He wore his gold Rolex and a pair of olive cargo pants. “'Cause I know stuff to blackmail you.”

He knew she melted when he kissed her and that she didn't like to wear a bra. “You don't know any of the really good stuff.”

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “How good?”

Stuff that would blow his mind, and she just thanked God he would never figure it out. He would never know that she was Honey Pie.

“What stuff?” Marie wanted to know as she took a seat beside Jane.

“That I'm a Girl Scout,” Jane answered.

Luc lifted one dubious brow and set the glass on the bar.

“Well, I was,” she assured him.

“Me too,” Marie added. “I still have all my patches.”

“I was never a Boy Scout.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”

Luc looked at his sister as if he meant to comment, but at the last second decided against it. Instead, he returned the water to the refrigerator and set a bowl of marinated chicken breasts on the counter.

“What can I do to help?” Jane asked

Opening a drawer, he took out a fork and turned the chicken. “Just sit tight and relax.”

“I'll help you,” his sister volunteered and slid off the barstool.

Luc glanced up and smiled, his blue eyes warm as he looked at Marie, and Jane's heart squeezed in a way that had nothing to do with her lust for him. Nothing to do with infatuation, and everything to do with seeing the kinder, gentler side of Luc Martineau. “That'd be great. Thanks. Grab the pasta and get it boiling.”

Marie walked around the bar and joined Luc in the kitchen. She pulled down a red box from one glass-faced cabinet, then reached for a measuring cup. “Two cups of water,” she read out loud. “And a tablespoon of butter.”

“When Marie was little,” Luc said as she turned on the faucet, “she said ‘gotter' instead of water.”

“How do you know?” Marie asked as she measured water into a cup.

“I heard you when I came to visit when Dad was still alive. You were probably two.”

“I was cute when I was a baby.”

“You were bald.”

She turned off the water and poured it into a pan. “So?”

He reached over and messed up her hair. “You looked like a monkey.”

“Luc!” Marie set the pan on the stove and brushed her hair with her fingers.

He laughed, a deep pleased-with-himself ha-ha-ha. “You were a
cute
monkey.”

“Okay. That's better.” She turned on the burner and added the butter. “You're just jealous because you looked like a Teletubby.”

“What's a Teletubby?”

“Oh, my gosh! You don't know what a Teletubby is?” She shook her head at her clueless brother.

“No.” A bewildered crease furrowed his brow as he turned his blue gaze on Jane. “Do you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It's a show geared toward very young children. And, as far as I could tell from the one time I watched it, all the Teletubbies do is run around in Teletubbyland babbling and baby-talking.”

“And they show pictures on their tummies,” Marie added.

His mouth fell open a bit, his eyes glazed, and he looked as if he were getting a sudden headache just thinking about it. “You're kidding.”

“No.” Jane shook her head. “And in my own defense, I only know this because a few years ago, Jerry Falwell made headlines when he warned parents that there are gay undertones in Teletubbyland. Apparently because Tinky Winky is purple and carries a red purse.”

“Tinky Winky?” Slowly he turned and looked at his sister. “Holy hell, and you make fun of me for watching hockey.”

“It's not the same thing. You watching hockey is like me watching school.”

She had a point.

He must have thought so too because he conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can't believe you watch those Telebelly things,” he said, but he did pick up the remote and shut off the hockey game.

“Teletubby,” Marie corrected him. “When I go to Hanna's, she puts in the tapes for her two-year-old brother. It mesmerizes him so we can paint our fingernails.”

“Hanna?”

“The girl who lives on the third floor. I told you about her.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot her name.” Once Luc set the vegetables steaming, he turned on the stovetop grill and put the chicken on.

“I'm going to the movies with her after dinner.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

Luc had an innate grace about him, whether it was reaching for a puck or turning chicken breasts on a grill, an economy of motion and fluid style that was fascinating to watch. Almost as fascinating as the way his butt filled out those cargo pants. The bottom edge of his sweater hit just below his hips and right above the Nautica label sewn on his back pocket.

Jane listened to Luc and his sister talk about her day. Everything Marie had bought, and her plans for later. Jane knew from her conversations with Luc that he didn't think he was doing a good job with Marie. Seeing them together, Jane wasn't so sure he was right. They seemed to get along pretty well. They were a family. Perhaps not an average family, maybe not always easy, but family just the same. They stood at the stove, cooking, talking, trying to include Jane, but she still felt a little left out. Marie in the too-tight jeans she'd worn when Jane had picked her up that morning, and Luc in his pants that were just right.

Luc flipped chicken and Marie filled him in on the different designers Caroline had told her about. “I hope you finally bought some jeans that aren't too tight,” he said as he checked on the steaming vegetables.

Marie looked across her shoulder at her brother and her blue eyes got a bit squinty.

Perhaps if Luc had glanced his sister's way he would have noticed she'd just taken serious issue with him and he wouldn't have added, “Your pants are so tight it's a wonder you don't blow out the seams.”

Uh-oh.

“That's soooo mean! I don't tell you your jeans are too tight.”

“That's because they're not. I don't like anything up my butt.” Finally, he glanced at Marie. “What are you so mad about?”

Marie opened her mouth, but Jane headed her off. “Marie picked out some nice things and she looks really cute in them.” Well, except that studded belt. “Caroline helped her out. I'm not any good at fashion stuff or that whole color chart thing. That's why I wear a lot of black.”

Luc moved to lean his behind into the counter. “I thought it was because you were the Queen of the Damned.”

She glanced into his smiling eyes and frowned. “No, rude guy,” she said and turned her attention back to Marie. “The next time I go get waxed, you should come along. I used to shave, but I'm a wax job convert now. It hurts like hell . . . ah, I mean the dickens . . . but it's worth it.”

“Okay.” Marie smiled at her brother. “Can I keep one of your Visas, Luc?”

“Hell, no.” He crossed his bare feet and folded his arms over his wide chest. “You'll buy twenty pounds of candy and bad Britney Spears CDs.”

Marie was back to glaring. “That only happened once, and it wasn't twenty pounds. And I don't buy bad CDs.”

“Twice. All that sugar is bad for you and Britney Spears is a mind-suck.” Tension strained the air, yet Luc didn't seem to notice. Either that or he was just good at ignoring it. He straightened and checked on their meal. “Someday, when you still have all your teeth and your brain hasn't turned to Jell-O because of Britney, you're going to thank me.”

By the look on Marie's face, that someday was a looooong way off.

By the time they all sat down at the dinning room table, Marie had pretty much gone mute. Even though Jane had been a teenage girl once, she didn't recall ever being so moody. Then again, she didn't have a brother who told her her pants were too tight and her music sucked. Just a father who used to aggravate and creep her out by blaming everything on her “woman's time.”

Luc sat at the head of the table with Jane and Marie on opposite sides. Three glasses of milk sat beside their plates, even though Jane recalled telling him she didn't drink milk when he'd asked. No one had served her milk since grade school, she thought as she placed her napkin on her lap and dug into her meal. She'd had men try to force alcohol on her before, but never milk.

Not only had Luc managed to make cooking look good, he made it taste good also. A guy who looked good enough to eat
and
could cook? If it wasn't for his Barbie collection, and forcing milk on her, he'd be too good to be true.

“The chicken is wonderful,” Jane complimented him.

“Thanks. The secret is in the orange juice.”

“You make the marinade yourself?”

“Sure, the stuff—”

“Did you know,” Marie interrupted, “that dolphins are the only mammals other than man that have sex for pleasure?”

Luc's fork stopped in midair and he looked at his sister. Marie was purposely baiting him and Jane was interested to hear his response, to see if he'd freak out and give her the reaction she wanted.