Strike Zone (17 page)
Would be wrong. Taylor wanted Stryke as much as she’d wanted anything in her life. But he was engaged, and no matter their history, he’d moved on.
She pulled back and let him go.
Brek slid off the bed. He stretched, then looked down at her. “Better?” he asked.
“Less lost,” she admitted.
“Glad you found yourself.”
They stared at each other, the stare of two people who connected and communicated even in silence.
For the second time since his arrival, he appeared to want to tell her something, yet he let it slide. She had no right to push him to reveal what he didn’t wish to share.
“Hungry, Ms. Hannah?” A food server entered the room, tray in hand. He set it on Taylor’s nightstand and departed.
She checked out the food. “Salad. Turkey and mashed potatoes. Lime Jell-O.”
“Guess that’s my cue to leave.”
She’d prefer for him to stay, yet found no reason to hold him. He’d soon be having dinner with Hilary. “Thanks, Brek—for everything.”
He nodded, understanding. “It was a long time coming, Taylor.”
Too long. And too late.
He smiled at her then, a smile that warmed her from head to toe and made her hot in the middle. “See you tomorrow. After the game.”
“I’ll be here or in therapy.”
“I’ll find you.” And he was gone.
Gone to Hilary.
Which left Taylor alone with her dinner. She looked at her nightstand and saw the box of jelly beans Brek had left. She lifted the lid, picking out a cherry-flavored piece.
It tasted of sweetness and memories.
She ate her dessert first.
“You ready for dinner and some shopping?” Sloan McCaffrey asked Eve Hannah when he arrived at Addie’s condominium.
“You have a razor? A clean shirt?” she retorted, her nose in the air.
He scrubbed his knuckles along his jaw. A week’s worth of stubble shouldn’t offend her. Only if he kissed her would he leave whisker burn. His lips certainly weren’t going to touch the pinched line of her mouth.
Just because she looked all tailored and tight-assed, that didn’t mean he had to be equally stuffy. So what if his gray T-shirt had a few wrinkles? It was the cleanest one he had just now. There were no tears or sweat stains. He’d showered, put on deodorant. It was as good as it was going to get before he did some laundry.
Eye-to-eye with Eve on the front stoop, he wished he hadn’t bought her a gift. He now regretted the impulse buy. His last image of Eve at Addie’s birthday party had been of her doing the Bunny Hop. She’d been in the lead, and a blind man couldn’t have missed the soft bounce of her breasts.
She’d been one hot bunny.
His afternoon at Toys for Tots had inspired him to buy her a stuffed animal. What he’d thought might be humorous then didn’t seem so funny now. When he produced the yellow duck from behind his back and teasingly quacked, Eve’s mood turned foul.
“Childish,” she said coolly as she set it on a plant stand just inside the door.
“It’s good to feel like a kid on occasion,” Sloan returned. “It’s hell playing grown-up all the time.”
“Especially when you don’t play it well.”
She was hostile. “Loosen up a little. It’s our second date.”
“We never had a first.”
“Addie’s birthday marked us as a couple.”
She rolled her eyes. “In your dreams.”
He
had
dreamed about Eve. Twice. Both times she’d crawled into his bed, buck naked and wild. Sadly, the real Eve was nothing like his dream lover. She didn’t know how to have fun.
He’d wanted to show her a good time. “You’re an artist and like paint. There’s an indoor paintball park at Riverside Mall—Master Blasters. While Addie and her friends shop, I thought we’d go a round.”
He’d like nothing better than to blast her with a paintball gun. Get down and dirty and chase her around the course.
“I paint with oils, using a palette and sable brushes,” she said stiffly. “I don’t blast a canvas with a splatter gun.”
“If you win, no more dates. If I win, we go on a third.”
She was slow to nod. “Fair enough. You’re on.”
He was suddenly charged. Hunting down Eve held real appeal.
“Hello, Sloan.” Addie greeted him warmly as she and her seven friends came down the condo’s hallway—six women and one man. After the introductions, the group filed out to the van.
At the curb, Addie suggested Eve ride up front beside Sloan. Her suggestion was met with a negative shake of Eve’s head. Eve climbed to the rear of the van, ending up on the backseat beside Edwin Sweeney, Mr. Horseshoe.
The older man slid his arm along the back of the seat. Sloan wondered if that was a deliberate move on Edwin’s part or if the man was merely stretching.
Sloan kept a close eye on them through the rearview mirror during the twenty-minute drive to Riverside Mall. Edwin would dip his head and whisper near her ear, and Eve would flash her dimple and braces. Damn if the man wasn’t flirting with her.
“Where does everyone want to eat?” Sloan asked the group as he made his second pass through the parking lot looking for just the right spot. The Sprinter with the extended frame drove like a bus. He needed plenty of room to park between cars.
“The food court?” Addie tossed out. She’d been all smiles since they’d left her condominium, excited about a night out with her friends.
“There’s also Belissaro Americano for burgers and steaks,” Sloan suggested. “My teammate Romeo owns it. Or we can try Noodles, lots of pasta dishes.”
Zeta Freed nodded from the third-row seat. “I could go for a bowl of buttered shells.”
Sloan smiled at Zeta in the rearview mirror. The lady was tall and thin, her eyes framed with designer glasses—pink frames decorated with crystals. Tiny rainbows danced off her cheeks when the sun caught her just right. Zeta was quick to make decisions. He liked a woman who could make up her mind.
“Let’s vote.” Addie went democratic. “Who’s for Noodles?” She took a hand count. “It’s pasta,” she told Sloan.
The restaurant was dark and intimate, geared for couples on a date. Seated between Addie and Zeta, and across from Eve and Edwin Sweeney, Sloan blinked in the candlelight. He listened rather than joining in on the conversation around him. He was not well versed in hemorrhoids, acid reflux, or hip replacements.
“Would you like my garlic?” Zeta held up a spoonful of the finely chopped garlic. “It gives me heartburn.”
Sloan accepted the garlic and sprinkled it over his tomato linguini. He’d no plans for kissing tonight.
Across the table, he heard Eve giggle. He looked up and found her and Edwin sharing a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs. If they sucked a noodle like in
Lady and the Tramp
, Sloan would be sick. The older man seemed to have a healthy appetite. He took two bites to Eve’s one.
Eve appeared to enjoy Edwin’s company.
Which was beyond Sloan. What could they possibly have in common? There was a two-generation gap between them. The man could be her grandfather.
Addie leaned toward Sloan and whispered, “Edwin’s such a nice man. Not many men his age have a full head of hair. He’s quite lonely. A widower for twenty years now.”
Sloan squinted across the table. The candlelight held Eve within its flame, casting her face in highlights and shadows. Her eyes looked greener. Her cheeks warmed with color. Her smile was brighter. He chomped down on a sesame bread stick. “Looks like Edwin’s into younger women.”
Addie’s smile was soft. “I hope so.”
His fork halfway to his mouth, Sloan stopped eating. Addie couldn’t possibly consider Eve and Edwin a good match. The age difference between them was downright ludicrous. The man had one foot in the grave.
The conversation turned to pacemakers and cataract surgery, then on to dentures—more topics to which Sloan couldn’t relate. Slouched in his chair, he gazed across the table at Eve. He stared until she stared back.
She looked flushed and happy until their eyes locked; then she closed down on him. Her eyes flitted over his T-shirt and she bit her bottom lip. “You’re wearing your linguini.”
To Sloan’s way of thinking, tomato stains showed a man’s pleasure in his food. He’d eaten with gusto. Screw Eve for pointing out that he should have tucked a napkin at his neck.
Beside him, Zeta clucked like a mother hen as she dampened a corner of her linen napkin with water from her glass and went to work on the stains. Her knobby elbow jabbed Sloan in the side, her arthritic fingers scrubbing away at the cotton fabric. Her fashion ring snagged the T-shirt and left a tiny hole.
A minute passed, and Zeta tossed her napkin on the table. “Much better, son.”
Zeta’s idea of
much better
and Sloan’s own ran a dining room apart. She’d squished the stains fully into his shirt. Smeared pink, the top half stuck to his chest, and he now smelled like a tomato.
To make matters worse, Eve smiled.
And Addie chuckled. “It’s club soda, not water, that removes stains,” she reminded Zeta.
Zeta threw up her hands. “Too much to remember at my age.”
Sloan patted her bony shoulder. “It all comes out in the wash.”
“Go light on the bleach,” Zeta said.
Sloan understood. He’d added way too much Clorox to his clothes the last time he did laundry. A dozen T-shirts had disintegrated into nothing but thread.
“Dessert, anyone?” Addie asked of those at the table.
Eve and Edwin split a chocolate-raspberry cannoli. Zeta passed, claiming she was ready to pop. Everyone else had tiramisu.
“Can I sample?” Zeta reached across Sloan and scooped a bite of his dessert. “Just one little taste.”
“Taste all you want.” Sloan pushed the dessert plate between them.
And she did. Zeta’s one small bite turned into her eating half his tiramisu. Sloan didn’t mind. The Italian confection was thick and rich. A bowl of vanilla ice cream would have suited him better.
When the server delivered Edwin Sweeney the bill, Sloan reached across the table, nearly burning the underside of his arm on the candle. He lifted it out of Sweeney’s hand before his shirtsleeve caught on fire.
“My treat,” he told Mr. Horseshoe.
“I’ll leave the tip,” Edwin offered.
“Fine.” Sloan nodded his acceptance.
“Let’s do a little shopping.” Addie rose from the table. “I need a new pair of shoes, and Zeta wants to browse the Happy Booker.”
“I need a new mystery to read,” Zeta explained.
“A stop at the drugstore for me,” Edwin stated.
The remaining five women headed for the shops, handbags, hosiery, and a hair salon at the top of their lists.
Before going their separate ways, everyone agreed to meet at the main entrance in two hours.
“Sloan and I will be at the paintball center,” Eve told her grandmother. “I have my cell phone if you need to reach me.”
Addie waved them on. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Sloan and Eve cut through Foss’s Pharmacy, each taking a separate aisle. At the back of the store, Sloan caught Edwin Sweeney talking to a young female cashier. The girl looked confused. Sweeney also appeared out of his element.
“Prophylactics,” Sloan heard the older man say.
The girl shook her head. “What are they? Wrist or ankle braces? Foot insoles?”
“Condoms.” Sloan came up behind Sweeney.
The girl’s eyes widened. “Two aisles down on the right.”
Sloan led Sweeney to the Trojans. “Thank you, son.” Edwin released a breath when they stood before the display.
Latex or lambskin? Magnum or snug? Sloan watched Sweeney read the labels.
“It’s been a while,” the older man admitted.
Yet Edwin planned to get lucky tonight. Sloan wondered if Eve knew Sweeney was making this monumental purchase.
He tapped his favorite brand. “Easy slide and glide.”
Edwin thanked him.
Sloan nodded toward the pharmacy. “Need any enhancement? The little blue pill?”
“Desire works best, even with a man my age.” He moved on to pay for his condoms.
Mr. Horseshoe could still get it up. Whom he would stick bothered Sloan most.
Eve came up behind him. She glanced from Sloan to the Trojans and frowned. “Thought we were playing paintball.”
“I helped Edwin Sweeney make a selection.”
“Edwin bought condoms?” She dimpled, her braces flashing.
“Yeah, appears he likes younger women.”
“Addie hopes so.”
He was suddenly lost. “Addie?” He’d thought Edwin was about to make a move on Eve.
“My grandmother is eight years younger than Edwin. They’ve been dancing around each other for a year now. Edwin’s wanted approval from me and Taylor before he courted Addie. Taylor gave him the go-ahead last week. I told him tonight to go for it. It would be a second chance at love for both of them. No one wants to grow old alone.”
Edwin and Addie. Relief filled him, and Sloan relaxed. He shouldn’t have cared if the older man and snippy Eve were going to get it on. But he damn sure had. It had bothered him so much it had tied his stomach in knots.
He exhaled and motioned toward the door. “Let’s go. Master Blasters is across the parking lot. I’m going to shoot you blue.”
“You’re already tomato pink.” She eyed his shirt. “Guess I’ll have to go with red.”
Sloan snagged a tin of Altoids on his way out. He tossed an Andrew Jackson on the counter, but didn’t wait for his change. He popped two breath mints as he followed Eve across the lot. Obviously she wasn’t going to wait for him.
He enjoyed the severe set of her shoulders, the stiffness of her spine, down to her tight ass. She power walked with a righteous sense of purpose.
Sloan couldn’t wait to splatter her with paint.
“Quiet night, Mr. McCaffrey,” the manager said as he greeted them at the door to the large indoor facility where Sloan was a regular. He frequently brought groups of underprivileged kids to Master Blasters. They played war games for hours.
“There’s one group ahead of you,” Gus informed him. “They should be finished in twenty minutes.”
“I want a private hour. We’ll play Black Ops.” Sloan wanted to torment Eve Hannah in the war-zone maze.
“Rental package, or did you bring your own equipment?” Gus inquired.
