The Long Game (12 page)

“I have, but—”

“And that you like French food.”

“Yeah, but, Shane—”

“Then we’re going. Come on.” I held my hand
out to her. “It’ll be fun.”

She scrunched her mouth to one side, fighting
a smile. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“I do,” I said with a proud grin. “Now let’s
go.”

She smiled and took my hand. “Why, because
we’re going to be late for our nonexistent reservation?”

We crossed 18th Street and walked to a brown
brick building with red awnings. Yellow Art Deco lettering on gray
slate spelled out the restaurant’s name.

I pulled open one of the doors and held it
for Spencer. She hesitated but finally relented with a shake of her
head and stepped inside.

The interior of the restaurant was decorated
like a 19th century Paris bistro, complete with Lautrec lithographs
and colorful Tiffany light fixtures. A bar dominated one side of
the lower level, and a long, mahogany leather banquette lined with
tables occupied the other. Nearly every seat in the house was
filled, but a quick look around revealed a handful of two-tops
still sitting empty. A podium at the front of the room served as
the hostess station, and a girl with a bored expression and jet
black hair cut in a sharp angle from her ears to her chin stood
behind it.

I glanced down at Spencer who stood beside
me, clinging to my arm. “Okay. So, whatever I say, just go along
with it.”

Spencer’s amber eyes went wide, but she
didn’t have a chance to argue before I strode toward the podium,
her arm still wrapped in mine.

“Can I help you?” the hostess asked.

“Yeah, I have an eight o’clock reservation
for two. I know we’re a little early, but that table over there in
the corner would be just fine if it’s open.”

The girl turned to look where I’d pointed,
and I leaned over her podium to quickly scan the book open on its
surface. Her attention returned to me, and I tipped back from her
stand again.

“Name?”

“Utley,” I said, hoping I’d deciphered her
loopy scrawl correctly.

Spencer’s nails dug into my arm, but I
ignored it and met the hostess’s skeptical expression with a calm
smile.

“Utley?” she repeated.

“Yep.” I nodded. “Table for two, eight
o’clock.”

One of her penciled-in eyebrows arched
dramatically. “Chase Utley?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Chase Utley. The second baseman for the
Phillies?”

Fuck. “Well.” I laughed,
buying for time. “I mean, of course
I’m
not Chase Utley.” I put my arm
around Spencer’s shoulder. “He couldn’t make it, so he offered us
his table.”

Her expression changed from skeptical to one
of outright disbelief. “Because you’re such good friends?”

I opened my mouth, but Spencer piped up
before I had a chance to speak. “We live in the same building over
in Washington Square,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She
nestled closer under my arm.

“We’re new in the building,” I added,
squaring my shoulders in an effort to look like someone who owned a
million-dollar apartment in the city instead of someone who rented
an efficiency for $150 a week. “They’re probably our friendliest
neighbors, which is surprising given how famous he is.”

Although, apparently not so famous I wasn’t
smart enough not to use his name. Still, Spencer had done a good
job of making my mistake work to our advantage. Playing off her
reminded me a lot of running cons with my brother. We didn’t even
need to talk to each other to make it work.

“
You expect me to give you
their table just because you say so? Why didn’t they call to change
the reservation?”

I started to speak, but Spencer cut me off. I
felt her body tense and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep
from laughing when I realized it wasn’t nerves but actual annoyance
that had her so on edge. “Probably because they didn’t think you’d
make a federal case out of it. This is a restaurant, not the U.S.
Mint.”

“I know.” The hostess narrowed her dark eyes
at Spencer. “It would be easier for you to get a table there.”

Spencer made a disgusted
sound at the back of her throat. “Forget it.” She looked up at me.
“Come on. Let’s just go to that Turkish place we
actually
wanted to try
tonight.” She put her arm across my back and steered me away from
the podium, then said in a volume meant to be overheard, “I guess
this answers Jenn’s question about whether this place is worth
checking out.”

I didn’t have a clue who “Jenn” was, but
apparently the hostess did.

“Wait,” she called, and we both turned to
look at her. Her disbelief had melted into nervous uncertainty.
Earning a bad reputation with one of the highest profile residents
of Philadelphia certainly wouldn’t be good for business. “You swear
they gave you their table?”

Spencer rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Who
would go to all this trouble just for dinner?”

Who indeed? The girl fidgeted, considering
this.

“Didn’t Chase say they were thinking about
booking this place for their fundraiser dinner? For their
charity…what’s it called?” I asked Spencer. It seemed like a safe
bet. All those guys raised money for one charity or another.

“Yeah, Utley’s All-Star Animals. Jenn was
just tweeting about it.”

“Jardin would be a perfect place for a
fundraiser,” the hostess said and slid two tall leather folios from
inside the podium. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll tell them that, won’t
you?” She flashed a beatific smile as she stepped from behind her
station.

“We will if the food’s any good,” Spencer
said.

I mashed my lips into a tight line. If I
laughed, I might blow the whole thing, but Spencer’s indignation
was almost too much to take given that the whole thing was a
complete fabrication. She was a natural clip artist, a trait she
must’ve inherited from her father without even knowing it.

The hostess faltered for a second but
regained her composure quickly. “If you’ll both follow me.” She led
us to the table set for two in the back corner and stood aside
while I pulled the chair out for Spencer. Then I took my own seat.
She opened the menus and placed them in front of us. “Bon appétit,”
she said with a smile so bright it almost looked painful. “Please
let me or your server know if there’s anything you need. Anything
at all.”

“Thank you.” Spencer gave her a saccharine
smile. “We will.”

When the hostess had made her way back across
the restaurant, Spencer looked at me, her wide-eyed expression
having returned. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“We did that, sweetheart.” I grinned at her.
“And you were damn good at it, too. I’m pretty sure you could’ve
gotten a table on your own.”

She giggled. “Well, I definitely would’ve
chosen a name from that list a little more carefully.”

“All right.” I nodded. “That was probably not
the best name. But I didn’t have a ton of time to consider my
choices.”

“So is this what you do with all the girls?
Steal reservations from major sports figures?”

“Nah,” I said. “Usually I go with political
figures. Mayors, state reps—that sort of thing.”

“Well, it’s certainly the most unconventional
date I’ve ever been on. But I have to admit that was kind of fun
once I got past the terrified part.”

I reached for her hand across the table and
laced my fingers through hers. “I’m glad.”

She smiled at our linked hands for a long
moment. “So how did you know they wouldn’t be here?”

“Who?” I frowned.

“Chase and Jennifer Utley. How could you tell
they weren’t coming?”

One corner of my mouth lifted in amusement.
“I had no idea. I just picked the name.”

“Okay,” Spencer said, her eyebrows creeping
together. “So what happens when they show up for their
reservation?”

“We invite them over? I mean, we’re neighbors
and all.”

Spencer blinked at me, completely nonplussed,
and the laughter I’d managed to hold back during her earlier
performance finally broke free.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A FEW DAYS later, Spencer and I once again
found ourselves in the courtyard outside the Carroll Center.
Afternoon classes were in session, and the quad was entirely
deserted. I sat with my back against the oak where I’d first seen
her, and she sat next to me, her head on my chest.

“So what should we do with our afternoon of
freedom?” I asked, nuzzling my face in her hair.

“How should I know? I’ve never skipped class
before, remember?”

“We could go see a movie,” I suggested. “Or
just sit here all day. I’d be good with that, too.” It wasn’t a
lie. The day was warm but not uncomfortably so, and I was starting
to get used to the way she felt in my arms.

“We have to do something exciting,” she said
against my chest. “You can’t play hooky and then not have an
adventure.”

I laughed. “I think you’ve seen too many
movies.”

Spencer lifted her head to grin at me.

“Actually, I can think of something else we
could do to pass the time.” I bent my neck to kiss her. She inched
up so our faces were closer, returning the kiss with an enthusiasm
that made me smile against her mouth. I tangled my fingers in her
copper hair.

“Oh!” She pulled back so quickly I almost
fell forward. “I have an idea.”

“I thought we’d settled on my idea,” I said,
grinning wickedly. I wrapped my hands around her waist.

Spencer smiled and gently peeled my fingers
away so she could stand up. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do
since the first time I toured campus,” she said. “Wait here, and
I’ll be right back.”

Confused and resigned to the fact we weren’t
going to be pursuing my suggestion after all, I shrugged and leaned
back against the tree trunk. “I’ll be here.”

Spencer took off toward the Carroll Center
and disappeared inside. The sound of splashing water from the
fountain mingled with the voice in my mind that told me I was a
little too disappointed she was gone. I knew how close I was to
getting into Tommy’s house, and I was glad I’d played the game so
well to this point. But as anxious as I was to see my family
again—and to see the look on Judd Sheedy’s face when he found out
I’d pulled this off—that nagging voice kept whispering about how
much I’d miss Spencer’s face when it was all over. The thought had
even occurred to me that I might be able to see her again, but of
course that was impossible. She was a means to an end, and I had to
keep it that way if this was going to work.

Sunlight flashed in the corner of my eye, and
I looked over to see Spencer emerging from a glass door with a
plastic bag from the student store in one hand and a mischievous
grin on her face. I got to my feet and crossed the cobblestone to
meet her.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

By way of answer, Spencer reached into the
plastic bag and produced a bottle of bright green dish soap. She
giggled at my confused expression. “What do you get when you put
dish soap in a sink with running water?” Her eyes drifted from my
face to the splashing fountain beside us.

I followed her gaze. I was supposed to be the
troublemaker, and here she was proposing vandalism. I’d created a
monster—or, at the very least, I’d pulled back a few layers of her
good-girl exterior with that little stunt at the restaurant the
other night. “You’re joking.”

She popped open the soap bottle with her
thumb. “Not even a little.”

We were both full of nervous laughter as we
stepped to the edge of the fountain. I glanced around and nodded,
and Spencer turned the bottle over and squeezed out a stream of the
green liquid. It hit the water and started to break into smaller
globs, but no bubbles appeared.

“Hold on.” I reached out to tip the bottle
back up, then stepped out of my flip-flops. I climbed over the side
and into the calf-height water. I turned back to Spencer and held
my hand out to her. “We have to dump it in there.” I pointed to the
base of the center finial where the water churned most as it
spilled from the basins stacked above and was pulled back into the
pump from below.

Spencer kicked off her own sandals and
climbed in with me. We sloshed to the center of the fountain. She
unscrewed the bottle cap and dumped what was left of the dish soap
into the water at our feet. It began to froth right away, and
before long, the bubbles had reached the hem of my cargo shorts. I
looked up, squinting at the water that rained down from the top of
the fountain, and grinned at the bubbles starting to bloom from
there as well.

“This is going to get very messy very quick,”
I said, taking the empty bottle from Spencer.

“Or very clean, as it were.” She laughed.

“Either way, we should probably get out of
here.”

“What? We have to at least enjoy this a
little.” White clouds of bubbles drifted down from the topmost
basin.

“Spence, classes will be out soon, and
someone is going to see this—” I swiped at one of the bubble
clouds. “—and call campus security. Do you want a repeat of the
other night?”

“I don’t know. Running through the kitchen to
escape that she-devil hostess was pretty exciting.”

It was pretty fun. When the second baseman
and his wife had shown up looking for their table, dodging
dumbfounded cooks and bus boys on our way to the back service
entrance had been our only option. But it had also been an
adrenaline rush. We hadn’t stopped running until we’d torn down the
hall and through the lobby of the adjacent Radisson out onto the
street where we were lucky enough to find a cab waiting at the
curb. Even then, I’m not sure my heart slowed to a manageable pace
until the bemused cabbie dropped us at the Suburban Station to
catch our train back to Balanova.