Turnabout's Fair Play (17 page)

“Yeah. Don and Cookie—my grandmother—interceded and made us get together when I was in college. Ryan was a baby, and Mom had just found out she was pregnant with Chelsea. She flew back here, and Cookie invited me over without telling me Mom was at the house. Cookie swiped my car keys when I wasn’t looking and took off, leaving me there with Mom. It was bad at first. We had a lot of stuff to work through. And we didn’t get it all resolved right then. But it started us down a better path.” He dragged his mind back from the past. “Mom’s the one who made me start going to church again. I figured if she’d rediscovered her faith, anyone could, so I gave it a shot.”

“And did it take?”

He shrugged again. “Sort of. I ended up at Christ Church because that’s where all the people with money go, so it was good for my career. But I can’t say I’m truly happy there.”

“You should come visit Acklen Avenue someti—” Flannery’s voice choked off, and she cleared her throat. “I’m sure if you visit around, you’ll find a place you’ll fit in.”

Okay…he wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “I’m sure I will.”

She downed the last of her drink. “I think I interrupted you when I walked up. What were you working on?” She looked at the computer.

“Oh, not working…just …”

“Mr. O’Connor, I do believe you’re blushing.” The lilting giggle in Flannery’s tone made his face burn even hotter.

He’d been honest with her about everything else so far, so why not with this? “You’ll think I’m an absolute dork if I tell you.”

She snorted a laugh—and turned bright red herself. “After the Dracula thing Saturday night, I don’t
think
you’re a dork, I already
know
you’re a dork. So tell me.”

“I was reading fan fiction.”

Her smile faded. “Fan fiction?”

“Yeah, people who are fans of the King Arthur legends started up a website with community forums where people can chat about all the legends and books and movies. And it also has an area where people post stories they’ve written based on characters from the world.”

Flannery’s face had gone quite stiff. “Really? You read that kind of stuff?”

“Yeah. My favorite is the legend of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle. There’s someone on here who’s doing a really good job re-imagining Ragnelle’s story….” Okay—he could tell from her freaked-out expression that he’d talked way too much already. “It’s a hobby. It’s not like I spend all my free time doing it. But there are some pretty good writers on there.”

Flannery jumped and cocked her head to the side. “That’s my flight they’re calling.” She stood and slung the straps of her purse and her carry-on bag over her shoulder. “I’m glad we had a chance to chat, Jamie.” She picked up her empty cup and napkins.

He rose. “Me, too. Hope you have a good trip.”

She nodded and backed away toward the exit. “You, too.” She stuffed the cup and napkins into the trash, turned, and walked away, braid swinging down her back.

Jamie sank into his chair. He never should have told her. She’d looked at him like he’d turned into a troll right in front of her eyes. Which was exactly why, except for when a big blockbuster movie had come out and he and Danny had dressed up as their favorite knights to attend the 12:01 a.m. showing on opening day, he hadn’t mentioned his affinity for the legend to a girl since middle school. For those few months around the time the movie came out, it had been cool to be a King Arthur fan. But that had faded quickly back to the realm of fanatics and weirdoes.

And frankly, if the anonymity of a made-up username hadn’t protected his identity, he probably wouldn’t have been participating in the online community.

That was something he needed this trip for—especially the hours of traveling today—to figure out which Jamie O’Connor he was: the guy with the expensive suits and the townhouse in the right part of town who attended church to be seen and network, or the guy who had a best friend with a shared interest in a fictional fantasy world who knew the real Jamie wasn’t the suave, pulled-together guy he pretended to be.

He knew Flannery McNeill didn’t like the first guy. And with her reaction to learning his hobby, he had a feeling she might not like the second. Would she like him if he became someone else completely different? Would he like himself better than he did now?

Chapter 12

H
ow do you do it?”

“Do what?” Jamie glanced at his brother and then followed Ryan’s gaze to the woman in tight black leather pants who caught Jamie’s eye and gave him a slow wink.

Ryan turned toward him, abject admiration on his face.
“That
. Make women flirt with you without even trying.”

Jamie ran his hand over the seat of the low-slung, tricked-out motorcycle. If the bike didn’t cost more than the first new car he’d bought back in college, he might do more than just drool over it. But with only three months’ income guaranteed—his severance pay—and still no clue what kind of job he wanted, this impulse trip to Utah would be the last unbudgeted money he could spend.

He took another peek at the biker chick from the corner of his eye. Even though she seemed to be with a guy twice Jamie’s size—in width, anyway—and dressed as if he spent a lot of time in a motorcycle showroom, she’d positioned herself so that she could watch Jamie. He raised his head, gave her a tight smile, and then turned his back toward her, not wanting any trouble.

“It’s the not-trying part that’s the secret.” He settled his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and led him toward the other end of the showroom. “You see, genetically, we’ve been blessed. Women are going to notice us.” Could he sound like any more of an arrogant pig? “What I mean is that once we figure out how to look our best—which you’ve already got a handle on—women are going to look. And one thing I’ve learned they don’t like is men who
know
they look good.”

Ryan nodded, though his dark brows remained pinched together.

“And another thing I learned is that beautiful women aren’t used to being ignored. They know they’re beautiful, and they want men to admire them—so they can put us in our place by ignoring us. When we pay no attention to them, it makes them try harder.”

“So I should ignore beautiful women, and they’ll flirt with me?”

“Ignore
may be too strong. Acknowledge, but leave it at that. It’s the plain girls, the ones who never get attention—those are the ones you want to flirt with. Not only do they tend to be more the type you want to spend time with, but they’re also less likely to cheat on you.”

The words spewed out of Jamie’s mouth like they came from someone else. Was that really what he did? Who he was? How he treated women? And would he be happy letting his little brother follow that advice?

If Flannery McNeill heard him say something like that …

“You know what? Forget what I just said. If you see a woman you like, talk to her. And when you do, just be yourself. Don’t try to act like you’re someone you’re not. She may not like you in return, but at least you tried, right?”
And don’t say anything about Dracula or King Arthur fan fiction. It freaks them out
. “Someday you’ll run across one who likes you for who you are. I mean, look at Mom and Don.”

Ryan seemed even more confused now than when Jamie had been spouting his sales pitch for flirting. But he nodded.

“Speaking of Mom …” Jamie pulled out his phone to check the time. “She’s probably over at the restaurant waiting for me. Thanks for taking me hiking and hanging out with me this week, Bro.”

“I wish you weren’t going back to Tennessee tomorrow.”

“We still have Chelsea’s birthday dinner tonight.” He cuffed his hand around Ryan’s neck. “And I promise I’m going to try to get out here more often. After all, the skiing’s nowhere near as good on the east side of the country as it is out here.”

“You got that right.” Ryan ducked out of his grasp and then gave Jamie a quick, one-armed hug. “Mom is going to drive you home, right?”

“Yeah. So go hang with your friends, and don’t worry about me.” Jamie squinted against the sun when they exited the store.

“Tell Mom I’ll be home around four.” Ryan slid mirrored aviator sunglasses down to cover his eyes—the same unusual dark-gray color as Jamie’s and their mom’s.

“I will.” Jamie waited for the traffic on South State Street to clear before jogging across the thoroughfare to the Village Inn Restaurant.

Mom waved to him from a booth to his right. He gave a smile and a little wave to the hostess—who looked disappointed she didn’t get to talk to him or seat him—and walked to the booth. He leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek in greeting.

“Did you and Ryan have fun looking at motorcycles you’ll never buy?” She clasped her hands atop her open menu and leaned forward as he slid into his seat.

“Motorcycles? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ryan and I hiked Bell Canyon to the waterfall this morning.” Jamie flipped open his menu, trying to keep a straight face.

Mom inclined her head to her left. Jamie looked out the bank of windows—which had a clear view of the motorcycle place across the street.

Busted. “We got done a little earlier than expected and just went in there to kill some time. He’s a great kid. I’m sorry that I’ve missed out on so much of his life.”

Mom pressed her lips together into a motherly smile. “I know that feeling.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

Their server arrived with drinks. A diet soda for Mom and …

“You remembered.” Jamie took the glass of red juice from the server and tasted it. “Cranberry.”

“I’m the one who got you hooked on the stuff as a kid. How could I forget?” Mom pushed her dark hair over her shoulder. Not the jet black he remembered from his childhood, but a softer dark brown that made her look a good ten to fifteen years younger than her real fifty-five.

Jamie studied the menu, debating between a couple of items. When the server returned, he made up his mind. “I’ll have a cup of tomato-basil soup and a turkey sandwich, hold the mayo and cheese, with coleslaw instead of fries as my side.”

Mom ordered a salad. They handed over their menus, and the server went away to put in their order. Jamie’s stomach growled. Even though he’d filled up on a huge, protein-packed breakfast at the Black Bear Diner in Sandy before heading up into the canyon, the four-mile hike from the trailhead to the waterfall and back did a good job of burning it all off.

Mom reached over and took his hand again. “I’m really happy you decided to come out and spend the week. I’m sorry for the circumstances that made it possible, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I came, too. I don’t know if it’s losing my job, but everything seems different this time.”

His mother’s expression softened. “I think that’s because you’ve changed. You’re so much more relaxed this time. You’re more…you.” She gave his hand a squeeze and then released it. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, just …”

“No, I know what you mean. It’s like getting laid off has held a mirror in front of me and shown me that working in that place for so long changed me into someone I didn’t recognize anymore.” He’d told her and Don the basics of getting laid off, but she deserved to hear the whole story. And frankly, he needed to talk about it.

Their food arrived while he told her everything that’d happened, from finding out he was getting laid off to being asked to leave the building a week ago—including someone from Human Resources standing over him while he packed the few remaining items in his office to take home.

“It was humiliating,” he said around a bite of sandwich, “but strangely satisfying.”

Mom dipped her fork into the ramekin of salad dressing before spearing a cherry tomato and some lettuce. “I know you said your first night here that you aren’t sure what you want to do. But now that you’ve had a week of rest and relaxation—and hiking and sightseeing—have you given it any more thought?”

Jamie wiped his mouth and took a swig of cranberry juice. “I’m not sure. I think I want to get out of the sales and marketing racket, though.” He’d been wanting to ask her something all week, but the right opportunity had never presented itself. No time like the present. “Mom, I’ve kind of been”—he looked around and lowered his voice—“praying about it, and it feels like I’m getting an answer, but I’m just not sure.”

Mom reached across the table and patted his cheek. “There’s no shame in admitting that you’ve asked God’s guidance, sweetheart. In fact, if I hadn’t been sure you’d laugh at me, I’d have asked you if you’d prayed about it. I’m proud of you for doing so.”

The heat in his cheeks from his admission of weakness—in not being able to make this decision on his own—receded. “Thanks.”

“So what’s this answer you think you’re getting?” She took a dainty bite of greenery.

“Well, I’m not sure, because it’s something…something I think D–dad would have told me wasn’t the kind of c–career for a man.” His whole body tensed just thinking about how his father would have reacted.

With a clatter of fork against plate, Mom also stiffened. She pressed her hands flat against the table on either side of her bowl. “Jamie, you know I loved your father. And I know you feel like you have to live up to his expectations for you. But, Son, you can honor your father better by doing what will make you happy, not what you think would fulfill some ideal you formed of what he wanted you to be when you were twelve years old.”