Playing By The Rules. Beverly Bird

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      I wanted to be obstinate, but it would have been a little like cutting off my nose to spite my face. Sam has hands to die for.

      I turned and gave him my back. His strong fingers flexed at the base of my skull and found all the tight spots down the line of my vertebrae. My headache waned even as something coiled in the pit of my stomach. This was a normal reaction to Sam’s neck rubs that I had learned to ignore over the months. But this time I think I might have groaned aloud.

      “Better?” he asked.

      “Much. I’m still mad at you, though.”

      He laughed and his hands fell away. My loss. I turned to face him again.

      His dark hair had fallen over his brow sometime during our long afternoon in court. Together with his just-slightly crooked, bad-boy grin, it gave him a rakish look. It was something else I’d noticed before and that I tried to disregard. As a general rule, it’s not good to get all quivery inside over your best—platonic—friend.

      “Our first priority should be those kids,” I said finally, pulling myself back to business.

      “Agreed. So share your scampi with me and we’ll talk about it over dinner.”

      “No.” I pivoted sharply and headed for the big oak doors and all that sunshine outside.

      “I have a date, anyway!” he called after me.

      I swung back to him. “That’s two already this week, Sam. You’ve got an obsession going on here. Want me to ask Lisa Woodsen for the name of her shrink?”

      “Hey, I’m busy looking for the wrong woman.”

      Which I knew he had found many, many times. More accurately, Sam didn’t seem to want to find the right one. I put my back against the door and pushed it open.

      “Good luck,” I called back to him. “Maybe she can make you shrimp and linguine.” I was all the way down the big stone steps outside before I shook my head and let myself laugh aloud.

      “Sam again?” asked a voice from behind me.

      I turned to find Grace Simkanian on my heels. Grace was also my neighbor. She lived one floor up from Sam in a one-bedroom unit she shared with Jenny Tower. They had to buddy-up to afford the place. Jenny was a waitress and Grace clerked for one of the criminal court judges. Law clerks are paid worse than volunteers, but they have very bright futures.

      “Sam again,” I agreed. I matched Grace’s stride and we headed for the municipal lot. I always gave her a ride home when I was in court in the afternoon.

      “When are you two going to stop fighting and start clawing each other’s clothes off?” she asked.

      My stomach lurched hard and suddenly. “There’s a ridiculous notion.”

      “Ah. Clawing is beneath you.”

      That stopped me in my tracks. Grace headed on to my car without me.

      “I claw,” I protested finally, shouting after her.

      Grace stopped at the trunk of my Mitsubishi and looked back at me. “When? Tell me the last time you even considered it.”

      I caught up with her and unlocked the trunk, and we tossed our briefcases inside. “Let me think.”

      “This will take a while.”

      The hell of it was, she was right. I was coming up empty. I hadn’t had a date in six weeks and even then, Frank Ethan—the last guy—had definitely not been the clawing type.

      “Well,” I said finally, “I could claw if I wanted to.” Then I frowned. “Why are we even discussing this?” I asked.

      “Because I think you should be clawing with Sam. He’s got the look of a man who’d be good at it.”

      There was that action with my stomach again. I was starting not to like this conversation. “Sam isn’t interested in me that way.” I wondered who he was seeing tonight, if it was the same voluptuous blonde from Monday.

      “You’re touching your hair again,” Grace said. “What’s that all about?”

      I dropped my hand fast. “What?”

      “Whenever you talk about him, you touch your hair.”

      “I do not.” Then I thought about it. As I’ve mentioned, Sam has a strong preference for blondes. Specifically, he likes blondes with a lot of hair. Mine is short and black. I have that kind of face, with small features. Anything more would overpower me. I have that kind of life. I’m a single parent. I don’t have time to fuss with voluminous layers.

      My headache chose that moment to come back with an extra punch. “If you’re that impressed with Sam, then why don’t you claw with him?” I asked her.

      Grace shrugged. “I scare him.” She’s sleek, sophisticated and sharp as a tack. She says what’s on her mind and she makes no apologies for it. She’s a stunning woman with reams of dark hair, a flawless dusky complexion, and the kind of figure that stops men dead in their tracks. Then they get to her mind, and that usually backs them off. At least it does if they have any sense.

      “He tried to snuggle up to Jenny once, though,” Grace said.

      I frowned. This was the first I’d heard of it. Jenny is a sunny blonde transplanted from Kansas.

      “What happened?” I asked.

      “Nothing. He scares her.”

      I nodded, understanding that, too. Jenny is waiting for Mr. Right. The last time I checked, her list of prerequisites had not included good-hearted wolves like Sam.

      I opened my car door. “I want to go home now. I’ve had a long day.”

      “Let’s go to McGlinchey’s, instead,” Grace suggested. Jenny worked at the bar there and would be getting off at five-thirty.

      I looked at my watch and decided that I really didn’t want to cook shrimp for two tonight after all. I took my cell phone out of my purse. “If Mrs. Casamento can keep Chloe an extra hour, then I’ll go.”

      Grace settled into the passenger seat. Grace doesn’t sit, she settles. It’s a kind of gentle floating-down with her. Men tend to be very appreciative of the phenomenon.

      I made the call to the baby-sitter as I got in the car with a little less finesse. Sylvie Casamento keeps me on a short leash even as she laps up the money I pay her. Sam says it’s her express purpose in life to ensure that no one she knows enjoys anything. No one except Sam, that is. Most women adore Sam, and Mrs. C. is no exception.

      I got the okay from the baby-sitter, but not without a lot of aggrieved and chastening sighs over the fact that I might—heaven forbid—have a good time. I started the car. When I turned out of the parking lot, Sam was just stepping into the street. I stomped on the gas to pass him before I was tempted to run him over.

      McGlinchey’s was mobbed, as it usually is at that hour. The СКАЧАТЬ