by Impulsive
"Sounds fine with me, and in that case I'll take you up on your offer and switch to shorts."
He followed her into the apartment, gratefully sucking in the dry, cool air. "Ah, air-conditioning. God bless the man who invented it!"
"Make yourself comfortable," Jess told him, heading down the hall. "I'll be back in a jiffy."
"Mind if I take a look around the place?" he asked.
"Go ahead. Help yourself to some iced tea if you want."
Like Jess, her apartment wasn't showy. Her living room furniture appeared more comfortable than trendy, though instead of the usual couch or loveseat she had chosen a futon. Ty had seen them in stores, but had never sat on one before. He lowered himself onto the puffy cushion and bounced lightly.
"Hey! Is this thing really comfortable to sleep on?" he called out to her.
"The futon?" she yelled back, hazarding a guess.
"Is that what it's called? This couch-thing that folds out?"
"Yes, it's not bad at all, but I wouldn't want to be relegated to it on a nightly basis."
Skirting an oak end table, Ty zeroed in on her entertainment center. Her TV was a color portable with a built-in VCR, nice but nothing to rave about. But her stereo system, now that was state-of-the-art! Ty perused her collection of tapes and CDs.
"I see you like some of the same music I do," he shouted over his shoulder.
"You don't have to yell; I'm right here." She'd come into the room so quietly he hadn't heard her.
"Sorry. I thought you were still changing." His gaze, when he turned, traveled lingeringly over the super-long, shapely expanse of her legs. His eyes widened and seemed to grow darker, becoming more midnight blue than indigo. He coughed to clear his throat, and said huskily, "I'll take you up on that iced tea if you don't mind. I haven't made my way past the living room yet."
"So I see." Jess headed for the kitchen, with Ty trailing behind. She walked to the refrigerator, retrieved the pitcher of tea, turned around and bumped smack into him. He was peering over her shoulder into the refrigerator.
"If you're that hungry, I can make you a sandwich," she said, pushing past him to the cupboard where she kept the glasses. "Or we can leave now if you prefer."
"No, I'm fine." His head was half-buried in the fridge as he inventoried its contents.
Jess didn't know whether to be perturbed or to laugh. "Uh, Ty. What are you doing?"
"Finding out what kinds of foods you like."
"Oh. Well, move, will you, so I can get to the ice cubes?"
Instead, he opened the freezer and handed her a tray, getting a look at the frozen goods inside.
"Real ice cream," he commented. "And not a diet entree in sight. It's going to be fun going out for a change with someone who isn't counting calories. I hate sitting down to a dinner of country fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, creamed peas, and rolls slathered with butter, while my date is munching on a plate of rabbit food. It makes me feel guilty, and takes a lot of the enjoyment out of the meal."
"You certainly won't have that problem with me," she assured him, passing him a glass of tea. "If it isn't chock-full of calories and fat, half the taste is gone. And if it's made of chocolate, get out of my way or I'll mow you down to get at it. I sincerely pray that I never become overweight, because my willpower in that department is totally nil."
By now, Ty was out of the freezer and had spotted her cappuccino machine. "Wow! Look at that!" He tugged open a cupboard door, then another. "You have real food in here, too, and pots and pans that actually look used, and a mixer, and a Crockpot, and a food processor. Tell me you cook, honest-to-God cook, and I'll marry you tomorrow."
Jess shook her head, amused at his overblown enthusiasm. "Down, boy! Down! Let's not get carried away, here. Besides, you'd be the last man I'd choose to marry."
Ty blinked in surprise and tendered a frown. "Why? You've already admitted that you think I'm handsome, I'm semifamous and make good money, and"—he winked—"I've never had any complaints in the bedroom. All in all, most women would consider me a prize catch."
"I'm not most women," she reminded him, "and if you'd think about it for a minute, you'd know why I'd be nuts to marry you. Do you really suppose I'd want to go through the rest of my life with the name of Jessie James?"
Ty roared with laughter, as once again she caught him off guard. "Oh, that's choice!" he hooted.
"To you, maybe, but not to me."
"But you do cook?" he urged, nodding toward a rack of cookbooks he'd just noticed.
"When I have time," she told him. "When I'm not on assignment somewhere and living out of a suitcase."
"Do you do that much?" he questioned. "Travel, I mean."
"I try to hold it to a minimum, but often there's a story I want to research, something that just won't gel via phone or computer, or some event or incident that needs that hands-on touch. Then I drive or fly to wherever it is and get the scoop firsthand. Sometimes being there—seeing, touching, smelling, experiencing it up close, getting face-to-face interviews— makes the difference between a so-so story and a really great one."
"That makes sense, I suppose," he granted. After a quick peek into the laundry area, Ty sauntered back through the living room and headed down the hall. With Jess trailing behind, he found the hall closet and the guest bath, giving them a swift once-over and continuing on. Next to be discovered was her office.
"I take it this used to be the second bedroom?" he ventured.
"Yes, but I converted it into an office for myself, since I do a lot of my work at home. When I have overnight guests, they camp out in the living room."
He wandered around the room, checking out her desktop computer, her printer, her bookcase, her fax. "You've got some quality equipment here," he remarked. Bending over, he noted the read-out on the fax and chuckled. "I see you remembered to turn it back on."
After admiring her laptop computer, he made a beeline for the only remaining room off the hall. Without bothering to ask permission first, he opened the door and walked in. "The master bedroom, or in this instance I suppose it's the mistress's bedroom," he stated, looking around with interest. "Cozy. I forget, what's that design on the comforter and curtains called?"
"Paisley."
"Oh, yeah. Those curved jobbies always remind me of sperm." Her stunned reaction to his blunt statement was lost on him as he strode into the connecting bath.
To Jess's annoyance he opened the cupboard beneath the sink, then the door to the medicine cabinet. "What do you think you're doing?" she snapped, slamming the cabinet door shut again.
"I can't believe you! Didn't your mother teach you any better?"
He had the nerve to grin at her as he slipped past her into the bedroom again. "Just checking your supply of Midol, my dear. No need to get your dander up. On second thought, if you're getting that strung out, maybe you should pop a couple of those babies before we leave. And I noticed you're low on tampons."
"Shove it, James."
At this juncture, she really shouldn't have been surprised when Ty marched over, yanked open the door to her closet, and began rifling through her clothes. "What are you looking for now, pray tell?" she inquired sharply.
"Nothing particular," he told her. "Just trying to get a sense of your style, and the colors you prefer." He dragged out an army green tailored blazer, held it up, and grimaced. "Oh, puke! Don't tell me you really like this thing?"
She grabbed it from him and rammed it back in the closet. "That's it, buster. The tour's over. You've worn out your welcome."
By the time she slammed the closet door, Ty, ignoring her obvious pique, was cataloging the contents of her dresser drawers. He'd found the one with her underwear and was rifling through it before she could stop him.
"Okay, where are they?" he muttered.
Jess shoved at his hands, all the while plying her weight against his in an effort to shut the drawer. "Where's what?" she snarled. "Damn it, Ty! If you're on a hunt for drugs, I don't have any.
I don't sell, and I don't use, and I don't associate with anyone who does."
"I already figured that," he stated flatly. "You wouldn't want to mess up your brain, since that's how you make your living. I'm trying to find your bras, but all I can locate so far are these shapeless sports things that look like sawed-off T-shirts."
"My bras?" she repeated stupidly. "My bras?" This time she shrieked the words. "Look, you pervert. If you're into ladies' underwear, go buy your own and get your big paws off mine!"
He turned and gave her a disgusted look. "I'm as normal as the next guy. Maybe more. I just needed to see what size you wore, and I figured if I asked, you wouldn't tell me."
"Damn straight, Sherlock." She glared at him, her eyes blazing like lit coals.
He held out his arms, palms up in a conciliatory gesture. "I can explain."
"Uh huh. Sure you can," she said snidely.
"The reason I needed to know your size was... well, I got you something today, and I wanted to make sure they'd fit."
Jess shook her head, as if to clear her ears. "Care to run that past me again?"
"What the hell. You can't get any more pissed at me than you are already." He reached into his rear pants' pocket and pulled out a small paper sack, holding it out to her.
Jess reached for it hesitantly, as if it might contain a family of tarantulas.
"Go ahead," he prodded. "Open it."
She did. Inside were two badly mashed, squishy flesh-tone objects. She pulled them out, holding them by the tips of her fingers.
Her enunciation was exaggerated to the extreme, her tone deadly calm as she inquired, "Are these what I think they are?"
"What do you think they are?" he hedged, his expression as guilty as sin.
"Falsies." She all but spat the word at him.
"Actually, the correct term these days, according to the saleslady who waited on me, is 'breast enhancers.' "
"I don't care if they're called booby balloons!" she shot back, waving them in front of his nose. "It amounts to the same thing! And you can take them right back! Maybe you can get a refund. If not, wear them yourself for all I care. I certainly won't!"
"I knew you'd take this all wrong," he griped. "Look, Jess. I was just trying to help."
"Help?" she mocked. "If this is your idea of help, I can darned well do without it."
He sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just figured you must be self-conscious about the size of your breasts, and maybe you were too shy or sensitive about the subject to buy something like this yourself."
"But you weren't at all shy about doing it for me, were you?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "My God! I can't believe you actually purchased these yourself! Or did you have someone else do it for you?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Fess up, you cad. Who else is in on this nasty little joke of yours?"
"It's no joke, Jess, and no one knows but you and me. I honestly did buy them myself, and believe me when I tell you it was anything but funny. I had to talk my ass off to get that woman to believe I was buying the blasted things for my poor, embarrassed, underdeveloped little sister."
"Well!" she huffed. "Thank you too much for your blunt analysis of my attributes, or lack thereof. However, your efforts and any embarrassment you suffered—and I hope you were humiliated to the hilt—were all in vain. I learned a long time ago not to attempt to make myself over into something I wasn't meant to be. I also learned this particular lesson the hard way," she added, wagging the falsies at him for emphasis. "Believe me, the lesson stuck."
"You, uh... you tried some already?"
"To my everlasting regret," she admitted. "I was fifteen, and all the other girls in my class had chests. All but me. I was still in the training bra stage, being teased to death by my older brother. Finally, Mom took pity on me and bought me a padded bra. Overnight, I went from a minus-A to a B cup, and I took a lot more ribbing from brother Mike about that. He liked to claim I'd sprayed them with Miracle Grow."
A chuckle spurted from Ty's lips. At Jess's scowl, he pursed them in an effort to quell any further outbursts.
She resumed her tale. "Some of the other kids at school were really unkind about it, too, but I ignored them all in favor of my new, improved shape. Until the day the washer broke and Mom and I went to the laundromat to do the clothes. Everything went fine until we got home and I couldn't locate the foam inserts to my bra. To make a long story short, we drove back to the laundromat. Mom went in and came out just as fast. She got back into the car, clutched the wheel, and in a strangled voice told me that if I wanted those things back that badly, I would have to go in and get them myself, because someone had tacked them to the bulletin board."
"Oh, my Lord!" If his life had depended on it, Ty could not have kept from laughing.
Even Jess was wearing a wry grin, remembering that long-ago day. "Oh, go ahead. Mom laughed, too. So hard she could scarcely see to drive, as I recall."
"What did you do? You left the falsies there, I presume?"
"On the contrary. I went in there, in front of a packed audience of males and females of all ages, I might add. With a face as red as a ripe apple, I snatched my 'boobies' off that wall and ran out as fast as I could. Mom peeled rubber for half a block making our getaway.
"Not long afterward, I decided the embarrassment and the heckling weren't worth it. God forbid something even more mortifying should happen. The padded bra hit the trash, and from that day forth my motto has been, 'What you see is what you get, like it or not.' "
Ty reached out and plucked the offending objects from her grasp. "Jess, if I'd known, I swear to you I would never have bought these things. I didn't do it with malicious intent."
"I believe you, but that doesn't help much right this minute. You see, Ty, I realize that you're used to being seen with beautiful women, with well-rounded figures, and I don't fit that bill by a long shot. Whether you admit it or not, you and I both know that your underlying motive was to make me over into someone more suited to your I-deserve-the-best standards. Well, I've got news for you, Studly Do-Wrong. I'm not going to play that game. Not for you, or any other self-centered male on the planet. Along with other hard-learned lessons, I've concluded that any man worthy of my respect and affection will accept me just as I am. If not, he can just trot on down the road, because he's not welcome here."
Ty grimaced. "So basically what you're saying is, 'You are woman, hear you roar'? Thanks for cluing me in to your feminist leanings, because I think I've finally figured out what that acronym you threw at me the other day means. Wagara must stand for Women's Association of Grandiose and Ridiculous Attitudes."
Jess dredged up a fake smile. "Sorry. Nice try, but no cigar."
"Okay, so the falsies are out. How about a nice underwire bra? My sister claims they do wonders to push everything up and in or out or whatever."
"I'm so glad for your sister," Jess professed blandly.
"The least you could do is buy some sexy silk undies. What's with all the cotton? You planning to join a convent?"
"I doubt they'd accept me. I'm a Methodist. Now, I hope you'll understand if I ask you to leave. And take those stupid falsies with you, if you please."
"Oh, come on, Jess. I've apologized. Let bygones be bygones. I don't want to eat alone, and it's too late to make a date with someone else. Besides, I'm supposed to be seeing you exclusively, which, if you really want to know, is putting quite a crimp in my social life these days."
She jerked her thumb toward the street outside, her expression unrelenting. "Wagara, Romeo. Wagara."
CHAPTER 6
The Knights had their third preseason contest that Sunday. It was a home game against the Minnesota Vikings, and the new climate-controlled Castle-Dome, built to accommodate a whopping hundred thousand fans, was barely half-filled. Perhaps because it was still preseason, or maybe because the Knights had lost their first two matchups, one at home and one away. The Seahawks had really dented their armor last week in Seattle, but to be fair they
had made a fair showing against the 49ers in the preseason opener, losing by only six points, the total of two missed field goals by their rookie kicker.
Corey Rome must have been watching for Jess. The minute Jess saw her, the woman waved for Jess to join her down front, on the first section of seats behind the home bench.
"I saved you a seat," Corey told her, then laughed. "Not that there aren't plenty to choose from, but these are reserved for us." "Us" being the wives, children, and special friends of the players.
"Thanks," Jess said with a smile. "And thank you for your help the other day. I know you probably don't get such strange calls every day."
Corey chuckled. "I've had weirder calls, believe me."
For two days after Ty had left her apartment, Jess had stewed. She'd fumed. She'd cursed Ty for the arrogant ass he was. Then she'd phoned Corey Rome, the only woman she'd met lately with a figure anywhere comparable to her own, and presumed to ask the model's advice. Corey had been a doll about the entire subject, not at all bitchy or superior—which was why Jess was sitting next to her now, wearing a stretchy new satin-and-lace, barely padded "Magic" bra beneath her ribbed knit top.
Corey's eyes twinkled. "So? It looks good. How does it feel?"
"Odd," Jess confided in a near whisper. "More confining than my sports bras, but lighter, too. I didn't know they made them so pretty these days, without those stupid removable pads."
Corey winked. "Hey! We've come a long way, babe. A little polyester fiberfill in the right places, and whallah! Instant cleavage! And who's to know? In the heat of passion, a guy is going to be eyeing what's popping out over the lace, not what's supporting you underneath or on the sides."
"Are you sure it isn't too much? Too drastic a change?" Jess asked self-consciously.