Annabelle gulped hard.
With his hand cupping her elbow again, he steered her away. He took charge and politely nudged, excused, and commanded his way through the throng of partygoers and toward the ladies’ room.
“Yo, Max,” several guys called out.
He nodded or answered back. “Catch you in a few.”
“Mr. Popularity?” she muttered.
“That’s Super Max to you.”
A giggle bubbled up and she couldn’t hold back any longer.
Slowing his pace, he gazed down at her. “Hair-trigger temper and yet you can laugh the next minute.”
It wasn’t a question. How could a guy she just met know her so well already? Yes, she had a quick heating point; hence tapping into the Irish in her. However, she got over it lightning quick. Grudge didn’t belong in her vocabulary.
“Here we are.” Max halted in front of the big wooden door. He flicked a glance at his watch. “Ten minutes should do.”
Looking down at the mess, she said, “Fifteen. Now, you go back in there and get that Whitfield jock to sign this baby.” She tapped a hand on the leather football he cradled like a pro.
His lip tugged up at the corner, as if he tried to suppress a smile. “Should I call you Coach now?”
She sighed heavily. “Call me anything you want, but just get the play done and score—”
The door swung open and a man popped his head out. “Did I hear some sexy talk about scoring?”
“Rico? What are you…?” Max trailed off and rechecked the plaque on the door. Ladies’ Room.
“Oh, Max, come in.” He reached out a hand. “You might be able to talk some sense into Paige. She’s a ball of nerves.”
“Now I understand.”
“You do?” Irish asked. “Can you fill me in? Wait, never mind. I’ll figure it out.” She reached out, grabbed his upper arms, and turned him in the opposite direction. She nudged him in the back—that big, wide, solid back. “Go, seek, find.”
“Score,” he agreed with a grin in his voice. As he strolled away, he lifted a hand in a salute.
She watched until he was swallowed up in the throng of people again.
“You coming in?” the guy named Rico asked.
Twisting back to him, Annabelle realized he looked her up and down.
“Girl, you’re a hot mess. Come on. Is that mud or something worse?” He sniffed, and then chuckled.
Annabelle groaned. “That bad, huh?”
“Oh, honey, it’s b-a-d.” He held the door open and gave her a wide berth.
Soggy and squeaking, she realized her new shoes were ruined. Most likely her dress, too. Entering the ultra-modern long enclosure, Annabelle discovered Rico wasn’t alone. “Hi,” she said rather nervously to the pretty blonde woman who breathed in and out of a brown paper bag. The crinkling sound drowned out her voice.
The woman nodded, but kept sucking air.
“This one, anxiety attack. Doesn’t like to be in the spotlight. Right, Paige?” Rico shook his head. “And here you were doing so well, too.” He tsked. Turning to Annabelle, he raised an eyebrow.
“I was on the wrong end of a mud puddle.”
“Puddle? Looks more like a pond.” He cringed when he came back to her hair. “Eww! Must do something with that rat’s nest, honey.”
“No kidding,” Annabelle said, finally turning to the long, wide mirror over the multiple sinks. She shrieked, and then cupped her hands over her mouth. Not only was her hair stuck to her head, but streaks of dirt smeared her cheeks and rolled down her neck. “O-M-G!”
“You can say that again.” He shivered in the reflection beside her.
“I don’t even have a comb.” Thoughts scrambled in her head. The Max guy saw her like this. And he didn’t even say a word. No wonder Mr. Grabby Pants reared away from her.
“Rico’s a genius,” Paige sputtered out between bag breaths.
“Don’t I know it, too,” Rico said. “One miracle coming right up.”
Chapter 4
“Max, buddy, where have you been?” Jay asked, hugging his brother.
“Long story.” His mind still whirled with meeting the feisty woman.
“He was with a girl,” Danny said, coming up beside him and jabbing him lightly in the arm.
“Where’s your jacket, bro?” Jonathan asked. “Your shoes! You just polished them.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be smiling for the camera?” Max dodged the questions, still too raw and shaken up from his close encounter with Irish. How could she rattle him like that?
“All the brothers now. Close. Jay, take the football from Max,” the photographer ordered. “Better yet, Jay hold it and all the brothers touch it as if football brought you all here.”
“Exactly right,” Jay agreed.
“By the way,” Max said, still smiling. “I need that signed.”
“What? Max, you? You never ask for autographs for friends.”
“It’s the girl,” Danny piped in. “Must be. She was holding a football when he splashed her.”
“Figures, a girl’s involved,” Jonathan muttered.
Max loved his brothers. However, at times like this, he’d rather be an only child. “Smile,” he said between gritted teeth as the flashbulb went off. Several people lifted their cell phones to get a shot, too.
“I am,” Danny choked out. “My cheeks hurt already.”
“Night’s young, buddy,” Jonathan pointed out. “Get used to it.”
“Can’t I skip this? I’m not the star in the family.”
“Are, too,” Max, Jay, and Jonathan said in unison. That got Danny to laugh and when they joined in, the cameras whirled. Brilliant, blinding flashes popped in front of them.
Beside him, Max heard Jay release a pent-up breath. “We did it, guys. This is our shining moment.”
“Another victory for the Whitfields,” Max agreed, filling with pride at how far they’d come and how they did it by sticking together.
But what would his brothers say when he broke the news to them?
A pang of unease rolled through him.
He’d put his happiness on hold for them for the last four years. Now, could they or would they understand this burning desire that beat in him?
Justice for them. Justice for all.
***
“Dip,” Rico urged, pressing Annabelle’s head in the small sink and splashing water on her dirty hair.
“But,” she protested weakly as the spigot, twisted to full blast, spewed H2O. The water gurgled out of her mouth. “You’re drowning me here.”
He let up slightly. “Oops! My bad. Paige, hand soap.”
Annabelle gulped in several breaths. “Soap?”
“Trust…” Paige breathed heavily and then the bag crinkled as she must have taken another hit. “Rico.”
Trust? Huh, if she only knew! That I can’t do. Been there. Done that. Got scarred for life.
Liquid soap dribbled from Rico’s hand to her head. He began massaging it in. “Oh!” His fingers were magic. “Feels good.”
“You have the tightest scalp I’ve ever touched. Look, Paige.” He worked his fingertips back and forth. “No give. Like skin covering skull.”
“It’s thick.”
“Hair or skull, honey?” He chortled.
Grinning, she said, “Both. But not my skin.” Where did that come from?
“Aw…issues. Stories to tell. Secrets to share.” He almost purred as he rinsed the lather away.
Suds and gushes of water rushed over her face. She slipped a hand to her cheeks, wiping hastily and hoped she erased the streaks of dirt clinging to her.
Finally, he reached around and shut the faucets off.
Ah, she could hear again.
He squeezed out the water as best he could, wringing her hair. “Paper towels, Paige.”
A rustling sound came next. Was it the brown bag or the towels? In an instant, he was rubbing them over her head.
“Practically useless.”
He groaned. “Stand,” he ordered.
She did slowly, noting the improvement in the mirror. The wet dog look stared back. At least she was somewhat clean from the neck up.
Rico snapped his fingers. “Clothes. Off with them. Shoes first.”
Gasping, she jerked her glance to him, frowning. “No. Nope. No way.”
The giggle that followed ricocheted off the walls. The Paige lady, bag removed from around her mouth, couldn’t contain her glee.
It brought a smile to Annabelle. “The cure!”
“Thanks, I needed that.” Paige sucked in slow, deep breaths on her own and released them. “Still shaky, but better.”
“Finally.” Rico pressed a hand to his forehead. “I thought I’d have to call in the paramedics.” He fanned himself and arched his eyebrow at Annabelle. “Your turn. No offense, but you are a fashion emergency.”
Droplets of cold water plopped down her neck, making her shiver.
“At least the jacket covers most of it.” He grabbed a bunch of paper towels, ran them under water and then shoved them at her. “For your,” he waved a hand, “parts.”
Looking down, she realized her skin was a freakishly brownish hue, most likely from scooting around on her knees earlier, and long streaks of grime ran down in rivulets to her ankles and pooled in her shoes.
“Scrub-a-dub-dub, honey. Then we’ll stick your head under the air hand dryer. That should give you that windblown look, too.”
“How nice!” Sarcasm dripped in her voice.
Paige cracked up laughing.
“Shame we couldn’t get you out of the rest of that soggy mess.” He shrugged.
“Compromise—now that’s what I like.” She grabbed for the wet towels and kicked off her shoes at the same time.
It took longer than she anticipated, even with Paige and Rico’s help, snatching more towels and handing them over, like a well-oiled assembly line. Nearly done, the door banged open, making Annabelle and the duo jump.
The beautiful dark-haired woman in the red dress looked almost ashen.
A tall lady with a clipboard rushed in behind her, half guiding, half pushing. “Coming through!”
“Charlie? Peg?” Rico asked, jerking out of their path as they rushed to one of the stalls. The door slammed against the wall; the tall one held it open.
The unmistakable sounds of retching followed.
“Ew!” Rico and Paige said in unison.
Annabelle cringed. She hoped it wasn’t what they were serving tonight.
“Holy crab cakes and cinnamon sticks, Charlie!” Peg cried.
“No, not food…” Charlie cried and heaved again.
A rush of memory flashed through her mind. Annabelle barked out orders. “Paper towels. Wet ones. Dry ones. Pronto.”
Rico stood at attention. Paige nudged him and they got her what she requested.
Now in hand, Annabelle hurried to the woman bent over in the stall. “Flush,” she told the tall woman, who did just that. “Mouth.” She shoved a wet one at Charlie. “Back of neck.” She pressed one there. “Breathe.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said in a ragged voice.
Squished in the stall with two other women, Annabelle shot a stiff smile at the tall one. “Peg, right? You two come here often?”
She threw back her head and laughed, loud and hearty. Charlie giggled. Behind them, Rico and Paige chuckled. The knot of anxiety unraveled in Annabelle’s gut and she joined in.
By slow degrees, they inched out of the claustrophobic space and guided Charlie to the sink area.
“You’re pregnant,” Annabelle said matter-of-factly.
A ghost of a smile inched across Charlie’s pale face. “How’d you guess?”
Rico whooped and hollered. “O-M-G! Uncle Rico strikes again.” He high-fived Peg. The loud smack rang in the air.
“Does Alex know yet?” Paige asked.
“He figured it out first.”
“Me, second.” Peg put in her two scents. “Boss, you’re never grouchy. But, holy Toledo, you were nearly growling at everyone, especially poor Madison.”
This time Charlie groaned. “With all the construction, hiring, and everything else going on at King’s these last few weeks…and then the morning sickness on top of that.”
“Not your finest hour,” Rico said. “We forgive you, though. But don’t let it happen again.”
He was serious. Thankfully, Charlie laughed. “All right, friend.” Her color returned along with her humor. “Only if you start changing diapers.”
“As if!” he and Peg said in unison.
“Even with your first two he didn’t, so what makes you think he will now?” Peg pointed out with one eyebrow raised.
“No more apple martinis for you, former bestie,” he said in a snit.
“Two?” Annabelle tried to keep up with the friendly banter.
“Twins. First time out.” Rico eyed Charlie.
“Don’t even go there, Rico,” she warned.
Reaching out, he touched her flat belly. “Never know. Boys this time. Little Rico.”
Boys. No, one in particular. How could she have forgotten about her Joey? “Ah, congrats,” she said to Charlie. “Nice meeting you. But I’ve got a man to find. One who better have my football—signed, sealed, and ready to deliver.”
Voices erupted, questions pelted her even as she yanked open the bathroom door, shoeless and soaked, and raced to find him.
“Come on, Super Max, you better have come through for me.”
Chapter 5
Max scanned the room. Pictures of his family and, at the last second when she bravely appeared, Paige were snapped. Her parents, more than willing, were coaxed to stand with the Whitfield brothers and Paige. Her father boasted and her mother giggled.
Groups of people laughed and joked. Numerous King family members joined them and Jay’s friends at the private party.
Max smiled when he saw Francie sneak up on her husband, Marcus. The man jerked around and scooped her up in his arms, twirling her around in a circle as cheers of delight rose from the others. His wife’s surprise appearance brought a loud whoop and grin from ear to ear from him.
The fifty fans thinned out; only a few remained, lingering over the free food and gawking at the sports related memorabilia hung on the walls.
“Where is she? Probably in a scuffle with that guy in line. More importantly, where’s the ball?” he muttered, hoping one would lead him to the other.
It was nowhere in sight. How had he lost track of the football?
He’d promised her.
Retracing his tracks, he looked under the table where Jay had signed, the chairs nearby, even around the slight platform and curtained-off area.
Nothing!
His groan bubbled in his chest.
“You’re missing out on all the fun, bro,” Jonathan said, stooping down beside him. He peered around. “Lost something?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. The football. The one we held in the picture. That wasn’t mine.”
“Yeah, Danny said the girl you soaked had one. Now I get it. You’re just making up for what you did to her…Oh, man, you lost it?” He whistled. “That’s bad. Really bad.”
As if he didn’t feel low enough, Jonathan’s two cents swamped him with guilt and regret.
“Who had it last?”
“We all did, Jonathan.” He pushed to his feet and dusted off his hands. “The cameras were flashing. We passed the ball back and forth.”
His brother stood beside him, adjusting his jacket. “Danny went out for a pass—”
“That’s it! Danny must still have it.” Max patted his brother on the arm. “Now, where is he?”
With Max in the lead, they searched for their oldest brother.
“Dead ends,” Max muttered a half hour later, having combed through the crowd and coming up empty.
In the back of his mind, he wondered where Irish had snuck off to. She still couldn’t be in the bathroom, could she?
/> “Food. Kitchen,” he said with a smile in his voice.
“He’s got to be there. And I can grab me some eats, too. I haven’t had anything in hours.”
“Me, either.” Grasping onto the logical solution, Max’s appetite came back. “Cheesy fries. Wings.”
“That’s small stuff. I want one of those juicy burgers Marcus and Stu came up with. Stacked high with the cheese in the middle and on top. And all the fixings, too.” He groaned. “I’m making myself even hungrier.”
Max sidestepped a few overzealous partyers as they lifted another glass of champagne and teetered. He’d have to come back and make sure they weren’t driving home tonight.
That innate sense of protecting others, sometimes from themselves, jumped to life.
That’s it! He was trying to protect Irish from herself. There wasn’t anything else to it. Now, he could dismiss the highly charged air when he was near her or the humming in his blood when he held her.
Could he dismiss it so easily, though? I don’t have time for anything else. Or the inclination. Relationships and any idea of something more would just have to wait on the back burner.
It took another five minutes of answering curious people who wanted to know how he and Jonathan were and dodging invitations to join them later until Jonathan and he could break away and get to their destination.
“Finally,” he said under his breath, pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
He stopped short; it looked too shiny and too clean. Where was everyone?
“Hey, where’s the food?” Jonathan asked, nudging Max aside so he could check it out.
“Where’s Danny?”
“Right here,” he called out, coming from the back and carrying a big bowl of fried mac and cheese balls. “I saved some.” He grinned from ear to ear. “My special hiding place.” He nodded. “Back there.”
Max swallowed. “Anything else hidden back there?”
Their brother loved to organize anything, big or small. Everything has to have a place, he’d say. Thank goodness for Danny because he kept them all straight, schedules aligned, and the house neat and tidy. A surprising, but necessary, feat for a house full of four men.
once upon a romance 08 - making a splash Page 2