Strange Neighbors

by Ashlyn Chase

  His gut twisted as he realized he hadn't given her enough money. The bidding for the first two guys topped out at twelve and fifteen hundred dollars. Why the hell would anyone pay fifteen hundred dollars for a single date?

  He wanted to raise awareness and money for the shelter, but damned if he wanted to become someone's pet. Somehow he doubted this crowd would be interested in shelter pups, even if they were paper trained. If they had any pets, they probably paid a fortune for a purebred with papers and a dog walker to take care of their pedigree pooches and scoop the poop. Merry would definitely buy a shelter pet. She had told him so, right after asking his permission to have an animal in her apartment.

  He didn't like the idea of leaving an animal alone for long stretches, or else he'd have a dog. A Shepherd like his boyhood pal, Duke. He pictured the kind of dog Merry would take home. Probably a mutt version of a goofy sheepdog or something equally as humorous. A smile touched his lips just thinking about her and her huge heart.

  Where the hell was she? He had scanned as much of the room as he could see. Maybe she had left as soon as she realized she didn't have enough money. Oh no. She wouldn't have gone out to an ATM, would she? He wanted to kick himself, and then realized that ATMs wouldn't allow enough of a withdrawal to make up the difference. So where was she?

  She certainly had enough to take a cab home. No, she wouldn't do that unless… Would she think he was making this into some sort of test? That he knew he didn't give her enough money? What the…?

  "You're up next, Jason." A hand clamped over his shoulder. He felt as if he had just been told he was going for "a little ride" by the mafia. Now all he could hope for was a major lack of baseball fans out there. Maybe if no one knew who he was, the bidding would stay low.

  The gentleman steered him to the place where each bachelor did his walk-on. The MC glanced to his left and his face lit up when he saw Jason.

  Even before the last bachelor exited the stage, he announced, "And on deck… We have one of the best baseball pitchers the Boston Bullets has ever seen. I predict he'll make the Hall of Fame along with other lefties like Sandy Koufax and Steve Carlton. But that may not happen for a while, since he's only twenty-seven years old. Ladies, I give you, Jason Falco!"

  A huge roar rose from the crowd. All he wanted to do was turn and run, but his honest upbringing kicked in and he dutifully marched down the catwalk as he promised he would. He was used to stadium noise and this seemed louder. Perhaps since he was concentrating on something else while on the mound, he could tune it out. Now he felt stupid and afraid! So he tried to concentrate on finding Merry—if she was out there.

  Like the others, he stopped at the end of the runway, but he refused to remove his jacket as though he was a Chippendale dancer. Instead, he stood tall with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands clasped behind his back. He would have resembled a soldier standing at ease, except that instead of keeping his eyes fixed, he frantically searched the crowd for Merry.

  At last he spotted her near the back of the room. She seemed so tiny back there, but when she smiled, a grin spread over his face, too. Apparently the women thought it was for them, so they yelled even louder.

  At last the bidding started and began at the usual five-hundred dollars. Merry didn't raise her number. He kept her in the corner of his eye as his gaze darted from one raised sign to another. Wondering why she wasn't bidding, he tried to put himself in her shoes. Perhaps she realized it was fruitless. I hope she'll forgive me for this, he thought as the bidding rapidly climbed toward one thousand dollars.

  At last she raised her number and he heard the auctioneer yell, "One thousand dollars!" The room cheered, but that was no surprise. They cheered every time the amount reached a thousand. Her number sixty-nine amused him. Was the universe trying to tell him something?

  Bidding continued with no indication the pace was about to slow down. After it reached seventeen-hundred a few of the avid bidders lowered their numbers, permanently.

  Just as the bidding was about to end, a familiar voice yelled out, "Two thousand!"

  Stunned, Jason snapped his gaze to Merry. She stood, holding her sign at shoulder level. Her other hand was planted on her hip in a "Don't mess with me, bitches" stance. That made him chuckle to himself.

  Oh, no. Another woman jumped to her feet and yelled, "Twenty-one hundred."

  As the bidding war broke out, the auctioneer tried to take back control. "Ladies… Ladies!" They ignored him.

  "Twenty-three hundred."

  "Twenty-four."

  "Twenty-five!"

  The auctioneer threw his hands in the air, and allowed the two angry rivals to finish his job for him.

  Merry edged her way toward the other woman.

  What is she doing? Jason hoped she wasn't throwing her own money into the mix. That wasn't what he had intended to happen, plus he was fairly sure she couldn't afford it. But knowing her, even for as short a time as he had, he realized that's exactly what she was doing. She'd never ask him to cover the extra expenditure unless they had discussed it ahead of time.

  He tried to catch her eye, but the two women were glaring at each other and rapidly coming together toe to toe.

  He had to stop her. If she won, of course he'd cover it—if she'd let him—but the more he thought about it the more he realized she'd take responsibility for her own actions, and the bidding was rapidly approaching the three thousand mark!

  He cleared his throat. Neither of them slowed their efforts. A female reporter rushed toward the area where she could capture photos of both Merry and the other woman. Jason didn't want attention being called to Merry any more than to himself. Identifying their relationship would put him at risk for discovery. Man, this was a bad idea.

  Something about the reporter seemed to spook Merry and she glanced up at Jason, looking nervous. At last! Before she could look away, he sent her a slight head shake and hoped she'd get the message.

  She must have. She frowned at him and whirled back toward her seat—letting her sign whomp the other woman's hip before she trudged away and plopped into her chair, defeated.

  The auctioneer jumped back into action and called out "Thirty-two hundred going once… Thirty-two hundred going twice…" He paused, staring in Merry's direction. She folded her arms and looked away—none too happy.

  "Sold! To the lovely redhead in the blue suit."

  ***

  "It's a good thing Jason Falco loves animals, because when my article comes out, he'll be spending a long time in the doghouse." Lila laughed. She had been speaking to her bottle of Bacardi 151, as if it was a living, breathing friend—or lover. Well, so what? Some days it was the only friend she had.

  Lila Crum grinned as she developed that night's film in her darkroom. Three-timing. A perfect headline for a perfectly sleazy article. She'd followed the woman who won Falco to her home in Brookline. Now she knew where to find them together. If he was any kind of gentleman, he'd pick her up and drop her off at her door.

  The photos she captured at the auction tonight would be terrific for tomorrow's paper, and she already had her title: Catfight at Animal Benefit.

  Wouldn't a snapshot of the debutante's good night kiss be just delicious? Even if he didn't kiss her, if she found the perfect angle, she could make it look like he did.

  "I already snapped my first picture when I saw him kissing the nurse in the parking lot. That was too easy! It was like they practically posed for it!" She spoke to her drink and took another swig.

  Since tonight was a Friday, and the auction couples were supposed to go out on their dates the following evening, she'd have the whole weekend to get her pictures and put the sordid story together.

  "The original mark, the woman who thought she was hiring a private investigator instead of a reporter, gave me a hundred bucks as a retainer. That will barely cover the cost of buying your clones for the week." She patted the bottle. "I'll ask her for five hundred before I cough up Falco's address."

  She st
roked the bottle, then grabbed it and tipped it up for a long sip. "Bleahhhh! Damn, you're strong, but the Diet Coke is so far away."

  So tomorrow she'd do her thing. Hide in the bushes outside his auction date's house, grab a picture, and then follow him home.

  Her editor would find the juicy story and all the photos to back it up on his desk Monday morning—that is, if Lila didn't oversleep again.

  Chapter 5

  MERRY SHOOK HER HEAD AT HER OWN INSANITY. JASON wasn't usually an asshole. For chrissakes, he'd been on his best behavior at all times, so why was she giving him the cold shoulder?

  Because she wanted to. Maybe she was sick of him being such a perfect gentleman. Maybe she wanted to push him to his limit and see where and how he crossed that line. Maybe it was PMS.

  As a nurse, she knew she could always blame it on the full moon and PMS, but as a woman, she knew it had more to do with losing her guy to a rich redhead in a bachelor auction—in other words, all of the above, plus tons of insecurity. What a combination.

  "C'mon Merry. We've been driving for half an hour and you haven't spoken to me once. I explained that I had no idea bidding would go that high. Hell, I would have even covered the extra, but I thought you'd refuse it. That's why I gave you the head-shake."

  She turned away from him and stared out the window. Whoa, they had just passed Mass Ave and were heading toward Kenmore Square.

  That's when she realized he wasn't taking her home.

  "Where the hell are we going?"

  "Someplace special."

  She crossed her arms and frowned. "Who says I want to go someplace special with you?"

  "Look, I don't know what's going through that pretty head of yours, but I'm not taking you home until you tell me. Whatever it is, we'll straighten it out."

  "Who says I'm crooked?"

  He stared at her as if she had two heads. Maybe she did. She felt like two sides of her were at war. Jekyll and Hyde to be exact. But why that head-shake? In front of everyone!

  Part of her knew he was telling the truth. A big part. The logical part. Besides, it wasn't as if they were engaged or married. He could go out with anyone he wanted, and if she kept acting like a spoiled brat, he just might.

  She fell back against the leather seat and sighed. "Okay. You're right. It's not your fault. I don't know why I'm mad, I just am."

  "That time of the—?" He halted, but she knew what he was about to infer.

  Ebbing embers of anger flared again. "What? How dare you!" If glares were daggers, he'd be shish kabob.

  "I was almost married, once," he said softly. "I know the signs."

  Why did he have to remind her he had been hurt? Why did she have to care? Why did she suddenly hate any woman who had ever laid a hand on him?

  She retreated back into silence. It was safer that way. He was right. She was due for her period in a couple of days and shifts in hormones were making her crazy.

  "There won't be a second date with her, Merry. You know that, right?"

  She cocked her head and stared at him. He glanced over a couple of times. All she saw in his eyes was sincerity. Shit. She still wasn't ready to forgive him.

  "How do you know? You haven't even been out with her yet."

  He let out a long exhalation and turned left onto Brookline Ave.

  "Where are we going? You still haven't told me."

  "Look, it's probably not the best time to tell you this, but tonight was a test."

  She gasped. "A what?" she asked indignantly.

  "A test. You failed miserably. Unfortunately, so did I."

  "What the blazes do you mean by that?"

  "I mean…" He pulled over to the curb and gave her an intense gaze. "I figured I'd find out how you reacted to me getting some pretty strong female attention. And I thought that if you were okay with it, I'd want to move our relationship to the next level."

  Oh, crap. Sails—no wind. She was caught completely off guard and her heart crumpled.

  She folded her hands in her lap and figured it was over. He was probably driving her to Rhode Island so he could dump her on her father's doorstep and tell him to come and get her stuff at his earliest opportunity.

  "Don't you want to know why I failed, too?"

  "Uh, yeah. I can guess, but go ahead."

  "What do you guess?"

  "That you thought we could stay friends, but you don't even want that anymore?"

  There was that look again. She was tempted to check her neck to see if she really did have two heads growing out of it.

  "No, Merry. In fact, you couldn't be further from the truth. I still want you—as a friend and as a girlfriend… in a big way. Like a full-time monogamous lover."

  "And you call that failing?" Her crumpled heart filled again. With the blood back, it warmed her all over.

  "What do you call it?"

  She smiled. "Acing it. Passing with flying colors."

  At last, he smiled too. "It's about time I did something right." He leaned over and cupped the back of her head. She knew he wanted to kiss her. Something inside still jittered, but it was hard to deny the bridge he was trying to build. It was about time she took a few steps over it and met him halfway.

  She leaned toward him. He correctly interpreted her permission and drew her lips to his. They shared a long, tender kiss. Nothing passionate with fireworks and curled toes, but in a way, she needed this more. She needed to calm down and his kiss soothed her.

  "Jason, I'm really sorry." She felt hot tears at the back of her eyes threatening to spill. Oh, for God's sake, Merry. Don't give him any more signs of PMS. He already suspects.

  He smiled but didn't say anything.

  "Am I forgiven?" she asked.

  "Totally. To be honest, I think I'd have been a little surprised and insulted if you weren't jealous at all."

  "Really? Does that mean you don't think I'm a jackass?"

  He grinned. "Well… I wouldn't use that word, but you sure can be a—challenge, when you're mad."

  She snickered. "A challenge. Nice way to put it. Probably nicer than I deserve." Merry stared at her lap and realized how lucky she was he hadn't dumped her on the spot.

  He used the backs of his knuckles to stroke her cheek softly. She closed her eyes and turned into his hand. She sensed, rather than saw, his lips heading for her face. His fingers cupped the back of her neck as his lips brushed her other cheek.

  She turned her head to meet his kiss. And what a kiss it was! Long, deep, and languorous. Their tongues met and swirled. She slid her arms around his neck and her abdomen fluttered.

  When he leaned back a few inches, he said, "Well, we've made it to our destination. Are you ready to go inside?"

  She glanced out through the windshield and couldn't really tell where they were. Some back street and it looked kind of sketchy.

  As if he read her mind, he said, "We're at Fenway Park. Don't worry, you're safe. You're with me."

  He hopped out, jogged around the car, and opened her door for her. Even right after a fight, he was a gentleman. He helped her out of the car and led her to a back entrance. He knocked on the door, and it opened.

  "Hey, Jason," a burly black man said, and shook his hand enthusiastically. "Is this the lady friend you mentioned?"

  He mentioned me?

  "Yep. This is Merry."

  "What a beauty. No wonder you wanted to show her around when the place was deserted. You don't need the competition."

  Merry wanted to burst out laughing—and kiss whoever this wonderful man was.

  "Merry, this is Bubba. He's head of security here at the stadium and he's giving us a special pass so I can show you my second home."

  She shook the guard's hand.

  Jason wrapped an arm around her shoulder and escorted her along the deserted corridor. At last, they stopped at one of the luxury boxes. It was like a small, private room with carpeting, comfortable seats, and what looked like a wet bar and snack table.

  If not for the full moon,
the field might have been invisible, but thanks to ol' Luna he could show her a few areas of interest.

  First, he pointed out the pitcher's mound where he spent most of his time when he started.

  She rolled her eyes and said, "I think I can pick out the pitcher's mound and the bases."

  Then he had to explain what "starting" meant—that he only had to pitch every fifth game or so.

  "Must be nice. I wish I only had to work ever fifth night for a few hours and make the money you do."