No More Horrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  Panic washes through me. “But what about all the things we said. We want to be together. You even let my friends vet you.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?” I say with increasing exasperation. “What’s happened?”

  He studies my face for a beat, before he replies, “I can’t tell you.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “Why not? Don’t you trust me?”

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that.”

  “What is it then? Tell me.”

  “I want to tell you, truly I do, but I can’t.”

  “It sounds to me like you won’t.”

  “I’m really sorry,” he says as his gaze locks with mine for a moment before he pulls it away. He turns his back to me and walks away. I watch him leave, powerless to do anything more, my heart breaking in two.

  Chapter 22

  I put the final pin in place on the mannequin in my bedroom and stand back to admire my handiwork. The light gray dress has a scoop neck and a full skirt, and I plan on making a belt of the same material to cinch in the waist. It’s the final of five designs I intend to be my modest Summer Collection next year.

  Gosh, I love saying that. “My Summer Collection.” “Erin Andrews’ Summer Collection.” “Up and coming designer, Erin Andrews’ Summer Collection.” Just thinking about it fills me with joy—and a healthy dollop of unadulterated terror.

  I still can’t quite believe what has happened in the last two months since Nick blew my world apart. Although I was only in the public eye for a matter of weeks, there is one incredible thing to come out of this whole shamble, and it’s the reason I’m working so hard. You see, I’m on a deadline. I’ve got just shy of three months to get my collection completed for next season so that Marc Phillippe can stock it in his stores, Chez Phillippe (no points in guessing where he got that name from). Actually, let me correct that. His nation-wide stores.

  Yes, that’s right. Me, Erin Andrews is about to become a fully fledged fashion designer whose clothes will be available throughout the country.

  Despite my success, Nick has continued to haunt my thoughts. Dad has been amazing, telling me I’m worth ten of Nick and that he’ll never support the Hawks again. I told him that wasn’t necessary, and I’m certain I detected a look of relief in his eyes. Granny and Gab still haven’t quite grasped that I’m no longer dating the guy from the home improvement show, but I’m sure they’ll work it out at some point in the future. Until then, I’ll just have to keep correcting them every time they talk about him and do my best to ignore the way my heart sinks at the mention of his name.

  “Erin?” Darcy calls from the other room.

  “What?” I reply with pins in my mouth, so it probably sounds more like a weird moo.

  She’s at my door a moment later, flushed, her eyes bright. “Come see. Sophie sent me something Jason saw.”

  I remove the pins from my mouth and drop them into my container—the pretty floral one Mom gave me when I first began to sew. “Is it another cat meme? Because I’ve told Sophe that even though I love her cat, Freckles, I’m a total dog person.”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. But you’re gonna want to see this.”

  “Will it take long? I’ve got so much to get done for Marc.”

  “Just come, will you?” she says in frustration.

  “All right. I’m coming.”

  I follow her down the hall and into the living room where Sophie’s sitting, an open laptop on the coffee table.

  “I didn’t know you were here, Soph?”

  “Just arrived. You were busy being stuck in design world.” She pats the sofa. “Come, sit next to me.”

  I take my seat, and Darcy sits on the other side of me. “What’s going on, you two?” I ask suspiciously.

  “We need you to watch something, but before you do, we want you to know we’ll support you no matter what,” Sophie says.

  I crinkle my brow. “Okaaay. What is it?”

  Sophie reaches out and presses her mousepad and the screen lights up. There’s an image of a well put-together woman I recognize from TV. “This,” Sophie says, and as she presses the play button, the woman goes from frozen to animated.

  “Nick Zachary, hero,” she begins. “That’s a sentence we here at The Zone didn’t think we’d be saying a whole lot after the Hawks fullback’s recent late-night exploits,” the presenter begins with a sardonic look on her perfectly made-up face. “But he’s gone from zero to hero, all with one spectacular tackle. Only this tackle wasn’t on the rugby field.” She turns away from the camera and smiles. “Nick Zachary, welcome to The Zone.”

  The screen flicks to an image of Nick, and my heart skips a beat. He looks impossibly handsome in his official Hawks suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back, the studio lights shining in his gorgeous brown eyes. Gone is the hollow look he was sporting that night outside Jojo’s. Gone is the worry, replaced instead by a look of relaxation, of happiness even, as though life is good in his world.

  My belly twists in pain.

  “Thanks, Dana, although I wouldn’t call myself a ‘hero’ exactly,” he replies smoothly.

  “Well, that’s what a lot of people are calling you right now, Nick.”

  “Look, all I did was get a couple people out of the way of a falling boat in a dry dock. If you’d been there at the time, I bet you’d have done the same.”

  “I’m not sure I’d have quite the same effect on them if I were to tackle them to the ground like you did.” She turns to the camera. “For those of you who don’t know what Nick did—and really, you’d be hard pressed to have missed it in the news—two people were standing a boat in its dry dock when the equipment holding it up began to buckle. Nick burst into action, tackling them to the ground as the boat came tumbling down a mere handful of feet from them, saving their lives.”

  An image of the wrecked boat is flashed up on the screen. Of course, I’d seen it before. Not only was it big news when it happened last weekend, but this was a Hawks player saving two peoples’ lives. It was the biggest thing to happen to the team since they won the national cup last year.

  “What were you doing at the dock anyway?” Dana asks.

  “That boat is one of three I’ve got as part of my Dive Time business. We take tourists to the best dive spots around Auckland. I was there doing a routine inspection.”

  “A diver and a rugby player, huh? You’re certainly a man of action.”

  He gives a self-deprecating shrug. “I guess.”

  “Well, I’m sure there are at least two people out there who are more than happy you were in the right place at the right time. Now, let’s talk rugby. The Hawks have kicked off the season well, and you’re looking good at fullback. What would you say are—”

  I press pause and look up at Sophie and Darcy.

  “Don’t stop now!” Darcy protests.

  “I already knew all about that story. I may be building my new fashion career, but I’m still at the Hawks until things really start to pick up for me. And besides, why do I want to hear about how Nick’s season is going?” I point my thumb at myself. “Not a huge fan of his, remember?”

  “Here. I’ll find the right spot,” Darcy says, leaning forward and tapping at the screen. “Got it.”

  “Do I have to watch? It’s not easy for me to see him, you know, especially looking all perky.” I pull a face to show them how distasteful I’m finding this experience, although inside, my heart is still in pieces over him.

  “Watch it,” Darcy instructs.

  I look at Sophie, and she nods, her lips pulled into a line. “Darcy’s right. You need to watch it.”

  Resigned, I press the play button, and instantly Nick’s handsome face becomes animated once more.

  “—in the midfield, and of course, out on the wing,” he says.

  “Well, that’s all we’ve got time for now,” Dana says. “Thank you for coming on the show today, Nick. It’s been a pleasure to have you he
re, and good luck with the rest of the season.”

  “Actually, Dana, before I go, would it be okay for me to say something else?”

  Her features tense under her thick layer of makeup, and I’m sure she’s weighing up whether to allow the unpredictable Wild Boy of Rugby some additional airtime. I don’t blame her in the least. “We need to get to our next story, Nick. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I promise it won’t take a minute.”

  Dana presses her index finger to her ear. “We can give you sixty seconds. The floor is yours.”

  The camera flashes back to Nick, and he pauses for a moment before he begins. “Some of you know me as Naughty Nick or the Wild Boy of Rugby, a bunch of labels given to me by the media a while back. Sure, I was acting reckless, and I deserved what I got, but I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  He pauses as he glances down, and I let out a ragged breath. He’s talking about me.

  “None of it was real. I was no more the Wild Boy of Rugby than I was the Wild Boy of Ballet. It was me, playing a game I was being forced to play.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick. Can I interrupt you there for a second?” Dana asks, already interrupting him. “You were being made to play a game? Are you saying you were never the party boy you appeared to be?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Never. It wasn’t real.”

  I press pause and look back up at my friends’ now eager faces. “Our fake relationship was designed to fix his fake behavior? Does this guy think we’re all a pack of gullible idiots?”

  “Keep watching.” This time it’s Sophie giving the instruction.

  Despite my better judgment—and also because I’m wedged between my suddenly very bossy BFFs—I turn back to the screen and press play once more.

  “Why did you pretend to be a drunken womanizer, Nick?” Dana says with an edge to her voice.

  “I was being blackmailed,” he says simply.

  Whaaaat? I blink in disbelief at the screen.

  “Blackmailed?” Dana asks.

  “A journalist had gotten hold of a story about someone close to me. He said he was going to expose the story if I didn’t give him something to write about. So, I gave him a story.”

  “But it cost you dearly. The sponsorship deal with Bennett Motors for a start.”

  “It cost me something I value much more than any sponsorship deal. It cost me the girl I love.”

  My heart does a somersault, and my hand flies to my mouth.

  Dana knits her brow together. “Love?” she questions.

  He nods at her before he turns back to the screen. “Erin, I know I hurt you. I hope you’ll understand now and maybe, just maybe reconsider being with me?”

  “But you cheated on her,” Dana rebuffs. “How do you explain that?” She’s got an edge of steel to her voice.

  Go Dana! Go Dana!

  “To our audience, I mean,” she adds in a softer tone.

  Nick shakes his head. “I was never a drunken idiot, I never took an endless stream of girls home with me. I certainly never cheated on Erin. It was all a hoax.”

  “Because you were being blackmailed?”

  Nick nods. “This journalist got hold of a story about someone I’m close to and told me he’d expose them if I didn’t give him some other material. So I acted drunk, I parked my car on a beach and it got washed away, I got spotted around town with a bunch of girls. All to give him a story. All to protect someone I care about.”

  “Who are you protecting?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that it’s over now.” He looks directly at the camera. “Erin, I couldn’t tell you this before, and I’m truly sorry.”

  By now, former attack dog Dana has got an unguarded and totally sappy look on her face as she gazes at him. “Tell her if she does want to be with you, to meet you somewhere super romantic. Like the top of the Empire State Building!”

  Nick lets out a low laugh. “I was thinking maybe she’d just answer one of my calls.”

  “That’ll work, too.” Dana lifts her index finger back to her ear and then says, “I’ve just been told to say that this is a sports show, not a dating show, so could you please now leave as we’ve got to get on with talking about rugby.” She grins at him, and he grins back.

  “Sure. Yeah. Thanks for giving me the time, Dana.”

  “It was my pleasure, Nick.”

  And then the video clip comes to an end, and I sit and stare at the screen, frozen on Dana’s face. I take a deep breath and say, “Did that really just happen?”

  “It did,” Sophie replies.

  “What do you think?” Darcy asks.

  My eyes still trained on the screen, I shake my head. “I’m still processing.”

  “Well, process faster!” Darcy exclaims in agitation.

  Thoughts fight for pole position in my mind.

  He was being blackmailed.

  It was make-believe.

  He loves me.

  In a daze I close the laptop and slowly stand up.

  “Where are you going?” Sophie asks.

  I flick my eyes to hers. “There’s something I’ve got to do.”

  “Are you going to call him?” she asks, her eyes bright. “He loves you, Erin. He loves you!”

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “A hot guy has declared on national television that he’s sorry, that he was being blackmailed—I mean, hello, how outrageous is that?—and then he goes on to tell the entire country that he loves you and wants you to pick up when next he calls, and you want to know what time it is?” Darcy guffaws.

  I blink at her a few times. “That’s right.”

  She lets out a sigh. “It’s almost twelve.”

  “Almost twelve,” I repeat. “Got it.” I walk over to the counter, collect my purse, and walk like a zombie to the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Darcy asks as she and Sophie rush down the hallway to catch up with me.

  “Out,” I reply simply, my mind made up. I turn to my friends. It’s fair to say they look as confused as a Kardashian in a physics class right about now. “You can come with me, if you want?”

  “Just try and stop us,” Sophie replies with a grin.

  Fifteen minutes and one stop later—with Darcy at the wheel because both she and Sophie agreed unanimously that I was in no emotional state to drive—we pull up outside a large building on a leafy suburb close to the city. I climb out of the car and gaze up, thoroughly daunted, hoping, hoping I’m doing the right thing.

  “Don’t forget these,” Sophie says, passing me what we stopped off to get on our way here.

  “Thanks.” I take them in my hands as my nerves begin to shred me.

  I take a couple of tentative steps toward the building when Sophie calls out, “You got this!”

  “You so have, girl!” Darcy confirms.

  I glance back at my friends’ bright and shining faces and feel a surge of excitement. I nod at them, pull my lips into a thin line, and then turn back to face the building. I muster every last drop of bravery to walk through the door.

  With my high heels clicking on the glossy linoleum floor, I walk along the long corridor, past the food and drink outlets with their security bars in place, past the doors leading upstairs. Finally, I come to a stop outside the door that leads from the public area to the players’ section. I pull my Hawks swipe card out of my purse and glide it over the security pad, saying a little prayer it works. When the light turns green, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Hurdle One: complete.

  I make my way down to the locker rooms. Once outside, I press my ear against the door. Silence. They must still be practicing.

  I walk down the passageway toward the field. I can hear the team before I can see them, hollering instructions at one another, thundering up and down the broad expanse of grass. I make my way through the opening and out into the stadium. The sun is blinding, and I lift my hand to shield my eyes as I scan the pl
ayers for the man I’ve come to see.

  “Those for me?” Tito asks as he jogs over to me.

  I glance at the roses in my hands. “Ah, they’re for Nick, actually, Tito. Is he here?”

  He flashes me his smile. “I should have known. He’s right over there.” He points over to a group of men running together, passing a ball between them.

  A quick scan of the group and I see him. He’s concentrating hard on catching and passing, looking every inch the professional player he is.

  Suddenly, this feels like a terrible idea. I’ve turned up at Nick’s workplace with a bunch of red roses and a cheesy stuffed toy because once he told me as a joke it would be a romantic thing to do. What am I thinking? It’s one thing to get flowers at an office, it’s quite another to get it at an empty stadium in the middle of rugby practice in front of all his teammates.

  “I’ll call him over,” Tito says.

  “Oh, no. Don’t. It’s fine,” I say in a rush.

  It’s too late. He’s already whistling, and every player, the coach, and all the hangers-on have stopped what they’re doing and turned to look at me: the out of place girl with the bunch of red roses. I’m the only woman for a mile, and certainly the only one in a dress and a pair of heels, holding a bunch of flowers and a stuffed giraffe.

  I shift uncertainly from foot to foot as I give everyone a tentative wave and murmur, “Hi, everyone. I’m, ah, sorry to interrupt.”

  A few of the players say hello to me, and then I see Nick. He’s bounding across the grass toward me with his long, muscular legs. My heart rate kicks up a notch or ten, and I take a few deep breaths to quell my nerves.

  “Hey,” he says when he comes to a stop in front of me.

  “Hey,” I reply, my voice barely audible over the thudding of my heart.

  His lips curve into a tentative smile. “You saw the interview?”

  I nod. “I did.”

  “And you came here.”

  “I…I needed to see you.”

  His smile grows, his eyes soft. “I’m glad.” He holds my gaze for a beat, and then eyes the flowers and stuffed toy in my hands. His lips twitch. “And you wanted to give me some roses and a stuffed toy, by the looks of things.”