Rules of the Game

by Sandy James

  The room turned boiling hot. I was sure my face and ears were crimson, judging from the fire racing through me. All I could think was that I wanted him to carry me back to the bedroom, shoo Cleo off the bed and make love to me all night.

  This was so not like me. After all the rotten things that happened to me when I was younger, I’d pretty much been celibate. I had a great life, full of things I loved to do and people I enjoyed spending time with. I never really needed sex, and in all honesty, I hadn’t missed it all that much. I could count on one hand how many guys I’d slept with, and I was more intimate with my shower massager than most of the boyfriends I’d had. I might write great love scenes, but I sure hadn’t experienced very many of them. Why was I all of a sudden in spontaneous heat over Scott Brady?

  God help me, I wanted to have hot, sweaty, meaningless sex. To hell with commitment.

  It took every ounce of strength I had to stop myself from begging him to take me to bed. Judging from the erection prodding my thigh through his denims, it wouldn’t take a lot of coaxing on my part to get him on board with that idea.

  About to tender the intimate invitation, I opened my mouth. Instead of words, a gasp came out as Scott suddenly stood up, lifting me into his arms. He let my body slide down his as he set me back on my feet. “I should go.”

  “Go?”

  Another quick kiss. “Yes, Maddie. Go. If I stay too much longer…” He didn’t finish the frustrating sentence as he glanced back at the closed door of my bedroom.

  I followed him like a puppy dog as he headed to the front door. He stopped and turned back to me. I almost collided with his chest.

  “I’ll call tomorrow,” he said. “We can work out the details of the reunion trip.”

  “You’re really leaving?”

  “Oh, Maddie. Don’t you get it?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ve been down this road before. I would love to drag you back to the bedroom and make love to you.”

  “But you won’t?”

  “I won’t. It’s too soon. We’ll kill whatever’s growing between us if we sleep together right away, before we really get to know each other. My rules now, remember?”

  I hated playing someone else’s game, hated not laying all the ground rules myself. I needed the control. I needed to be in charge. To surrender made me vulnerable. “Then tell me your rules.”

  “They’re very simple. We work on seeing if we have something more here than sexual chemistry. If we do, then the chemistry will still be there, and we won’t screw things up by taking it all too fast and treating each other like another notch on the bedpost.” Leaning in, he kissed my forehead again. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” The door opened and closed before I could shake myself out of my bewildered stupor.

  What kind of guy turned down sex, especially when it had been so freely offered?

  Chapter Five

  “How do you know he’s not a serial killer?” Terri asked. Her older sister tone always made me feel like I was back in third grade, which had a tendency to honk me off since we were only eleven months apart. A set of Irish twins. “And don’t think you can roll your eyes just ’cause I can’t see you.”

  I cradled the cordless against my shoulder as I shoved the last of the dry cleaning into the overstuffed closet. All the clothes would be wrinkled in a matter of hours, but I never had time to clean out the things I hadn’t worn in years. Not that I’d gained weight—actually lost some with all the walking I did because I couldn’t stand the abhorrent price of taxis. “Scott’s not a serial killer, Terri. He’s just a nice guy who seems to really like me.”

  “If he likes you so much, why won’t he tell you where he works?”

  “It’s not like I came out and asked.” I started picking up the dirty clothes I’d dropped on the floor on the way to the shower. I should do a better job keeping house, but since I was the only one living here—well, the only person living here—I had a hard time giving a shit whether it was neat or not. Besides, with two enamored parakeets and an enormous slobber machine as roommates, the place could never really be neat. “Maybe he’s embarrassed. I mean, look at my place. It’s really nice. Maybe he doesn’t feel like he can afford something like this and is ashamed that his girlfriend can.”

  “You’re calling yourself his girlfriend now?”

  “Actually, that was how he introduced me to his sister.” Not that I’d tell Terri it had been a ruse, part of our bargain for him accompanying me to the reunion. Nor did I tell her about Scott’s declaration that he wanted more from me than sex or money. “I could just skip the reunion.”

  “Take my advice. Come to the reunion, Maddie. Come and enjoy yourself. See some old friends. Lay your old ghosts to rest. Otherwise you’ll just have another coulda-woulda-shoulda.”

  She had me there. My stupid coulda-woulda-shoulda list was already too long, almost as long as my wish-I-hadn’t-done-that list. “I’m going, but just because Scott’s going with me. We’re going out again tonight.”

  The last couple of weeks had been heaven. I’d been amazed how many things we shared—politics, pop culture, music. Our tastes were either similar or complementary. Reminded me of pizza. Scott was pepperoni, I was mushroom. Yet the diverse ingredients worked when thrown together.

  We spent almost every evening together. We talked, kissed and cuddled. We petted and shifted garments without removing them like some damned teenagers. Scott and I did everything except tear each other’s clothing off and go at it. He never talked about other women in his life, and he obviously knew there were no other men in mine. As much time as we spent together, I desperately wanted to believe he thought of me as his girlfriend. Because that was exactly what I wanted to be.

  “That sounds promising,” Terri replied. “Where you going?”

  “Not sure. He said it was a surprise. Something he said would make the reunion more fun for me.”

  * * *

  “Dancing lessons?” I planted my feet and tugged on Scott’s hand, forcing him to stop on the sidewalk before we went inside. I was willing to follow him anywhere. But here?

  He closed the door emblazoned with the red words Dance Studio and turned to me. “Well, yeah. I figured we could really wow them at the reunion dance. Kinda like Dancing with the Stars.”

  “Yeah, but…” I had been cursed with two left feet and a terminal case of clumsy. When I ran track in high school, I actually tripped at the finish line once and scraped the hell out of my hands and chin when I face-planted. The first time my sister took me skiing, I couldn’t keep my skies from crossing and ended up spending more time face-first in the snow than gliding over it. And the memories of the fool I’d made of myself dancing at Terri’s wedding were so deeply buried, it would take an archeologist to dig them up. “I don’t think…I can’t…”

  “C’mon, angel. Work up some guts. You want to go back to Indiana and wow them, right?”

  I nodded, but my heart was still pounding at the notion of making a fool out of myself in front of Scott. “You really think I can do this?” I sounded as pitiful as I felt.

  “Of course! My sister is a great instructor and—”

  “Your sister?” The words came out in a screech. It was bad enough I might look stupid and awkward with Scott watching, but I didn’t need Tiffany as a witness too.

  “She’s a dancer. She’s been running this studio for years.” He reached for my hand, and I let him hold it, hoping to draw some bravado from his typical confidence. “We’re getting private lessons.”

  “But…”

  “Look, if a big ox like me can learn to dance, someone as graceful as you should have no trouble at all?”

  “Graceful? You think I’m graceful?”

  His smile always made my heart skip a beat. “Most of the time. Not so much when you’ve had a few beers.” He leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Trust me on this, okay? Let me do this for you, Maddie.”

  I nodded as he smiled and opened the door again.

&n
bsp; Tiffany was dressed in skintight leggings and a cut-up shirt à la the original Flashdance that would have made me look ridiculous but seemed sublime on her. I’d always envied people who appeared as if they didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere until I reminded myself that they didn’t eat anything other than rice cakes and egg whites. I wasn’t exactly fat, and I enjoyed the fact that if I wanted a Snickers, I would go right ahead and have one.

  “Hi!” she said as she walked across the polished hardwood floor, the sounds of her high-heeled dance shoes clicking a steady rhythm. “Glad to see you again, Maddie.” A sweeping gesture toward the wall of mirrors. “Welcome to my dance studio.”

  “You own this place?”

  “Yep. Took me years to save the dough for the down payment. I wouldn’t let my big brothers help, either.” Her pride came through loud and clear.

  “So how many big brother Bradys do you have, Tiffany?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Three. Scotty’s the oldest. Practically raised us all since our parents died. He wouldn’t let them break up the family. No, Scotty made sure we had a roof over our heads, food in our bellies and an education.”

  He was actually blushing. I gave his hand a tight grasp. My heart went out to all of them, and I learned a lot about Scott Brady’s character in her story.

  “Now,” she said with a saucy smile and a wink, “enough about the Brady Bunch. Let’s learn to tango.”

  “Tiffany,” Scott said, drawing out her name in a scolding tone. “Nothing stupid. We just want to be able to dance and not fall on our faces.”

  Her pretty red lips pouted. “You’re taking all the fun out of it. I could teach you to tango. It’d be really impressive.”

  He growled, but because she was his baby sister and he’d practically raised her, she was probably used to it.

  “Fine, you big ole party pooper. How about we start with a simple waltz? Even a macho man like you can handle that, right?”

  “If you think you can teach me.”

  Her smile beamed like rays of sunshine. “I can teach anyone any dance. Even you. Besides,” she said as she elbowed him in the ribs, “you’re a jock. Just think of this as a new play in whatever sport you like.”

  I smiled at him. “Jock? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He shrugged those broad shoulders, and I couldn’t help but watch the roll of muscle. “Played some football and basketball. I was mostly a bench warmer.”

  “But I bet you looked good doing it.” God, did that really just spill out of my mouth? What was I? Some besotted adolescent?

  “You’re good for my ego.” Taking my hand, he led me out on the dance floor.

  Tiffany was good as her word. I might have been a challenge, but Scott didn’t seem any more comfortable with dancing than I felt. That eased my worries. He apologized every time he stepped on my toes, and I apologized every time I stepped on his. We made quite a couple.

  After about an hour, the frustration eased. Tiffany really turned out to be a super teacher, and after we finally performed a dance that was about as error free as anyone could expect from two people who hadn’t been gifted with much coordination, Tiffany pronounced us ready for the reunion. She did, however, caution us to stay away from any type of dancing competition and to never tell anyone she’d been our teacher.

  Scott kissed her cheek before he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and opened the door for me. “Do you want to go out for some dinner? A steak place maybe?”

  I was about to tender an enthusiastic response when another couple entered, so I stepped back to let them come inside. I was just about to duck out the door when the woman hurried to Scott and smiled.

  “What on Earth are you doing here?” she asked. “I mean, I know your sister owns this place, but I can’t believe you’d take dance lessons.” She nodded at the man who followed her inside. “Didn’t think anyone but George and I liked ballroom.”

  “Um…hi, Angela.” Scott’s face had flushed, and he tucked his index finger in his collar and pulled at it. “Hi, George.”

  I’d never seen him look so uncomfortable, like he wanted to run away as fast and as far as possible. I wasn’t sure how to help and bail him out of the situation. Was this an old girlfriend he didn’t want me to meet? I almost asked, then decided it would be better to simply keep my mouth shut and let the little melodrama unfold without interruption.

  “Who’s your friend?” Angela smiled at me with the kind of grin that told me she wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable around me. Definitely not an old girlfriend’s I-want-to-scratch-the-new-girlfriend’s-eyes-out smile.

  “I’m Maddie,” I replied, wondering why the ever-confident and bold Scott had abruptly vanished. Did he want me to greet these people with polite aloofness or genuine curiosity and a desire to get to know them?

  “Hi, Maddie. I’m Angela.” A nod at the bald man standing next to her. “That’s my husband, George. We both work with Scott.”

  “Good to see you two.” Scott grabbed my elbow and pushed me through the door. “Sorry, but we need to run. Catch you both later.”

  I let him lead me away from Tiffany’s studio until we were halfway down the block before I planted my feet. He took a few more steps before he realized I was no longer walking beside him. Turning around, he came back to stand in front of me, looking sheepish as he stared at his shoes and pushed his hands into his pockets.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

  Scott’s shrug made me mad. He was hiding something from me. Something a woman who was dating him should know. His sister even trusted me to the point of telling me about their childhood. Why didn’t he want me to talk to his colleagues?

  “I seriously embarrass you so much you don’t want me to talk to your friends?” My anger rose with each passing second. I thought we had a connection. Realizing he was ashamed of me hurt. A lot.

  “That’s what you thought?” A heavy sigh slipped from his lips as he pulled his hands from his pockets and rested them on my shoulders. A soft kiss against my forehead eased the hurt. “It wasn’t that. I just…I’m not ready to talk about work yet. I’m…embarrassed.”

  I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. I’d been right. Scott didn’t talk about work because he thought I might look down on what he did to earn a living. Perhaps I should have been insulted that he thought I was that shallow, but stereotypes are hard to fight. Just how bad was his job? “Look, are you some mafia hit man?”

  “God, no.”

  “Do you do anything illegal?”

  I loved his lopsided grin. “Not most of the time.”

  “Do people need your help?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Do you star in pornos?”

  His only answer was a hearty chuckle.

  “Then what’s to be embarrassed about. It’s clear you’re well educated, so I’m assuming you’ve had some college…”

  “A little.”

  “So stop being embarrassed.”

  “You have to be the most accepting person I’ve ever met. At least now I’m sure you’re not after me for my money.” Scott reached for my hand, and we started walking again. “Still want a steak?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. How about I cook for you?”

  * * *

  Scott opened the cabinet door and leaned in to peer at my nearly empty wine rack. Three bottles hardly made me an oenophile. “Hmm. This looks interesting.” He pulled out a bottle of merlot. “Want some?”

  “Sure.” I opened a drawer, dug around for the corkscrew and handed it to him. “But just a glass or two. I have to work later tonight.”

  Grunting as he twisted the corkscrew into the bottle, he asked, “You can write after you drink wine? It doesn’t come out as gibberish?”

  “I actually write better with a little wine.” Which was the truth. I had to be relaxed to let the voices in. Whenever I got too tense and worried too much about all the everyday nonsense of life, the
stories didn’t come as easily. “Key word there is little.”

  The pop of the cork made me giggle since I always felt a bit naughty drinking alcohol. The adolescent Maddie always stayed near, no matter how much distance I tried to put between her and New York Maddie.

  Scott poured us two glasses of wine and took a long sip from his as he handed me the other. “Nice,” he said. He put his glass down when I pointed to the sliced green peppers, and then he tossed them into the mixture that would be our dinner.

  I took a drink then set the wine aside so I could swirl the beef strips and vegetables around the wok. Scott came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back against him. His lips kissed that ticklish place where neck met shoulder. I tilted my head to let him play.

  “You smell good. Like vanilla.”

  “That’s ’cause I made a cake.”

  “Delicious.”

  “I hope so. I worked hard on it.”

  He kissed my neck again, making goose bumps spread across my skin. “I meant you.”

  “Will you marry me?” I teased to show him how much he pleased me with the wonderful things he liked to say. I’d never known a man as open and honest, so free with compliments.

  “Ask me again when you’re serious.” He didn’t mean it, but the more we were together, the more I thought I might have found my hero.

  While we ate, Scott fed Cleo pieces of the beef from our stir-fry. My dog loved him—probably more than she loved me. Every time Scott visited, she acted as if he’d been the one who raised her from a ball of brown fluff. If we sat on the couch, she nudged at his hand until he gave her a pat. Then I realized I did the same thing. Whenever we were close, I always reached for him if he hadn’t already reached for me. We held hands more than high school couples. Even my birds loved him, returning the whistles he threw their way.

  Damn it all if I wasn’t falling hard for the guy.