Not Another Bad Date slaod-4

by Rachel Gibson

  Over the next few days, Adele’s life settled a bit and fell into a pattern. She woke every morning, took Kendra to school, then jogged her five miles. She visited her sister in the hospital and listened to the latest updates on Sherilyn’s and the baby’s progress. Sherilyn would add to the to-do list, and Adele would run around town whittling it down the best she could. At around noon, she’d return home to work on the opening of her next book, a futuristic set in an alternate universe. During her breaks in writing, she caught up with her friends in Boise via e-mail. She’d met the three other writers years ago when they’d all attended the same librarian conference. The things they’d had in common—deadlines, writers’ block, and bad relationships—had made them fast friends. And even though Adele was the only one suffering from bad relationships these days, they were still great friends. Once Sherilyn had her baby, and everything was fine, Adele could not wait to go home and catch up in person.

  By the time Saturday rolled around, Adele was ready for a break. Cletus Sawyer had called during the week to say he’d pick her up for dinner at seven. Kendra had been asked to babysit the five-year-old in the condo next door, and in case of an emergency, Adele programed her phone number into Kendra’s cell.

  An hour before Cletus picked Adele up, she threw on a long-sleeved red dress and shiny red pumps she pulled from Sherilyn’s closet. She didn’t bother with nice underwear, not that she’d packed her nice stuff anyway. Even if the date went really well, and she discovered an overwhelming attraction to Cletus, she had to be home when Kendra got home at eleven.

  Over appetizers, Cletus told Adele about his divorce and his two-year-old daughter. He asked questions about her life and seemed genuinely interested. They laughed about things that had happened to them in school, but by the time Cletus paid the check, Adele knew nothing was going to happen with him. Ever. He was really nice, but she had absolutely no desire to get naked and freaky with him, which was kind of sad because the date was going surprisingly well. So well that she was beginning to wonder if the curse was broken.

  At around ten he drove her back to the condo and walked her to the door.

  “When can I see you again?” he asked.

  She wouldn’t mind having Cletus for a friend. “I don’t know.” She dug her keys out of her clutch purse. “I’m really busy with my sister, and I don’t have a lot of free time. Call me though, and maybe we can get together for coffee.”

  “Oh. You’re one of those.”

  One of those?

  “You think you’re too good for me. You think because I teach math that I’m not any fun. You think I’ll be pacified with a little coffee date.”

  “Cletus, my sister’s in the hospital, and I have to take care of my niece,” she said through a sigh. “I just don’t have a lot of time for real dates.”

  “Sure you don’t. I bet if I had a lot of money, you’d find the time. If I’d been one of the popular guys in school, you’d be dying to date me.”

  Adele looked at him, and she couldn’t get angry. It wasn’t his fault he’d turned into a jerk. It was hers. She was still cursed.

  Chapter 5

  One hundred fifty miles west of Cedar Creek, Zach was beginning to wonder if he was cursed, too. Cursed with a defense that hesitated on the snap and couldn’t get past a determined offensive line to rush the quarterback.

  Within the guest locker room of the Grande Communications Stadium in Midland, he and his assistant coaches stood surrounded by the rattle of Tylenol bottles, the rip of athletic tape, the smell of grass, sweat, and frustration. In the first half of the game against Midland, the Cougars were behind by fourteen points.

  Zach folded his arms across his dark green Cougar’s Football jacket while the defensive coach, Joe Brunner, drew a diagram of the zone blitz on a marker board. “We spent all goddamn week reviewing the Bulldogs’ tapes,” Joe said as he drew x’s and o’s on the board. “We knew goin’ into this game that they play their zone better than any team we’ve been up against this year. Their goddamn quarterback is just sittin’ back in the pocket lobbing balls to the soft spot, and you guys aren’t goddamn rushin’ him.” Joe drew dashes and arrows from the linebackers through the o’s as he continued.

  Zach liked Joe. He respected his knowledge and devotion and his gut instinct. Joe had played cornerback for Cedar Creek and later for Virginia Tech in the nineties. No one loved football more than Joe Brunner, but he had a problem that held him back from ever being a head coach. He cracked under pressure. Right in half like someone split him with an ax, and out came a spitting, whirling devil. It was every coach’s job to get their boys to pull their heads out of their asses and turn games around, but that was hard to do if the fifty-three players in front of you were trying not to laugh.

  Zach stood with the offensive coach to one side and watched to make sure Joe didn’t crack. They interjected when necessary and were relieved that only two veins popped out on Joe’s forehead. For most of Zach’s life, he’d been a quarterback, not a coach, but he’d played ball for some of the best coaches and some of the worst. He’d led teams to championships, and he knew the difference between being stern and going off on a tirade. He knew that players would leave their blood on the field for someone they respected and who respected them. A good coach inspired that kind of respect.

  When Joe was finished, Zach stepped in front of the marker board. “Y’all know what you gotta do,” he said. “You go out there and make those Midland boys sorry that they showed up today.” He pointed to the defensive ends. “If you get blocked, I better hear it from where I’m standin’, and I don’t want to see you getting stopped by any more of those pussy finesse blocks. You get around those boys and run upfield like someone lit your ass on fire. You go after that quarterback and force him to get rid of that ball before he’s ready.” He pushed his ball cap to the back of his head and gathered the team around him. “The first half of this game is history, gentlemen. There isn’t anything we can do about it now. Let’s put it behind us.

  “Last week when we lost Don, everyone started saying we were done. But I don’t believe that. One player does not make a team great. It’s what’s in each player’s heart and gut that makes a team great. It’s your job to go out there and show you have the guts and heart to turn this game around. I know you can do it. Tonight’s battle is not over. We’re not finished. We’re only down by fourteen, let’s go show ’em y’all are winners.”

  He looked them all in the face. “So let’s hear it together: hearts, guts, glory.”

  “Hearts, guts, glory!” the team shouted as they butted helmets.

  “Now get out there and kick some Bulldog ass!”

  Zach and the other coaches followed behind the team, the sound of cleats on concrete bouncing off the tunnel walls. The Cougars broke onto the field running as the Cedar Creek band played the school fight song. The players butted chests and helmets and fists, and in the second half, the defense finally broke through the Midland offensive line and rushed their quarterback. The Cougars closed the gap in the score and in the last few seconds of the game kicked a thirty-seven-yard field goal to win by three points.

  As Zach filed off the field with his boys, he thought about the mistakes made in the first half. Next Friday night’s game was against Amarillo in Lubbock, and the Sandies had one of the toughest defenses of any team they’d played so far. If the Cougars played like they had against Midland, they’d get their asses handed to them and their run for the state championship would be over.

  After the game, more than a dozen buses waited outside the stadium to be filled with players, cheerleaders, band and drill-team members, sponsors, and Cedar Creek students. Zach had driven his Escalade to Midland, preferring the comfort and speed of his Cadillac to that of a bus.

  Usually, Tiffany went to the games, but not if it meant traveling.

  He made it home in two and a half hours and fell into bed at 1:00 A.M. There was never practice on Sundays, and he planned to take advantage of i
t and sleep. Tiffany had other plans.

  “Daddy,” she said, shaking his shoulder.

  He cracked his eyes open. “What time is it?”

  “Nine.”

  “This had better be an emergency.”

  “It is. We need to get stuff for my party.”

  “What party?”

  “My dance-team party. It’s today. Did you forget?”

  For a few blissful hours he had forgotten that his house would be invaded by a dozen screaming thirteen-year-olds. “Christ on a crutch,” he groaned.

  “Don’t swear,” his thirteen-year-old said, sounding a lot like his mother.

  “Sorry.”

  “Get up. We gotta get some burgers and stuff ’cause I wanna barbecue outside. You said we could, remember?”

  “Don’t you girls just want to sit around and quietly watch the tube?”

  “Daddy, you’re so funny.” Tiffany laughed. “I turned the heat up in the pool and told the girls to bring their swimsuits, if they wanted. I figured we could drag those big heater things out of the guesthouse and set them up on the lower terrace. Or maybe we can push everything out of the entertainment room and set up some tables so we can eat in there after we swim. What do you think, Daddy?”

  Zach turned on his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head. “Just shoot me now.”

  Midafternoon sunshine poured through the windshield as Adele pulled the car over to the side of the road and covered her face with her hands. She’d held it together in the hospital. She’d had to be strong for Sherilyn, but she’d never been so frightened in her life. For the last two hours, she’d stood in her sister’s hospital room, holding Sherilyn’s hand and watching her blood pressure rise. The intense beeps of the fetal heart monitor still echoed in her ears.

  The doctors had come within minutes of wheeling Sherilyn to the delivery room and taking the baby before her blood pressure had slowly lowered out of critical range. At twenty-one weeks, the baby had a chance of surviving outside the womb, but not without the risk of serious health complications.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she’d told her sister over and over when everything was clearly not okay. But she hadn’t known what else to say. What to do besides stand there and watch and wait and hold it all together.

  Tears slid from behind her lids, and she opened her mouth to gasp for air. She sobbed past the clog in her throat, and all the fear and sorrow and anger that she’d kept inside for her sister’s sake tore at her lungs, and she cried into her hands. The last two hours had been the worst hours of her life, and as she’d stood there helpless, trying to be strong for Sherilyn, she couldn’t help but hate William Morgan more than she already did. It should have been him there. Holding his wife’s hand and fighting for his baby. Instead, he was off acting like an idiot and boning his young assistant.

  Adele took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her tears slowed, and she rubbed her hands across her wet cheeks. As she dug around in the console between the seats in search of a Kleenex, she reached in her purse for her cell phone. Sherilyn being Sherilyn had a little pack of tissues in the console, and Adele pulled one out of the package as she flipped open her phone.

  It was half past three, and she was a little late picking up Kendra from her dance party. She dried her eyes and blew her nose, and instead of calling Kendra, Adele dialed her sister’s old home phone number in Fort Worth, where William still lived. The answering machine picked up after the fifth ring.

  “This is Dr. William Morgan,” he began, and in the background a female giggled, “and Stormy Winter.” Bitch. “I am indisposed at present,” William continued. “Please leave a brief message and a telephone number where you may be reached.”

  It was so like William to leave a pompous message while his girlfriend giggled in the background. A-hole.

  Beep.

  “William, this is Adele. I’m calling to tell you that…” She paused. The last thing Sherilyn needed was for the a-hole to call and upset her. Besides, he didn’t deserve to know. “I just called to tell you to go fuck yourself,” she said, and closed her phone. Okay, so that wasn’t very mature. But Sherilyn was right. It felt good.

  She glanced into the rearview mirror and groaned out loud. Her eyes were red and the skin beneath splotchy. There was no way that she wanted to knock on Zach’s door looking like crap. Yet again. She flipped open her phone and tried Kendra’s cell. If she could get Kendra to wait for her outside…perhaps at the end of that long driveway…but Kendra didn’t answer.

  Sherilyn had a little baggy for garbage stuck on the gearshift, and Adele tossed the Kleenex inside as she eased off the brake. She pulled back onto the road and dug around in her purse for her sunglasses. She tried Kendra’s cell three more times before pulling into the gated community.

  “Damn.” She sighed and shoved her black sunglasses onto her face. She tossed the cell phone onto the passenger’s seat and drove around some fancy-schmancy clubhouse before turning into Zach’s cobblestone driveway. She’d thought about calling Kendra from the hospital to tell her she’d be late, but she hadn’t wanted to worry her niece since there wasn’t anything anyone could do. In hindsight, she should have so that a parent could have dropped Kendra off at home.

  Two Mercedes and a Ford truck were parked beneath the portico, and Adele parked her sister’s car beside the truck. She tried Kendra’s cell one more time as she grabbed the blue Hard Tail hoodie that matched her sweatpants and shoved her arms inside. No one answered, and she was forced to get out of the car and move through the walkway to the front door. The hooded sweatshirt had a red star and black wings across her breasts, and she zipped it halfway up her chest. Her sweats were nice, but nothing fancy. Nothing to make a man regret he’d dumped her, but her eyes looked like crap, so a killer outfit would have been a total waste.

  She stepped onto the porch, settled her glasses, and knocked. But really, who cared if she looked horrible—yet again—she told herself. She didn’t care what Zach Zemaitis or anyone else thought about her. Zach was a jerk. In fact, people were jerks. Her brows lowered, and she was somewhat taken aback by her cynical attitude. Somewhere in the past few weeks, she’d lost her usual optimism.

  The door swung open and Zach stood in front of her, tall and ridiculously good-looking, but with Zach it had always been more about his confidence that hit women like a testosterone fireball than his looks. It had always been more about the cockiness that he backed up with enormous talent that drew women to him. Or at least it had been for her.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said as she gazed at him through the dark lenses of her glasses. “I was at the hospital and there was a problem and…” And why would he care? “I should have called to let someone know I’d be late. Sorry.”

  He wore a white long-sleeved T-shirt advertising Moose Drool beer on the front and down one arm, Levi’s, and black flip-flops. And if she’d been a weak woman, she would have been tempted to breathe into her hand and check her breath.

  “Kendra’s in the pool,” he said, dragging out the vowels to the end of next week.

  “It’s what…fifty-five degrees?” Although in some states that was considered balmy for November.

  “Fifty-seven, and the pool’s covered in winter.”

  Of course. “Could you tell Kendra I’m here.”

  His gaze lowered to the wings on her hoodie, then rose slowly to her eyes. “Come in.”

  “I’ll wait in the car.” She turned and pointed to the Toyota. “Just tell Kendra that I’m—”

  “What are you afraid’s gonna happen?” he interrupted her.

  She turned and looked at him. “Nothing.”

  He took a step back into the house, and she could barely see him through her sunglasses. His voice came out of the shadows, low and almost rough, “Then come in, Adele.”

  “Are you always this bossy?”

  He shrugged. “Are you always this difficult?”

  “Fine.” She folded her arms beneath her brea
sts and walked into Zach’s house. He shut the door behind her, and she followed him through the entry and into the living room.

  “Have you gone on your date with the red-haired guy?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Cletus? Yes.” Unlike the last time she’d been in the house, the expensive furniture and rich rugs were in place. She kept her gaze pinned on Zach’s wide shoulders and the back of his blond hair touching his neck so she wouldn’t make full eye contact with the big portrait of Devon staring down at her. Wherever Devon was buried, Adele was sure she was spinning in her grave. After everything Devon had done to keep Zach and Adele apart, here she was, in Devon’s house with Devon’s husband. Adele might have taken a moment to enjoy that delicious slice of irony if not for the fact that she didn’t want to be there any more than Devon would want her there.

  “Wow. The guy works fast.”

  “The date was nice.” Right up until he’d turned into a jerk.

  “It would never work out you know.”

  Yeah, she knew that. She was cursed. “Why? Because he’ll bruise like a peach?” She followed him into the kitchen. “And I figured out that you weren’t talking about me slugging Cletus, by the way.”

  He opened a refrigerator and pulled out a plate of sliced tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce. Several high-pitched screeches from somewhere outside penetrated the house, and Zach winced. “You used to be quicker.”

  “I used to be a lot of things.”

  “I remember.” He shoved the plate at her, and one corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. “I remember a lot of things about you.” With her hands full, she was unable to stop him as he reached for her sunglasses and pushed them to the top of her head. “I remember your eyes, turquoise except when they turn a deeper blue.”

  He’d been the first man to tell her that her eyes got darker when she got turned on. She remembered they’d been in his truck the first time he’d said it. He’d been kissing her mouth and touching her through her clothes and she’d wanted to eat him up.