It Takes Two

by Sheridon Smythe

Zack stopped abruptly in the doorway, his brain registering the shock of finding not a shattered drinking glass, but pieces of the large mirror that had hung over the sink. Did they have earthquakes in Nebraska? he wondered. And if there had been an earthquake, wouldn't he have felt it?

  Puzzled, he shook his head, squatting to pick up the larger pieces and placing them in the bathroom trash can. The task took him several moments, for the shards were razor sharp and he had to move slowly. When he'd picked up as much as he could by hand, he went to get the broom and a dustpan. As he was returning, another unexpected noise stopped him in his tracks.

  It was the annoying sound of a phone left off the hook.

  Zack slowly turned his head, staring at the phone. He walked to it and gently tapped the receiver. There was a little click as it settled into the cradle, and the noise stopped. Well, that explained it, Zack decided, relieved. They'd experienced a small tremor and he'd been so preoccupied, he hadn't noticed it.

  Despite the logical explanation, Zack picked up the receiver and pushed redial. The last person he'd called had been—

  "Hello, Diamond residence."

  —Justine's shop. Not Clay and Bea Diamond.

  "Hello?"

  "Yes.” What would he say? What could he say that wouldn't sound crazy? Hey, I think someone called your number, but I'm the only one here? Zack closed his eyes, using the only excuse he could think of that wouldn't alarm the woman. “This is Coach Wayne. Could I speak to Jordan?"

  "I'm sorry...he left a few moments ago with some friends.” There was a chilly, expectant pause, then: “Can I take a message?"

  "No, thanks. I'll call back later."

  Zack hung up before Bea could respond. He tapped his fingers against the phone. “And the plot thickens,” he murmured aloud, his gaze straying to the covered cage.

  Clothes lay scattered on the bed, the chair, the dresser, and the floor. Justine kicked a skirt aside and walked into the living room for the tenth time. She pivoted in a slow circle, giving her silent audience plenty of time to form an opinion.

  "Well, what do you think? Too frumpy? Too obvious? Remember, I don't want him to think I'm deliberately trying to look unappealing.” Justine smoothed her hands along the thigh-length hunter green sweater.

  Rogue dutifully opened his sleepy eyes, yawned hugely, then closed them again. Squeeze took one glance at her and slid under the couch. Thor, evidently, was tired of the fashion show; he never opened his eyes.

  "You guys are no help,” Justine muttered, stalking back into her bedroom to stand before her closet. There was one garment left, a simple black dress that was neither fancy or alluring. In fact, she'd once worn it to a funeral. Her mother had talked her into buying the dress, declaring no wardrobe was complete without a simple black dress.

  No, not a dress, she thought. She'd wear the outfit she now had on and to hell with what Zack believed. If his ego was so enlarged he'd think she dressed simply for him, well, then that was his problem.

  With a sigh, she brushed and braided her hair, then twisted it until it lay thick and heavy against the back of her neck. She was striving for severe, somber...cool. It was a casual date between two friends, whether Zack knew it or not.

  A quick stroke of lipstick, a dab of mascara, and she was almost ready to go. She took a deep breath and went to get her coat, checking her purse to make sure she'd put the video inside. The care package she'd fixed for the lovebirds sat waiting by the door.

  Five minutes later, she was back in the apartment, exasperated and cold. Her van had not responded to her repeated attempts to start it. Rubbing her frozen hands together, she moved to the phone to call Zack.

  He answered on the third ring. “Zack, it's Justine."

  "Something wrong?” he asked sharply.

  "Nothing serious.” She bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should cancel the date altogether. Perhaps it was an omen. “My van won't start."

  "I'll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me inside where it's warm."

  Justine stared at the disconnected phone with a wry smile. So much for her thoughts of canceling. Zack had made sure she didn't get the opportunity.

  For the next fifteen minutes, she waited with her coat on. Finally, she took it off and began to pace, having serious second thoughts about agreeing to this date.

  After another fifteen minutes, she moved to the bedroom and quickly changed into jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt with Cannon Bay Indians emblazoned in red letters across the front, adding the green sweater and wool pants to the pile of clothes on her bed.

  What was she thinking when she picked that sweater? Come to think of it, what was she thinking when she agreed to have dinner with him?

  Jordan. Justine took a deep breath and concentrated on her nephew. Zack had said he needed to talk to her about Jordan. Perhaps asking her to have dinner had merely been a polite formality. They had to talk, so why not talk over dinner? They had to eat, didn't they?

  Forty-five long minutes after the call, Justine opened her apartment door to a grim-faced Zack. His cheeks were red with cold, and the look in his eyes had her backing up a step.

  "I was about a mile from my apartment when I noticed my back tire was going flat."

  Justine waved him inside and shut the door, shivering. “Bad day to have to change a tire."

  "I didn't change it, because my spare was also flat."

  She attempted a rueful smile. It wasn't easy, considering how murderous he looked. “Seems we're both having bad luck tonight."

  "I don't think it's bad luck. The gas station attendant found nothing wrong with either of the tires."

  Justine gasped. “You think someone let the air out?"

  "I do. Come on, let's go. I don't want to leave the truck out on the street any longer than I have to."

  "I don't blame you,” she murmured, following him out the door. She wondered if Zack's flat tires had anything to do with her van not starting. It was almost as if someone was determined to keep them apart...

  They made the trip in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. In fact, Justine was beginning to think he'd forgotten her presence until they reached his apartment door. He stopped and turned to her, grasping her chin and tilting it upward.

  "Before we go inside, I want you to know that I'm not planning on seducing you, so you can relax."

  "I didn't—"

  "Yes, you did,” he chided softly. “And the way I've been acting, I can't really blame you for thinking it.” His thumb moved back and forth across her chin, almost absently. “I want us to spend time together, to talk about things we never got the chance to talk about before."

  "Jordan—"

  "Yes, we need to talk about Jordan, too."

  He dropped his hand and turned to unlock the door. Justine bumped into him as he stopped abruptly, blocking her view of the apartment.

  "Ah, wait here."

  "Zack?” Alarmed at his shocked expression, Justine tried to look over his shoulder.

  "I'll just be a moment. Wait here!"

  He quickly pushed her into the hall and slammed the door in her face.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Soft music, candlelight, and roses.

  Zack swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat and forced himself to take another look around the apartment—if it was his apartment. It certainly wasn't the apartment he had left an hour ago.

  Frank Sinatra, crooning a love ballad over his stereo. Tall white candles flickering softly on the table. Roses, red and vibrant, in a sparkling crystal vase.

  The table itself, apparently moved by someone from the kitchen to the living room area was covered in a snowy white tablecloth. A silver covered platter served as the centerpiece, offset by the candles and the roses. Two place settings with delicate amber-tinted wine glasses graced the table.

  Soft music, candlelight, roses, and...wine.

  It could have been an advertisement for How to Seduce a Woman. Z
ack gulped again. He gave a start as Justine knocked on the door.

  "Zack? Is something wrong?"

  Oh, was it ever! He cleared his throat, hoping his total shock would allow him to speak. “It's—it's the mess,” he croaked. “I forgot to clean up the mess."

  And he had left a mess purposely to relax Justine, to convince her he wasn't just another playboy after a few tumbles.

  Where was his kettle of chili? The stove top was bare, the almond-colored range wiped clean of the chili splattering he knew he'd left. Nor was there any sign of the cutting board with the fragrant remains of the onion and garlic he'd chopped to add to the chili. The counter was clean...empty with the exception of an ice bucket and a bottle of wine.

  Zack forced his paralyzed limbs to move into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door, his knees nearly buckling with relief at the sight of his battered old chili pot sitting on the near-empty shelf. It was proof that he hadn't fallen into a rabbit hole.

  "Zack?"

  Justine's muffled voice made him pause.

  "Are you finished? I've seen messes before, you know!"

  He couldn't let Justine see this particular mess. Oh, no. She would take one look at the setting and run screeching from the building. He would never convince her that he'd had nothing to do with it.

  So he had to get rid of the evidence before he opened the door. Zack grabbed the kettle of chili and set it on the stove. He turned the burner on beneath the pan, shoved the ice bucket and wine out of sight beneath the counter, and raced into the living room.

  Blowing the candles out, he took the ends of the tablecloth and whipped them together, not the least bit curious about what was beneath the covered platter. He winced at the sound of shattering glass and clinking metal as he hefted his bundle and headed for the bathroom at a brisk trot.

  "Zack? Are you hurt? I heard something breaking!"

  He ignored the pounding on the door. Sweat beaded his brow and upper lip. She was beginning to sound angry, and he suspected it wouldn't be long before she'd tire of waiting. Emerging from the bathroom after dumping the bundle in the bathtub, Zack raced back into the living room, turned off the stereo, and started flicking every light switch he could find until the apartment resembled a hospital operating room.

  He was ready. Wiping his brow, he headed for the door.

  Halfway there he spotted an unfamiliar object protruding from the fruit bowl. He snatched it up and gave it a cursory glance as his hand reached for the door knob.

  He froze, his gaze widening on the package in his hand.

  It was a pack of condoms. Neon colors. Super sensitive.

  With a smothered curse, Zack shoved the condoms into his pocket and opened the door.

  "Something's wrong, isn't it?” Looking worried and agitated, Justine moved by him into the apartment. She glanced around, then looked at Zack again. “What is it? What did you break?"

  "A couple of glasses. Nothing important.” As he shut the door, he felt a moment of grim satisfaction in thinking someone might have thought so.

  "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

  Zack hesitated. He hated to lie, but in this instance, he thought she might prefer it to the truth. “There's nothing to tell. I knocked a few glasses from the shelf looking for...the red pepper."

  "Red pepper?” She cocked her head, her gaze narrowed with suspicion.

  "Red pepper,” Zack repeated. “For the chili. It was a surprise."

  "Don't you mean chili pepper?"

  "No. It's an old family recipe.” He held out his hand. “Here, let me take your coat.” Removing his own, he hung them in the hall closet. He took the care package for the birds and placed them on the counter.

  He's jumpy about something, Justine summarized, and she didn't think it had anything to do with red pepper or a family recipe of chili. She inhaled, recognizing the familiar aroma of garlic and onions. Beneath those scents, however, she identified the faint smell of burning wax and the sweet perfume of roses.

  She didn't believe for a moment that Zack was telling her the truth. “Is there anything I can help you with?” she asked as he moved to the stove and began stirring the bubbling soup.

  "Yeah, you can pour the milk."

  Warmth flooded Justine. “You remembered."

  He turned to her, looking surprised. “That you like milk? Of course. It was only one of many things we had in common."

  When he stretched his arm to remove two bowls from the cabinet above his head, Justine's mouth watered at the sight of his flexing muscles. Flustered and furious with herself, she tore her gaze away and grabbed two glasses from the same cabinet. She poured the milk and carried them to the table in the living room.

  "Crackers, or French bread?” Zack called over his shoulder.

  "Crackers are fine.” The smell of wax was stronger here, she thought, setting the glasses on the table. Deciding to shake him up, Justine ask casually, “Zack, did you know that it's dangerous to burn candles while you're gone?"

  He whirled around. The bowls of chili wavered in his hands. “What? Oh, the candles."

  Justine lifted a questioning brow. “Yes, the candles."

  "It—it smelled like a monkey in here, so I lit a couple of those scented candles.” He approached the table, making a face. “I love the little guy, but his hygiene habits leave a lot to be desired.” With an indulgent smile, he added, “Don't worry, the candles were the safe-guard kind."

  "Oh.” Justine took a seat as he retreated into the kitchen. She didn't know why he was lying about something so insignificant, but she knew instinctively that he was. It would be amusing to see how far he'd carry the lie, and interesting to find out why. “So, where are they?"

  Zack returned, smacking a box of crackers in the middle of the table with a little more force than Justine thought was necessary. She was getting to him. Good.

  When he pitched her a spoon, she caught it, flashing him an innocent smile as she waited for his answer.

  "Why?” he demanded, his frustration finally bleeding through.

  Justine shrugged, reaching for the crackers. She doubted she would have to crush them after the landing they'd received. “I thought maybe we'd light them again. I've always had a fondness for candles."

  "If I had known that, I would have left the damned things lit,” Zack muttered. “You never told me that you liked candles."

  "Oh, yes.” Justine smiled sweetly as he shoved a spoonful of chili into his mouth. Even the way he ate made her squirm. Wisely lowering her gaze, she stirred the crushed crackers into her chili and took a cautious bite. It was good. “Hmm. Spicy."

  "Too spicy?"

  She shook her head. “No, I like it."

  For the next several moments, they ate in silence. Finally, Justine scraped the last bite from the bowl and put it into her mouth and put down her spoon. She sipped her milk and waited for him to finish before she asked evenly, “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?"

  "Don't you want to know the true reason why I suspended Jordan from the team?” he countered.

  "Yes.” She hesitated. “But why are you telling me now?

  Zack considered her question, deciding he might as well tell the truth. He hoped he'd used his quota of lies tonight. “Because Jordan suggested I tell you...over dinner.” Her stunned gasp came as no surprise. Zack knew exactly how she felt.

  "Are we talking about the same Jordan, here? I was under the impression he didn't approve of our—our—"

  "Relationship?” Zack supplied helpfully—hopefully.

  She licked her lips. “We had a relationship. Now we're friends. Anyway.” She waved her napkin in the air in a gesture of bewilderment. “I can't imagine Jordan suggesting you ask me to dinner—"

  "I'll get to that in a bit,” Zack interrupted. “First, let me start at the beginning. The true reason I suspended Jordan from the team, along with a few others, was because of their unsportsmanlike conduct. We were scheduled to play the Panthers from Scott Plain�
��"

  "I've heard rumors about that team,” Justine said. “They've got a reputation for rough play."

  Zack nodded. “So I've heard, but that doesn't excuse the prank pulled by Jordan and a few of his teammates. They sneaked into the visitor's locker room and painted the benches just before the Panthers arrived.” Her gasp of dismay fell neatly into his pause. “They painted the seats red. Their uniform pants are white."

  "Good grief!” Justine looked stricken. “What happened?"

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What choice did I have? I forfeited the game and suspended those responsible."

  "How—how did you know who they were?"

  An understandable question, Zack thought, and thankfully one he could answer with remembered pride. “I asked. One by one, they came forward."

  Justine looked shell-shocked. “I just can't imagine Jordan doing something so—so unsportsmanlike. Clay will be furious, and Bea will be so disappointed.” She blinked her teary eyes as she added, “I'm disappointed."

  At the sight of her crying, Zack wanted to gather her into his arms and nuzzle her tear-streaked eyes. He refrained, but only because he feared she would reject his comfort or think it was a plot to get her into bed. “I think he's learned his lesson. They not only lost the game before it started, they had to pay for the other team's uniforms and tell their parents the whole story before next Monday, or they were permanently suspended.” He gentled his voice. “Jordan came to me this morning with the money, and he's telling his parents right now."

  "He led us to believe you were the bad guy.” Justine sniffed and swiped at her eyes, looking mad and hurt at the same time. “And I foolishly took his side."

  "He's family,” Zack pointed out, letting her know that he understood. “I would have done the same."

  "What do you think made him change his mind?"

  Ah, now they were getting to the tough part. Zack chose his words carefully. “I'm not exactly sure. I'd like to think he made the choice without outside influence."

  Justine jumped up and gathered the bowls, heading into the kitchen. He made no move to help her, suspecting she needed the distraction and the time alone to get a handle on her anger.