by Gina Ardito
She clutched her collar and swiveled to hide her legs beneath the booth table again. Too late, of course. He’d already seen the ridiculous cats and yarn on the sunny yellow fabric she wore. Good thing she hadn’t added bunny slippers to the ensemble. A heated blush rushed into her cheeks. “Yeah... umm... long story.”
“Gotcha.” On a quick nod, he rolled closer, stopping when he reached the edge of her table, his brow furrowed in question. “May I?”
She gave him the go-ahead with a wave of her hand. “Of course.”
Despite the way their last meeting ended, she actually welcomed his intrusion. Jordan always had a soothing way when it came to her blowups with her mother. And since Bertie still wasn’t answering her calls, she’d seize the opportunity to smooth over the rough edges they’d encountered at their last exchange.
“Thanks. I need a place to hide right now.” Jerking his head toward the doorway to the back room, he replied, “I just lost three games in a row to Luis Blades.”
An amused snort escaped her lips. “Yeah, Luis loves new bait in here. Did he tell you he used to make a living as a pool shark? Because he’s supposed to, but he sometimes conveniently ‘forgets.’” She curled her fingers around the last word. “The regulars tend to avoid playing him—unless he’s handicapped with a less stellar partner—so when someone new comes in, the shark smells blood in the water and tries to take a bite.”
Jordan frowned. “He made a living...?”
The stricken look in his eyes suggested he’d been bitten. Cam’s impatience rose. “You didn’t play for money, did you?”
His cheeks flushed. “He took me for fifty bucks.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She slid to the edge of the booth and came up short due to the proximity of his wheels. “Back up a little, wouldja?”
“Let it go, Cam. I can afford the loss.”
“That’s not the point. Now, skootch.”
He backed up a few feet, and she strode to the back room with purpose. “Luis!”
A half-dozen men stood around the pool table, some laughing, others sipping from beer bottles.
Her target had his back to the doorway, but turned at her shout. “Hey, Cam! How’s it going? You here for another humiliating loss?”
“No. I’m here to make sure you give Jordan back his money.”
“What are you, his mommy?” Guffaws erupted around them, but she planted her fists on her hips and waited, tight-lipped, until Luis stamped his cue stick on the scarred wooden floor. “Aw, c’mon! It’s fifty bucks. Big shot can afford it.”
“It’s illegal, and you know it.”
He shrugged. “Who’s gonna tell?” His comrades continued laughing, adding choruses of “Yeah,” and “You tell her,” and “No snitching.”
The tension of the last few hours got the best of her, and she snatched the pool stick out of his hand.
Her voice increased in volume and fury with every syllable. “You wanna get this place shut down? Now, give him back his money. You play for bragging rights, nothing more. Got it?”
The last two words came out in a shout loud enough to shake the walls. All five men facing her stood slack-jawed at her outburst. Reason returned, along with a heavy dose of embarrassment.
“Sorry,” she said in a much softer tone. She passed the pool stick back to Luis. “Just pay him back. Okay?”
Without waiting for a reply or viewing the reactions to her tantrum, she turned, skittered past Jordan in his wheelchair, and returned to her booth then buried her face behind her hands. Damn, damn, damn! She should cut her losses, go home, dive head-first into that bag of tortilla chips that had been whispering come-hithers to her since before she arrived at her mother’s home earlier this evening and hide from the world until Doomsday.
“Care to talk about it?” Jordan whispered.
She spread her fingers wide enough to see him through the gaps and found him in the exact place he’d been before she’d lost her mind in the back room. After that blowup back there with Luis, coming on the heels of their previous disastrous meeting, she would’ve bet her last pair of clean underwear he’d stay far the hell away from her right now.
Why was he suddenly being so nice to her?
At that moment, Sal appeared with her drink, placed a napkin on the table and set the glass on top. “Kitchen’s still open if you want something to eat.” He looked at Jordan. “Can I get you anything?”
“A ginger ale would be great, thanks.”
“No sweat. You want anything to eat with that?”
Jordan waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m good. Cam?”
“No thanks.” On a sigh, Cam dropped her hands to the table and shook her head. “I had a slice or two of pineapple pizza an hour ago.”
Jordan cocked his head at her. “Pineapple? Since when do you indulge in that sacrilege?”
“Since a friend insisted,” she retorted, then sighed at her short fuse. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. The pie wasn’t awful, but it’s definitely not something I’d choose to eat on my own.”
She knew why she’d snapped. She found it disheartening he still knew her habits so well, particularly since he’d made it plain he wanted nothing more to do with her, except business. She couldn’t compete with a beauty like Paris Redmond, who could be both a romantic interest and a business partner. What was the line from that old movie? I have a head for business and a bod for sin.
Cam had the brains, but her figure was all “too” for sin, especially when compared to the wives and girlfriends of Vanguard players. Too tall, too big, too buxom, too... too.
It didn’t matter that all her doctors assured her she was healthy and her weight wasn’t an issue. As long as she couldn’t fit into a size two like Mom, she’d never be good enough in some people’s eyes. Certainly, not for her mother—and, apparently, compared to Paris Redmond, not for Jordan, either.
Maybe she should shake things up a bit in her routine. Try that new diet Val told her about earlier. Eat only foods that started with the letter L.
Oh, who was she kidding? Years of fasting and gallons of lemon water with cayenne pepper hadn’t changed her shape or frame. She was built like her father, like her father’s sister, and like the generations of Delgados who’d come before them both. Good peasant stock, Bertie called it. Able to withstand life’s tragedies and remain on her feet. Capable of inordinate amounts of love.
In the good old days, before Houston came calling, she’d never doubted Jordan loved all of her, including her size. But after that incident in the hospital and the smug smile on Paris’s face, the insecurities flooded in, pushed along on her mother’s continuous tides of criticism. Bertie was the one man to pull her up out of her self-pity, to insist she value herself. And she did—or at least, she had. Until Jordan returned, along with all those old insecurities.
“What’d your mother say this time?”
Jordan’s question brought her out of her musings. “If this is because I got your money back,” she muttered, “you don’t have to entertain me. Go on back and play with your friends.”
“You’re my friend.”
She stared up at the tongue-and-groove ceiling. Clearly, the universe wasn’t through messing with her this week. Because the last thing she would assume Jordan considered her was a “friend.” Not after Tuesday. Or the hospital. Or the trade to Houston.
“I only met those guys tonight,” he added. “And since none of them bothered to tell me the rules about Luis’s shenanigans, I think calling them ‘friends’ goes too far. Somehow, I think they’ll be fine without me. So what’d your mother say this time?”
Cam didn’t attempt to fake a denial. “It’s not what she said. It’s what I said in response.” She took a deep sip of her cocktail and let the alcohol tickle her taste buds before swallowing. “I don’t know how I could be so stupid. I was jetlagged. I was hungry. And she was serving this stupid dry chicken breast and tasteless vegetables, and she’s all dolled up in a slinky dress and...” G
od, she had to stop rerunning it in her head like instant replay—forward and reverse and forward and reverse. “...she just got to me tonight.”
“Why? What’d she say?” he pressed.
Another sip, another zing on her tongue. “That’s the stupid part. She didn’t say anything I haven’t heard a thousand times before. I look tired. Of course, I look tired! I’d just put in a fourteen-hour day. I should fix my hair. Because that’s the most important thing on my mind right now. If I hit the gym more often, maybe I could catch a man.”
Cam swirled the contents of her glass, allowing the ice cubes to clink against each other. She didn’t want to reveal all this to him. She wanted Bertie. Bertie, who never abandoned her when she didn’t react the way he’d anticipated. Bertie, who loved her unconditionally—the way she once thought Jordan loved her. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back.
“The thing is,” she continued, still staring at the clear liquid and little slice of green spinning in her glass, “Mom always says the same stuff. She just wants what’s best for me. She worries about me. She wants to see me settled with someone who loves me unconditionally. Normally, I shrug it off, but tonight...” As the centrifugal force slowed, she placed her glass back on the cocktail napkin. “Tonight, I went off on her.”
Jordan folded his arms on the table and leaned closer. “What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, not physically. When she started the unconditional love crap, I pointed out to her that, with her marriage record, she’s a lousy example of loving anybody unconditionally.”
He gave her a curt nod, but his expression remained inscrutable. “Good point. How’d she react to that?”
“She got all stiff and frowny-faced, and she shut down. Like her whole body became one big open wound. I swear to God, she got so hurt so fast, she was practically bleeding out her eyelids.” The memory of her mother’s reaction sent a chill down her spine, and she hugged herself to ward off a round of shivers. “She can say whatever she wants to me, and I’ve gotta take it because she’s my mother. But I snap back at her just once, and I’m the world’s worst daughter for hurting her feelings. I couldn’t handle her expression, or the iciness in the room. So I said I was sorry, got up, and left.”
He waited a beat, saying nothing, staring at her, until she glared back at him. He blinked first. “You mean, that’s it?”
She slapped a hand on the table top. “Yes, ‘that’s it.’ What’d you expect? That I set fire to the plates or something?”
“No, I’m just wondering why you’re so upset over it, that’s all. Did she at least acknowledge your apology?”
“No.”
His lips twisted in a smirk of distaste. “Not surprising. Don’t tell me you expected her to.”
She hugged herself even tighter. “No.”
“So, then, what’s the problem? You told her a truth she needed to hear. Quite frankly, you probably should have said something to her at least two husbands ago.”
“You didn’t see her reaction.” Her throat dried on the last word, and she grabbed her drink to take a deep swig.
“She’ll get over it. I know her. And I know you. She loves to play the drama card, and you swallow your impatience every time she puts on a performance, instead of putting her in her place.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at her. “Too much of Bertie’s influence there.”
“Don’t you start.” She was not about to listen to someone else try to malign her one and only support system.
Sal returned with a tall glass of ginger ale and another napkin. “Everything okay, Cam?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion toward Jordan.
She waved him off. “Everything’s fine.”
“Hey, Cam!” Luis called out from behind her. “Feel like playing a game? The guys are tired of getting their butts kicked.”
Yes. She craved the release of cracking a few balls. The innuendo wasn’t lost on her, and she hid her smirk behind her glass then drained the contents. She glanced at Jordan. “You wanna play doubles? Between us, we can take him. It’ll give us both back a little ego tonight.”
He grinned. “I like the way you think.”
She got to her feet and proclaimed, “Rotation game with partners. Me and Jordan.” Pointing between the two of them, she skooched out of the booth to stand beside him.
“You’re on.” Luis clapped his hands and offered a toothy smile full of confidence and bravado. “Me and Kenny against you two. Let’s do it.”
JORDAN GLANCED AT HIS watch and mentally tried to push time ahead. Marcus should have been here by now. If he’d had the brains he was born with, he would have turned down Cam’s offer to team up to take down Luis and headed home. At least, he should have asked her where she’d been between dinner with her mom at six and her sudden appearance at Brady’s Place almost four hours later. The friend she’d shared a pizza with had also shared some kind of alcohol with her, since that one vodka lime had clearly put her over the top. The classic rock music blaring from the overhead speakers set her into dancing mode, swishing her hips, singing along, her fingers caressing her pool cue in...provocative ways.
While the idea of regaining his dignity on the pool table had seemed like a good one at the time, playing with Cam came with a unique set of challenges he hadn’t considered. Every time she bent over the pool table, her curvy butt was directly in his line of sight. Her fun-loving, competitive spirit woke up and took center stage. Every time she pocketed a ball, she’d rush back to his side and wrap her arms around his shoulders to celebrate. When she missed a shot or their opponents pocketed one of their balls, she’d grab his hand and squeezed his fingers as if to reassure him.
Currently, the teams were tied, with each pair having pocketed three of the opponents’ balls. He and Cam were the stripes, tasked with sinking balls numbered nine through fifteen. Meanwhile, Luis and Kenny had to sink solids one through seven. First team to sink all their balls, in numerical order, followed by the eight ball, won.
Cam took her shot. Crack! Click.Click.Click. The cue ball slammed into several balls before hitting the purple twelve, sending it directly toward the corner pocket—where it stopped half an inch from falling.
“Ohhhh! Too bad, sunshine. That’s tough luck. For you.” Luis snickered, and Kenny followed suit.
Cam’s expression remained placid as she gave a nod, turning the table over to Kenny.
He strode around the table, surveying the four ball from a dozen different angles, crouching here, leaning there, and frowning all the while. In moving the twelve ball closer, Cam had also caused a chain reaction that put the eight ball in a vulnerable position with the four.
While Kenny played his mind voodoo over the felt table and Luis looked on with some concern, Cam came to stand beside Jordan, and clapped in an up and down motion, as if smacking dust off her hands. “That should take some of the air out of those two windbags. Kenny’s bank shot is his weakest move.”
Having her so close to him played havoc with his memories. At one time, he’d been crazy in love with her. He’d loved her curves, her softness, her huge appetite for life—and love. In the bedroom, in the boardroom, in every place and every way, Cam gave and took with equal measure, but always in generous amounts.
Resentment simmered beneath his surface. After his injury on the field, he’d yearned for her to be there with him. The Cam he thought he knew would have dropped everything to stay by his side through the surgeries and the rehab and the endless hours of doubt and despair. Too bad the Cam he thought he knew had turned out to be a fantasy.
Yet, tonight, in Brady’s Place, he saw a few embers of the old Cam: the silly pajamas she wore with the same dignity she’d display while dressed in a designer evening gown or a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, her quick rush to his defense when she’d learned Luis had fleeced him, her vulnerability when she talked about dinner at her mother’s, the confidence she oozed while playing this game, the music, her slightly off-tone singing, the dancing. All of
it, pure Cam.
Don’t fall for it, stupid. Not again.
He had to remind himself that the real Cam was the one who’d cut him from her life and never looked back. This charming woman beside him would only last until the ink dried on the sale contracts for her beloved building. And then, poof! All their mutual goodwill would disappear.
Crack! Kenny made his shot. Cam grabbed Jordan’s hand and held on tight while she sucked in a long, slow breath.
“No!” Luis shouted and sank to his knees, his palm over his chest.
Jordan swerved his attention to the table just in time to see the eight ball sink into the left side pocket.
Cam threw her arms in the air and, in her best announcer voice, shouted, “And that’s the game!”
She broke into laughter, a sound that rippled down Jordan’s spine. When she turned to face him, her face flushed with victory, he forgot about all the negatives he’d been listing in his head only moments ago. She managed to sidle between his legs and collapse into him in a full- frontal hug.
“We won! Woo-hoo!” she exclaimed.
His hand slid into her hair, bringing her lips closer to his. She tilted her head, and the only natural reaction was to kiss her. So he did.
He remembered the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms, and casting sanity to the wind, he indulged his senses in happier times. She melted into him, sitting on his thigh, the way she always would, molding herself into the perfect fit, his perfect match. Because despite their bitter past, despite the ugliness of the last few years without her, she was still his Cam.
“Jeez, you two,” Luis admonished, “get a room.”
He ignored the jibe and the hoots that erupted around them and held fast to this quicksilver woman. If he broke away, he’d lose her. Right now, right here, he could stop time.
“Ah, so that’s how it is,” another voice remarked from somewhere outside the realm they’d created.
Time returned, along with reality. And Marcus.
Jordan broke the kiss and stared into Cam’s starry eyes with regret. She blinked several times and clumsily got to her feet.