Crush (10 page)

“I’m unarmed,” the figure said with a snicker as he raised his hands halfway in surrender.

Miranda, still poised to attack, dropped her guard only slightly when her night visitor’s face came into view. “What do you want, Jordan?”

Jordan Duquette had an excellent mouth, and it pulled into the devilish smile that most women found irresistible. The smile that had won Miranda over on their first meeting now reminded her of Sylvester the Cat’s smug expression in the brief moments when he had a live Tweety Bird in his chops.

“I wanted to see you.” Jordan stuck his hands in the pockets of his team bomber jacket. “It’s been a long time. Too long.”

“Six months isn’t a long time.” Miranda unlocked her door and shouldered her way into her apartment. “In fact, I don’t think it’s long enough.”

Jordan tried to follow her but Miranda blocked his way. “Come on, Andy. You can’t still be mad.”

He flashed the smile again, this time with a tilt of his head to showcase his dimples. Miranda swung her knapsack at him. The blow bounced off his thickly muscled chest. “I haven’t heard from you since I found out that you were ‘done’ with me by having Meg’s trashy column shoved under my nose at work! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to walk into the newsroom after that? Especially after every move
you
ever made was chronicled in that damn column?”

Miranda could almost hear the rusty cogs of Jordan’s brain working beneath his salon-coiffed Afro. “So you’re still mad,” he finally said.

She tried to slam the door. When he shoved his foot in the gap, she slammed it even harder. “Stop being so theatrical, Miranda. You’re acting like we were married or something.”

“Go away, Jordan, before my neighbors call the police.”

“I’ll comp the cops to a few home games and they’ll let me camp out here all night, if I want to. I just want to talk to you. You don’t have five minutes for an old squeeze?”

She scowled in annoyance and anger. Even knowing how stupid it was for her to do so, she opened her door. “Three minutes.”

He moved through her apartment with familiar comfort after taking off his jacket and carelessly slinging it onto her small dining table. He went straight to the fridge, which had been his habit, and grabbed a beer before zeroing in on her worn slouch sofa and grabbing the television remote. He turned on the television, and like a big lazy dog, he paced in front of his spot before he sat down. The television was already tuned to ESPN, so Jordan set down the remote, propped his beer upon his belly, and put his feet up on the cocktail table.

The sight was as familiar and welcome as a scene from a recurring nightmare. Jordan’s big, muscular body, dressed in its usual off-field costume of khakis and white button-down shirt, dominated the living room section of her apartment. It had been months since his last visit, but he easily settled into his favorite spot with her favorite beer and her favorite television program. Six months ago, she would have been in the comfy depression beside him. But that was in another time, when ignorance had granted her what passed for happiness.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “Tick, tock.”

“I came all the way over here from the ballpark after my exhibition game for a reason, Miranda.” He switched stations to watch scrambled porn.

“You mean a reason other than to annoy me?” She set her knapsack on the counter that divided the kitchen from the living and dining room areas. “Spit it out.”

He tipped his head sideways and squinted as he tried to make out the pornographic images. “How was your date with the rock star?”

“Pick up a
Herald-Star
on your way home and find out. They re-ran Bernie’s article in today’s paper, to correspond with Karmic Echo’s return engagement in Boston tomorrow night.”

“I want to hear the story from you. Alec says you didn’t give anything up to Calista.” When she didn’t answer, Jordan pressed further. “Did you give anything up to Lucas Fletcher?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He turned off the television and joined her in her tiny kitchen. “It’s my business because I care about you.”

“Then why didn’t you call me or come see me when I was in the hospital?” she snapped. “The only reason you’re here is because you saw my name in all those newspapers and magazines and yours wasn’t attached to it!” She stormed out of the kitchen, kicking off her sneakers and untucking her white shirt as she went. “You can’t stand the fact that my involvement with Lucas Fletcher scores bigger headlines than your name ever did.”

“Look, I wanted to see you because, honestly, I’ve missed you.”

She wanted to hit him with something, but she had nothing large enough within reach. His ego would have to do. “You’re here because someone who’s more famous, more rich, and more popular than you showed a slight interest in me.”

Jordan stayed close on her heels. “I know I made some mistakes while we were together, but I’m willing to make it all up to you, if you’ll give me a chance.”

She sank into her sofa, tired in body and mind, and she just wanted to go to bed. “It is so predictably and so typically you to think that you can say all the right things and I’ll just let you back into my life as though you hadn’t hurt me so badly that I couldn’t breathe without pain for two weeks. You never even apologized! If you didn’t want to see me anymore, Jordan, I could’ve dealt with that, but you let a gossip column do your dirty work for you. I’ve already given you all the chances I have in me.”

“Alec said that he saw you at Calista’s last weekend.” He sat on the end of the sofa. “He said you never looked better. I couldn’t wait to see you. That’s why I hit two homers tonight, to make sure the game didn’t go into extra innings. I waited outside this building for you for two hours. I had to promise the building manager tickets to a game next season just so he’d let me in.”

Miranda made a mental note to have a word with her building manager.

“You’re the perfect girl for me, Miranda. You’ve got legs from here to Canada, a really nice face and you know everything about sports, even the dumb ones.”

She was not moved. “Well, with all that going for me, why’d I bother with four years of college?” She picked up the remote and changed the station to
Lifetime
, just for spite.

“You have a good sense of humor, too,” Jordan added.

“So do you, if you think I’m interested in seeing you again.”

“Things wouldn’t be the same, Miranda.”

She was sure that this was his way of saying that he’d be more discreet about his dalliances. He met her skeptical gaze, and for a fleeting moment, she saw him as she had when they first started dating. He was handsome, there was no denying that. The amber eyes dancing against his velvety brown skin could be so kind, when he wanted them to be. His nose had been broken once, but it added a manly ruggedness to features that might have otherwise been a bit too pretty. Jordan commanded attention when he entered a room with his easy grace and charm. He was as powerful and handsome as a mythical god. Too bad he was as monogamous as a Boston tomcat.

“Was it all bad?” he asked.

“That’s not fair.” She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands. “You know it wasn’t. You had your moments.”

“
We
had our moments. You haven’t forgotten the weekend we spent in St. Kitts, have you?”

She had, actually, until he’d mentioned it. “That was fun. It was nice.” She deliberately understated how much fun that weekend had been. They had been dating for five months when Jordan surprised her with the trip. He had been attentive and caring, and just when she’d thought things couldn’t get better, he’d arranged to have a hot air balloon ride over the island. On the day they had returned to Boston, Jordan’s road exploits began appearing in
Psst!
Miranda hadn’t believed the stories at first. A true journalist never put too much stock in unattributed reports.

It was Jordan himself who had given credence to the gossip.

Miranda had been in St. Louis covering one of Jordan’s interleague games against the Cardinals. She had gone to the team’s hotel to surprise him with a piping hot deep-dish pizza and a cold six-pack of beer. Jordan always registered under a false name to avoid the hordes of “baseball Bambis” that hunted him down in every city. When “Oliver Closhoff” tossed open his door and stood there, wearing skin-tight sports briefs, a smile, and acres of rippling chocolate muscles, Miranda had thought his sexy outfit was meant for her.

He had grunted her name in surprise as she moved past him and into the suite…where a pair of blonde baseball Bambis in various degrees of undress lounged on his emperor-sized bed.

“You’ve got the wrong room, lady,” the green-eyed blonde with the dramatic overbite had said. “We ordered us up some lobster and champagne, not a pie and suds.”

“You’re right,” Miranda had said, glaring coldly at Jordan. “I definitely have the wrong room.”

“Give her a nice tip anyway, Jordan,” a blue-eyed blonde with gigantic breasts had generously advised.

“Quiet, Kit,” Jordan had growled.

“I’m Linda,” the blue-eyed blonde had corrected as the green-eyed one whined, “
I’m
Kit.”

Jordan had glanced over his shoulder and said, “Whoever you are, shut up.”

Miranda had sped from the room, and she’d thrown the hot pizza at Jordan when he attempted to stop her at the door. He had bellowed her name as she hurried down the corridor and toward the elevators, but Jordan hadn’t bothered to pursue her. Before her flight had landed back in Boston, Meg and Dee had broken the story in
Psst!
—complete with a quote from Jordan stating that he “was pretty much done with Miranda anyway.”

As she sat in her living room, listening to Jordan plead for another chance, she wished she had another hot pizza to throw at him.

* * *

“
‘I’m so excited!
’
” Bernie sang.
“
‘And I just can’t hide it!
’
” He grabbed Miranda and shook her. She sluggishly wobbled back and forth. “Tonight’s the night, butterbean! Our Lucas is coming for us tonight!”

Miranda stood in the men’s room off the second-floor corridor, where Bernie had dragged her to enlist her help in choosing the perfect outfit for Karmic Echo’s make-up concert. She found it impossible to work up any enthusiasm. The concert was in less than four hours, and Lucas was surely in Boston already, yet he still hadn’t contacted her.

She had regretted her last words to him more and more as his return to Boston had drawn nearer. She’d made it perfectly clear that she hadn’t intended to ever see him again. Perhaps that’s why he’d kept his distance.

“Miranda!”

“Huh?” She snapped to attention. “What did you say?”

“I’ve been calling you for five minutes. What’s the matter with—you’re not dwelling on your midnight visit from Jordan, are you?”

“Goodness no. I was thinking about…well…”

Bernie stood in front of the mirror. He took off his blue silk tie and put on a debonair, black-on-black paisley, both of which he’d purchased at Harrods. “Use your words, honey, I can’t read that perplexing little mind of yours.”

“I was hoping that Lucas would have called me. Or sent a postcard. Or something.”

Bernie slowly turned to face her. “You’re acting like a girl. This is scaring me.”

“Forget I said anything. It’s stupid. It’s pointless. He’s probably already forgotten about me.”

Bernie turned and leaned heavily on the edge of one of the basins lining the wall. “Good grief, Peppermint Patty. How long has this been going on?”

“Since we left Wales.” She covered her face in shame with the overlong sleeves of her Boston Breakers shirt.

Bernie went to her and put an arm around her. Sort of. He didn’t get too close for fear of wrinkling his black shirt. “Baby didn’t stand a chance. Sir Lucas fought the dragon and won your damaged little heart.”

Miranda flung her arms into the air. “Will you please explain to me why people call him
Sir
Lucas? Is it some kind of nickname?”

“Lucas was knighted a few years ago for his work with the International Children’s Rescue Fund and the Cancer Research Society of Great Britain.” Bernie started a stream of water and wet his hands before patting down his neat afro. “I told you that he was a knight when I prepped you for your date.”

Miranda slumped against the dingy mustard tile of the wall. “I thought you were feeding me another fairy tale metaphor. Man, I thought Jordan was a mistake, but this…I’ve outdone myself. How can I be so stupid?”

“I don’t like this ride, chile, and I’m getting off. Let me know when you want to talk sense instead of self pity.”

“He’s a knight, Bernie.” Miranda grew more dejected with each passing second. “He lives in a castle.
Meu Deus
, he even shops in a building that looks like one!”

“Harrods,” Bernie said in a mock English accent as he spritzed his hair with a citrus conditioning spray. “You gotta love a mall with turrets.”

Miranda slid to the floor. “For six weeks, all I’ve been able to think about is a man with whom I have absolutely zero chance of a future. All this time, I’ve been nursing the secret hope that he’ll ride in and sweep me off my feet. I bought into the fairy tale when I, of all people, should know that there are no happy endings. There are just endings.”

Bernie tore himself from the mirror to see her sitting on the floor in a miserable heap of knees and oversized sweatshirt. “Honey, you have reached a whole new level of nastiness. I won’t pee in here, let alone sit on the floor.” Using the very tips of his fingers, he helped her stand.

“I’m serious, Bernie. I’m really unhappy.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Yes, I do. First of all, you’re always unhappy.” He held up a finger when she started to protest. “Yes, Miranda, you are. I didn’t notice it until we were in Wales. Happiness made you beautiful. That was the first time I’d ever seen you truly happy, and now I finally have a basis for comparison. Second of all, I think you should go home. Right now. And don’t give Lucas Fletcher another thought.”