Knock Me for a Loop (4 page)

As much as it pained him to admit it, he’d been crap on ice—literally—since Grace had stormed out of his life and refused to speak to him. He knew the rest of the team was talking behind his back, knew they were speculating that his best days were behind him, and that he should turn in his stick and jersey before he ruined the Rockets’ chances for getting to the playoffs and bringing home the Cup.

And maybe they had a point. If he couldn’t give the game and his fellow players one hundred percent of his attention and a hundred and ten percent of his effort, then he didn’t deserve to be out there.

The sound of clapping cut into his dismal thoughts, and he realized the judge had apparently done the whole “man and wife” thing, moving on to “you may now kiss the bride.” Gage and Jenna were locked at the lips, exchanging a fairly chaste kiss—at least considering how hot he knew the two were for each other—then broke apart, turning to their friends with wide, joyous smiles on their faces.

Zack joined in the cheers and well wishes, all the while keeping Grace in his sights as she hugged her friend, then retreated to a far corner of the room to collect their things.

Knowing he was asking for trouble, but somehow unable to stop himself, he followed.

“Grace.”

He said her name softly, not wanting to startle her or draw the others’ attention, but still she stiffened and her fingers turned white where they curled around the strap of her purse.

Movements as regal as a queen, she straightened, then looked him square in the eyes, her lips pulled into a tight, flat line.

“I have nothing to say to you, Zack.”

“Good,” he replied, shoving his shoulders back and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black wool pants. “Then maybe you can listen for a change.”

Her brow rose in both annoyance and warning. During their time together, he’d learned her body language and facial expressions well, and the raised brow typically served as a flashing yellow caution light, like the rattle of a snake’s tail.

He hadn’t meant to snap or lace his words with accusation, but he was damn tired of feeling like the bad guy in this situation. And though there were moments—especially late at night, when he was alone in his apartment and regret swamped him—that he’d have gladly fallen on his knees and begged her to come back, now wasn’t one of those times.

He finally had her cornered, able to speak with her face to face instead of trying to reach her through electronic voice-mail boxes, ignored e-mails, or messages via friends that got no response, and he intended to take advantage of it.

“I know what you think,” he told her in a low voice, taking a quick step to the left to block her from leaving, even as he was careful not to crowd her too much. “I know why you’re angry. But you’re also wrong. I didn’t invite that woman into my hotel room. I have no idea who she was, I never touched her, and I kicked her out as soon as you left. I didn’t cheat on you, Grace, and it would have been nice if you’d trusted me enough to at least give me the benefit of the doubt before kicking me to the curb.”

He straightened and stepped back. Grace’s face remained stoically impassive, but he didn’t care. The lead weight of resentment and unspoken clarifications that had been spoiling inside of him for months suddenly lifted and he felt a thousand times better.

He didn’t have her back. He hadn’t cleared his name with her, or her friends, or the press, or anyone else in the free world who thought he was a scum-sucking dog. But he’d said his piece, he’d gotten to look Grace in the eyes and tell her in no uncertain terms that he
had not slept with another woman, dammit.

And now it was over. What was that term shrinks liked to use? Oh, yeah—
closure.
He had closure, which hopefully meant those freaking nightmares would go away, and he’d be able to pull his head out of his ass long enough to help the Rockets actually win a game for a change.

Raising her other brow, Grace crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts together to create even more impressive cleavage.

Zack’s blood heated and started a slow trek toward the South Pole, but only, he thought, because he’d have had to be dead and in the ground a good two months not to feel at least a modicum of arousal at something like that. When it came to a nice set of tits swelling out of a dress like that, his dick wasn’t particular about who they were attached to.

“Are you finished?” she asked in a tone cold enough to freeze mercury.

If the question was meant to intimidate him or lure him into starting a fight, it missed its mark.

“Yeah, I think I am,” he responded. Then he turned on his heel and walked across the room to rejoin the rest of the wedding party, feeling better than he had in a very long time.

Row 3

“This is very weird,” Ronnie said, crossing her legs tailor-style and dropping onto the pillow she was using to cushion a spot on the floor.
Moonstruck
played on the television screen along the far wall as Grace finished pouring two glasses of rich, red wine before following suit.

“What is?”

“Having Girls’ Night Out without all the girls.”

“What?” Grace asked. “Did you want Jenna to cut her honeymoon short just to join us for take-out Italian and rented movies?”

Ronnie’s mouth twisted, and she reached for her glass. “Yeah, I think I did,” she replied before taking a small sip.

For a second, they merely looked at each other, then they both threw their heads back and laughed.

“All right, so maybe not,” Ronnie admitted. “I’m sure she’s having a better time getting all sexed up in St. Thomas—”

“For a second time, no less, when I’ve never even been there once,” Grace interjected, an unspoken
hmph
lacing her tone.

“—but it’s still weird.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

“Definitely not chopped liver,” Ronnie assured her. “You are the filet mignon of girlfriends.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I think.”

Grabbing her half of the takeout from the pile in the center of the table, she flipped the plastic lid off the aluminum container of spaghetti and meatballs—and was immediately accosted by a big, wet nose snuffling under her arm in an attempt to nudge its way closer and closer to her supper.

“Stop it, you big pig,” she chastised, pushing back against the giant, scruffy Saint Bernard at the same time she tried to use her body to protect her food.

Not that she didn’t love the overgrown mutt. He’d helped to save her sanity and mend her broken heart after her breakup with Zack in ways she never could have expected. Considering the noxious breath and mutant salivary glands that came as part and parcel of the furry monster, it was a minor miracle she hadn’t dropped him at the nearest animal shelter within minutes of leading him out of Zack’s apartment.

She’d hated the mangy beast for years while she and Zack dated. Deemed him nothing more than a stinky, overgrown nuisance, and had often hinted that Zack should get rid of him so they could get a smaller pet—like an elephant or a humpback whale. Or at the very least, one that could be considered “theirs” instead of “his.” She’d sort of had her heart set on a cute little shih tzu or Pomeranian.

But what had started out as an act of revenge—stealing Zack’s dog, just like she’d stolen his favorite hockey stick—had ended up being one of the best decisions she’d ever made.

The newly named Muffin might outweigh her by a good fifty pounds and cause her to send her sofa cushions out to be steam-cleaned on a weekly basis, but she loved the stupid canine and couldn’t imagine not having him around.

Even if it meant having a snotty dog snout poking at her dinner.

“You’ll get some,” she promised the still-searching pest, “just wait your turn.”

Grabbing the extra plate she’d brought from the kitchen for just this purpose, she scooped a good share of spaghetti—and one of the two meatballs—out of her own dish, and set it on the coffee table in front of the dog.

Well aware of the routine that had to be followed before anyone else could enjoy their meal, Ronnie waited until Muffin’s face was buried contentedly in his Italian cuisine before lifting the lid from her own four-cheese lasagna. Before the night was through, there was a good chance she’d end up sharing, too, and she knew it.

“What happened to weaning him off of human food?” she asked without a hint of censure in her voice.

“I thought about it,” Grace replied blandly. “It didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

Grace shrugged. “He only needs a couple bites to get it out of his system, and it’s easier to let him have a taste than to listen to him whine.”

For a second, Ronnie didn’t respond. Then she said, “He kicked your butt, didn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Grace admitted, rolling her eyes. “It was like trying to tame a rabid wolverine. I spent three days scraping food off the ceiling.”

Ronnie laughed, reaching for a slice of garlic bread.

Carbs might be the enemy, but South Beach, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, and every other diet promising amazing results went the way of the wind on Girls’ Night. Girls’ Night Out was the perfect excuse to fulfill their fat, carbohydrate, sugar, and alcohol cravings without guilt. After all, the number-one rule of Girls’ Night was
No Guilt Allowed.
No Guilt, No Diets, and What Happens on Girls’ Night, Stays on Girls’ Night.

“So you want to tell me what you and Zack talked about at the wedding?”

The question came out of left field, making her suck in a breath, which caused her to choke slightly on a bite of pasta. She’d been hoping no one noticed that little incident—or at the very least wouldn’t ask her about it. Mainly because seeing Zack again had disturbed her more than she wanted to let on.

Except for an awkward confrontation soon after she’d walked out of that hotel room and not looked back, she hadn’t seen him in person since. And even though she’d braced herself for running into him at the wedding, it hadn’t gone at all as she’d anticipated.

Being near him again had hurt just as much as she’d expected. A mix of longing for the way things had once been and anger at his betrayal had caused her stomach to roil and her palms to go damp.

Given the number of times he’d called, e-mailed, and attempted to visit her both at her apartment and the television studio over the past six months, she’d expected him to accost her much sooner and with much more irritation. What she hadn’t expected was his quiet approach, his calm declaration of innocence. It had caught her off guard and struck her nearly speechless.

“We didn’t talk so much as he spoke and I listened.”

“What did he say?” Ronnie wanted to know.

Grace twirled her fork in her spaghetti, watching the strands of pasta go around and around while she thought about Zack’s words and the sincerity in his eyes while he said them.

“The same thing he’s been saying all along—that I mistook the situation, and he didn’t cheat on me with that woman.”

She kept her attention on her meal and her voice light, as though it didn’t matter to her one way or the other.

“You know,” Ronnie said, slowly and carefully, as though she were afraid of saying the wrong thing, “Dylan believes him. Apparently, when Zack couldn’t catch up with you before you left the hotel, the two of them met up and searched the parking lot. Dylan didn’t see a woman with him, or any signs of one, and I guess Zack was pretty upset.”

“I was upset,” Grace reminded her.

“I know, but…What if, because you were so upset, you jumped to the wrong conclusion?”

Grace’s head snapped up and a single blond brow quickly followed. “You’re taking his side now?”

“I’m on your side, you know that,” Ronnie replied. “If you said the sky was green, I’d agree with you. I guess I just can’t stop thinking what a shame it would be for you two not to be together if this is one giant misunderstanding. You made such a terrific couple, and if you’re wrong, if he really didn’t cheat on you…then you’ll be losing out on something truly special.”

“So why is this the first time you’re telling me this?” Grace wanted to know, only slightly annoyed.

“Because my knee-jerk reaction was the same as yours—that Zack was guilty as sin. But seeing as how he hasn’t backed down about being innocent after all these months—even with his very closest friends—I just have to wonder, that’s all.” Then Ronnie sighed. “All I’m saying is that I’d hate to see you lose something so important on principle alone. Especially if it turns out you’re wrong.”

It took Grace a moment to get past her initial impulse to argue, to defend herself. And as the urge to fight and defend slowly passed, she let herself absorb and contemplate Ronnie’s words.

Okay, so what if Zack were innocent?

Her immediate response was to give a harsh mental scoff and don an invisible suit of armor to protect herself.

But then she thought,
Well, damn, there’s the knee-jerk reaction Ronnie had been talking about.

Had she been doing this all along? Had she fallen back on pointing fingers and heated accusations because they felt safe to her? Because it was easier than opening herself to more pain, more disappointment?

Letting her arms drop to her sides, she moved slowly back to the table and curled up once again on the cushion she was using to sit on so her butt wouldn’t go numb. Her hand shook as she reached for her wine and downed the entire glass.

The rich liquid filled her mouth and warmed its way down to her stomach. Nice. Exactly what she needed. Now if she could just mainline another gallon or two, she thought she might be able to get her emotions under control.

Muffin, who had practically licked the etchings right off his plate in an effort to consume every speck of spaghetti sauce, sat up, gave a low, odious belch, and padded behind Grace to climb onto the couch. Three roomy cushions wide, and he took up nearly all of them.

“I’m sorry,” Ronnie murmured quietly from the other side of the table. “I didn’t mean to upset you so much. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Yes, you should have,” Grace said, surprising even herself.

Leaning forward, she grabbed Ronnie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re being honest, and even if it’s not something I want to hear, maybe it’s something I
need
to hear.”

Her throat grew tight, and she paused a moment to swallow and blink back tears. Ronnie’s eyes, too, were glistening with moisture, she noticed.

“And who better to slap you upside the head when you’re being an idiot than your very best friend?”

Ronnie gave a watery chuckle, and Grace joined in, relieved when the heaviness in her chest began to ease.

Grace set her glass on the table and said to herself as much as to Ronnie, “I’ve replayed that scene in the hotel room in my mind a thousand times. And seeing that other woman in his bed…I don’t know, Ronnie, it just seems so painfully obvious. You see women all the time whose men are running around on them, and they’re the only one with blinders on so thick they can’t see it—or aren’t willing to see. Or wives of politicians whose husbands get caught red-handed, with their pants around their ankles, and the women just stand by and take it. To each her own, I guess, but that is
soooo
not me. I expect more from a relationship, and I sure as hell expect more from the man I’m supposed to marry and spend the rest of my life with.”

As though sensing her distress and wanting to offer his sympathy, Muffin stood up and put his head in her lap. Grace leaned down to kiss the top of his head and pet him absently as she said, “I mean, I caught him with a half-naked woman
in his bed.
It’s kind of hard to deny undeniable proof—and something I saw with my very own eyes.”

Ronnie shrugged. “I know, I’d feel the same way if I were you. But can I ask you something? What is your heart telling you?”

Grace considered that for a long, drawn-out moment, and then she murmured, “That I made the right choice.”

A few hours later, after they’d finished their take-out Italian cuisine, polished off the bottle of merlot, and half watched, half snoozed through
Under the Tuscan Sun
, Grace yawned and stretched out full-length from her position on the floor. Muffin’s loud, staccato snoring echoed just above her head from his carefree drape along the entire length of the sofa.

White was perhaps not the smartest decorating choice for someone who owned a giant, slobbering Saint Bernard, but then, she hadn’t
had
a giant, slobbering Saint Bernard when she’d chosen the color scheme. Next time around, she would definitely go for darker shades, like Drool Pool Brown and Fur-covered Chestnut.

She was even considering covering all the furniture in plastic like some 1950s hausfrau whose main goal in life was to keep her god-awful yellow and green floral living room set perfectly pristine for all eternity. Of course, in Grace’s case, it wasn’t a matter of keeping things pristine, but simply avoiding the need to replace her furniture every couple of months due to doggie wear and tear.

Though it was barely ten o’clock, she and Ronnie had both had a long week, and their starchy dinner was beginning to take its toll. Add to that a fair amount of alcohol and a conversation that had put her emotions on the mother of all roller coasters, and she thought she could easily crawl into a cave and hibernate until spring.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” she sleepily told Ronnie, who was pushing herself vertical, looking not much more alert than Grace felt.

“I do,” her friend replied reluctantly. “Dylan’s all excited about spending our first Christmas together, and I promised I’d be home tonight so we can drag ourselves out of bed at the crack of dawn to go tree hunting.”

Grace made a sound in her throat that was half snort, half groan, pushing up on her elbows and climbing reluctantly to her feet, as well.

“I know,” Ronnie agreed. “He wants a giant Douglas fir. I want something we can blow up with a tire pump, then squeeze flat and store away after the holidays.”

Grace chuckled, moving to the entertainment center and hitting the button to eject the rented DVD. As soon as that was done, she switched to TV mode and automatically—all right, maybe not entirely automatically—switched to Cleveland’s main sports channel.

“Make him haul the thing in by himself, then out again after Christmas, and clean up all the dead needles in between, and he’ll never bug you about getting a real tree again,” she said, punching down the volume on the television and hoping her voice covered enough of the noise from the screen to keep her friend from getting suspicious.

“No kidding,” Ronnie said, moving across the room to gather her things. Once she was bundled from head to toe, and ready to brave the wind and frigid temperatures of Cleveland in December, she raised her head to meet Grace’s gaze. “He’s taking me home to spend Christmas Eve with his parents,” she said softly.