Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (25 page)

“She always finds the guys who are
unable to give her what she needs most,” Curt continued. “I can’t imagine you’ll
be different.”

Love. Curt didn’t say what Sandy
needed most, but J heard the implication. Like the rest of the bad boys on Sandy’s
list, J was incapable of giving love. A person had to be complete and healthy
in order to share that gift. J had shattered to pieces the day he’d driven his
dad away. After that day, J accepted the fact he was destined to drive away
anyone who dared to love him.

So, in a way, he was safe. No one,
especially Sandy, would hang around long enough to see his broken parts. She’d be
long gone because of something J did or said. There was nothing to worry about.
Especially not love.

Love? Why was he even thinking of
that? He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. As it stands, Sandy used him for fast
and hard sex, and he used her for information about this investigation.
That’s
the way you wanted it, remember?

“Anyway, I didn’t mean to dump
that on you,” Curt said. “I feel so helpless where she’s concerned.”

J felt helpless, too, but not in
the same way as Sandy’s big brother.

A knock at the door interrupted
their conversation.

“Open up, guys!” Decker called.
“They had a two-for-one sale!”

Curt and J both jumped up to open
the door, then laughed.

“Guess we both need a beer, huh?”
Curt said. “Or is it too early in the day?”

“Nope. It’s almost happy hour.” J
smiled. Hell, maybe drinking with Sandy’s big brother would ease the tension a
bit. The last thing J needed was an over-protective sibling breathing down his
neck while he tried to wrap up this case.

Curt whipped open the door. “What
took ya so long?” he teased.

“Sorry, got a great deal on Flying
Nun beer,” Decker said, heading for the kitchen. “Two cases for the price of
one.”

“Clever man.” Curt took one case
off his hands and put it in the refrigerator. “Decker’s good with money.”

“Which will make me a good
provider one day,” Decker boasted.

“Then why don’t you provide me
with one of those cold beers,” J said.

Decker looked at Curt, who nodded
in approval, then handed J and Curt each a beer. Decker didn’t take one
himself.

“What, not joining us?” J asked.

“No, I...”

“He doesn’t want my baby sister to
get a bad impression,” Curt said. “Come on, man, she’s seen worse than a
thirty-five-year-old having a beer.” He waved his hand. “Never mind. Let’s raid
the fridge and watch some baseball.”

J took a swig of beer. He’d drink
with the guys, watch some ball and pump Curt for information about the boys at
BAM. Maybe this would be a productive weekend after all.

* * *

Sauntering down the sidewalk
toward home, Sandy realized a part of her should be angry with Jason for
pretending to be a wrestler when he was really an undercover cop, but she
wasn’t. He didn’t know her. How could he trust her with his secret? He
couldn’t, until now. Which meant, he trusted her?

Maybe. Then again, up until this afternoon
he’d considered her a steroid peddler. She couldn’t blame him since she freely
handed out herbal supplements.

The fact that someone was peddling
steroids to kids made her sick. She’d love to help Jason with his
investigation; heck, she’d love nothing more than to get the boys to stop using
steroids altogether.

Approaching her building, she
considered her weekend. She hoped to spend it reading, working on her latest
bead project and catching up on e-mail. She welcomed the peace in contrast to
her insane week of healing broken men. Broken men like Jason, the man bunking
at her place.

With a sigh, she climbed the
stairs to her building. He was broken in so many ways, and she ached to help
him.

Isn’t that how it started with
Cody?

No, this was different. She had
control over this situation. She’d kept Jason at arm’s length, emotionally.
That was the perfect place for him to be: in her bed and out of her heart. No
problem.

The sound of singing echoed down
the hallway. It was coming from her condo. She opened the door and hesitated,
tempted to go back for a second yoga class.

Decker stood near the television
set, swaying on his feet and singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” his beer
sloshing over the lip of the can. Curt egged him on, waving his arm like a
conductor, and Jason—well, Jason just sat on her couch and grinned.

He was grinning? Now there was an
expression she’d never seen. Were they all drunk?

She slammed the door to get their
attention.

Curt glanced over his shoulder at
her. “Hey, sis!”

Jason pinned her with his silly
grin.

Decker kept singing.

“What’s going on?” she asked,
dropping her bag.

“The Cubs are winning,” her
brother said.

“Boo, Cubs,” said Jason.

“Hey, that’s the home team,”
Decker slurred, facing off with him.

“I don’t care, I hate the Cubs.
They’re for yuppies and wimps.”

“You take that back.” Decker put
his beer on the television.

“Or what?” Jason shot back.

Decker lunged, but Curt caught him
before he landed on Jason. Unfortunately, the men knocked over Sandy’s green
ceramic lamp again. The poor lamp couldn’t take two assaults in one day. It
cracked down the middle.

“Take it outside,” Sandy cried.
“All of you!” She picked up the lamp and studied the damage.

“Shoot. Sorry, sis,” Curt said.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand.

“We’d better go.” Curt grabbed
Decker’s arm.

“You’re not driving in your
condition,” she said.

“I know. We’re walking. Decker
could use the fresh air—right, Deck?”

“Deck! Deck, like a deck of cards!
I get it. I was conceived in Vegas. No wonder I have such a stupid name.”

“Come on, buddy.” Curt led him to
the door.

“Wait!” Decker spun around and
pinned Sandy with his unfocused gaze. “You light up my life. You set my heart
on fire…” he sang.

Curt let go of his friend’s arm
and stared in shock.

 “Like soul mates basking under
the full moon,” Decker belted out. “Toasting marshmallows and—”

“Enough!” Jason sprang to his
feet. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

“What?” Decker challenged. “You
can’t stand to see a man profess his love, his vul-nur-bility to the woman of
his dreams?”

“Come on, buddy.” Curt led Decker to
the door.

“I mean it, Sandy,” Decker said as
Curt pulled him out. “Holding hands by the campfire…”

The door slammed on his off-key voice.
Sandy glanced at Jason; they burst out laughing. J resettled on the couch and
took a sip of beer.

“Curt is a pain,” she said. She
sat at the opposite end of the couch and a part of her wanted to reach for him,
but she didn’t.

“He’s a good big brother,” Jason
replied after a moment.

“He tries. So does Duke. I suppose
it’s great to have family, even if they’re bossy. They always back you up and
forgive you, even if you’re a jerk.”

“Your family does that?” J asked.

“Yep. I have my issues with them,
but I love ’em. I’d do anything to make Dad proud. And my brothers,” she said
with a smile. “I’ll never forget my twenty-seventh birthday. I was having the
worst day and I came home to a condo stuffed with purple balloons. It was amazing.”

Jason looked at her as if waiting
for a punch line.

“My brothers know how much I love
purple, so they decorated my place when I was on the road. Madame Bovary was
not happy.”

J smiled, glancing at the TV.

“I’ll bet you’re a phenomenal big
brother,” she said.

“Actually, my little brother and
sister can’t stand me.”

“Why?”

He raised a brow. “I’m bossy.”

“Really?” she said in mock
surprise.

“Stop making fun of me.”

“Sorry.”

“I tried to do my best after Dad
left, but they were angry as hell. Can’t blame them. They lost a father and got
me. Besides, it was my fault,” he muttered.

“What was your fault?”

“That he left.”

“Jason.” Sandy put her hand on his
shoulder and he stiffened. “Don’t say that.”

His speech wasn’t slurred, but she
suspected the effects of the alcohol prompted this case of true confessions.
She wondered if he would regret it later.

A few minutes of silence passed.
Jason stared at the television, and Sandy waited for another kernel of
information. She felt Jason’s pain and instinctively wanted to help. After all,
he helped her change her self-concept from repressed female to sex goddess.

“I’m sorry your dad hurt you like
that,” she said.

He shrugged. “I never should have
told him about the worms.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes dimmed with regret.
“Dad and I had this fishing trip planned. I wanted to impress him, so I stole
some of Bobby Phipps’s worms. Brought them home to show Dad, told him how
Bobby’s worms caught a three-foot muskie.” He extended his arms in illustration
and slowly dropped them in his lap. “He said his own son didn’t have faith in
him to get the right worms. Something like that, I don’t remember.”

She sensed Jason remembered the
scene word for word.

“He left the next day,” he
continued. “Never saw him again. We thought maybe he was in an accident or
something but…” he hesitated, “you don’t want to hear this.”

“I do.” She stroked his shoulder.
“I really do.”

“He left behind his medal of St.
Michael.” He pulled the chain out from beneath his shirt as if remembering the
day he found it. “That’s all.” He shrugged. “End of story.”

Hardly. Sandy eyed the gold medal
gleaming against his shirt. It was as if J wore it hoping his father would come
back and claim it one day.

“Jason, it wasn’t your fault,” she
said. “The worm thing couldn’t have been the reason he left.”

“I know that.” Although spoken by
a man, the tone sounded like that of a young boy. “Doesn’t matter,” he added.

Sandy didn’t argue, didn’t want to
upset him further.

“I hope Curt and Decker make it
home okay,” she said, changing the subject. She could tell he had spilled his allotment
for the day.

“They’ll be fine. I’d pay money to
watch them try and walk a straight line. Your brother must have had eight
beers.”

“You’re a bad influence on them.”

“Me?” He placed an open hand to
his chest. “Your brother sent Decker out for beer, then challenged him to drink
with us. The guy wanted to stay sober for you.”

“Ah, chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Has nothing to do with chivalry.
The guy’s got a problem when he has too many beers. Turns into a singing sap.”

“I thought it was sweet.”

J snorted.

“Hey, don’t put him down for
wanting to share his feelings. It’s ... refreshing.”

“It’s pathetic,” Jason grumbled.

“Gee, thanks. Like I’m not worthy
of a guy singing to me?”

“I didn’t say that, but Decker’s a
dweeb.”

“Maybe. But he’s a sweet dweeb, if
a bit transparent.”

Unlike Jason. There were so many
layers to Jason McBain, so many hidden corners and secret passageways. Sandy
wanted to investigate them all.

Don’t fall for this one, girl.
You may think you know him, but he’ll break your heart
.

Somehow, she knew this to be true.

“We should talk about your
investigation,” she said. That was the wise thing to do. Once the investigation
was over, he’d be gone and she could refocus on her life without distraction.
“How can I help?” she asked.

“Not happening. Too dangerous.”

“Come on, I know all the boys at
BAM. It’s not like any of them are hardened criminals. If someone is dealing to
kids, he’s probably motivated by medical bills or bad investments or something
like that.”

“You only see the good in people,
don’t you?” He said it like it was a bad thing.

“Come on,” she pressed. “Who’s on
the short list? Rey Risque? His wife just had their ninth kid. Or Pretty Boy
Dale? It’s probably one of the little guys. They’d need the cash to keep their
own flow of steroids coming.”

“We’re not talking about this,” J
said.

“Fine, I’ll make some tea.” Sandy
got up and went into the kitchen. “I’m pretty smart, ya’ know,” she called into
the living room. “I always found the last egg in the Easter egg hunt and
figured out an herbal supplement to help ease Dad’s nausea caused by radiation
therapy.”

She opened the pantry and pulled
out the green tea, which always tasted good after yoga. “I was quite the
detective as a kid. Guessed most of my Christmas presents and I didn’t even
have to shake them.” She smiled to herself and put water on to boil. “My
brothers thought I had X-ray vision. You don’t have to worry about protecting me,
either. I’ve taken self-defense, karate and citizen’s police academy—learned a
lot about how to recognize an assailant before he gets too close. I can be your
right-hand woman.”

She poked her head around the
corner, but didn’t see him. At first she panicked, thinking he’d left.

“Jason?” Walking into the living
room, she heard snoring. There, on her living room couch, slept the gentle
giant.

She pulled the handmade afghan off
the back of the couch and stretched it over him. She knelt down to tuck it
around his body.

“Abandoned by your dad,” she
whispered, stroking his hair. “It wasn’t your fault, Jason. Somehow I’m going
to make you believe that.”

Okay, so Jason was a coward for
closing his eyes, but he didn’t know what else to do when she started poking
and prodding. Going on a few hours’ sleep and four beers, he didn’t stand a
chance against her sincere interest and desire to heal him.

So he fell asleep, which got him
safety through the rest of the afternoon. But how would he survive the evening
hours with her humming in the next room as she cooked dinner, acting like she
was his ... wife?