Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (7 page)

Could it?

Half bent over the shoes, Brooke
straightened. Her eyes stung. She turned, slung the gown onto the
door hook and rushed for a sheet of toilet paper to staunch the
torrent gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Damn it. It had been that long. Sixteen
years. And she was old.

Oh no. No, no, no. No crying. Not here. Not
now. This wasn’t something to cry over. It was supposed to be fun.
Fun! When had she become such a boring old—cat—lady? Where was the
Brooke who’d pierced her naval on a dare? The girl who’d turned
Jason down seven times before finally giving him her number? The
girl who, surrounded by bridesmaids and her mother, in a salon just
like this one, had promised each one of them that nothing would
change. That she would not change just because she was becoming a
wife.

The first to get married, they’d all been so
worried she’d be lost to them. No longer interested in fun, no
longer relatable.

An outsider.

She hadn’t understood it then. Did she
now?

She slumped onto the toilet lid. She stared
at the dress, at the shoes, in turns. Why did trying them on now
feel like treason? Couldn’t she relax and enjoy her friend’s
obviously generous gift? None of this looked like her ideal apology
but, certainly, Millie couldn’t be so off the mark that Brooke
abhorred a simple makeover.

She’d been pampered, fawned over and probably
looked better than she had in years. How could any of this be a bad
thing? Before she knew it, the dabs at her eyes grew to wipes as
the tears fattened and threatened to run rivulets through her
make-up.

Where had sixteen years gone? Who took the
girl she used to be? Brooke was supposed to be starting over. This
should feel like a welcome part of that. Her nose joined in the
waterworks, snotting up. A hiccup of a sob gripped her. Brooke
stood and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Get a hold of yourself.
Blame it on hormones or fatigue or a long week or whatever, but
don’t you dare start a pity party. Not here. Not now.”

There would be plenty of time to cry. Later,
once she got home, curled up in bed and the silence closed in
around her. Later, when fearing she was meant to end her days alone
pressed down on her. Not now.

Brooke yanked off her slacks and sweater and
stepped into the dress. She slipped on the strappy shoes, zipped
the dress up as far as she could and shook her hair out.

Should she break her promise and peek behind
this covered mirror? Nah. She couldn’t fake a thing. Millie’d know
she’d cheated right off. What if Brooke hated it? Her hair felt a
lot shorter, and all that layering had made her neck buzz with
dread.

But, hey. So what if she looked ridiculous.
Hair grew back, right? Make-up washed off. At least this dress
would certainly turn out to be fabulous.

She walked out of the bathroom, tucking her
folded clothes neatly under her arm.

“Alright, Millie. There’s just one problem.”
Brooke met Millie’s wide-eyed excitement head on. “I haven’t shaved
my legs since Halloween.”

~

“I know Reno night life isn’t exactly
hoppin’,” Elliott said, tossing down his bare hot dog stick. “But
why would you pick the mall of all places for your first blind
date.”

His cousin, Gordon, rolled his eyes. “Our
date isn’t here, genius. It’s at the restaurant. Garcia’s. Heard of
it?”

“Yeah, the Garcia’s attached to the mall.” He
teased his cousin, but his mind was elsewhere. As if
she
wasn’t intriguing enough already, standing in the middle of the
mall blindfolded clinched it. “Why are we here so early again?”

“To shop.” Gordon adjusted his tray. “To
people watch. You like to people watch.”

Elliott was ready to start rolling his eyes.
“You’re nervous.” Every pore shouted it. His heart went out to
him.

“We both know, I’m not good at dating,”
Gordon said. “I needed a little time to adjust, okay?”

True enough. Gordon worked too much to date
and he was naturally shy. He used to be worse at it back before
stepping out of the proverbial closet that everyone already knew he
was in. Elliott decided to give him a break. “Alright. When are we
going shopping?”

Gordon nailed him with a glare. “Soon.”

It shouldn’t be, but his curiosity over that
blindfold grew by the minute. “What are we shopping for?”

“A shirt.” Gordon dimmed his glare to a high
beam. “In case I sweat too much.”

“In case?” Elliott suppressed his chuckle
down to a cough. “So, tell me about him. What’s his name, what’s he
like, where’d you meet him?”

Gordon’s posture softened a bit. “Well, we’ve
been emailing and talking for a few weeks, and he seems really
nice. Masculine.” Gordon toyed with his straw. “His pictures, if
they’re really him, are hot. Tall, broad shoulders. Washboard abs.
Sideburns.”

Elliott put his hands up. “Enough. I get
it.”

“Sorry,” Gordon said. “You can talk boobs the
rest of the next hour, okay? It’s just, I know looks aren’t
everything. I mean, look at me.”

“What do you mean, Gordon? Don’t sell
yourself short. You’re a catch.”

Gordon patted his healthy paunch. “Yeah. Some
catch.”

Elliott’s gaze scanned the mall for blonde
hair. She’d rejected his advances flat two times. Elliott was no
masochist. He stopped, forcing his attention back across the table,
to Gordon finishing his second corndog.

Elliott twisted his stick against the tray.
“Is he young?” Elliott asked.

“No, thank God. Forty-ish.” Gordon settled
into his chair and glanced over the food court. “Divorced. I just
hope he’s not going to try to be secretive. You know, one of those
I’m-not-gay-but-my-penis-is kind of men? What if he didn’t take a
good look at my pictures?”

Divorced was better than married. He hated
the idea of Gordon getting hurt again. “Did you send him recent
shots?”

Gordon half nodded, half winced.

“Well, if he’s older, he probably won’t be
worried about a little extra to cuddle.” And if he was divorced, he
was likely openly gay rather than having secret affairs. “Give the
guy a chance before you have him dumping you.”

“I know. You’re right.” Gordon shrugged.
“Hopefully.”

“Of course I am.” Elliott punched him in the
shoulder. “Now. Let’s go get you a shirt. There’s an Eddie Bauer by
the salon.”

By the salon he’d seen
her
maneuvered
into. Luck willing, he’d be able to chance a bump into her. Not
that he’d give her a third shot at rejecting him. Gordon stood. The
simple move sent a lift through Elliott. Eddie Bauer had been a
blind stab. His mind leapt with images of her surprise at seeing
him again. Had she known it was him whispering in her ear as she
stood there, vulnerable and too damned sexy? She had a defiant way
of standing when she felt awkward. Arms crossed, hip out.

“You coming?” Gordon asked.

“Yeah.”

Adrenaline ticked through him. Not from the
prospect of shopping, either. He might see her. Or, she him. Had
she recognized his voice when he’d breezed that comment by her.
Unlikely. They’d only actually talked once. No, twice. Maybe he
should have left her alone. How could he help himself, though? He’d
arrived to meet Gordon and there she was, alone, blindfolded and
talking to herself right in his path. Like someone had planned it
for him. Talk about timing.

Just two seconds later and her friend would
have been there and he’d have walked right past her, silent. They
crossed the mall’s concaved lounge toward the store. Across and
down from the restaurant, was the salon. His pulse picked up. His
gaze hung on the tall windowed front of the salon, searching for a
glimpse of sandy blonde waves, of her unmistakable posture.

Elliott spotted her and his breath caught.
Standing by the receptionist, laughing, looking elegant and
sophisticated. She looked incredible in black. Stunning and sexy.
Heat coursed through him. But it was more than the black dress. It
was all of her. The way she stood. Moved.

Refreshed.

She was next to her friend, the one who’d
never shown that night at The Book Exchange, the one Elliott had to
thank for his chance to strike. She turned her head so he could see
her profile and her smile. What he wouldn’t give to make her smile
like that.

How had he ever gotten the nerve to buy her
those books? Not that he wasn’t naturally spontaneous. He was. He
took risks. He wouldn’t be where he was if he hadn’t.

She’d changed her hair. Shorter, so it swung
below her shoulders. Elliott dug his hands into his jeans,
uncomfortably aware of how close they were now. A few paces and
they’d be walking past the storefront. Would she see him? Would he
have the nerve to face her?

“Oh my Christ,” Gordon hissed and gripped
Elliott’s sleeve, forcing him to stop two feet short of the salon
window. “He’s here.”

“What?” Elliott looked at Gordon, realized
who he meant, and glanced around the busy mall. “Where?”

“There. By the candy store. No! Don’t
look.”

Elliott’s shoes squeaked as Gordon jerked him
into a store. Rhinestones, pink, and animal prints emblazoned with
“Princess” and “Diva” screamed at them from every rack.

“Shit! He’s coming this way.” Gordon began to
look green. If he hadn’t needed a shirt before, no doubt he did
now. “Elliott, what do I do?”

“I don’t know.” Elliott’s chest pounded, too.
He’d been so close. “Go out and bump into him?”

“What do you mean bump into him?” Gordon’s
forehead popped a vein. He backed into a rack of fuzzy purple bras.
Three fell off. “How?”

Elliott quickly retrieved the bras, feeling
like a perv. “Just walk out, look casual and act like you don’t see
him. Let him see you.”

“Come with me.” Gordon’s eyes rounded like a
basset hound’s.

“No.” Elliott had to get back to the salon.
She’d seemed ready to leave. “You’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got to.” Gordon stopped. He sucked in
a breath. “Wait, I think I hear him.”

Inappropriate laughter bubbled up Elliot’s
throat. He couldn’t help it. He’d never seen his cousin like this.
Not even over Mr. Mom. “You hear him?” his voice shook with humor.
He swallowed against it.

“Shhh.” Gordon dragged Elliott to the store’s
edge. Chrome mannequin cleavage ogled him in the face.

She’d see him and realize he’d been the one
whispering in her ear. He’d have another chance to get her name,
maybe more. It would work. Whispering against her neck hadn’t been
a mistake.

“Can I help you?” a clerk chimed. Elliott
shook his head at the teenaged girl.

Her pink T-shirt shouted “Dirty Bunny”. He
forced a smile. Dirty didn’t cover how bad this looked. If she did
see him, God forbid it was in here. Gordon, who could make a
courtroom quake with injustice, bent his head toward a conversation
some twelve-odd feet away. Elliott listened, too.

“Brooke?” a male timber said. “Wow. Hey, what
a small world. How are you?”

Gordon scowled, his finger tugged on his
lower lip. “I think that’s Jason,” he mouthed.

Jason, Elliott assumed was Gordon’s washboard
abbed dinner date. Elliott tucked his body better out of sight and
gave up the idea of running into her. She was probably long gone by
now. Would have been so perfect, though. Or maybe not. Maybe it was
for the best.

“Jason? What are you doing here? Did Millie
put you up to this? Millie, I swear if this is part--.” Did Elliott
recognize this voice?

“Nope, sorry.” Another woman’s voice. “It’s
not. I swear. Just a coincidence.”

Elliott motioned for Gordon to go out there.
“This is a perfect chance. If that’s him, go out there.” The guy
sounded stuck in an uncomfortable conversation. Plus, nothing like
eavesdropping next to “All I Want for Christmas” panties to
motivate a guy. “Go,” Elliott urged. Gordon could stride out and
play hero.

“You look amazing.” Jason said. “Did you
change your hair?”

Elliott’s neck tingled.

“Uh, yes. Millie surprised me. For my
birthday.”

The hairs over his arms stood on end. Nah.
Couldn’t be.

“Doesn’t she look spectacular?” the other
woman asked. “Have you ever seen her look so vibrant?”

Gordon’s scowl was sliding fast into
heartbreak.

“She does.” Jason sounded sincere. “You do.
Really, Brooke. I mean…wow.”

Brooke? The paper. Elliott sucked in a gulp
of air.

She was out there. She could walk by and see
him in here, hiding in panties and bras with Gordon looking like
Bambi. Not good. Elliott gestured, go! Gordon retreated another
degree into himself, his body deflating. Elliott’s chest ached for
his cousin. Here he was thinking about his bruised pride when
Gordon’s heart really was on the line.

What was a cousin to do but his best to save
the day? Something—anything—to smother the burn in those eyes and
return the earlier light of hope. What could he try short of doing
the bumping himself? Hopefully into the right guy.

Screw it. He let go of caring what she might
think seeing him exit this store. Elliott shouldered past a panty
stand, ignored the shimmy of hangers, and stepped out into the
walkway. He spotted three people talking, and willed Gordon to
follow his lead.

“Elliott?”

His eyes met hers. Her with his name on her
lips—she’d remembered it. Her face. Glowing. A flit of revelation
there—more than revelation. Expectancy? Every last articulate
thought escaped his head.

Chapter Six

Talk about exactly perfect timing! Millie’s
luck was finally changing! She’d have clapped her hands and hopped
for joy except Brooke and Jason might raise an eyebrow or four. She
settled for a little pivoting and shoe examining instead. Oh, if AJ
could see her now. She’d unveiled Brooke not five minutes before
they’d stepped out into the mall. And right smack into Jason’s
path. She didn’t know how AJ had swung it but, man, she owed him.
Huge time.