Power Play (11 page)

Tears gleamed in her eyes, another painful reminder of how stupid and out of control I'd been three years ago. A reminder of her inability to stop—or help—what happened.

My parents hold so much guilt over the choices my brothers and I made. Whenever something bad happened, they analyzed every single aspect of their parenting, from our infanthood to our teenage years, trying to figure out what they did wrong.

Nothing. My parents did nothing wrong. My parents raised me to make good decisions and be a strong person, even if I hid that part of myself under a shy exterior. But after all the analyzing and questioning of what they did—or didn't do—when it comes down to it, I made a bad decision, and in the same situation I would've made the same decision no matter what my parents had instilled in me.

Because like every teenager, I was bulletproof. Until something happens to knock them back to fragile human status.

Like countless figures in literature and history, we all have our tragic flaws. But it's the way we handle those flaws that make up our character. And for the lucky ones, life gives us a second chance.

“Kurz Dakota Inn Rathskeller,” I read the painted sign on the side of a large brick building out loud. “I've never been here.”

“Shocker!” Landon jumped out of the car and ran around to the passenger side to open my door.

“Thanks,” I said. “We eat more than spaghetti and meatballs, ya know.”

“Suuure.”

“We love the Polish Village,” I threw out the name of our family's favorite non-Italian restaurant, feeling slightly silly defending my food choices.

As we walked, I paused at a window and ran a hand over the pretty, powder blue shutters. The heart in the middle of each one made me smile. After rounding the corner of the building I noticed a quaint peak, resembling the bell tower of a castle. An old-school neon sign advertising the Dakota Inn and quality beer hung above the entrance.

I laughed. “Quality beer, eh? Too bad I'm not old enough to drink.”

“Shhhh.” Landon pulled the heavy wooden door open and held it as I walked past. “Let me do the ordering.”

“Taylor. Reservation for two.” Landon put his hand on my back as he spoke to the hostess. The warmth against a place no guy had ever touched before caused a tingle up my back and down my arms.

Landon gave my back a slight press and I followed the hostess to our table.

“This place is awesome.” I felt as if I'd been teleported to a pub in Germany. Inside the Dakota Inn, the doorways were arched, multicolored beer steins sat on shelves, and animal heads and portraits littered the walls. Mini coach lights hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in a warm glow. But the true warmth came from the patrons. Every person sitting around the packed tables wore a smile. Unless they were chewing—or drinking.

“Right? Didn't know you could visit Germany by way of Detroit, did you?”

I slid onto the chair Landon held out for me. “That tower-looking thing outside reminds me of somewhere Rapunzel would be hidden.” Turning my head, I caught a glimpse of Landon as he pushed in my chair.

“A castle for a princess.”

A waitress set two glasses of water in front of us. The intricate navy embroidery on her traditional blue German dress was gorgeous.

“I told you before, I'm not a princess,” I said after she'd turned away. “My mom tried to make me into one. Pink and frilly everywhere.”

Landon nodded to my chest. “Pink.”

I glanced down as fire crept into my face. Thank goodness for my olive skin tone.
He's looking at my sweater. Just my sweater.

“Oh, well, yeah, I like pink. But I didn't like all the girly stuff.” I laughed. “I wanted to do everything my brothers did. Joey fixed cars. So I made him teach me how to change my own oil. Drew played hockey, so I played hockey.”

Landon gagged on a sip of water. “You played hockey?”

“Not for long. I'm not a clumsy person or anything, but I just couldn't get ice-skating. Too scared to go too fast. Too scared to learn the hockey stop.”

“What were you scared of?”

I stared at my water glass to gather my thoughts, then shrugged. “Falling. Failing. Not being as good as Drew.”
Not being as good as anyone.

Landon gave me a half smile from across the table. “Falling hurts at first. Still does sometimes. Depends on who caused it.”

Thankful he avoided the failing part, I continued, “Plus, Papa told me girls should play individual sports.” I changed my tone to a gruff baritone, which sounded nothing like Papa. “ ‘There's no money in team sports for women.' ”

“Wow, now there's a great message for his daughter.”

“I know, right? But I wasn't really sporty anyway, so it didn't sound that bad to me. I liked helping at the store. Ever since I was little I helped my great-grandpa and my grandpa. When my great-grandpa retired, I helped my grandpa, Papa, and my uncle. Slowly, I learned how to do everything. More than Joey, definitely more than Drew. Probably even more than any of my cousins.”

“Which is why it sucks even more that your dad doesn't listen to you about the new store. I mean, sure, your dad knows produce, but he took over a business that's been around for what, eighty years? He doesn't know how to market a totally new store. I wish he would've let you explain your ideas.” Landon caught my eyes and held them with his.

I loved his big brown eyes. My friends always say there's nothing special about brown eyes. They're just there. But they'd never had the opportunity to stare into Landon Taylor's. His eyes were electric, but soft.

Sharp, but warm. Intense, but kind.

His eyes were a direct reflection of his soul.

“Well, once we get the mock-up of the ad completed, he might reconsider. If I do it in a professional manner, rather than throw it at him on a whim and whine like his daughter, maybe he'll take me seriously.”

“Can't go worse than the first time, right?”

“Well, I realized my mistake that time.”

“Having me there?”

“No. I'm glad you were there. How he treated you was wrong, but I appreciated you backing me up. Professional and logical is what works with Papa. Come at him with the emotional card and he makes mean, sexist remarks.”

Landon cocked his head to the side. “Continue.”

I wanted to pound my head on the table. I couldn't mention PMS in front of Landon. I barely even spoke about it with my mom.

“Um, well, when women are emotional my dad makes stupid comments about—” I dropped my eyes to my lap. “Never mind.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Landon's blush looked like he'd smeared war paint across his cheeks.

Turns out
awkward
was the perfect word to describe my interactions with guys. I hated when Drew was right.

“Welcome to the Dakota Inn. Can I start you with some drinks?” our waitress asked. I didn't know if she heard the awkwardness and came to save me, but I was grateful for the interruption.

“I think we're ready to order.” Landon looked at me for permission and I nodded. “We'll have a pitcher of Hacker-Pschorr, a combo plate, Kurz stack of
Kartoffelpuffer
with sour cream, and the
Kasespatzle.
”

To say everything Landon ordered was completely foreign to me would be a bad joke, but the truth. I hadn't even had a chance to look at the menu to translate.

“Very good.” She grabbed our menus from the edge of the table. “Be back in a minute with your beer.”

“So I was thinking we should do some shots at Robinson Arena.” Landon continued normal conversation like I hadn't just embarrassed myself for eternity before the waitress had taken our order.

“Sure. We can take some there.” My top lip curled up.

“What?” Landon asked.

“Nothing. That would be cool. Authentic home of the Pilots.”

“But—” Landon leaned toward me, his closeness giving me permission to stop holding back.

“Robinson Arena is nineteen-seventies-era u-g-l-y. I mean, the only way you could make Robinson look good is if you stood naked in front of it holding Bertucci produce in each hand,” I said.

The deep burst of laughter that escaped from Landon made people at other tables turn toward us, which said a lot, considering the thunderous noise level in the restaurant. Landon certainly hadn't picked a place known for its quiet, intimate setting.

“Naked? Really?”

“You two are going to overshadow the entertainment.” Our waitress placed a pitcher of beer in the middle of the table. Then she set an empty beer stein in front of Landon. And a full glass of milk in front of me.

“No underage drinking in here.”

My stomach dropped to my toes as I stared at the milk.

“The beer is for me, Aunt Vera,” Landon told the waitress.

Aunt Vera folded her arms in front of her chest. “Well, then you'd better give her your car keys, Landon Charles.”

This time I was the one laughing. Just the thought of cranking the engine and sailing down I-75 in Landon's sleek, black Mazda MX-5 convertible made me giddy.

“I tried,” Landon apologized as he poured beer into his glass. He glanced at the way his aunt had walked. “You can have a sip when she isn't looking.”

“It's okay. I don't drink.”
Not anymore,
I wanted to add. But I didn't want to lead Landon down that yellow brick road of doom. Yet.

“At all?”

“Does the wine at church count?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then no, I don't drink at all.”

“Do you mind?” Landon raised the glass he'd just filled.

I shook my head.
Keep drinking, kid.
Every sip he took got me closer to driving his car. “What kind of entertainment is there?”

“You'll see.” Landon took a long sip of the beer. A short curl fell from its nest on top of his head to his forehead. I loved that curl. When his hair had been longer, that renegade curl used to bounce across his forehead. I'd always wanted to twirl it between my fingers.

“What?” Landon asked.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You're staring.”

“Oh, sorry.” I took a sip of my milk for something to do, and as I swallowed I remembered I didn't like milk. “That little curl cracks me up.”

Landon patted at the curl absently, then tried to push it up with the rest of his hair. It immediately dropped back down. “Now I'm paranoid.”

“It's cute!”

“Did you just compliment me?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you like me, Gabriella?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Or did he make out on top of his car after a photo shoot with all his friends?

“No. And it drives me mad. I usually don't have a problem knowing when a girl likes me.”

“I like you, Landon. I really, really like you.”

“Good.”

“I'd like you even more if you got me a Sprite. I hate milk.”

Landon slid the milk glass to the edge of the table. “Sorry about that. Pretty lame thing to do.”

I couldn't even make him feel better and say someone in my family would have brought him a glass of milk, too, because the Bertuccis are raised with a glass of red wine next to their dinner plates. Which may be why there weren't many people in my family with a drinking problem. We learned control and respect around alcohol early. Or maybe everyone had such a high tolerance, that I didn't realize anyone had a drinking problem?

“No worries.” I shrugged. “You can't help what your aunt does. Is it really your aunt? Or, like, a family friend or something?”

“No, she's really my aunt.”

“Are you introducing me to your family one person at a time?”

“You've already met my family. In fact, my mom thinks you're perfect, so if you want to marry me, she's cool with it.”

Marriage? Why were both of our moms pushing the M-word?

“How 'bout them Pilots?” I was never good at easy transitions away from weird conversations.

Luckily, Landon rolled with it. “Have you been to a game yet this year?”

“No, I'm always working.”

“Can you get a night off? I'd like you to come see me play.”

“Yeah. Yes. I can definitely take a night off. I didn't know if I'd come across as too clingy if I came or whatever.” I fiddled with the knife and fork in front of me, pretending to straighten the already straight silverware.

“Clingy? I've been dying to look up in the section where the wives and girlfriends sit and see you there cheering for me. Maybe whipping your shirt off and waving it around if I score.”

Though caught totally off guard by his comment, I couldn't stop the bark of a laugh that escaped my lips.

“Did I say that last part out loud?” Landon winked.

“Anyone could have heard you. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I like to see you blush, Gaby. It makes me happy to know that I'm the one putting color in your cheeks.”

“There are a million ways to put color in my cheeks, believe me.” I closed my eyes hoping, like a child, that if my eyes were closed, he couldn't see me. Then I buried my face in my hands, since closing my eyes didn't make me invisible, and Landon didn't need to see the blush attached to my accidental innuendo.

“Check, please.” Landon lifted his arm, pretending to motion for our waitress.

Out of nowhere, a man yelled something in German. I don't know German, but since we were sitting in a reproduction of a German beer hall, I figured it had to be German.

The yelling man, clad in a blue and white gingham button-down shirt and suspenders holding up his navy blue short pants, stood up and raised his beer stein. The crowd cheered and yelled back at him. Behind him another man in a camel-colored suit started playing the piano.

The raucous roars created a buzz, an electric vibe coursing through the crowd. The yelling man in short pants pushed a large easel to the front of the room. The easel held an aging poster board filled with words and pictures. The piano man started playing a tune, and the entire crowd sang along with gusto as the man in short pants used a stick to point to the words of the song.

I scanned the restaurant, taking in every genuine smile and laugh. Then I glanced at Landon who was singing right along with everyone else, only he didn't have to look at the words.

Beer stein in the air, Landon swayed from right to left as if we were sitting in a beer hall in Germany. His sing-along skills were in full force and he had a great voice. A great sing-along voice, that is, since it was really just yelling and laughing.

Landon caught me looking at him and nodded toward the board holding all the words for the sing-along. He was grinning, like a little kid who'd just talked his mom into letting him do something he normally wasn't allowed to do.

I turned back toward the front and the man in short pants leading the crowd. My heart raced, and I felt slightly uncomfortable in a situation unlike any that I'd been in before. I knew if I looked at Landon he would be singing; I could still hear his voice since he was the closest person to me. My nerves began to calm when I scanned the crowd again. So many people of all ages, all walks of life, all having a blast singing a silly German song about “
fette sau
” and “
schnickelfritz,
” which seemed to mean a pig and a kid, according to the pictures on the poster. I couldn't even tell what some of the pictures were supposed to depict. But it was an amusing song, and it was obviously meant to be something fun to get the crowd involved and smiling, rather than finding the next local singing star.