Power Play (14 page)

“Game?”

“Visiting my parents. On their farm.”

“I'll come with you,” Monica offered immediately, maybe too immediately. Eric was staring at her as if she'd just revealed she kicked little old ladies for fun. “Think about it,” she continued as the idea began taking firm root inside her. “Theresa tells the press, and they start to speculate that things are getting serious. Isn't there a mall in Bismarck or something? We could do an appearance.”

Eric looked perturbed. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because we'd have to act all weekend, day and night. In front of my family.”

“So?”

“I don't know if I can do it,” said Eric. “Also, my mom will go totally mental if I bring you home. Not only is she a huge fan, but I've never—” He abruptly stopped.

“Never what?”

“Brought anyone home to meet my folks.”

Monica stared at him incredulously. “Ever? In your life?”

“Does high school count?”

“Then no, I never have.”

“Why?”

“Because my mother would go mental, like I said.”

And because you've never really had a serious relationship in your life,
Monica thought to herself, though she had no proof of that.

“Have
you
ever brought anyone home?” Eric challenged.

“Twice. Once in college. I was going out with a guy who was a mime.” She glared. “Laugh, and I'll punch your lights out.”

“Won't. I promise.” He looked on the verge of howling.

“Anyway,” Monica continued, “you can imagine how that went over with my blue-blood clan. My brother asked him to mime being penniless and standing in the unemployment line.” Eric started to laugh, but Monica shot him a sharp sideways glance, and he halted mid-guffaw. “The second guy was an actor.”

“Lance Ormond,” Eric supplied.

“How did you know that?” Monica asked uneasily.

“I'm a fan, remember? I know lots of things.”

“Riiight.” Monica didn't want to think about it. “One of my disastrous showmances. Anyway, I brought him home to a big family party. Two hours later, I found him necking with my cousin in the pantry. That was the end of Lance.”

Eric whistled. “That must have been tough.”

“It is what it is,” Monica declared stoically. The memory still smarted, which pissed her off. It was years ago. Maybe there were some humiliations you never got over, like when a boyfriend not fit to lick your boots cheats on you, confirming every feeling of insecurity you've ever had about yourself.

Eric's expression turned suave. “What do you think your folks would think of me?”

“I think they'd be thrilled I brought home someone with testosterone.”

“God knows I've got enough of that,” Eric murmured in a low, sultry voice.

“News flash: Jerk Eric is making an appearance. Not liking it.”

“Wow. You're really critical today.” He absently scratched his forearm. “Forget coming with me to the farm. My parents would drive us insane, and there's no way I could be ‘pretend boyfriend Eric' for forty-eight hours, especially with my asshole brother watching our every move. He totally suspects this whole thing is bullshit. At the very least, he finds it very hard to believe that
you
could ever be into
me
.”

“I've been nominated for three Daytime Drama Awards. I can make him believe it.”

“Yeah, well, I don't have any acting awards, so I don't know if I can keep it up for that long.”

Suddenly realizing what he'd said, their eyes met. And they both laughed.

“That wasn't intentional,” Eric explained.

“I know,” Monica admitted, smiling.

Monica was surprised: She was eager to go to North Dakota with him. It would be an adventure. She was always game for new experiences, and spending time at a farm was something she'd never done. It might even help with her acting somewhere along the line; it would give her memories and feelings to draw on.

“We can pull this off, Eric.”

“I worry it's a crummy thing to do to my folks.”

He has a conscience,
thought Monica, pleasantly surprised.
Doesn't matter, doesn't matter, doesn't matter . . .

“You don't have to tell them what's up. You can just tell them we split up later on.”

Eric contemplated this. “That's true.” He sighed. “Okay. I guess you can come. But I don't think a signing at the mall is a good idea. Let's just keep it a family deal, all right?”

“Fine. What should I bring to wear?” Monica asked brightly.

“You got any overalls? Maybe you and I could pose for a picture outside my folks' house with me holding a pitchfork.”

“Excuse me, it's a legitimate question,” Monica huffed.

“Bring jeans. Sweaters. Some shoes or boots you don't mind getting mud on. Oh, and bring your appetite. My mom is going to try to stuff you with food, and she'll be insulted if you don't eat. So none of this poking-at-your-salad actress stuff.”

Monica hid her distress.
Food?
“I'm not going to find anything on my plate that was in your parents' barn mooing the week before, am I?”

“Relax. It's a dairy farm.” Eric grinned. “I can show you how to milk a cow if you'd like.”

“I don't think so,” Monica said primly. She rose. “I'll call Theresa and let her know we're going to North Dakota. Maybe she can alert the local papers there, and someone can take our picture at the airport.”

“Sounds good.” Eric stood slowly, stretching his arms high above his head. His tennis shirt lifted slightly, revealing a straight, dark line of hair running down from his belly button, disappearing into his jeans. Monica looked away, chastising herself for the small dart of heat that shot through her body.
Jesus, you'd think you'd never seen a man's torso before. This is your business partner,
she reminded herself sternly.
Relationship of convenience. All professional. No lust for the biggest womanizer on earth allowed.

“Call me when you have the flight plans worked out,” she said, heading toward the door. She paused. “And thanks for asking how I was doing after my costar's death.”

Eric raised his clasped hands high, miming being a champion.

“You're a jerk, you know that?” Monica hissed.

Eric just laughed.

TEN

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.”

Eric pressed his lips together hard in an effort to cover his mortification over his mother's first words to Monica. His mom was hopping from foot to foot, while his father stared at them bemusedly from behind his mother. Eric was glad Jason wasn't here to witness it. He and Delilah had loosed their dogs the minute they arrived and were walking around the yard with them.

“Mom, calm down, okay?” Eric asked patiently.

“I'm trying,” his mother insisted, fluttering a hand in front of her chest. “It's just—I've been a fan for so long.”

“It's okay,” Monica assured Eric, extending a soft, slim-fingered hand to Eric's mother. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell.”

“Oh, it's so nice to meet you, too,” Eric's mother returned breathlessly. “And you can call me Jane. And this is Dick behind me.” Eric's father nodded in greeting. “Oh, I haven't even said hello to you yet!” she said to Eric, throwing her arms around him and smothering him with kisses.

“Mom!”
Eric was glad to see his mother, too, but Jesus. This was totally over the top. His mother had practically fainted on the telephone when he'd told her who he was bringing with him.

His mother broke their embrace. “Can I kiss you, too?” she asked Monica shyly, opening her arms. “Just a little one?”

“Of course,” said Monica.

Eric rubbed his forehead, wishing he had a tranquilizer gun. If this was the way it was going to be for the whole weekend, he'd never make it. Hopefully, his mother would calm down soon and start acting
normal
. He hadn't seen her this crazed since Tom Jones played Bismarck when he and Jason were in eleventh grade.

Eric's eyes caught his father's while his mother gathered Monica in a rib-crushing embrace. They stared at each other, each knowing what was going through the other's mind about the farm, each knowing that this wasn't the place to discuss it. They'd talk about it later with Jason.

His mother released Monica, who still seemed able to breathe, much to Eric's surprise. “Oh my,” Eric's mother said in a chiding voice to Monica. “Honey, you are just skin and bones. We've got to fatten you up.”

Monica laughed pleasantly, a great acting job if Eric ever saw one. He'd love to know what was going through Monica's mind right now. Probably something along the lines of:
Who is this insane farmer's wife?
Well, she'd been warned.

“Let's go upstairs,” Eric's mother said giddily. “I've got your room all made up for you kids. Dick, grab their bags.”

“I can do it, Dad.” Eric picked up his and Monica's bags, following his mother, father, and Monica up the stairs. They had no sooner started their ascent than Monica whipped her head around to look at him.
“Our room?”
she hissed, eyes popping with distress.

“I told you before we left New York,” Eric murmured under his breath. “There are twin beds.”

Upstairs now, he peeked into his mother's old sewing room, where there was now a double bed and a dresser. Jason and Delilah's room. As he told Monica, this meant they would be in his and Jason's old bedroom in the single beds. His mother would give her speech about how what they do back in New York was their business, but until they were married, they wouldn't be sharing a bed under
her
roof.

“Here we are,” he heard his mother trill. Eric hauled his and Monica's bags into his old bedroom, freezing as he walked over the threshold. Gone were the old single beds with the scratched pine headboards; in their place was a double bed.

“Now I know you two aren't married,” his mother said, twisting her hands nervously, “but your father and I discussed it, and we decided it was time we joined the twenty-first century. So here's your room. It's the one closest to the bathroom,” she added significantly. The better for Monica to throw up her meals in, Eric thought. He couldn't look at Monica.

“You two get settled, and then come down to the kitchen, and we'll have some coffee and cherry pie,” Eric mother's instructed, beaming at him. “I made it just for you, sweetie.” She winked confidentially at Monica. “It's been his favorite ever since he was a little boy.” Monica nodded, a queasy smile on her face.

“Thanks, Mom,” Eric said hollowly. He held his breath as his parents departed. Then he turned to face the music.

 

“Tell me you didn't know about this,” Monica said, glaring at him.

“I didn't! Last time I was here, there were twin beds.”

“I don't believe this.” Monica moved to the window at the front of the room, pulling back the white eyelet curtains to look down at the yard below. Eric could hear Jason and Delilah's dogs barking happily as they played.

“I'm sorry about my mother frothing all over you.”

“It's okay. It was kind of cute, actually.” Monica turned back to him. “You're sleeping on the floor.”

“The hell I am! I'm a professional athlete, Monica! I can't afford to mess with my back!”

Monica put a hand on her hip, indignant. “Oh, so you expect me to sleep on the floor?! How gentlemanly!”

Eric sat down on the edge of the bed, wearily running his hands over his face. They'd been here five minutes, and already it was a disaster. No way was he going to be able to keep up this charade for a whole weekend. No way.

He uncovered his face. “Neither of us has to sleep on the floor,” he reasoned. “We can erect a barrier. Put a line of pillows between us.”

Monica stared at the bed. “I suppose,” she muttered. She narrowed her eyes. “If you breach the barrier and touch me, you're dead.”

Eric snorted. “Same to you!”

“Oh, right,” Monica said scornfully. “As if
that
would ever happen.”

Eric chuckled, joining her at the window. “Judging by your reaction to that kiss I gave you at the studio, I think it could.”

He watched Monica's cheeks turn pink before her whole face flared into a deep red.

“I was
acting
,” she barked at him.

Eric smirked. “Is that how you ‘act' when your costar Royce kisses you?”

“What do you care?” Monica shot back.

“I don't.” Eric glanced down into the yard. Delilah and Jason were ushering the dog pack into the house. He and Monica would have to wrap up this little debate quickly, unless his mother lured Jace and Delilah into the kitchen right away. Eric looked at Monica smugly. “I was merely pointing out that if
that
was acting, then I'd love to see your reaction when you're really feeling something for a guy.”

“Well, you'll never know, will you?”

Eric's hand shot out, impulsively grabbing Monica's wrist. The molecules in the room were changing shape, moving faster and faster, threatening to break down into a million tiny sparks as heat rushed to the place where their skin touched. Eric stared into Monica's eyes, waiting for her to jerk her hand away. But she didn't. Instead, her gaze was locked on his, watching and waiting. “You felt something. Admit it.”