He reappeared wearing gray slacks, a midnight blue shirt, and a patterned necktie, everything so perfecdy pulled together he could have stepped out of a Barneys ad. He tossed his suit coat across the weight bench, set down the coffee she'd brought, and shot his cuffs. "I wasn't ditching you. I needed some time to reassess, and I'm not apologizing for it."
"Apology accepted." His frown didn't bode well, and she quickly shifted gears. "I'm sorry things didn't work out better with Phoebe at the lake. Despite what you might think, I was rooting for you."
"We had half a decent conversation." He picked up the coffee.
"What happened to the other half?"
"I let her push my buttons."
She'd have enjoyed hearing the details, but she needed to get rolling before he started looking at the watch peeking out from under his shirt cuff. "Okay, here's the real reason I'm here-and if you'd called me back, I wouldn't have had to bother you. I need to know if you said anything to anybody about you-know-who. If you did, I swear I'll never speak to you again. I told you in the strictest confidence. Truly, I'd die of embarrassment."
"Tell me you didn't barge in here to talk about Dream Boy."
She pretended to fidget with her ring, a turquoise Nana had bought in Santa Fe. "So do you think Dean might like me?"
"Gosh, I don't know. Why don't you wait till study hall and ask your girlfriends?"
She tried to appear offended. "I'm looking for the male perspective, that's all."
"Get it from Raoul."
"We're over. He was screwing around on me."
"Like everybody in town didn't already know that?"
Okay, they'd had their fun. She sank down on the edge of the weight bench. "I know you think Dean is too young for me…"
"Your age is only one item on a bullet list of calamities waiting to happen if you don't get past this. And I haven't seen Lover Boy, so your secret is safe. Are we done yet?"
"I don't know. Are we?" She rose from the bench. "The thing is… I'm afraid you still might be dealing with some emotional issues from the retreat, which, I'm sorry to say, is making you seem a little girly."
"Girly?" A dark eyebrow slashed upward.
"Only one woman's opinion."
"You think I'm being girly? You, the queen of Annabelle Junior High?"
"You haven't returned my calls."
"I wanted to think about it."
"Exactly." She advanced on him, working up a righteous head of steam. "Obviously you're still conflicted about my night of sexual liberation, but you're too macho to admit it. I should never have taken advantage of you. We both know that, but I thought you were okay with it. Apparently you're not."
"I'm sure this'll disappoint you," he said dryly, "but I wasn't traumatized by your rape and pillage."
"I respect you for holding on to your pride," she said primly.
He frowned. "Cut the crap. You were crystal clear about mixing business and pleasure, and you were right. We both know that. But Krystal threw her porn party, I don't like having people say no to me, and the rest is history. I'm the one who took advantage. The reason I haven't called is that I still haven't figured out how to make it up to you."
She hated the idea that he was seeing her as a victim. "Not by running, that's for sure. Smacks a little too much of the boss who sleeps with his secretary and then fires her for it."
She had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. "I'd never do that," he said.
"Great. Block off every evening starting tomorrow. We're kicking off with a brainy econ professor who looks a little like Kate Hudson, finds Adam Sandier at least mildly amusing, and knows a wineglass from a water goblet. If you don't like her, I have six more lined up. Now are you back in the game or are you wimping out?"
He didn't let her bait him. Instead, he wandered over to the windows, sipping his coffee and taking his time, no doubt thinking over how complicated this had gotten. "Are you sure about going on?" he finally said.
"Hey, I'm not the one who got all worked up. Of course I'm sure." What a lie. "I have a business to run, and frankly, you're making that difficult."
He shoved his hand through his hair. "All right. Set it up."
"Perfect." She gave him a smile so big her cheeks ached. "Now, down to business…"
They made their arrangements, setting up days and times, and she escaped as soon as they were done. On the drive back home, she made a promise to herself. From now on, she'd seal her emotions away where they belonged. In an internal Ziploc bag-extra heavy duty.
The next afternoon, Heath followed Kevin between the tables in the hotel ballroom as the quarterback shook hands, slapped backs, and worked the crowd of businesspeople who'd gathered to eat lunch and hear his motivational speech,
"Throwing the Long Ones in Life." Heath stayed just behind him, ready to intercede if anyone tried to get too up close and personal, but Kevin made it to the front table without incident.
Heath had heard his speech a dozen times, and as Kevin took his seat, he returned to the rear of the ballroom. The introductions began, and Heath's mind wandered back to Annabelle's ambush yesterday morning. She'd burst into his house, filling up the place with her sass, and despite what he'd said, he'd been glad to see her. All the same, he hadn't lied when he'd told her he'd needed time to think things over, including how he could torpedo that infantile crush she had on Dean Robillard. If she didn't come to her senses soon, Heath was going to lose all respect for her. Why did women leave their brains behind when it came to Dean?
Heath pushed away an uncomfortable memory of a former girlfriend saying exactly the same thing about him. He intended to have a pointed conversation with Dean to make sure Golden Boy understood Annabelle wasn't another bimbo he could stick in his trophy case. Except Heath was supposed to be courting Robillard, not antagonizing him. Once again, his matchmaker had put him in an impossible situation.
Kevin made a self-deprecating joke, and the crowd laughed. He had them right where he wanted, and Heath slipped into the hallway to check his messages. When he saw Bodie's number, he returned it first. "What's up?"
"A buddy of mine just phoned from Oak Street Beach," Bodie said. "Tony Coffield, remember him? His old man owns a couple of bars in Andersonville."
"Yeah?" Tony was one of a network of guys who fed Bodie information.
"So guess who else just showed up to catch some rays? None other than our good buddy Robillard. And it seems he's not alone. Tony says he's sharing a blanket with a red-haired chick. Cute, but not his usual type."
Heath backed against the wall and clenched his teeth.
Bodie chuckled. "Your little matchmaker sure knows how to keep herself busy."
Annabelle lifted her head from the sandy blanket and gazed over at Dean. He lay on his back, muscles bronzed and oiled, blond hair gleaming, eyes shaded by space-age sunglasses with bright blue lenses. A pair of bikini-clad women made their fourth pass, and this time it looked as though they'd worked up the nerve to approach. Annabelle caught their eyes, pressed her index finger to her lips indicating that he was sleeping, and shook her head. Disappointed, the women walked on.
"Thanks," Dean said, without moving his mouth.
"Does this job pay?"
"I bought you a hot dog, didn't I?"
She propped her chin on her fists and dug her toes deeper into the sand. Dean had called her yesterday, a few hours after she'd left Heath's house. He'd asked if she could squeeze in a trip to the beach before T-camp started. She had a million things to do to get ready for the dating marathon she had planned, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to feed the story of her infatuation in case Heath still had doubts.
"So explain it to me again," Dean said, eyes still shut. "About how you've been blatantly using me for your own nefarious purposes."