"You want me to do what?"
Annabelle stormed around the house, slamming cupboard doors and kicking over her office wastebasket. She couldn't believe she'd let herself fall for such a complete and utter idiot.
Heath wanted her to check out engagement rings for Delaney! What a shitty day. And with her family birthday party coming up in a couple of weeks, the future didn't look any cheerier.
She grabbed her jacket and headed out for a walk. Maybe the sunny October afternoon would brighten her spirits. The truth was, she should be on top of the world. Mr. Bronicki and Mrs. Valerio were moving in together. "We'd like to get married," they'd explained to Annabelle, "but we can't afford it, so we're doing the next best thing." Even more exciting, Annabelle might have made her first permanent match. Janine and Ray Fiedler seemed to be falling in love.
She couldn't have been happier for her friend, and she finally smiled. Once Ray had gotten rid of his comb-over, his attitude had also improved, and he'd turned out to be a decent guy. Janine had been afraid he'd be repulsed by her mastectomy, but he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
Annabelle had other reasons to be happy. Things were looking serious between Ernie Marks, her shy elementary school principal, and Wendy, the bubbly architect. She'd talked Melanie out of her infatuation with John Nager. And thanks to the publicity from Heath's match with Delaney, her business had been growing like crazy. Finally, she had enough money in the bank to start thinking about buying a new car.
Instead, she thought about Heath and Delaney. How could he be so blind? Despite everything Annabelle had once believed, Delaney wasn't the right woman for him. She was too contained, too polished. Too perfect.
Heath had the ring in his pocket, but his tongue kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. This was stupid. He never let pressure get to him, yet here he was with a bad case of flop sweat. This afternoon he'd sent his secretary to pick up the ring he'd chosen as soon as he'd gotten back from Denver two weeks ago. He and Delaney had just finished a five-hundred-dollar dinner at Charlie Trotter's. The lighting was muted, the music soft, the atmosphere perfect. All he had to do was take her hand and say the magic words. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?
He'd decided to dodge the whole "I love you" thing by keeping it specific. He'd tell her he loved her intelligence; he loved the way she looked. He definitely loved playing golf with her. Most of all, he loved her polish, the sense that she'd finish him. If she pressed him on the love thing, he could always tell her he was fairly sure he would love her at some time in the future, after they'd been married for a while and he was certain she'd stick, but somehow he didn't think she'd see his reassurance in the same positive light he did, so best to deflect.
He wondered if she'd get teary-eyed when he gave her the ring. Probably not. She wasn't too emotional, which was another positive. Afterward, they'd go back to his place and celebrate their engagement in bed. He'd make sure he took it slow. He sure as hell wouldn't rush her like he'd rushed Annabelle.
Damn, that had been fun.
Fun, but not serious. Making love with Annabelle had been exciting, crazy, definitely hot, but it hadn't been important. The only reason he thought about it so often was because he couldn't repeat the experience, so it had taken on the lure of the forbidden.
He fingered the robin's egg blue jewelry box in his pocket. He didn't much care for the ring he'd chosen. It was only a little over a carat because Delaney didn't like anything ostentatious. But he liked a little ostentation, especially when it came to the ring he'd be putting on his future wife's finger. Still, he wasn't the one who'd have to wear the puny son of a bitch, so he'd keep his opinions to himself.
Okay… Time to get to work here. Steer a careful path around the love discussion, give her the fucking ring, and propose. Then take her back to his place and seal the deal.
His cell vibrated in his pocket, right next to the ring box. Annabelle had given him strict orders not to take calls when he was with Delaney, but wouldn't she have to get used to this if they were going to get married? "Champion." He shot his future wife an apologetic look.
Annabelle's voice hissed through the receiver like a leaky radiator. "Get over here right now."
"I'm kind of in the middle."
"I don't care if you're in Antarctica. Get your sorry ass over here."
He heard a male voice in the background. Make that male voices. He sat straighter in his chair. "Are you okay?"
"Does it sound like I'm okay?"
"It sounds like you're pissed."
But she'd already hung up.
Half an hour later, he and Delaney were rushing up the sidewalk toward Annabelle's front porch. "It's not like her to get hysterical," Delaney said for the second time. "Something must really be wrong."
He'd already explained that Annabelle had been more enraged than hysterical, but the concept of rage seemed foreign to Delaney, which didn't bode well for the times when he had to watch the Sox lose another close one.
"It sounds like some kind of party." She pressed the bell, but nobody was going to hear anything over the hip-hop music blaring from inside, and he reached in front of her to push the door open.
As they stepped inside, he saw Sean Palmer and half a dozen of his Bears teammates draped around Annabelle's reception room, which wasn't alarming in itself, but through the door leading to the kitchen, he spotted another batch of players, all of them Chicago Stars. Annabelle's office seemed to be neutral territory with five or six players not exactly mingling, but scoping one another out from opposite corners while Annabelle stood in the middle of the archway. Heath could see why she might be nervous. Neither team had forgotten last year's controversial call that had given the Stars a narrow and highly disputed victory over their rivals. He couldn't help wondering what part of her brain had been on vacation when she'd let all of these guys in at the same time.
"Hey, everybody, Jerry Maguire's here."
Heath responded to Sean Palmer's greeting with a wave. Delaney moved a little closer to his side.
"How come you ain't got no cable, Annabelle?" Eddie Skinner protested over the top of the music. "You got cable upstairs?"
"No," Annabelle retorted, pushing her way into the reception room. "And get your big-ass shoes off my sofa cushions this minute." She did a one-eighty, her finger pointed like a gun at Tremaine Russell, the best running back the Bears had seen in a decade. "Use a freakin' coaster under your glass, Tremaine!"
Heath stood back and grinned. She looked like a harried Cub Scout den mother, hands on hips, red hair flying, eyes shooting firecrackers.
Tremaine snatched up his glass and wiped the end table with the sleeve of his designer sweater. "Sorry, Annabelle."
Annabelle caught Heath's grin and marched forward, pinning her wrath on him. "This is all your fault. You have at least four clients here, none of whom I knew personally a year ago. If it weren't for you, I'd be just another fan watching them destroy each other from a safe distance."
Her hissy fit was getting everybody's attention, and someone turned the music down so they could all listen in. She jerked her head toward the kitchen. "They've drunk everything in the house, including a pitcher of African violet plant food I'd just mixed up and was stupid enough to leave on the counter."
Tremaine punched Eddie in the shoulder. "I told you it tasted weird."
Eddie shrugged. "Tasted okay to me."
"They've also ordered hundreds of dollars' worth of Chinese food, which I do not intend to see all over this rug, so everybody is going to… eat in the kitchen!'
"And pizza." Jason Kent, a Stars second stringer, called out from someplace near the refrigerator. "Don't forget we ordered pizzas, too."