“We’re all business.” She refused to admit to their dirty dancing at Haunt or their deep kisses at the bookstore. The two incidents crossed the professional line.
Zen picked up his pen and rolled it between his palms. His expression was thoughtful. “I need you to be straight with me, Cat. You lied to Law this morning. You told him you attended Haunt as a cowgirl, not as Wonder Woman. Your reason?”
Cat’s blush was immediate. “Anonymity, and I was foolish.”
Zen understood. “Your costume let you play outside your comfort zone.”
“Way outside.”
He zeroed in. “You met Captain America?”
They’d met, kissed, rubbed, and she’d run. “Our paths crossed.”
Intrigued, Zen put the puzzle together, faster than most. “By night, in a dark warehouse, with loud music, a black wig, a mask, and a sexy costume you were unrecognizable. By day, Law hasn’t pegged you as Wonder Woman.”
“I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
Zen nodded. “I sent you to the club on business. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Speaking of secrets,” she said, shifting subjects, “Randall Lawless requested I deal solely with him.” She grinned at Zen. “Rand said that you need not get involved.”
“The man has faith in you.”
“His grandson doesn’t.” Cat relayed what she’d overheard that morning outside his office. “There’s no need for an explanation,” she assured Zen. “I have a gut feeling whatever goes down with the Rogues will greatly affect both men.”
“You’re intuitive, Catherine,” Zen praised. “Don’t lose that edge.”
She pushed to her feet. “We’re good then?”
“We’re fine.” Zen smiled at her. “I’m very glad you’re with my firm.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“I know.”
Chapter 7
“You’re a dumb-ass, Brody.” James Lawless caught up with his teammate at Duffy’s Diner, sulking over his plate of cold mac ’n cheese. “Stop staring at the waitress like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I damn sure have.”
“What?” Law asked, not understanding.
“I’m engaged to her.” It was hard for Brody to say.
Brody Jones ignored the stunned look on his teammate’s face. Ignored it good. No doubt that was the last thing Law had expected to hear when his buddy sat down next to him in the booth with the bright red leather and shiny black tabletop. The slick ’50s burger joint with its hand-mixed shakes and deep-fried onion rings was his diner. He was so fuckin’ ticked he couldn’t force down a bite of food.
All because of Mary Blanchard. She’d shown up, looking like homemade apple pie with a sweet caramel glaze. He’d avoided such pie for a very long time now. Memories of apple pie belonged in Plain, West Virginia, not in Richmond. Shit.
Law stared hard at Brody from across the table. “I don’t believe you. She’s cute, but definitely not your type.”
“She damn sure isn’t. That’s the problem.”
Brody continued to track the brunette with the big blue eyes as if she were in the crosshairs of his rifle. He couldn’t help it. He was one angry son of a bitch, and given the tension in his body, he was about to put his fist through a wall.
He would have if Law hadn’t decided to park his ass across from him.
“Has she seen you?” Law asked.
“Not yet. I ordered and was served before she started her shift. She’s working the table section; we’re in the back booth.”
“You’re hard to miss, Brody.”
“She hasn’t looked beyond her station.”
“Drink your ice water.” Law pushed the glass toward him.
“I need more than that to cool me down.”
“Talk to me,” Law pressed. “Why are you so damn angry?”
“I told her not to come to Richmond,” Brody growled. “She didn’t fuckin’ listen to me.”
How could he explain to Law that the pink-cheeked waitress with the baby-doll eyes had once been his high school sweetheart? Later, his fiancée.
“Mary’s a nice girl,” he told Law. Too damn nice. Brody wasn’t looking for sweet and smiling or a continued engagement. He’d just never gotten around to telling her that.
How could he? She hadn’t let him. She’d been quick in telling his mom and the entire town that they were getting married. Word had spread over Plain like a town banner.
He’d given her a ring soon after making it with her in the backseat of his van on graduation night. He’d left Plain two weeks later on an athletic scholarship to the University of Michigan.
Mary had hugged him and cried soft tears, already missing him before he’d even gotten past her driveway. She’d made him promise to visit often.
Sucked in by sex, he’d agreed.
Yet once he’d hit the city limits, he’d never looked back. He’d made a whopper of a mistake. The consequences of a single mattress wedged in the back of his van and a date willing to have sex had come back to haunt him now.
He’d never planned to hurt Mary. She was like a daisy, all sweet and pretty. Homegrown.
He’d had no idea then that a field of blooming wildflowers was waiting for him in the big, bad world ahead. Curvy women. Tall and fine. With big boobs and a hunger for ballplayers that wouldn’t quit.
So many wanted him.
He wanted them right back.
Over the years, he hadn’t been faithful. No way in hell. He’d never considered himself tied down to Mary. Especially after he’d gone to college and she’d found work at Pop’s Bowling Alley.
He couldn’t help smiling when he told Law how Mary had a God-given talent for judging shoe size. She would hand a customer his bowling shoes after one glance at his feet. All feet except Brody’s. She always teased him about them, not having shoes wide enough for his flat feet.
“While Mary served up shoes and strawberry soft serve, I got drafted into the minors.” Brody pushed his plate away from him. It was common knowledge that he’d been brought up to the majors upon Zen Driscoll’s retirement. “Now she’s come to claim what she thinks is hers. Me.”
Law cut a glance at the waitress. “Mary’s pretty and she’s here now,” he said. “Deal with her. Don’t forget who you were, Brody. Your past brought you to your present. Stop believing your own press.”