Just Come Over

by James, Rosalind

  Rhys said, “You don’t need to know the details.” He did his three more reps and got to his feet, possibly not as smoothly as he ever had in his life. Tonight, he and Casey were keeping to the schedule. Home, dinner, bath, bed. He needed sleep, and so did she.

  Finn tossed him a towel. “Does Zora know the truth?”

  Rhys buried his face in white cotton, then scrubbed the rough fabric over his head. “No. Hasn’t she had enough to cope with?”

  “The whanau? Victoria?”

  “No. My name’s on there. I’m the dad. And as for the rest—I’m still waiting for all the dominoes to fall. It’ll happen, no worries.”

  “But you didn’t know before.”

  “If I’d known before,” Rhys said, the anger rising on the words as he tossed the towel into the barrel, “I’d have made sure Dylan did better. He never even saw her. Didn’t make arrangements for her. It’s two and a half years now.”

  He was furious. He was filthy. And he had nobody to take it out on. Why hadn’t Dylan told him? He could have handled it, then. He could have taken care of all of it. Casey’s mum would never have been hit in that crossing, wouldn’t have been running from one job to the next, trying to keep the two of them afloat.

  “He’d have had to tell you, though, to make arrangements,” Finn said. And, yes, that was probably why Dylan hadn’t. “Or Zora, but more likely you. Always one for skating away from the tough ones, Dylan.”

  “I’m in the showers,” Rhys said, and walked away.

  When they were changing, though, his body settling down into the shaky-gelatin aftermath of a hard workout, calming his mind, he asked Finn the important question, at least for now. “If you know, who else will?”

  “Nobody,” Finn said. “They’ll be surprised, maybe. Think less of you, probably.”

  “Cheers,” Rhys said, pulling a clean T-shirt over his head and tugging it down. “I think I knew that.”

  “I think you did, too,” Finn said. “And that you did it anyway. Nobody’s going to suss out the truth, though. It won’t occur to them that there’s another explanation, because nobody but you would do this. Character is destiny. That’s what they say. Could be true.”

  This conversation was making Rhys itchy. Besides, he needed to go get Casey. First day of Year Two, where you had to read big words, and she wouldn’t know any of the kids. Maybe he wanted to see Zora as well, or maybe he just needed to get out of here. “Not true,” he said, tossed another towel, and laced up his shoes. “You’d have done it.”

  “Nah, mate,” Finn said. “I don’t think so. In fact, I know so. I’ve come up short on tests heaps easier than this one. I think this is all you.”

  Feeding Rhys and Casey on Wednesday night had been fine, Zora thought on Friday. It had been the right thing to do, and it was good for her to get used to being around Rhys anyway. Maybe then her heart wouldn’t start pounding just at the sight of him coming up her walk, his long legs eating up the ground like he’d rather be running, or like he was eager to get here. To collect Casey, of course. Or at the way he’d looked last night walking out to the car again, holding Casey’s hand while she skipped along beside him. What was it about a dad and his little girl that made you go all goopy inside?

  However much of a reluctant, uninvolved dad and lying, cheating bastard he’d been? Yeh, there was that.

  At the moment, she was studying her appearance in the bedroom mirror, touching up her eye makeup, slicking on ruby lipstick she’d bought specially for the occasion, wondering if it was too obvious a shade, rumpling her hair a bit more, and trying not to feel either (A) cross, (B) jumpy, or (C) stupid, with approximately (0) success.

  She wasn’t used to trying to look sexy. Was this the right amount of it? For that matter, was the idea of her looking sexy ridiculous under any conditions? She had no idea anymore. She wished she could ask somebody.

  Elegance, she’d reckoned, and not much skin showing. Especially not if that skin might be striped by a few silvery stretch marks.

  Including on her breasts. And Alistair was a plastic surgeon.

  Gah.

  Getting used to Rhys being around was one thing, but that he was here for this? Damn Hayden for inviting him to stay to help babysit. Her brother had done it for mischief, she’d swear it.

  Never mind. She’d said yes to Alistair, so ready or not, here she went. She wasn’t getting naked in front of anybody tonight anyway. Call it a dry run. She gave a final tweak to her skirt and headed out into the lounge.

  The kids didn’t look up from their cards. Hayden did, though, and so did Rhys, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. Rhys, not Hayden. His hard face had gone even harder, back to that stony expression she remembered from their first meeting, when she’d thought he didn’t like her, or he didn’t approve of her. She’d seen that expression enough in the following years to recognize it, and she was seeing it again now.

  Well, bugger that. She wasn’t twenty years old, she’d been the best wife she could manage, she wasn’t married anymore, and she wasn’t begging for Rhys Fletcher’s approval.

  Hayden whistled, and the kids finally quit studying their cards and looked up, too.

  “Very nice,” her brother said. “On the hot side for a first date, though. The absolutely first date, in fact,” he told Rhys, “believe it or not. How many years has it been since your last first date, Zora? Ten? Eleven?”

  She knew which emotion she was feeling now. It was cross. Why did he have to share? “I do not look that hot,” she said, and forced herself not to make it a question. She glanced at Rhys, but he wasn’t telling, so she went to “defiant” instead. A much more comfortable spot than “scream and run.” She told Hayden, “You’re the one who said I should get out there again. Red’s the best color for a first date. I read it online. You’re not used to seeing me in heels, that’s all.” The dress might be sleeveless and the bodice fitted, but the neckline was square and not very low, and the skirt didn’t hit very far at all above her knees. “I can’t wear anything longer or fuller, and you know it. It would swallow me up.” She tried to pretend that Rhys wasn’t listening. It wasn’t easy. “I’m short, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m not wearing stilettos, and kitten heels are on nobody’s list of erotic attire. Also—cardigan.” She slipped into the cropped blush-pink sweater. “Practically office wear, except for the dangly earrings. In fact, that’s what he’ll probably think. ‘Why didn’t she change her clothes, at least?’”

  Hayden’s glance at Rhys was pure mischief. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” Rhys said, “that if she were in my office, I wouldn’t be getting any work done.”

  He was still staring at her. Was this too much? She’d thought it was perfect. She’d looked it up. The dress wasn’t fire-engine red. It was closer to burgundy, and although the fabric was on the silky side, it wasn’t skin-tight. Surely men weren’t that single-minded, anyway.

  “You don’t work in an office, Uncle Rhys,” Isaiah said. “You work with all men. Also, Saturday night is when people go out on dates, and rugby games are always on Saturday nights. Sometimes they go on Friday nights, too, but it’s Friday night now, and you’re not on a date.”

  “Sounds like you know, mate,” Rhys said. He had that not-smiling-but-amused look on his face again, at least, instead of the stoniness.

  “Because my dad said it to my mum once. She asked him to take her on a date and he said no, because of rugby. He said, ‘Can’t take you Friday, and can’t take you Saturday. Both date nights are out, and all I want to do on Sunday is put my feet up and have you cook me dinner. D’you mind if we just stay in?’” Another thing Zora could have lived without Rhys hearing. Isaiah wasn’t done, either. He asked Hayden, “What’s ‘erotic’?”

  “Sexy,” Hayden said.

  Isaiah made a face. “Yuck.”

  “Hmm,” Hayden said, his eyes lit with mischief again. “I think Uncle Rhys goes out on dates. I’m guessing he’s somewhat of an exper
t in that area, in fact. He seems to be saying you look hot, Zora. Good news, unless it’s not.”

  Casey said, “It’s your turn,” with a nudge at Rhys’s leg, because she was on the floor and he was on the couch.

  He shoved a handful of Jaffas into the middle of the coffee table without looking at his cards, then tossed in two pineapple lumps and said, “I raise you two lumps.”

  Isaiah sighed and shook his head.

  “What?” Rhys asked.

  “I don’t think you’ve got good enough cards for betting that much,” Isaiah said. “I think I’m going to win.”

  “Excuse me?” Rhys asked. “Who learned how to play poker tonight, and who’s spent half his life in hotel rooms with nothing else to do?”

  “I don’t think you were very good at it,” Isaiah said. “I see your two pineapple lumps and raise you three more. That’s fifty points,” he told Casey. “You should only bet that if you have very good cards. Do you want me to look at them and tell you what to do?”

  “Yes,” Casey said. “Because I forget.”

  Isaiah scooted over and studied her cards. “You should fold. That means stop and lay down your cards.”

  “But then I’ll lose all my candy,” she protested.

  “You’re going to lose your candy anyway,” he said. “Except it’s called ‘lollies.’ My hand’s better than yours, so I’m going to win. You still have more lollies left, though, and besides, I’ll share with you.”

  Hayden sighed and muttered, “Ringers. I’m surrounded by ringers. I fold.” He tossed down his hand, and Isaiah gave a satisfied smile. His hand was practically poised over the pile of lollies in the middle of the table. Black licorice, chocolate Jaffas, pink marshmallows, and pineapple lumps. The stakes.

  “Do you want to fold, too, Uncle Rhys?” he asked politely. “Or do you want to bet some more?”

  The doorbell rang, and Zora jumped. Literally. Why was she so bloody nervous? Also, why did she want to get onto the floor, sit back on her knees, and have her card-shark son deal her in instead of going on this date?

  Hayden said, “That’s either the pizza or the plastic surgeon. I wonder which.”

  It was the plastic surgeon. Zora brought him into the lounge, and Rhys relaxed his hands, shuffled the cards, and wondered for the hundredth time why he’d accepted Hayden’s invitation. He had a game to coach tomorrow night, pizza still wasn’t on his diet plan, despite the way it kept appearing in his life, and he wouldn’t have called himself a masochist. Before.

  He kept his eyes off Zora’s soft mass of dark hair, and all the way off the deep-red lipstick that emphasized her full lips. Any man who looked at that mouth across a dinner table would be imagining kissing the lipstick slowly off of her. Unless he was thinking about the traces she could leave on him, and all the places he wanted to see that mouth go.

  Unfortunately, if he didn’t look at her eyes or her mouth, or at her breasts, he had to look at her pretty legs, or at those shoes. They were chocolate-colored suede, the heel was narrow, and a wide strap ran diagonally across the instep, from the pointed toe nearly to the curve at the back. Whatever she said, anything “kitten” was sexy as hell, and those shoes were . . . He forgot to think what.

  Her feet were small, like the rest of her. He wondered if she’d painted her toenails to match her lipstick. You could hold one of her slim ankles with one hand, while the other slipped that shoe right off her foot. After that, you could do the other one. Her legs were bare, her skirt was short, and . . .

  He wanted to tell her that, yes, everything about her look was too sexy for a first date, or any date. He wanted to shove this fella out the door and tell Hayden to take over the kid-minding duties. After that, he wanted to take Zora out someplace where the lights were low and the tablecloths were white, watch her drink a couple glasses of deep-red wine, open her car door for her, drive her somewhere dark and out of the way, turn the radio to something low and slow, and find out how long it would take him to kiss off all that red lipstick, and how much he could make her sigh while he did it.

  He wanted to make out with his sister-in-law in the back of a car. He wanted to do more than that. Also, he hated the plastic surgeon on sight. He was wearing a perfectly tailored deep-gray suit and white dress shirt, his black shoes were beautifully polished, and he clearly didn’t care that he was balding, because his hair was cut short and made no attempt to disguise his V-shaped hairline. Despite a skinny build that would go down in the first tackle and stay down, he looked like a man who’d done everything he could to make an impression on a woman, and who was confident he could do it. He was also eating Zora up, virtually speaking, in a way that told Rhys what kind of impression he’d like her to make on him. Which had to do with that mouth, because that was what he was staring at.

  Why were you so rarely allowed to throw a punch, or even to raise your voice, in social settings? That was a decided drawback to modern life.

  Zora was introducing him and Hayden, and Rhys shook hands with the bloke and didn’t squeeze too hard, because that was a dick move. Nobody said he had to smile, though. The guy’s name was Alistair. He even sounded like a plastic surgeon.

  “Where are you two off to?” Hayden asked brightly. “Better be someplace good enough for my sister. That’s me coming over all big-brotherly, even though I’m younger, and even though that’s Rhys as well, and he’d probably do it better. Wait. He’d definitely do it better. Jump in here anytime, mate.”

  Rhys didn’t.

  Alistair blinked, but said, “I booked us into Sid at the French Café. That suit you?” he asked Zora. “And by the way—you look very beautiful.”

  Which was what Rhys should have said, instead of staring at her and then looking away again and not saying anything at all. “Thank you,” she said. “That sounds lovely. I’ve heard the food’s gorgeous.” She was flustered, he thought. As if he’d summoned the idea, she glanced at him, then away, and her hand went up to smooth her hair. “Also,” she told Alistair, “Rhys isn’t my brother. He’s my brother-in-law. My late husband’s brother.”

  “Oh,” Alistair said. “The reason for the surname being the same. I recognized the name, and you, of course,” he told Rhys. “But I didn’t realize . . .” He shifted tack like the smooth bastard he was. “That you were a widow, Zora.”

  “Yes,” Zora said. She picked up her evening bag from the coffee table and bent and kissed Isaiah and then, after a second, Casey, who didn’t seem to mind a bit. “Don’t stay up too late,” she told them. “Also—four lollies max. After pizza.”

  “Mum.” Isaiah sighed. “I won them.”

  “And yet four is still your maximum,” she said. “Because I’m the mum. See you later.”

  A couple hours later, Hayden stood up, stretched, and said, “I’m not saying you’re boring, mate, but it’s barely nine o’clock, I’m falling asleep here, and it’s Friday night. Why does Zora’s life always make me feel like I’ve skipped a few decades and am suddenly fifty and wearing a sweater vest?”

  “If you’re asking me if you can leave,” Rhys said, “the answer’s ‘yes.’ I’ll stay.”

  “I told Zora I’d mind Isaiah, of course,” Hayden said in a musing sort of way. “On the other hand, they’re both asleep, and Casey is your daughter, isn’t she?”

  His brown eyes were shrewd, but Rhys didn’t take the bait, just stared calmly back and said, “Yes.”

  “Then,” Hayden said, “I think I’ll leave. See ya. Tell Zora I’ll expect a post-mortem tomorrow. What d’you reckon he makes a major move? The plaid shorts threw me off initially, but seen in his natural element, I’m getting a different vibe. Zora’s such a baby. The article probably said men liked red dresses best, not that you should wear a red dress. It was short as well. Why won’t she ever ask for my advice? The mind boggles. And I’m off.”

  Rhys thought, Good, and pulled out his notebook. He needed to organize his mind before the game. Perfect opportunity.

  This time, Cas
ey had agreed to spend the night. They’d played poker until the pizza was gone, by which point, Isaiah had won all Rhys’s lollies anyway, and was well on his way to winning Hayden’s. He only hadn’t won Casey’s because he’d helped her keep them. After that, Isaiah had said, while Rhys loaded dishes into the dishwasher, “If you stay over, Casey, we can watch a movie until bedtime. You can borrow my PJs that are too small. They’re Star Wars.”

  She looked at Rhys, and he said, “It’s your choice. We can go home now if you’d rather.”

  She said, “Will you come and get me tomorrow?”

  “Yeh,” he said. “I will.”

  “Do you promise?”

  His heart did that squeezing thing again. “I promise. And I keep my promises. You’ll see.”

  “I have to stay here tomorrow night,” she said, “because you have to do your job.”

  “That’s right. Tomorrow, though, we’ll bring your own PJs. For tonight, you can choose. We’ll go home now and put you to bed—straight to bed—or you can stay up a bit longer, watch a movie with Isaiah, and do a practice run at staying over.”

  She chose to stay, “because Isaiah has cartoon movies, and you don’t.” Fair point.

  At least they didn’t have to watch Moana again. Casey had been fairly devastated last night, in the form of her face crumpling up in the way Rhys couldn’t stand, to find that her Moana DVD wouldn’t play in New Zealand. They’d had to go out after dinner—the night when he’d planned on both of them being in bed by eight-thirty—to hunt down a region-friendly copy, and then she’d had to watch it, “to make sure it works.” She’d looked too small sitting on the couch alone, her second night in his house, which had meant he’d had to watch it with her, which hadn’t been the plan at all. They’d both fallen asleep on the couch, but she’d felt relaxed in his arms this time, which was surely better.

  Never mind. She’d slept in her own bed, eventually, and he’d slept in his. That was a start. He’d begin instilling discipline next week, when she was used to him, and they had their routine down.