“ Yo, Mitchie. You rocked out there.”
Denny O’Malley’s compliment made Jason smile as he emerged from the shower, knotting a towel around his waist as he walked to his locker. Feelings of invincibility were singing through his veins, making him hyperalert. He was sure he could hear every conversation taking place. He had dressed and was just removing his lucky gold cross from around his neck when Ty came up and patted him on the back.
“Good game, Mitchell.”
Jason nodded humbly. “Thanks, Coach.”
Ty raised an eyebrow. “Trying to prove something?”
“Just to myself, Coach.”
“Well, keep up the good work.”
Jason watched Ty walk away. “You da man,” he whispered to himself. He’d restored himself in his coach’s eyes. He couldn’t wait to get back to New York. He was going to find every newspaper clipping he could get about his on-ice performance, and he was going to tape them to Eric’s apartment door. Then he was going to share his triumph with Delilah over coffee.
“Stanley, down!”
Delilah shook her head in disbelief as she commanded Stanley off her couch for the second time. The first time it happened, it shocked her. Hadn’t Jason been working with him on this? The second time it happened, she was in the kitchen putting an empty bowl of popcorn in the sink. When she came back, Stanley was beside Marcus on the sofa, nose sniffing the popcorn-scented air.
“Honey, that dog is allergic to the floor,” said Marcus. Delilah watched as Stanley tried to slink his way into her bedroom, only to be stopped at the bedroom door by Shiloh, who emitted a low growl. Stanley looked puzzled, turned, and headed straight for Delilah.
Delilah knelt in front of him. “I need you to be a good boy, Stan, okay?” Stan’s breath on her face was warm and yeasty. His tongue flicked out to lick her cheek, and Delilah wrapped her arms around his neck. “You can’t deny Newfs are great for hugging,” she said to Marcus.
“Nor can you deny Miss Shirley MacLaine is the greatest actress ever.” Marcus pointed the remote at Delilah’s TV, and the DVD player spat out The Turning Point.
“Put on ESPN a minute, will you?” Delilah asked.
Marcus cupped his left ear. “Excuse me, what did you just say? I could have sworn you just asked me to put on ESPN.”
Delilah frowned. “Don’t get surly with me, Marcus. Just do as I asked. Please.”
“Your wish is my command, madam.” Marcus pressed a bunch of buttons on the remote, and three men in suits talking loudly appeared on the screen. Delilah had no idea who they were or who they were talking about. She waited patiently for one of the men to say the word “NHL.” Then she listened closely.
“The New York Blades beat San Diego tonight in a two-nothing win,” said one of the newscasters, a tackily dressed man with a greasy mullet and thick Canadian accent.
“Huzzah!” mocked Marcus. Delilah shot him a look.
“I think the Blades are going to find Jason Mitchell is worth every penny of his three million dollars a year contract,” the mullet man continued.
“Three million dollars?!” Marcus rasped. “Honey, if you won’t have coffee with him, I will!”
“You can turn it off now.” Delilah knew it was silly, but hearing that Jason had done well on the ice made her feel proud. It had dawned on her earlier in the evening that if she followed what was going on with the Blades, she’d have something to talk to Jason about when they had coffee. Her elation over his gift had worn off, replaced by a terror of being tongue-tied. To keep fear at bay, she’d started making a list of potential conversation points in her mind. So far she’d come up with Stanley, hockey, and whether he was enjoying New York. She would keep her questions and comments as simple as possible to prevent herself from lapsing into incoherence.
“When’s he due back?” Marcus asked.
“Late Sunday night. He said he’d come by for Stan Monday morning.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Which means we’re going to put on a little makeup that morning, aren’t we? Maybe do up our hair nice and purty?”
“God, you’re worse than my mother!”
“No one is worse than your mother, Delilah, but that’s beside the point. Don’t you want to seal the deal?”
“What I want is for you to leave so I can walk these monsters and get to bed. I’m exhausted.”
Shiloh trotted into the kitchen to get some water. The minute the coast was clear, Stanley shot into Delilah’s bedroom. Sighing, Delilah followed, flipping on the bedroom light. Stanley was up on her bed, his tail wagging happily as he waited for her to join him.
Marcus appeared in the doorway. “What a good boy! He’s warming the bed for his master.”
Delilah spun Marcus around and pointed him toward her front door. “Leave. Now.”
Marcus thrust out his lower lip. “But Marcus wants to watch the little woman try to get the big dog off the lumpy bed.”
Delilah scowled. “Out. Now. And my bed isn’t lumpy.”
“Hmm,” said Marcus, planting a kiss on her cheek as he headed out the door, “I’ll have to remember to ask Stan about that next week.”
It dawned on Delilah, as she gave her doorman the go ahead to allow Jason upstairs to pick up Stanley, that he’d never been to her apartment before. All their previous meetings had taken place either at his place or in the park. Worried that he might think it a bit too unkempt, she hurriedly gathered up her dogs’ toys and stashed them in the wicker basket in the corner, then folded into a neat square the fleece blanket she liked to snuggle under on the couch. There was nothing she could do about the current dog population, though; in addition to Stanley, she was boarding three other dogs, bringing the total to seven. All had been fed, walked, and were now settled down for their midmorning snooze. It was doubtful Stanley would be alone in greeting his master when he arrived; the other boarders were likely to want to check him out, too. Delilah hoped he didn’t mind.
“Hey.” Jason sounded relaxed as Delilah ushered him inside.
At the sound of his voice, Stanley drowsily lifted his head, then scrambled to his feet and headed straight for the door, followed by Delilah’s other three canine guests, who pressed and sniffed and nosed Jason’s jeans.
“Hello, guys. Nice to meet you, too. Now where’s my buddy?”
Stanley was so excited by the sight of Jason he was going around in circles.
“There’s my man.” Jason knelt to let Stanley feverishly lick his face in an overwhelming show of affection. Delilah’s heart melted as Jason closed his eyes, letting Stanley moisten his cheeks, his forehead, even his eyelids. Was there anything sexier than a man who loved his dog?
Delilah knew that if it were up to Stanley, he’d happily lick away forever, so she wasn’t surprised when Jason eventually rose to his feet. The contented smile on his face was proof he was just as happy to see Stanley as Stanley was to see him.
“Was he a good boy?” Jason asked.
“Define good.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I guess you haven’t yet trained Stanley not to climb up on the furniture?”
“Yeah, I kinda meant to talk to you about that.” There was a hint of the naughty boy in his apologetic expression that made it hard for Delilah to be cross with him.
“What did you kinda want to say to me about it?” she replied.
“I kinda like having him on the couch with me.”
“But that’s kinda not good behavior. And I kinda can’t have him doing that while he’s boarding here, since the other dogs are kinda not allowed to.”
“What if he kinda didn’t do it when he stayed here, but when it’s just him and me at home, he kinda can. I’m kinda used to having him stretched out on the bed with me, you know?”
“But what if one night you—”
Delilah clamped down on her tongue and stared down at Stanley. Jason has no idea how that sentence was going to end, she told herself as she avoided Jason’s eyes. No idea at all. Realizing
she couldn’t stare at the dog forever, she eventually made herself look up. Jason’s expression was flirtatious. So much for her assumption he lacked basic powers of deduction.
“What if one night I what?” Jason murmured.
“Nothing,” Delilah said. “It’s—nothing. Really nothing.”
“It’s okay.” Jason sounded as if he were trying to coax someone off a ledge.
“I’m not nuts!” Delilah barked.
“I know that.”
“I just get nervous.”
“I know that, too. But there’s no reason to be.” His smile was gentle. “Have you given any thought to coffee?”
Delilah clasped her hands in front of her to keep them still. “Coffee would be nice.” There. That sounded sane. “That was so sweet of you to get that coffee press and everything.”
Jason looked pleased. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“No one’s ever given me a gift like that before. Coffee, I mean.”
“Well, it’s not every day I give a girl a New York Blades mug.”
“Oh! Speaking of hockey, congrats on winning in San Diego and L.A. and sorry about Anaheim,” Delilah said in a rush. Immediately she wondered if she should have waited until they actually had coffee to bring it up; now they’d have one less thing to talk about, and she’d have to think of something else to hold his attention. But judging from how impressed Jason looked, maybe bringing it up now wasn’t such a bad idea.
“You’ve been following the scores?”
“Yes. I mean I heard it on the TV. I mean, okay, yes, out of curiosity, yes.”
“Would you like to come to a game sometime?”
“Maybe.”
“Great!” Jason’s whole face lit up. Delilah couldn’t believe that she, Delilah Gould from Roslyn, New York, could be responsible for such a flash of happiness. It boggled her mind.
“So, coffee?” he nudged.
“Yes.”
“Here? Or my place?”
Delilah thought a moment. Her place was okay, except the dogs could be demanding. And clients called her cell a lot. And what if her mother called and made some comment about her hockey player boyfriend and Jason heard it and then she had to strangle herself with one of the dogs’ leashes because she was so humiliated? “I think your place might be better. Quieter.” She gestured at the menagerie behind her.
“That’s fine. How about tomorrow night?”
Tomorrow night? Delilah had been picturing them sipping coffee at Jason’s as morning sunlight filtered through the windows he really needed to get blinds for. When she was really feeling racy, she’d picture them lingering over steaming mugs in the late afternoon. But never night. Night-sipping had a completely different set of connotations.
“I can’t tomorrow night,” she said, which was true. “I’m having dinner with my dad.”
Jason looked interested. “What does he do?”
“He’s a businessman on Long Island,” she said, deliberately vague. Now wasn’t the time to tell him her father was Sy Gould, Long Island’s Mattress Maven. “I could do Wednesday night, though,” she offered. In her head she heard Gemma’s voice telling her to stop being so afraid.
Jason was frowning. “I have a game on Wednesday. Thursday?”
Delilah nodded. “Thursday’s good.”
“Seven?” Jason asked.
“Seven’s fine.” Delilah bent over and kissed the top of Stanley’s head. “See you Thursday night, big boy.”
“Don’t I get a kiss, too?”
Was he kidding? Delilah checked his expression. No, he wasn’t. He looked like a guy who really wanted to be kissed. At least, she thought he did. Not that she was at all certain what guys looked like when they wanted to be kissed. Though if she was certain, she was pretty sure they’d look like Jason. Oh, for pity’s sake, just do it!
Delilah leaned in, planting a chaste but lingering kiss on his lips. She liked the way he smelled. Maybe they could talk about that over coffee. “I like your cologne,” she’d say, sipping demurely. “Oh, thank you,” he’d reply huskily. “I put it on just for you.” Then—
“Delilah?”
Delilah blinked. “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about all the stuff I have to do today.”
“You and me both.” Jason fastened Stan’s leash to his collar and opened the door. “So, I’ll see you Thursday around seven.”
“Yup,” Delilah chirped.
The minute she closed the door behind them, her heart began to pound.
“He likes me!” she announced giddily to the snoring dogs. Little Belle opened her good eye and looked at her a moment, then yawned before returning to sleep. Pretty boring news for a dog. But to Delilah, it was the most exciting thing in the world.
CHAPTER 08
“There’s my pussycat.”
Delilah pasted the best smile she could onto her face as she made her way to her father’s table at Ming Dynasty, his favorite restaurant. She’d been looking forward to seeing him, though the reason for their dinner date was less appealing: she was there to meet her father’s new fiancée, Brandi.
At least it’s not Junie, Delilah thought to herself as her father rose to kiss her cheek. After vociferously defending him against her mother’s charge of infidelity with his secretary, the last thing she wanted was to be wrong. Her mother would never let her live it down.
“Look at you.” No sooner had her father kissed her than his face contorted with consternation. “You’re thin as a rail! Let’s sit down and get some egg drop soup into you.”
Delilah complied, sitting to her father’s left. In her mother’s eyes, she always weighed too much. In her father’s, too little. She wondered if she really was thin, or if her father was just saying so out of force of habit. Even when she was younger, she’d never been entirely sure if he meant it, or if it was just a way to oppose and aggravate her mother.
“Where’s Brandi?” she asked.
“Powdering her nose. She’s so excited to meet you, you don’t know.”
Delilah manufactured another smile. “Powdering her nose” . . . what an antiquated expression. Then again, some people would say her father was antiquated, despite being robust for his sixty-seven years. Always concerned about him, Delilah discreetly looked him over. He appeared happy and healthy, his glowing complexion enhanced by the perpetual tan he maintained courtesy of TanFastic, a tanning salon he was half owner of. Delilah had been warning him for years about the dangers of skin cancer, but her father refused to listen. Eventually, Delilah gave up. There was no convincing Sy Gould he was mortal.
Delilah’s father eyed his Rolex. “What the hell’s taking her so long?” he grumbled.
“There’s no hurry, Dad,” Delilah assured him, glancing around the restaurant. The decor hadn’t changed in decades: same black lacquer tables, same sad paper lanterns. When Delilah was small, she loved coming here with her parents, eagerly anticipating cracking open her fortune cookie after dinner. By the time she was in her early teens, she dreaded it: her mother would always send something back, claiming it was too hot, too cold, too spicy, or not spicy enough. Her father would get annoyed, and the bickering would begin.
“Here she comes,” Delilah’s father announced.
Delilah turned in the direction of the ladies’ room, unprepared for the sight of the very young, very buxom, and very blonde woman wiggling her way toward the table. She was twenty if she was a day, with blinding white teeth and a tan as natural as her father’s.
“Leelee,” he said to Delilah proudly, “I want you to meet my soul mate, Brandi.”
“Hello.” Delilah extended her hand, shocked when Brandi enfolded her in an embrace.
“Leelee!” Her voice reminded Delilah of Minnie Mouse. The temptation to tell her that only her parents were allowed to call her by her childhood nickname was strong, but Delilah resisted, not wanting to sound peevish. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Your daddy talks about you all the time!”
Does he talk about the
fact I’m probably almost ten years older than you? Delilah wondered.
“Sit, sit,” her father enjoined. They all sat. Her father’s face remained animated as he clasped each of the women’s hands. “My two best gals,” he gushed. “Can I tell you how happy this makes me?”
Brandi smiled at Delilah. Delilah smiled back, wondering if it would look suspicious if she excused herself so she could call Marcus to tell him her father was engaged to a Bratz doll.
A waiter appeared at the table to take drink orders. Delilah, who rarely drank, ordered a gin and tonic. Her father and Brandi both ordered extra-dry martinis. Brandi was looking at her expectantly. Delilah took that to mean she was supposed to get the ball rolling.
“How did you meet my dad?”
“Well, I went into Mattress Maven because I needed a new mattress—”
“The Syosset store, not the one in Levittown,” her father added as if it made a difference.
“And your dad was there. We got to talking, and both of us could tell there was chemistry there, you know?”
“Especially after I sold her the Sealy Posturepedic Dream, extra firm,” her father chuckled.
“Then,” Brandi continued in her high-pitched voice, “I invited him to come for a free facial at the spalon where I work.”
“Spalon?”
“Oh, it’s a combo salon and spa,” Brandi explained helpfully.
“Gotcha.”
“Anyway, Sy went in the sauna, and I gave him his facial, and the rest, as they say, is history.” She beamed adoringly at Delilah’s father before reaching across to grasp Delilah’s hand, the giant engagement ring on her finger nearly blinding Delilah as it caught the light. “I love your daddy so, so much.”
I bet you love his bank account even more, Delilah thought angrily. Her heart was racing. She loved her father and hated to see him being taken advantage of by this gold digger with a voice that could drive dogs insane.
Delilah took a sip of her drink, striving for calm. Don’t judge yet, she admonished. Maybe Brandi really does love him, despite his tacky TV commercials and old-man boobs and pinky ring. After all, you love him. Yes, but he’s my father! An image forced its way into her mind of a naked Brandi bouncing happily atop her father in bed. Delilah shuddered. It was no big mystery why her father would love Brandi: she allowed him the illusion of eternal youth and virility. She didn’t want to think about how much he had to be spending on Viagra.
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