by Impulsive
Jess laughed. "Hardly! It's another of my favorite acronyms, like wagara. The letters stand for Pain in the Ass, which, come to think of it, describes you to perfection."
CHAPTER 4
"Good grief! That doctor must have really stretched you out when he delivered you! How ungodly tall are you, anyway?"
Jess scowled down at the buxom shrimp seated next to her at the table. "Tall enough to tell that your hairdresser isn't the only one who knows you're not naturally blond," she retorted tartly. If the little cheerleader could be catty, Jess had no qualms about dishing it right back.
From her other side, Ty abruptly popped a wad of his pizza into Jess's mouth. "Here, honey, try some of mine. I ordered extra cheese."
It was shut up and chew, or choke. Jess chewed.
Across from Jess, a statuesque black woman, the undeniably gorgeous wife of one of the players, and a famous fashion model in her own right, leaned forward and said, "Don't mind Heidi, Jess. Besides being defensive because she's the shortest cheerleader on the squad, she thinks she's Hitler in disguise."
Jess still couldn't get over the incredible names of the team cheerleaders. There was Heidi, of course, and Starr, and Destiny, and Pepper, and Jazz, all of whom were present this evening. She had yet to meet the other half of the squad, which consisted of Candy, Shasta, Tawna, Desiree, and last but not least, the inevitable Bambi. Not a Mary or Linda or Susan among them, which led Jess to the conclusion that many of their names must be made up, like those chosen by actors and singers and popular deejays. Or perhaps a few were nicknames.
At least the majority of the other women dating or married to the guys on the team had what Jess considered normal names. There was Corey Rome, the model, Lisa Harvey, Shannon Baxter, Amanda Orwig, Beth Chambers, Kim Hardesty, Michelle Tanner, and Tara Jones. Most appeared nice enough at first meeting. Just a couple of them struck Jess as a bit standoffish, or perhaps they were merely shy. Of the five cheerleaders, only Heidi and Starr had put on airs thus far. Destiny came across as slightly ditzy, but amicable. Jazz nearly bubbled over with energy and talked practically nonstop. Pepper had a low, raspy voice and a delightfully lusty laugh to match, one of those contagious laughs that made you join right in despite yourself.
As Tom would have expressed it, and as was to be expected, all the cheerleaders had figures like brick outhouses, with all the bricks in the right places. Busty, beautiful, and built. The other women weren't slouches, either, by anyone's estimation. In fact, Jess knew beyond a doubt that she was less attractive than any one of them—even Tara Jones, who was eight months pregnant, and timid little Beth Chambers, who acted as if she wouldn't say boo to a goose.
But Jess was used to being the odd girl out. After all, she'd been thrust into that role for most of her life. Since childhood, she'd towered over her female classmates, and many of the boys as well. Too tall, too skinny, with braces on her teeth and blah-brown, baby-fine hair, she'd slouched through her teen years—mostly in a vain effort to disguise not only her height, but the fact that while other girls were sprouting breasts, hers more resembled grapes. Even now they were more like poached eggs than those succulent fruits to which romance writers always compared their heroine's breasts. Unless you counted a pair of puny tangerines, perhaps.
It wasn't until she'd gone to college, and found her niche on the women's soccer team, that Jess had begun to blossom. There, she'd learned to appreciate her latent athletic talent, her intelligence, and her innate sense of humor, and to focus on her assets instead of her shortcomings. She'd made new friends, both male and female, and by the time she graduated with a bachelor's degree in journalism and communications, she'd grown into a new sense of herself as a valid, valuable person.
Happily, she'd soon found her way into investigative reporting, and had done so well at it, from behind the scenes, that she was now free-lancing on a regular basis for several major network news/magazine programs. These days, it didn't matter so much that she was plain. She had her work, which was satisfying and exciting, she had good friends, a nice apartment... her own place in the world. She was content, for now. At least she had been before she'd had the misfortune to fall into Ty James's arms and start daydreaming again about things that could never be.
"How did you and Ty meet?" This from Corey Rome.
"Uh, we sort of bumped into each other at the stadium one day," Jess ad-libbed.
"I've seen you around there a couple of times," Jazz commented. "Aren't you some relation to Tom Nelson, or something?"
"Jess is a reporter," Ty put in hastily. "She's going to be doing a big story on the Knights."
"Is that right?" Dino Sherwood leaned past his tablemates to look down the long table at Jess. "Does this mean we're gonna get our pretty mugs in the paper?"
Jess shook her head, but before Dino's good mood had a chance to evaporate completely, she told him, "More likely on television. I often free-lance for the major networks, and they usually like whatever ideas I present to them. If I can get a good angle on the newest NFL expansion team, its players and their backgrounds, I could quite possibly sell it to the national sports network."
"Hey! That'd be great!" another player exclaimed. "Then my boys could brag about their old man to their new classmates and the neighbors. They're kind of the new kids on the block right now, and they could use some clout in their corner."
"I know the feeling," Jess commiserated. "Maybe we can include them in the piece, too, if it doesn't run too long."
From there, to both Ty and Jess's relief, the talk revolved around the Knights and this latest project of Jess's, instead of her personal life and her fictitious alliance with Ty.
Jess shut her apartment door behind her and immediately sagged against its sturdy panel for support. This had to qualify as one of the longest, most stressful evenings of her life, and she was so darned glad it was over that she could have cried. But that would only have made her tension headache throb even worse, not to mention clogging up her sinuses.
Her head wasn't the only thing aching, either. She'd be lucky if her ankle wasn't black and blue by morning. Every time Ty had thought she might say something out of line, or blurt out some bit of information she shouldn't that would make a lie of their pretense, he had nudged her with his foot to keep her quiet. After a dozen or so times, even the rubber sole of his sport shoe had felt like a sledge hammer. In retaliation, she'd taken to surreptitiously ramming her elbow into his rib cage. She sincerely hoped he was hurting at least as badly as she was, the rotten rat!
Slowly, so as not to jar her head, Jess made her way down the hall into her bedroom. After ridding herself of her clothes, she went into the adjoining bathroom, popped three aspirin and took a long, hot shower. Attired in her cotton Ohio State University nightshirt, she was brushing her teeth when she heard a familiar mechanical sound from the spare bedroom, which she used as her office. It was her fax machine, printing out a message.
Curious as to who would be faxing her at this hour, she ambled barefoot into the office. There were already four sheets of copied pages lining the tray, and another still printing. Plucking them up, she scanned them, and just as swiftly felt her temper rising to the boiling point. That blasted ape! That bossy, arrogant snot! How dare he presume to dictate to her! And how had Tyler James gotten her fax number, anyway? She hadn't even given him her regular phone number, or her address. If she had to hazard a guess, she'd say he'd called Tommy, and her buttinski godfather had provided him with the number, and heaven only knew what other private information about her as well. She was going to wring both their necks!
The first of the lot was the cover page with Ty's name and return fax number and a short, succinct explanation. He wanted her to fill out the questionnaire he'd devised, the better to exchange necessary data between them. In turn, he would send one back to her with the personal facts on himself.
Jess glanced at the four-page, single-spaced document, her eyebrows and her blood pressure rising at the number of questions
and the nature of them. How in the heck had he typed this up so quickly? She'd only dropped him off at his car a little over an hour ago! And the things he'd had the gall to ask her! Why, this guy had more raw nerve than a decayed tooth! Beyond full name, address, age, height, weight, schooling, work experience, and the usual statistics you'd expect to find on, say, a job application, he was requesting some very private information, the nosy damned twit!
One line wanted her to list the names of close relatives, living or deceased, and include any relevant or interesting details about them. Another actually inquired about sexually transmitted diseases, and if she'd ever been tested for AIDS! Additionally, there was a query about any medical problems, such as diabetes, allergies, ulcers, recent or pending operations, or drug addictions! Was there a family history of heart problems, migraines, or—the topper—mental illness? Then he got really nit-picky and wanted to know if she wore dentures, eyeglasses or contact lenses, if she snored, and how severe she would rate her PMS.
The list went on and on, asking about everything from her favorite color and food preferences, to the type of undies, nighties or pajamas she wore—or did she sleep in the nude? What size was her bed? Did it have a regular mattress or was it a waterbed? Did she prefer one side of the bed to the other? Could she swim? Did she have any annoying habits, other than being a wise-ass? What were her hobbies? What games or sports did she like? Was she a health nut? Did she exercise regularly? By the time she was finished reading, Jess was surprised he hadn't inquired if she suffered from irregularity, though he had thought to ask what brand of toothpaste she used, and if she preferred a shower to a bath.
To say she was ticked was an understatement. Talk about brass balls! This guy had to be sporting a pair of stainless steel bowling balls! Her headache forgotten, or more likely overridden by fury, Jess sat down at her desk. Within minutes, she was firing a return fax message back to him:
If you think for one minute I am going to answer your asinine questions, you are certifiably insane. For all I know you'd broadcast my answers on the Internet. Furthermore, this is not a game of "you show me yours, and I'll show you mine." I'm only doing this for Tommy, who is on my black list right alongside you for giving you my fax number. So shove your questionnaire where the sun doesn't shine, super jock.
As soon as the fax signaled "message sent and received," Jess shut off the machine, pulled the plug for good measure, and stomped angrily back to her bedroom. She'd scarcely put her head on the pillow when her bedside phone rang.
Yanking the receiver up, she barked out, "Buzz off, pond scum!"
"Oh, come on, Jess." It was him. "We really need to get to know some of these intimate details about each other if we're going to convince everyone we're hot for each other. And I'd certainly never put such information 'on line.' I'm not that much of a cad."
"How am I supposed to know that?" she countered stiffly.
"You would, if you'd give me a chance—if you'd cooperate with me instead of bucking me at every turn. So, how about it?"
"No way, José. You'll find out on a 'need-to-know basis.' "
"And risk blowing the whole scam? What will your dear Tommy think of that?"
"Frankly, Scarlett..." her voice trailed off, letting him fill in the rest.
"Neither would I, except that I'd like to keep my job, so why don't you stop being such a prude? These are the nineties, after all."
"I know the year. Unlike you, I'm also aware of the hour. Good night. Don't call me again."
She hung up, but before she could unplug the phone, it rang again. Even knowing better, she answered it. "Can't you take a hint?"
"If you won't fax your responses, give them to me over the phone. I promise confidentiality on the really personal stuff."
"Look, James, give it up. While I appreciate this modern technical age, I don't trust it with private matters. That goes for computers, modems, fax, phone, and mail. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep."
"Wait! Don't hang up yet!"
She sighed audibly. "What is it now?"
"Meet me in the morning. Here. There. Wherever you choose. We can have breakfast and go over the list of questions one by one. For every reply you give, I'll match it. You can even add to the list if you want."
"And delete those I don't like," she bargained.
"It's a deal. Where and when?"
"Neutral ground. Denny's, near me, at nine. You pay."
"You're late." Jess speared Ty with a put-out look.
He slid into the booth seat opposite her. "It took me a while to find the place," he told her, his voice rife with exasperation. "I'm not all that familiar with Columbus as yet, and your directions, 'Denny's near me,' weren't very explicit, you know."
She offered an indifferent shrug. "Sorry about that."
He snorted in disbelief. "And pigs fly, too." Placing a sheaf of papers on the table, he said, "Did you bring your copy?"
"Yes. I thought about using it for toilet tissue, but I figured as stubborn as you are you'd only run off another batch."
He grinned. "You bet your sweet tush, I would. Shall we get started?"
"Can we at least order breakfast first, Mr. Impatience?"
Ty ordered eggs, bacon, blueberry pancakes, juice, and a pot of coffee on the side. Jess requested French toast, juice, half a melon, and a glass of chocolate milk.
"Chocolate milk?" Ty teased. "No grown-up beverage?"
Jess scowled at him. "I intend to have coffee, too, but I want my calcium."
"Then why not order white milk? I recall hearing somewhere that you deplete all the vitamins and minerals in milk when you add chocolate to it."
"Hogwash. Pure, unadulterated tripe. All the chocolate does is add flavoring, which is the only way I'll drink it. I detest plain milk; have since I could toddle."
He pointed his fork for emphasis. "See there? That's the kind of thing I was talking about. Common everyday details. Wouldn't it seem odd if we went someplace and I ordered white milk for you? People would naturally assume, if we're seeing one another regularly, that I would know you didn't like it."
"I suppose so," she conceded. "That or you're just a big snoop."
"And you, as a reporter, aren't?" he huffed. Jess held up her hand, signaling for a truce. "Okay, okay. Point taken."
Ty drew his pen from his shirt pocket. "Let's start with the easy stuff. What books have you read, and what movies have you seen lately?"
Forty-five minutes later, Jess sat back with a sigh. "Whoa. Stop. Enough. I'm drowning in trivia here. I need some time to assimilate what you've told me already."
"Me, too," Ty admitted. "Let's adjourn and pick it up later. Say tonight, for dinner? Just you and me?"
She thought about it for a moment, then agreed. "As long as it's not someplace swanky. I don't do swanky unless it's absolutely imperative."
"Why?"
"Because I hate to wear flats or those stupid-looking dinky heels. Even I know they don't complement an evening dress worth beans. I might as well wear army boots and have done with it."
"So wear regular high heels."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Right. And look like a giraffe? Besides, I don't even own a pair."
"Buy some. You can wear them when we go out, if no other time. I'll still be taller than you." He paused a minute, then added, "You should stand tall and proud, Jess, with your back straight, and your chest thrown out. You can't do diddly damn about your height, anyway, so why not flaunt it instead of creeping around all hunched over, as if you think you're some freak?"
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You're a walking, talking ad for physical perfection, and you darn well know it. You're the type of guy all the girls go ga-ga over. Couldn't you at least get your nose broken, or chip a tooth, or something to make yourself a little less gorgeous? Just one tiny flaw or two, so the rest of us don't feel so inferior?"
As she spoke, she unconsciously rubbed at the small bump on the bridge of her own nose, evidence th
at she'd had it broken at one time.
Reaching across the table, Ty brushed her fingers aside. His fingers replaced hers, stroking the almost indiscernible lump. "How'd you break it?"
"Playing soccer." It irritated her that goose bumps had popped up on her nape and her words emerged on a breathless whisper. She was reacting to his mere touch like a moon-struck calf!
"Didn't they set it at the hospital? Not that it's all that obvious. I didn't even notice it until you started rubbing at it."
His hand had dropped away, and she could speak normally again. She explained. "For some reason, the X-rays didn't show the break, maybe because they were wet when the doctor reviewed them. Anyway, the doctor didn't catch it right away. By the time the mistake was discovered, my nose was well on the way to healing. There was no way I was going to let them rebreak it and go through all that pain again. Not to mention running around looking like a giant raccoon for several more weeks, with two huge neon shiners."
"Can't blame you there," he concurred. "Besides, like I said, it's not that noticeable. Now, if they'd left you looking like Karl Maiden, that would be another matter altogether."
Jess had to laugh. "I guess I should be thankful. It could have been worse."
"Lots of things could be worse," he agreed. "We should all remember more often to be thankful when they aren't. They say that to an optimist, a half-filled glass is always half full. To a pessimist, that same glass is half empty. Sometimes, it's all in your perspective."
Jess's wry grin mocked his curbside philosophizing. "To my way of thinking, it's still a glass that needs washing."
CHAPTER 5
Jess had some research to do on her computer, so she didn't see Ty again until he showed up at her door that evening. She'd dressed casually, in lightweight slacks and boat neck pullover, and had exchanged her comfy tennies for a pair of sandals. Ty was even more casually clothed, in shorts and summer knit shirt.
He glanced over her attire and approved it with a nod. "Nice, but if you want to change into shorts, I'll be glad to wait. It's hotter than Hades, and twice as humid. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, and we're not going anywhere fancy. In fact, if it's all right with you, I figured we'd pick up a bucket of chicken and the fixings and head to the park, or maybe find a spot down by the river, on the off chance of catching a breeze."
