by J. L. Fynn
“Right?”
“Right.”
“Although, now I have to admit,” I said, brushing my fingers against her cheek. “I’m starting to see the appeal of a song about falling in love with a brown-eyed girl.”
Spencer dropped her eyes, and the shy smile I was starting to grow fond of made a brief appearance. My hand still on her cheek, I leaned forward and kissed her. My skin jumped with electricity when she responded, deepening the kiss and pressing herself into my arms. My heart sped to a gallop as the blood left my head and filled the lower regions of my body. I told myself it was a simple physiological response, that it didn’t mean anything, but soon I wasn’t telling myself anything at all. My mind was filled with the sensation of her mouth against mine and the sweet honey-and-vanilla smell of her hair and skin. My tongue flicked against hers, and my jeans felt immediately and uncomfortably tight. I was also acutely aware of the feel of her breasts pressed against my chest.
I wanted her. And part of me had to admit that my longing had nothing at all to do with getting the book back from Tommy. I pushed any thought of the con from my mind, hoping the sourness that had crept into my stomach would go along with it. My hand slid to the button of her jeans, and I fumbled with it for a moment before she put her hand over mine. For a half a second, I thought she meant to help me and my excitement grew, but the blood rushed back to my head in a hurry when she gently pushed my hand away and took her lips away, too.
“Shane,” she breathed, leaning her forehead into mine. “I think maybe we should eat. You worked really hard to make a nice dinner and everything.”
“It wasn’t that hard, I swear,” I said, moving to kiss her again.
She dodged me with a giggle. “I just think maybe we should move a little slower. You’re not mad, are you?”
Sighing quietly, I stood and offered a smile and my hand. “Of course not. But I am starving.”
Spencer’s grin was full of gratitude and relief. “Me, too. Even if you’re making me eat an adorable little lamb.”
She popped off the couch to stand in front of me, and I kissed her nose. “I promise you’ll love it.”
“We’ll see.” She smiled and stepped around me to head back to the kitchen.
I stood, staring down at the spot on the couch we’d been occupying a moment before. I wasn’t lying when I’d told her I wasn’t mad, but the thought of eating was the furthest thing from my mind despite my rumbling stomach. Something else gnawed at me, but it wasn’t until I turned and caught her shy smile that I could name the feeling. It wasn’t frustration or even disappointment. It was relief.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“WHAT DO YOU mean you didn’t make a reservation?” Spencer pulled me to a stop in the middle of a tree-lined path in Philadelphia’s Rittenhouse Square. “You can’t just walk into Jardin and ask for a table.”
“Spence, it’ll be fine.” I started down the path again, but she yanked her hand from mine.
“Shane, this is ridiculous. We’re not getting in, and even if we could, it’s a terrible idea. That place is crazy expensive. There are tons of other great restaurants within walking distance. We can go to one of those.”
“I thought you said you’ve been wanting to try it.”
“I have, but—”
“And that you like French food.”
“Yeah, but, Shane—”
“Then we’re going. Come on.” I held my hand out to her. “It’ll be fun.”
She scrunched her mouth to one side, fighting a smile. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“I do,” I said with a proud grin. “Now let’s go.”
She smiled and took my hand. “Why, because we’re going to be late for our nonexistent reservation?”
We crossed 18th Street and walked to a brown brick building with red awnings. Yellow Art Deco lettering on gray slate spelled out the restaurant’s name.
I pulled open one of the doors and held it for Spencer. She hesitated but finally relented with a shake of her head and stepped inside.
The interior of the restaurant was decorated like a 19th century Paris bistro, complete with Lautrec lithographs and colorful Tiffany light fixtures. A bar dominated one side of the lower level, and a long, mahogany leather banquette lined with tables occupied the other. Nearly every seat in the house was filled, but a quick look around revealed a handful of two-tops still sitting empty. A podium at the front of the room served as the hostess station, and a girl with a bored expression and jet black hair cut in a sharp angle from her ears to her chin stood behind it.
I glanced down at Spencer who stood beside me, clinging to my arm. “Okay. So, whatever I say, just go along with it.”
Spencer’s amber eyes went wide, but she didn’t have a chance to argue before I strode toward the podium, her arm still wrapped in mine.
“Can I help you?” the hostess asked.
“Yeah, I have an eight o’clock reservation for two. I know we’re a little early, but that table over there in the corner would be just fine if it’s open.”
The girl turned to look where I’d pointed, and I leaned over her podium to quickly scan the book open on its surface. Her attention returned to me, and I tipped back from her stand again.
“Name?”
“Utley,” I said, hoping I’d deciphered her loopy scrawl correctly.
Spencer’s nails dug into my arm, but I ignored it and met the hostess’s skeptical expression with a calm smile.
“Utley?” she repeated.
“Yep.” I nodded. “Table for two, eight o’clock.”
One of her penciled-in eyebrows arched dramatically. “Chase Utley?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Chase Utley. The second baseman for the Phillies?”
Fuck. “Well.” I laughed, buying for time. “I mean, of course I’m not Chase Utley.” I put my arm around Spencer’s shoulder. “He couldn’t make it, so he offered us his table.”
Her expression changed from skeptical to one of outright disbelief. “Because you’re such good friends?”
I opened my mouth, but Spencer piped up before I had a chance to speak. “We live in the same building over in Washington Square,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She nestled closer under my arm.
“We’re new in the building,” I added, squaring my shoulders in an effort to look like someone who owned a million-dollar apartment in the city instead of someone who rented an efficiency for $150 a week. “They’re probably our friendliest neighbors, which is surprising given how famous he is.”
Although, apparently not so famous I wasn’t smart enough not to use his name. Still, Spencer had done a good job of making my mistake work to our advantage. Playing off her reminded me a lot of running cons with my brother. We didn’t even need to talk to each other to make it work.
“You expect me to give you their table just because you say so? Why didn’t they call to change the reservation?”
I started to speak, but Spencer cut me off. I felt her body tense and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing when I realized it wasn’t nerves but actual annoyance that had her so on edge. “Probably because they didn’t think you’d make a federal case out of it. This is a restaurant, not the U.S. Mint.”
“I know.” The hostess narrowed her dark eyes at Spencer. “It would be easier for you to get a table there.”
Spencer made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. “Forget it.” She looked up at me. “Come on. Let’s just go to that Turkish place we actually wanted to try tonight.” She put her arm across my back and steered me away from the podium, then said in a volume meant to be overheard, “I guess this answers Jenn’s question about whether this place is worth checking out.”
I didn’t have a clue who “Jenn” was, but apparently the hostess did.
“Wait,” she called, and we both turned to look at her. Her disbelief had melted into nervous uncertainty. Earning a bad reputation with one of the highest profile residents of P
hiladelphia certainly wouldn’t be good for business. “You swear they gave you their table?”
Spencer rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Who would go to all this trouble just for dinner?”
Who indeed? The girl fidgeted, considering this.
“Didn’t Chase say they were thinking about booking this place for their fundraiser dinner? For their charity…what’s it called?” I asked Spencer. It seemed like a safe bet. All those guys raised money for one charity or another.
“Yeah, Utley’s All-Star Animals. Jenn was just tweeting about it.”
“Jardin would be a perfect place for a fundraiser,” the hostess said and slid two tall leather folios from inside the podium. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll tell them that, won’t you?” She flashed a beatific smile as she stepped from behind her station.
“We will if the food’s any good,” Spencer said.
I mashed my lips into a tight line. If I laughed, I might blow the whole thing, but Spencer’s indignation was almost too much to take given that the whole thing was a complete fabrication. She was a natural clip artist, a trait she must’ve inherited from her father without even knowing it.
The hostess faltered for a second but regained her composure quickly. “If you’ll both follow me.” She led us to the table set for two in the back corner and stood aside while I pulled the chair out for Spencer. Then I took my own seat. She opened the menus and placed them in front of us. “Bon appétit,” she said with a smile so bright it almost looked painful. “Please let me or your server know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all.”
“Thank you.” Spencer gave her a saccharine smile. “We will.”
When the hostess had made her way back across the restaurant, Spencer looked at me, her wide-eyed expression having returned. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“We did that, sweetheart.” I grinned at her. “And you were damn good at it, too. I’m pretty sure you could’ve gotten a table on your own.”
She giggled. “Well, I definitely would’ve chosen a name from that list a little more carefully.”
“All right.” I nodded. “That was probably not the best name. But I didn’t have a ton of time to consider my choices.”
“So is this what you do with all the girls? Steal reservations from major sports figures?”
“Nah,” I said. “Usually I go with political figures. Mayors, state reps—that sort of thing.”
“Well, it’s certainly the most unconventional date I’ve ever been on. But I have to admit that was kind of fun once I got past the terrified part.”
I reached for her hand across the table and laced my fingers through hers. “I’m glad.”
She smiled at our linked hands for a long moment. “So how did you know they wouldn’t be here?”
“Who?” I frowned.
“Chase and Jennifer Utley. How could you tell they weren’t coming?”
One corner of my mouth lifted in amusement. “I had no idea. I just picked the name.”
“Okay,” Spencer said, her eyebrows creeping together. “So what happens when they show up for their reservation?”
“We invite them over? I mean, we’re neighbors and all.”
Spencer blinked at me, completely nonplussed, and the laughter I’d managed to hold back during her earlier performance finally broke free.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A FEW DAYS later, Spencer and I once again found ourselves in the courtyard outside the Carroll Center. Afternoon classes were in session, and the quad was entirely deserted. I sat with my back against the oak where I’d first seen her, and she sat next to me, her head on my chest.
“So what should we do with our afternoon of freedom?” I asked, nuzzling my face in her hair.
“How should I know? I’ve never skipped class before, remember?”
“We could go see a movie,” I suggested. “Or just sit here all day. I’d be good with that, too.” It wasn’t a lie. The day was warm but not uncomfortably so, and I was starting to get used to the way she felt in my arms.
“We have to do something exciting,” she said against my chest. “You can’t play hooky and then not have an adventure.”
I laughed. “I think you’ve seen too many movies.”
Spencer lifted her head to grin at me.
“Actually, I can think of something else we could do to pass the time.” I bent my neck to kiss her. She inched up so our faces were closer, returning the kiss with an enthusiasm that made me smile against her mouth. I tangled my fingers in her copper hair.
“Oh!” She pulled back so quickly I almost fell forward. “I have an idea.”
“I thought we’d settled on my idea,” I said, grinning wickedly. I wrapped my hands around her waist.
Spencer smiled and gently peeled my fingers away so she could stand up. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I toured campus,” she said. “Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”
Confused and resigned to the fact we weren’t going to be pursuing my suggestion after all, I shrugged and leaned back against the tree trunk. “I’ll be here.”
Spencer took off toward the Carroll Center and disappeared inside. The sound of splashing water from the fountain mingled with the voice in my mind that told me I was a little too disappointed she was gone. I knew how close I was to getting into Tommy’s house, and I was glad I’d played the game so well to this point. But as anxious as I was to see my family again—and to see the look on Judd Sheedy’s face when he found out I’d pulled this off—that nagging voice kept whispering about how much I’d miss Spencer’s face when it was all over. The thought had even occurred to me that I might be able to see her again, but of course that was impossible. She was a means to an end, and I had to keep it that way if this was going to work.
Sunlight flashed in the corner of my eye, and I looked over to see Spencer emerging from a glass door with a plastic bag from the student store in one hand and a mischievous grin on her face. I got to my feet and crossed the cobblestone to meet her.
“What are you up to?” I asked.
By way of answer, Spencer reached into the plastic bag and produced a bottle of bright green dish soap. She giggled at my confused expression. “What do you get when you put dish soap in a sink with running water?” Her eyes drifted from my face to the splashing fountain beside us.
I followed her gaze. I was supposed to be the troublemaker, and here she was proposing vandalism. I’d created a monster—or, at the very least, I’d pulled back a few layers of her good-girl exterior with that little stunt at the restaurant the other night. “You’re joking.”
She popped open the soap bottle with her thumb. “Not even a little.”
We were both full of nervous laughter as we stepped to the edge of the fountain. I glanced around and nodded, and Spencer turned the bottle over and squeezed out a stream of the green liquid. It hit the water and started to break into smaller globs, but no bubbles appeared.
“Hold on.” I reached out to tip the bottle back up, then stepped out of my flip-flops. I climbed over the side and into the calf-height water. I turned back to Spencer and held my hand out to her. “We have to dump it in there.” I pointed to the base of the center finial where the water churned most as it spilled from the basins stacked above and was pulled back into the pump from below.
Spencer kicked off her own sandals and climbed in with me. We sloshed to the center of the fountain. She unscrewed the bottle cap and dumped what was left of the dish soap into the water at our feet. It began to froth right away, and before long, the bubbles had reached the hem of my cargo shorts. I looked up, squinting at the water that rained down from the top of the fountain, and grinned at the bubbles starting to bloom from there as well.
“This is going to get very messy very quick,” I said, taking the empty bottle from Spencer.
“Or very clean, as it were.” She laughed.
“Either way, we should probably get out of here.”
“What? We h
ave to at least enjoy this a little.” White clouds of bubbles drifted down from the topmost basin.
“Spence, classes will be out soon, and someone is going to see this—” I swiped at one of the bubble clouds. “—and call campus security. Do you want a repeat of the other night?”
“I don’t know. Running through the kitchen to escape that she-devil hostess was pretty exciting.”
It was pretty fun. When the second baseman and his wife had shown up looking for their table, dodging dumbfounded cooks and bus boys on our way to the back service entrance had been our only option. But it had also been an adrenaline rush. We hadn’t stopped running until we’d torn down the hall and through the lobby of the adjacent Radisson out onto the street where we were lucky enough to find a cab waiting at the curb. Even then, I’m not sure my heart slowed to a manageable pace until the bemused cabbie dropped us at the Suburban Station to catch our train back to Balanova.
“What’s the matter, Mr. I-Get-Into-Fights-and-Steal-Dinner-Reservations-All-the-Time?” she jibbed. “Scared of getting caught?”
“It’s not fear. It’s self-preservation. What happened to the girl who never skips class or puts a toe out of line?”
“She fell in love with you.” Spencer picked up a handful of bubbles and smeared them in my hair. A line of soapy water dripped down my nose, but I barely noticed. I knew I had to respond. Telling her I felt the same way would almost guarantee she’d be ready to introduce me to dear old dad.
But I couldn’t say it. Not now.
I caught her around her waist and swung her off her feet. She squealed and pulled her legs up, and we both fell sideways into the bubbles. I shifted to provide a cushion between her and the floor of the fountain, and luckily for my tailbone, the thick layer of bubbles and water did the same for me. I sat up, bringing Spencer with me so she was in my lap, facing me. I wiped the bubbles from my eyes. Water streamed from her hair and her gray shirt clung to her torso, but her face was barely visible through the mask of white bubbles covering it. She swiped them away and flicked them at me. I rolled, dunking her in the fountain again. We both got to our knees, sputtering with laughter and mouths full of bubbles. I wiped my own face again, then brushed my thumbs over her eyes. I cleared the bubbles from her face. She kissed me, and suddenly I didn’t care about the bitter taste of dish soap in my mouth.
