“How about Rob?”
Sophie pointed over to the neon blue jukebox where Rob was arguing with Rachel.
“Rob tries to think ahead, but he never practices the basics. So he plans ahead four balls and then miscues on the second one and that throws him off so much that he panics and just starts banging balls around.”
“You play with Stephen Garvey?” Sophie asked.
“Why are you so interested?” Phin said.
“Because I never thought about pool like this.” She sounded sincere. “It’s so smart of you to figure this out. That you could tell what kind of person somebody is by the way he plays pool. I’d never have thought of that.”
“That’s because you can’t,” Phin said. “Some people are very sharp, but they never learned to play the game right. So they screw up, but it’s not a function of personality.”
“But Rob and Frank learned right?”
Phin nodded. “My dad taught all of us. And Ed Yarnell plays us, too. Good training.”
“So how does Stephen Garvey play?” Sophie said, smiling at him, lush and warm and round in the dim light, and Phin gave up trying to figure out what she was up to.
“He plays position, but he hits the ball too hard. The harder you hit the ball, the smaller the pocket gets, so it’s easier to miss. He thinks it’s macho to slam the cue into the ball which is why he loses a lot.”
“But not always,” Sophie said thoughtfully.
Phin shrugged. “Sometimes you have to hit the ball hard. In those cases, he wins.”
“Sophie!” Georgia slid in beside her and jammed her into Phin.
“Sorry,” Sophie said to him. “Easy, Georgia, we’re a little cramped here.”
She shifted to make more room, and Phin could feel the warm length of her thigh against his. Thank you, Georgia. Not that he intended to do anything about it, that would be dumb, but having Sophie pressed up against him even briefly was a pleasure. He let his arm fall along the back of the booth.
“Amy showed me some of the tape today,” Georgia was saying as she beamed across the table at Amy. “I was so impressed. There I was, right there on the television. You have to come back from Cincinnati to tape our theater productions from now on.”
“I’m not staying in Cincinnati,” Amy said, and Phin winced at the look on Wes’s face. “I’m going to drive to L.A. as soon as I have the tape edited.” She leaned across the table to Sophie. “I forgot to ask. Can I take the car? To L.A., I mean?”
“Oh.” Sophie looked taken aback. “Sure.”
And what are you going to use for transportation? Phin wanted to say, but the last time he’d suggested she think about herself, she’d gotten hostile.
“Well, you have to come back here to visit,” Georgia was saying to Sophie. “We just really like you a lot.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Georgia. I like you all a lot, too.” Sophie looked up at Phin, imploring instead of hostile: Get me out of this. Then she drained her rum and Coke.
Phin thought about offering her a ride home and decided to keep her trapped there a while longer. For one thing, she felt really good pressed up against him, which was selfish of him but fortunately, he didn’t have a problem with selfish. For another, if she got tanked, maybe she’d come across with more information about the movie. He looked down her dress again. It was a real shame he wasn’t in a position to encourage her to come across with some other stuff, too. That was the trouble with dangerous women: They were almost always attractive. “The devil’s candy,” he remembered. “Women who would ruin you as soon as look at you.”
Sophie looked up at him pitifully, but before he could say anything, Georgia bellowed, “Frank!” and Frank turned around from Clea to scowl at her. “Sophie needs a drink, honey.”
“No, really,” Sophie said, but Frank nodded and came over a minute later with another rum and Coke.
“Clea said this is what you’re drinking,” he told her, delighted to be reporting that he’d had conversation with Clea, and Phin thought, Frank, you’re a moron and your wife is going to kill you.
“Thanks,” Sophie said. “But really, you shouldn’t have.”
“Well, we’re all so pleased you’re here.” Frank smiled at Sophie and Amy.
“Yes, we are.” Georgia toasted Sophie with her drink and spilled some of it on the table in the process.
“And that you brought Clea back to us,” Frank finished.
Georgia put her glass down.
Frank looked back at Clea and Rob. “That boy of mine,” he said. “He’s so starstruck, he doesn’t know which end is up.”
Phin looked around Frank and saw Rob at the bar being dazzled by Clea, who looked pleased to have him there.
“If he’s not careful, Rachel’s going to get jealous,” Frank said. “I better go tell him to take care of what he’s got.”
“Good advice,” Georgia said, but Frank was already heading back to the bar. She turned to Sophie, “I’m sorry, but Clea Whipple is a fucking bitch from hell.”
Phin winced, but Sophie just said, “Cheers,” and drank another slug of rum and Diet Coke.
“She’s still trying to get him, that bitch,” Georgia said. “She’s never gonna learn. She tried to get him in high school, bet she didn’t tell you that, did she?”
“Uh, yeah, she did,” Sophie said into her drink, but Georgia wasn’t listening, which was about par for Georgia, Phin thought. Center of the universe, at least in her own mind, that was Georgia.
“Thought she was going to get him, but she didn’t. I fixed that. I fixed that good.” Georgia drank again. “You gotta keep men in line or they’ll just run all over you.”
Phin spared a moment of sympathy for Frank until he looked back and saw him at the bar, leaning into Clea’s cleavage. Get a grip, Frank, he thought, and then he looked down Sophie’s dress and thought, Never mind, Frank.
“But I got what I wanted,” Georgia said. “You can get what you want, too.” She squinted at Sophie. “What do you want?”
“World peace,” Sophie said, and tried to move away from Georgia a little.
Since that pressed her up even closer to Phin, he tried to think kinder thoughts about Georgia, but it was hard.
“I got everything I wanted,” Georgia said. “Except a little girl. I never got my little girl. Boys aren’t the same.”
“This is true,” Sophie said, and shifted on the booth seat again.
Very true, Phin thought gratefully, as the lavender in Sophie’s hair drifted up to him again. Of course, if he’d been born female, there’d be blood in his brain right now, but a little light-headedness seemed a small price to pay for the rush he was getting every time Sophie moved. He tried not to think about that, but that was hard, too. Everything was hard.
“I really wanted a little girl,” Georgia said. “I really did. But we never got one. When that bitch got her big Hollywood break, Frank said we could try, and we tried and tried but I never did get my girl. And I had the cutest clothes already bought for her.”
“Oh, God,” Sophie said into her drink. When Georgia went on in detail about the cute little dresses—“smocked with little tiny roses”—Sophie let her head fall back against Phin’s arm, and he started calculating square roots so he wouldn’t lunge for her mouth.
“He’s still mad because we had to get married,” Georgia said, looking back at the bar. “That’s why he’s doing this. That’s why.”
“You didn’t have to get married,” Sophie said.
Georgia straightened. “No, we certainly did not.”
Phin had heard all about Georgia’s eleven-month pregnancy when Diane’s rabbit had died. “She’s lying just like that Georgia Lutz,” his mother had said, but when Ed confirmed it, even Liz had been defeated. Too bad Frank hadn’t had a Liz in his corner.
“We did not have to get married,” Georgia repeated, staring now at Frank and Clea. When she turned back to Sophie, her face was tragic. “You do what you have to do,” she told
Sophie quietly, not sounding drunk at all. “You fight for what’s yours, for your family, for the family you were meant to have. And they never forgive you for it, they never do. You just keep paying and paying.”
Sophie put her drink down. “Are you all right, Georgia?”
Georgia looked back at the bar. “I’m just fine. I’ve got everything I want. And nobody’s going to take it away. I’m Frank’s leading lady, he needs me.” She straightened. “Did he tell you we’re doing Carousel? I’m the lead, of course, and . . .”
For the next two hours, Georgia rattled on, and Phin watched Sophie knock back her third and fourth drinks. She was pressed up warm against him, her curls brushing soft against his arm, and he’d long ago given up caring about the movie and was now seriously reconsidering his stand on dangerous women. It wasn’t just Sophie’s cleavage and her mouth; when she tilted her head to talk across the table, her neck curved so beautifully into her shoulder that it made him dizzy. The temptation to lean down and bite into that curve was becoming overwhelming, to lick his way up her throat and take that mouth, and then Wes said something and she laughed and turned her face up to him to share the joke, and he fell into her huge, warm, brown eyes and his mind went blank.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“Nope.” He caught his breath and drained his beer. “Hot in here.”
At midnight, when Sophie reached the bottom of her fourth glass, she put it down and said, “I didn’t need that.”
She was drunk, he realized; not obnoxious drunk like Georgia, but still too drunk for him to move on. He didn’t mind seducing women whom drink had made cheerful, but he drew the line at those whom drink had made stupid.
Amy leaned forward. “You can’t drink worth a damn, Soph. You ready to go?”
“I can walk it.” Sophie nudged Georgia with her hip. “It’s not that far.”
“Honey, it’s dark out there,” Georgia protested, but she moved out of the booth.
“I have Mace,” Sophie told her as she slid across the seat. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Tell you what.” Phin slid right behind her, chasing her heat. “I’ll take you home.
“You sure?” Amy said. “I’m almost done here.”
Phin smiled at Amy. “No problem. If you’ll take Wes home when you’re ready to go, I can drop Sophie off.”
Amy nodded, and Phin steered Sophie to the door. “Give me the Mace,” he said. “I don’t want any accidents.”
“Wimp.” She walked away from him toward the door, and she looked as lush from behind as she did from the front.
I am a civilized man, he told himself as he followed her out the door. I am not going to touch that inebriated woman.
At least, not tonight.
The rum had made Sophie’s knees loose, and as she sat in the dark in Phin’s car—he had a Volvo, of course, tastefully expensive and understated—she was terrified the problem might spread to her lips and she’d say something stupid. Like, Take me.
She stole a glance at him as he drove down the main road in the dark, his hand draped over the wheel, oblivious to her there beside him, and she felt a little shiver at how dark it was and how close he was and how damn sexy he was.
That was not a good thought so she tried to squelch it, but the fact was that she was in the dark with a powerful man, a town boy, and he was gorgeous and Not Her Kind and it was a real turn-on. She squirmed a little with guilt and pleasure, and Phin said, “You okay?”
“Sure,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“All that rum and Coke,” he said. “If you’re going to throw up, let me know and I’ll pull over. I just had the upholstery cleaned.”
“Oh, that’s romantic,” she said, and he shot her a startled glance.
Right. They weren’t supposed to be romantic. See? This was what loose lips did for you. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that wasn’t polite or something. What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“I have no idea,” Phin said, as he slowed to turn into the farm lane. “Your thought processes elude me.”
“Oh, really?” Sophie knew that was lame, but she’d left her verbal skills in the last rum and Coke. “I fail to see why my thought processes are of any interest to you at all.” There. That was pretty good.
“They’re not until they interfere with my town,” Phin said as the Volvo bumped down the short lane. “This movie of yours is disrupting things.”
“Hey, not our idea,” Sophie said. “We did not ask for volunteers from the populace. They just”—she waved her hands, almost smacking Phin in the eye—“showed up on their own.”
Phin had ducked to avoid her hand. “Right.” He pulled the car up in front of the porch and cut the ignition, and Sophie could hear the crickets creaking in the darkness. Lovely.
“You okay?” Phin said, interrupting the crickets.
“Will you quit saying that? I’m not drunk.” Sophie swung open the door and almost fell out. “I’m just not used to alcohol. It’ll evaporate off in a minute.”
“No, it won’t.” Phin got out and came around to her door while she was trying to get her bearings. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?” Sophie said belligerently.
“So you don’t fall on your ass,” Phin said.
“Nice way for a mayor to talk.” Sophie took his hand. It was warm and firm and strong—he almost lifted her out of the car with that one hand alone—and when she was standing, she found herself inches from a broad chest that blocked out the moonlight. “You’re like a total eclipse,” she said, and tried to detour around him.
“Yeah, I get that all the time.” He let go, and she began to walk toward the house, escaping before she did something really stupid.
“Thank you for the ride, Phineas,” she called back over her shoulder. “You may go now.”
The wind rustled through the trees and made her shiver because it was so warm and alive on her skin. When she stopped to feel the breeze, she heard the wash of the river and thought how good it would be to cool off listening to the river in the wind in the moonlight. She turned and headed for the path at the side of the house.
“A little higher and to the left,” Phin called after her. “You’re missing the porch.”
“All part of my plan,” she called back. “Good night.”
“Oh, great.” She heard the car door slam behind her. “Where are you going?”
“Not your concern,” she said. “I’m not disrupting anybody. You can go home now.”
She rounded the corner of the house and it was dark, the trees blotting out the moonlight as effectively as Phin had, and she shivered because she was alone in the gloom.
“What are you doing?” Phin said from behind her. She started and tripped over a tree root, and he caught her arm before she could fall.
“I’ve told you a million times, stop sneaking up on me like that. I’m going to see the river in the moonlight.” She pulled free and headed for the path again.
“Oh, good. The river. Excellent place for a woman who can’t walk without falling over.”
Sophie came out behind the house into a silvery blue landscape that fell away to the water like a movie set. “Oh,” she said and stopped so that Phin bumped into her from behind. She spread her hands apart to frame the scene, flexing her fingers so that her rings glinted in the moonlight. “This is beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Phin said. “It is.” For once he didn’t sound exasperated or bored, and she looked over her shoulder to find him watching her.
“You get this all the time,” she said. “You live in this movie set of a town, and you belong absolutely and everybody loves you and I bet you don’t even appreciate it because you’re too busy being cool and powerful.”
“Do you have any idea of what you’re talking about?” Phin said.
“Yes.” Sophie started down the slope to the river. “I’m talking about what you have and what I don’t. All you see is politics and problems. I bet ri
ght now you’re thinking about how liable you’d be if I drowned.”
“Well, I wasn’t until you mentioned it,” Phin said. “Try not to fall in.”
“Maybe I will.” Sophie turned around and walked backward so she could face him while she argued. “Maybe I’ll just walk right in to see what it feels like.”
“It feels cold and wet,” Phin said. “Much like your bathtub, only with fish stink.” He reached out and grabbed her dress at her stomach.
“Hey!” she said, but he had her stopped in her tracks.
“Two more steps and you’ll be wearing the fish stink,” Phin told her. “We haven’t had rain for a while and the river’s low. It gets muddy here.” He tugged her closer to him but took a step back at the same time, a semi-gentleman. “Stay on the grass.”
“You’re no romantic,” Sophie said, as she pulled his fingers off her dress.
“I certainly am,” Phin said. “When the occasion calls for it. This occasion calls for the rescue squad.”
“Prove it.” Sophie looked around for a dry place to sit and headed for the dock. No mud there.
“Fall in the river,” Phin said from behind her. “I’ll pull you out.”
“No, prove the romantic part. Tell me one thought you’ve had out here that didn’t have to do with lawsuits or fish stink or river hazards.” Sophie stepped up on the dock, kicked her shoes off, and went to sit on the edge.
“Julie Ann,” Phin said. “And I was kidding. Do not fall in.”
Sophie eased her feet into the cool, cool water and sighed before turning her attention back to Phin. “Julie Ann is somebody you had sex with here, I gather. That doesn’t count. Romantic is not sweaty.”
Phin sat down on the dock behind her. “It is if you do it right. Julie Ann’s from a song. My grandma used to sing me to sleep with it.”
“My mom used to sing us to sleep with ‘I Only Want to Be with You.’ It’s pretty when you sing it slow.” Sophie leaned back on her hands and looked up at the stars. “Was ‘Julie Ann’ a pretty song?”
“Yes,” Phin said from behind her. “One line was about Julie Ann in the moonlight, with her silver rings on her hands. When you held your hands up, your rings picked up the moonlight.”
Welcome to Temptation/Bet Me Page 9
