Annabelle had other reasons to be happy. Things were looking serious between Ernie Marks, her shy elementary school principal, and Wendy, the bubbly architect. She’d talked Melanie out of her infatuation with John Nager. And thanks to the publicity from Heath’s match with Delaney, her business had been growing like crazy. Finally, she had enough money in the bank to start thinking about buying a new car.
Instead, she thought about Heath and Delaney. How could he be so blind? Despite everything Annabelle had once believed, Delaney wasn’t the right woman for him. She was too contained, too polished. Too perfect.
Heath had the ring in his pocket, but his tongue kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. This was stupid. He never let pressure get to him, yet here he was with a bad case of flop sweat.
This afternoon he’d sent his secretary to pick up the ring he’d chosen as soon as he’d gotten back from Denver two weeks ago. He and Delaney had just finished a five-hundred-dollar dinner at Charlie Trotter’s. The lighting was muted, the music soft, the atmosphere perfect. All he had to do was take her hand and say the magic words. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?
He’d decided to dodge the whole “I love you” thing by keeping it specific. He’d tell her he loved her intelligence; he loved the way she looked. He definitely loved playing golf with her. Most of all, he loved her polish, the sense that she’d finish him. If she pressed him on the love thing, he could always tell her he was fairly sure he would love her at some time in the future, after they’d been married for a while and he was certain she’d stick, but somehow he didn’t think she’d see his reassurance in the same positive light he did, so best to deflect.
He wondered if she’d get teary-eyed when he gave her the ring. Probably not. She wasn’t too emotional, which was another positive. Afterward, they’d go back to his place and celebrate their engagement in bed. He’d make sure he took it slow. He sure as hell wouldn’t rush her like he’d rushed Annabelle.
Damn, that had been fun.
Fun, but not serious. Making love with Annabelle had been exciting, crazy, definitely hot, but it hadn’t been important. The only reason he thought about it so often was because he couldn’t repeat the experience, so it had taken on the lure of the forbidden.
He fingered the robin’s egg blue jewelry box in his pocket. He didn’t much care for the ring he’d chosen. It was only a little over a carat because Delaney didn’t like anything ostentatious. But he liked a little ostentation, especially when it came to the ring he’d be putting on his future wife’s finger. Still, he wasn’t the one who’d have to wear the puny son of a bitch, so he’d keep his opinions to himself.
Okay…Time to get to work here. Steer a careful path around the love discussion, give her the fucking ring, and propose. Then take her back to his place and seal the deal.
His cell vibrated in his pocket, right next to the ring box. Annabelle had given him strict orders not to take calls when he was with Delaney, but wouldn’t she have to get used to this if they were going to get married? “Champion.” He shot his future wife an apologetic look.
Annabelle’s voice hissed through the receiver like a leaky radiator. “Get over here right now.”
“I’m kind of in the middle.”
“I don’t care if you’re in Antarctica. Get your sorry ass over here.”
He heard a male voice in the background. Make that male voices. He sat straighter in his chair. “Are you okay?”
“Does it sound like I’m okay?”
“It sounds like you’re pissed.”
But she’d already hung up.
Half an hour later, he and Delaney were rushing up the sidewalk toward Annabelle’s front porch. “It’s not like her to get hysterical,” Delaney said for the second time. “Something must really be wrong.”
He’d already explained that Annabelle had been more enraged than hysterical, but the concept of rage seemed foreign to Delaney, which didn’t bode well for the times when he had to watch the Sox lose another close one.
“It sounds like some kind of party.” She pressed the bell, but nobody was going to hear anything over the hip-hop music blaring from inside, and he reached in front of her to push the door open.
As they stepped inside, he saw Sean Palmer and half a dozen of his Bears teammates draped around Annabelle’s reception room, which wasn’t alarming in itself, but through the door leading to the kitchen, he spotted another batch of players, all of them Chicago Stars. Annabelle’s office seemed to be neutral territory with five or six players not exactly mingling, but scoping one another out from opposite corners while Annabelle stood in the middle of the archway. Heath could see why she might be nervous. Neither team had forgotten last year’s controversial call that had given the Stars a narrow and highly disputed victory over their rivals. He couldn’t help wondering what part of her brain had been on vacation when she’d let all of these guys in at the same time.
“Hey, everybody, Jerry Maguire’s here.”
Heath responded to Sean Palmer’s greeting with a wave. Delaney moved a little closer to his side.
“How come you ain’t got no cable, Annabelle?” Eddie Skinner protested over the top of the music. “You got cable upstairs?”
“No,” Annabelle retorted, pushing her way into the reception room. “And get your big-ass shoes off my sofa cushions this minute.” She did a one-eighty, her finger pointed like a gun at Tremaine Russell, the best running back the Bears had seen in a decade. “Use a freakin’ coaster under your glass, Tremaine!”
Heath stood back and grinned. She looked like a harried Cub Scout den mother, hands on hips, red hair flying, eyes shooting firecrackers.
Tremaine snatched up his glass and wiped the end table with the sleeve of his designer sweater. “Sorry, Annabelle.”
Annabelle caught Heath’s grin and marched forward, pinning her wrath on him. “This is all your fault. You have at least four clients here, none of whom I knew personally a year ago. If it weren’t for you, I’d be just another fan watching them destroy each other from a safe distance.”
Her hissy fit was getting everybody’s attention, and someone turned the music down so they could all listen in. She jerked her head toward the kitchen. “They’ve drunk everything in the house, including a pitcher of African violet plant food I’d just mixed up and was stupid enough to leave on the counter.”
Tremaine punched Eddie in the shoulder. “I told you it tasted weird.”
Eddie shrugged. “Tasted okay to me.”
“They’ve also ordered hundreds of dollars’ worth of Chinese food, which I do not intend to see all over this rug, so everybody is going to…eat in the kitchen.”
“And pizza.” Jason Kent, a Stars second stringer, called out from someplace near the refrigerator. “Don’t forget we ordered pizzas, too.”
“When did my house turn into a hangout for every grossly overpaid, terminally pampered professional football player in northern Illinois?”
“We like it here,” Jason said. “It reminds us of home.”
“Plus, no women around.” Leandro Collins, the Bears’ first-string tight end emerged from the office munching on a bag of chips. “There’s times when you need a rest from the ladies.”
Annabelle shot out her arm and smacked him in the side of the head. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
Leandro had a short fuse, and he’d been known to take out a ref here and there when he didn’t like a call, but the tight end merely rubbed the side of his head and grimaced. “Just like my mama.”
“Mine, too,” Tremaine said with happy nod.
Annabelle spun on Heath. “Their mother! I’m thirty-one years old, and I remind them of their mothers.”
“You act like my mother,” Sean pointed out, unwisely as it transpired, because he got a swat in the head next.
Heath exchanged sympathetic looks with the boys, then gave Annabelle his full attention, speaking softly and patiently. “Tell me how this happened, sweetheart.”
br />
Annabelle threw up her hands. “I have no idea. In the summer it was just Dean dropping in. Then he brought Jason and Dewitt with him. Then Arté asked me to keep my eye on Sean, so I invited him over—just once, mind you—and he showed up with Leandro and Matt. A Star here, a Bear there …One thing led to another. And now I have a potentially deadly riot on my hands, right in the middle of my living room.”
“I told you not to worry about that,” Jason said. “This is neutral territory.”
“Yeah, right.” Her nostrils flared. “Neutral territory until somebody gets mad, and then you guys’ll be all, ‘We’re sorry, Annabelle, but you seem to be missing your front windows and half the second floor.’”
“Only person’s been mad since we got here is you,” Sean muttered.
Annabelle’s expression turned so hilariously murderous that Eddie snorted beer—or maybe African violet fertilizer—right out through his nose, which cracked everybody up.
Annabelle lunged for Heath, grabbing his shirtfront in her fists, pulling herself up on her toes, and hissing at him through clenched teeth. “They’re going to get drunk, and then one of these idiots is going to plow his Mercedes into a car full of nuns. And I’ll be liable. This is Illinois. We have host laws in this state.”
For the first time Heath was disappointed in her. “Didn’t you get their keys?”
“Of course I got their keys. Do you think I’m nuts? But—”
The front door blew open, and Mr. Hot Shit Robillard waltzed in all decked out in Oakleys, diamonds, and cowboy boots. He gave a two-finger wave like the fucking king of England.
“Oh, shit. Kill me now.” Annabelle’s grip on his shirt tightened. “Somebody’s going to take him out tonight. I can feel it. He’ll end up with a broken arm or crippled, and then I’ll have to deal with Phoebe.”
Heath gently pried her fingers loose. “Relax. Lover Boy can take care of himself.”
“All I wanted was to be a matchmaker. Is that so hard to understand? A simple matchmaker.” She slumped back on her heels. “My life is crap.”
Leandro frowned. “Annabelle, you’re starting to get on my nerves.”
Three long strides brought Robillard to her side. He gave Heath a long look, then looped his arm around Annabelle and kissed her hard on the lips. Fury exploded behind Heath’s eyelids. His right hand curled into a fist, but this was Annabelle’s house, and she’d never forgive him if he did what he wanted to.
“Annabelle’s my woman,” Dean announced as he broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes. “Anybody gives her trouble has to deal with me…and my offensive line.”
Annabelle looked annoyed, which made Heath feel a hell of a lot better. “I can take care of myself. What I can’t deal with is a house full of drunken morons.”
“That is so harsh,” Eddie said, looking injured.
Dean stroked her shoulder. “You guys know how irrational pregnant women can get.”
Way too many heads started nodding.
“Did you take that test like I told you, baby doll?” Dean slipped his arm around her again. “Do you know yet if you’re carryin’ my love child?”
Apparently that was too much for Annabelle, because she started to laugh. “I need a beer.” She grabbed Tremaine’s bottle and drained what was left.
“You shouldn’t drink if you’re pregnant,” Eddie Skinner said with a frown.
Leandro swatted him in the head.
Heath realized he was having the best time he’d had in weeks.
Which reminded him of Delaney.
Annabelle had been too preoccupied to spot her through the crowd, and Delaney hadn’t moved from her place inside the front door. She stood with her back to the wall and that ever-pleasant smile frozen on her face, but her eyes were glazed and just a little wild. Delaney Lightfield, horsewoman, champion trapshooter, golfer, and expert skier, had just glimpsed her future, and she didn’t like what she saw.
“Don’t anybody let me eat more than one egg roll.” Annabelle set her empty bottle on a stack of magazines. “I can hardly zip my jeans now.” She rolled her eyes at Eddie, who was frowning at her. “And I’m not pregnant.”
Robillard still wanted to make trouble. “Only because I haven’t been trying hard enough. We’ll take care of that tonight, baby doll.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes and looked around for a place to sit, but every chair was occupied, so she ended up in Sean’s lap. She sat there primly, but comfortably. “And I can only have one slice of pizza.”
Heath needed to do something about Delaney, and he made his way over to her. “Sorry about this.”
“I should mix,” Delaney said determinedly.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“It’s just…It’s a little overwhelming. The house is so small. And there are so many of them.”
“Let’s go outside.”
“Yes, that’s probably the best idea.”
Heath drew her onto the front porch. For a few moments, they didn’t speak. Delaney gazed at the house across the street, wrapping her arms around herself. He rested his shoulder against a post, the ring box heavy against his hip. “I can’t leave her,” he said.
“Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I guess you needed to see my life for what it is. This is a pretty good sample.”
“Yes. It was silly of me. I didn’t…” She gave a tight, self-deprecating laugh. “I like the skybox better.”
He understood, and he smiled. “The skybox does keep reality at a distance.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I imagined it differently.”
“I know you did.”
Somebody turned the music up again. She slipped her thumbs under the collar of her jacket and gazed around. “It’s only a matter of time before the neighbors call the police.”
The cops tended to look the other way when the city’s top athletes misbehaved, but he doubted that would reassure her.
Her fingers crept to her pearls. “I don’t understand how Annabelle can be so comfortable with all that chaos.”
He settled on the simplest explanation. “She has brothers.”
“So do I.”
“Annabelle is one of those people who gets bored easily. I guess you could say she creates her own excitement.” Just like him.
She shook her head. “But it’s so…disruptive.”
Which was exactly why Annabelle got herself into this sort of thing.
“My life’s pretty disruptive,” he said.
“Yes. Yes, I see that now.”
A few moments of silence ticked by. “Would you like me to call you a cab?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated, then nodded. “That might be for the best.”
While they waited, they apologized to each other, both of them saying pretty much the same thing, that they’d thought it would work out, but it was better they’d found out now that it wouldn’t. The ten minutes it took for the cab to arrive lasted forever. Heath gave the driver a fifty and helped Delaney in. She smiled up at him, more thoughtful than sad. She was a terrific person, and he experienced a fleeting moment of regret that he wasn’t the kind of man who could be satisfied with beauty, brains, intelligence, and athletic ability. No, it took the Tinker Bell factor to suck him in. As the cab drove away, he felt himself relax for the first time since the night they’d met.
The food had arrived while they’d waited outside, but when he reentered the house, nobody was eating. Instead, they were all jammed into the living room, the music turned down, their attention focused on an upturned NASCAR cap sitting in the general vicinity of Annabelle’s feet. As he moved closer, he saw an assortment of diamond studs shining in the bottom.
Annabelle spotted him and grinned. “I’m supposed to close my eyes, pick a stud, and sleep with whoever it belongs to. A stud for a stud. How fun is that?”
Dean raised his head from across the room. “Just so you know, Heathcliff, both of mine are
still in my ears.”
“That’s because you cheap, bitch.” Dewitt Gilbert, Dean’s favorite wide receiver, slapped him on the back.
Annabelle smiled at Heath. “They’re just goofing around. They know I won’t do it.”
“You might,” Gary Sweeney said. “There’s a good fifteen carats in that hat.”
“Damn. I’ve always wanted to sleep with a natural redhead.” Reggie O’Shea whipped the jewel-encrusted crucifix from around his neck and dropped it in the hat.
The men gazed down at it.
“That’s just wrong,” Leandro said.
There were enough mutters of agreement that Reggie retrieved his necklace.
Annabelle sighed, and Heath heard honest-to-God regret in her voice. “This has been fun, but the food’s getting cold. Sean, that is a gorgeous set of studs, but your mother would kill me.”
Not to mention what Heath would do.
Sometime around two in the morning, the beer supply a couple of the guys had been secretly replenishing finally ran out, and the crowd began to thin. Annabelle put Heath in charge of conducting field sobriety tests. He called cabs and shoved drunks into the few cars with sober drives. Just one fight had erupted all evening, and it wasn’t over car keys. Dean took exception to his teammate Dewitt’s statement that the only reason a guy would buy a Porsche instead of a kick-ass car like an Escalade was to match the color of his lace panties. Two Bears players had to pull them apart.
“So tell me the truth,” Annabelle had said to Heath at the time. “Did they really go to college?”
“Yeah, but not necessarily to their classes.”
By two-thirty, Annabelle had fallen asleep at one end of the couch with Leandro on the other, while Heath and Dean cleaned up the worst of the mess in the kitchen. Heath tossed Dean a plastic trash bag. “Hide those empty whiskey bottles.”
“Since nobody got killed, she probably won’t care.”
“No sense in taking chances. She was pretty riled up tonight.”