Crazy for You

  This was such a bad idea that when Max came into work two weeks after Darla moved out and said, “I’m going to Bo’s tonight, want to come?” he didn’t say, “I don’t want to get involved with a married guy trolling for women at a bar,” he said, “Yeah.” Anything was better than another night thinking about Quinn.

  Unfortunately, Joe was standing beside him when he said it.

  “Great idea,” Joe said. “I’ll come, too. In my own car, though, in case I get lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Nick said and felt ill.

  “Well, it’s probably going to take Meggy another couple of weeks to start missing me,” Joe said. “No point in just sitting around waiting. Right, Max?”

  “Right,” Max said with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

  The night went downhill from there.

  There wasn’t anything wrong with Bo’s Bar & Grill. Nick had spent plenty of good times there: the beer was cold, the pizza was hot, the jukebox wasn’t too obnoxious, and they only did karaoke on Wednesday nights so it was easy to avoid. The place wasn’t attractive—lots of scarred Formica tables and stainless-steel chairs that probably looked like hell in the daylight—but nobody went to Bo’s for the decor. They went for the booze, the TV, and the company. Tonight, Nick could have done without the company.

  “So this is where you meet women,” Max said as he sat down, trying to sound like a man of the world and sounding instead like a high school freshman trying to sound like a man of the world.

  Joe leaned on the bar and surveyed the place. “Great pickings. Way to go, Nick.”

  “We’re not staying long,” Nick said and ordered a beer.

  The way he figured it, Joe would get bored and begin watching the game that was always on the TV over the bar. And women would start hitting on Max pretty soon—there was that face, after all—and he’d get spooked and want to go home. Then they could all go to Max’s since Joe would go anywhere there was cable, and he could get out of this nightmare.

  “Hey, Nick,” Lisa said from behind him, and he froze.

  “Hi, Lisa.” He turned around to be polite. “How you doing?”

  “Lonely,” she said, smiling at him, young and beautiful and nothing he wanted at all.

  “Sit right here, little lady,” Joe said, moving down a stool to make room between them, and Nick shot him a dirty look while Lisa boosted herself up on the stool. “I’m Joe.” He leaned toward her smiling even wider than she was smiling at Nick. “Can I get you a beer?”

  “Uh, sure,” Lisa said, looking at Nick, but he felt Max lean into him and turned to see what Max was trying to get away from.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” a neat little blonde was saying to Max.

  “Uh, Max,” Max said, holding out his hand for the blonde to shake.

  “Tina,” she said, taking his hand and holding on to it. “Very pleased to meet you.”

  “Uh, um, how about a beer?” Max bumbled, gesturing with the bottle he held in his left hand, since Tina had taken permanent possession of his right. “What do you say?”

  Tina dropped his hand as if it were slime and said, “You creep,” and stomped off.

  “What did I do?” Max said, panic making his voice higher than usual. “I thought you were supposed to offer them booze.”

  Across the room, Tina whispered to her friends and they all glared at Max.

  Nick looked down at the beer bottle clutched in Max’s left hand. “Well, this is just a guess, but it might have been the wedding ring.”

  “Oh, hell.” Max put the bottle down and tugged at his ring, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s up?” Joe called across Lisa and then he saw Max pulling at his ring. “Good idea.” He slipped his off and put it in his pocket while Lisa watched. “My wife left me,” he told her sorrowfully. “After thirty-nine faithful years, she threw me out.”

  “That’s terrible,” Lisa said. “Thirty-nine faithful years.” She shot a look at Nick under her lashes. “Now that’s commitment.”

  Nick turned back to Max, who was still yanking on his ring. “You know, that’s probably a sign you shouldn’t be here.”

  “You sound like Quinn,” Max said, still grumbling. “Signs. Hey,” he called to the bartender, “You got any butter?”

  “Max, give it up and get her back,” Nick said. “You don’t want anybody here, you want Darla.”

  “She left me,” Max said, that mule look back on his face. “It’s been two weeks, and all she’ll say is she wants something new.” He looked around Bo’s as if it were Sodom. “Well, this is new. Damn it.”

  “I think she probably meant something new with her.” Nick looked at him in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re fucking up your marriage like this.”

  Max glared at him. “Is this your business?”

  “Great.” Nick went back to his beer. “Fine. Go for it. Knock yourself out.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, and then Max said, “I don’t notice you hitting on anybody.”

  “I’m resting,” Nick snarled.

  “You going to call Quinn?”

  “No.”

  “And you think I’m stupid. Quinn wants you, you dumbass.”

  “Well, I don’t want her,” Nick said, thinking about hitting on Lisa to get Max off his back and dropping the thought immediately.

  “Yeah, right.” Max sounded normal again, now that he was arguing. “You’ve wanted her forever.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be picking up women?” Nick said, and before his sentence was finished, a woman sat down beside Max and said, “Hello, Max Ziegler, what are you doing in a place like this?”

  Max jammed his left hand in his pocket and turned. “Oh, hell. Hi, Marty.”

  Nick squinted past him. Marty Jacobsen, one of Darla’s regulars. Good. Served Max right. He hadn’t wanted Quinn forever.

  Just for the past twenty years.

  “Darla know you’re out tonight?” Marty said, leaning into him a little.

  “Nope,” Max said, leaning back a little. Nick nudged him upright, and he said, “Just out with Nick and Joe.” He pulled his left hand out and looked at his watch, flashing his wedding ring under her nose.

  “I heard she left you.” Marty leaned a little closer. “Must be pretty dumb to leave a great guy like you.”

  “She’s just staying at Quinn’s for a while,” Max said nervously.

  “Heard about that, too.” Marty nodded, sympathetic. “Must be terrible for you, finding out like that.”

  “Finding out what?”

  “First Quinn’s mom and Mrs. Buchman and then Quinn and Darla.”

  Nick laughed as he realized what Marty was getting at, and she straightened, glaring past Max at him. “Not that I think it’s wrong or anything. I mean, Darla’s still going to do my hair.”

  “What are you talking about?” Max said, mystified.

  “I just thought, if you wanted, you know, reassured, that I could help.” Marty batted her eyes at him. “I’d love to help.”

  “Marty, they’re not lovers,” Nick said. “They’re just working on the play.”

  “Lovers?” Max said.

  “You men are so blind,” Marty said. “Quinn left the coach, didn’t she? Like the best guy in town?” She shook her head. “And then they cut their hair like that. It’s obvious.”

  “Lovers?” Max said to Nick, his brows drawing together, as the thought took hold and he got angrier.

  “Not lovers,” Nick said. “Jesus, Max, get a grip.”

  “Yeah, but people think—”

  “So how about a beer, Max?” Marty said. “I sure am thirsty.”

  “Sure,” Max said, signaling the bartender and putting a bill down on the counter. “Lady’d like a beer.” He nodded to Marty. “Well, gotta be going. Nice seeing you.”

  He slid off the barstool to Nick’s relief and Marty’s disappointment, and said, “Joe?”

  Nick turned to see Joe leaning against the bar talking to Lisa
and two of her friends, a redhead and a brunette.

  “Now what you got there,” Joe was saying, “is probably a bad washer if your sink is really old.”

  “It’s really old,” Lisa said, beaming up at him.

  “Well, I could come over and fix it tomorrow.”

  “All right.” Lisa slid her eyes to Nick to see if he was listening. “You and I have a date tomorrow.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Max said under his breath.

  “We’re leaving, Joe,” Nick said. “You have a good night.”

  “I plan to,” Joe said, toasting him with his beer.

  Lisa ignored Nick completely.

  “We’re going to have to do that again real soon,” Nick said as he followed Max out to his car.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Max said.

  Ten

  Bill’s two weeks were hell, too.

  First of all, Quinn had cut her hair and he hated it. Hated it. It gave him a headache to look at it. She’d looked so sweet before, like a mother, like his girl, and now she was different, farther away from him, and he hated it.

  Of course, it would grow back. She was just going through a phase, and when they were back together, he’d say, “Please don’t cut your hair again,” and she’d be sweet like always, and it would grow back.

  He couldn’t wait.

  In the meantime, the BP was getting out of control. “We’ll start a rumor she’s screwing around with Jason Barnes,” he told Bill, almost cackling he was so happy. “That’ll get Jason off that damn play and make her come back to you to save her job. Pretty good, huh?”

  Bill looked at him as if he were demented. “Quinn wouldn’t get involved with a student.”

  “We don’t know that.” Bobby shook his head. “She’s been acting strange and that kid is always with her. I wouldn’t be surprised—”

  Bill glared at him and he broke off. Quinn was not involved with anybody else, especially not a student, especially not Jason Barnes who was practically a son to him, Quinn was not with anyone else, nobody but him.

  “It’ll work,” Bobby said, and Bill shook his head but let him go. He had a plan of his own.

  He’d realized finally that Quinn was going to be stubborn about owning a house after she’d withstood all the city inspections he’d sicced on her in the past two weeks, so he’d decided he’d just find a good house for them to share. He really didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, it was so obvious, so he’d call Bucky at the real estate office and when he found the perfect house, he’d show it to her, and she’d realize his was the better choice, and they’d move in together, and her hair would grow back, and he could concentrate on the team again. Not that four losses were anything to worry about.

  “I’ll take care of Quinn,” Bobby said, “you just concentrate on winning,” and Bill ignored him because he’d had another idea.

  People thought Jason and Quinn were together because they were working on the play. Well, he could work on the play. He could see Quinn every night if he helped with the tech. With that and the house—

  Things would be back the way they should be in no time.

  On Monday, the BP called Quinn to his office on her planning period.

  “What is it this time, Greta?” Quinn asked.

  “You’re ruining his life.” Greta kept typing, but she did manage to shoot Quinn a sympathetic glance. “At least life as he knows it. Go on in, he’s waiting.”

  Bobby’s glare as she came in was even more self-righteous than usual.

  “We have a problem,” Bobby said.

  “Don’t we always?” Quinn didn’t try to keep the exasperation from her voice.

  “As I’ve told you, Jason Barnes has been coming late to weightlifting and leaving early.” Bobby’s lips tightened and almost disappeared. “His involvement in this play is hurting his athletics. It has to stop.”

  “And as I’ve told you, nobody’s forcing Jason to work on the play,” Quinn said. “I really don’t see what I have to do with this.”

  “People have remarked on your relationship with this boy,” Bobby said. “I don’t want to have to call his parents.”

  Quinn went cold; this wasn’t the BP being a twit, this was the BP being dangerous. “What people and what relationship and why would you call his parents?”

  “People have seen the two of you together,” Bobby went on. “There’s a suggestion of intimacy.”

  “He’s one of my students,” Quinn said. “He’s a great kid, but he’s a kid, that’s all.”

  “You’ve been talking and laughing.” Bobby glowered at her. “He follows you around, and you encourage him and he’s not concentrating on the team. I’ve seen the way you—”

  “I get it.” Quinn folded her arms and glared down at him. “You’re the ‘people,’ and you’re mad because you want Jason off the play and me back cooking dinner for Bill.” She wanted to kill the little tick where he sat; who was he to try this garbage on her?

  “Others will notice,” Bobby said. “They probably—”

  “Yeah, after you point it out so that even giving the kid homework will look like a come-on.” Quinn shook her head at him. “You’re not going to blackmail me with my reputation, Robert. I can’t believe you and Bill would stoop this low. You should be ashamed.”

  “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Bobby blustered. “Nobody could ever accuse me of being too close to a student—”

  That was for damn sure, they all thought he was a dweeb.

  “—so the very fact that you’re vulnerable should tell you something.” He paused, smug, and she wanted to smack him because he was right. “You know better than this; teachers have to be above suspicion. You tell Jason he can’t work on that play anymore. Send him back to Bill where he belongs.”

  “I’ll tell Jason you and Bill are concerned about his weightlifting,” Quinn said. “Anything else, you’re going to have to do. But I promise you this”—she leaned forward, intense because she was so furious—“you start any rumors about Jason and me, and I will file a grievance against you that will make Carl Brookner think you’re scum.”

  He went white then, his brows drawing together in fury, and she felt better. It was the smug part that made her nuts.

  “As long as you don’t say anything to anybody,” Quinn pointed out mildly, “you’re not vulnerable. And if you don’t say anything, there won’t be a problem because the only person around here with a slimy enough mind to even think I’d fool around with a student is you.”

  “You be careful,” Bobby said. “You just be careful. People notice. People talk. They already think you’re crazy because you broke into the pound to get a dog.”

  Quinn shook her head and left, pausing on her way out of the outer office to say to Greta, “You know, I think he’s losing it.”

  “I’m sure of it,” Greta said. “Oh, and you had a message from the bank. Something about your loan.”

  “Oh, hell,” Quinn said, but when she called, Barbara said, “I just wanted you to know your loan is through. You can come in any time and sign the papers.”

  Quinn’s mind went blank. “My loan? What loan? I thought I needed more down payment.”

  “It’s through,” Barbara said brightly. “Come in any time.”

  That wasn’t like Bank Barbie, ducking a financial question. “I’ll come on my planning period,” Quinn said. “We’ll have a nice long talk.”

  Barbara looked a little nervous in her neat gray gabardine suit when Quinn got to the bank. “I’m going to lunch in five minutes,” she told Quinn, sliding papers across the desk to her. “If you’ll just sign—”

  Quinn nodded. “Good. I’ll come with you.”

  “Well…” Barbara looked flustered.

  “I want to know what happened,” Quinn said.

  Barbara blushed. “I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”

  “Him? Him who?”

  Barbara looked over her shoulder and then whispered, “Nick.” br />
  “Nick?”

  “Shhhh.”

  “We are definitely going to lunch,” Quinn said grimly.

  Half an hour later at the Anchor Inn over French silk pie, Quinn was still grappling with the enormity of it. Nick wouldn’t speak to her, but he’d pony up half the down payment for her house. Exactly what train of thought had taken him there, she wasn’t sure, but she knew she was both grateful and furious—grateful that he cared that much and furious that he’d done it. Bill had gone behind her back to screw up the loan, that she was pretty sure of, and now Nick had gone back there, too, to rescue her, treating her as if she were a child.

  “I can’t believe this,” she told Barbara.

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Barbara said. “He’s taking care of you. You’re so lucky.”

  “I’d rather take care of myself,” Quinn said. “I’d rather he treated me as if I were capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Why?” Barbara looked at her so blankly that Quinn said, “I don’t get you. You have a real career at the bank, and you make good money. Why are you so fixated on getting a man to support you?”

  Barbara drew back, two spots of color flaming in her cheeks. “I don’t need a man to support me. I’d never depend on a man for money.”

  “Oh.” Quinn blinked at her. “Then why do you keep dating married men?”

  “I don’t,” Barbara said, and the distress on her face was real. “I truly don’t. I never date them until they’re separated. It’s just so hard to find somebody to take care of you, you know? When you find a good repairman, you know you’re lucky.”

  Quinn thought back to the string of men who’d tromped through her house on all those inspections. She’d looked at every one of them and thought, Are you taking me for a ride on this? Because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. “Okay, I’m with you there, but they end up living with you, Barbara.”

  “Only three of them,” Barbara pointed out.

  “You’re only twenty-eight,” Quinn said. “Three married men by the time you’re twenty-eight is statistically significant.”