“I didn’t want to draw pictures,” Tyler explained, shrugging in that manly way of men who know they’re doing good, but don’t want to act as if they were expecting such good acts to be noticed, even though they secretly were. It wasn’t a gesture Edie saw very often in New York, but she recognized it from the movies.
“I studied Sanskrit when I was a junior,” she told him. “They were pretty graphic back then.”
“Yeah,” he said, and then he leaned over and he kissed her, and it wasn’t a graphic kiss, it was short, soft and designed to burrow into places that Edie didn’t like men to burrow to, but Edie found herself kissing him back. Short, soft, as if she were now considering said burrowing, but before she could commit to further madness, her phone rang. Thankfully, regrettably, she answered it and then promptly swore, partly because of the cause of the interruption, and partly because she was more shaken from the kiss than she wanted to admit.
While she listened to the conversation on the other end, Tyler looked at her, not completely surprised. Finally, she hung up.
“It’s work,” she explained.
“Work?” he asked casually, sipping his diet soda and looking completely unshaken.
“The diner,” she answered, sipping her ice. But right now, she needed a distraction, and the drink was all she had.
He leaned back and studied her. “You work at the diner?”
Edie waited a beat, hesitated, glanced down at the eviscerated greeting cards and decided to tell the truth. “I own the diner.”
“You don’t act like the owner.”
“How is an owner supposed to act?” she asked, somewhat defensively, because, she had just told him a rather large secret, and he didn’t have to go all third degree about it. Honestly, it was no big deal. No big deal at all.
“Why be all hush-hush about it?”
“I’m not one of those people who needs to toot her own horn,” she said.
“Why not? If you’ve done something to be proud of, why not share?”
“Spoken like a typical man.” The tone of her voice could be construed as insulting if one wanted to think that.
“That’s very sexist,” he shot back in what could be construed as an insulting tone if one wanted to think that. Edie did.
“I don’t need somebody’s approval for my actions, or my choices in life. I prefer to live without it.”
“That’s very nihilistic of you,” he offered as way of explanation. She liked his comment better than saying, “You don’t want your father to approve, and so, you live your life with a very stick-in-the-eye approach because you’re stubborn, and don’t want him to think that he’s right.”
Although she knew Tyler didn’t know about her stick-in-the-eye life-attitude, she knew he knew that whatever her reason, it wasn’t exactly healthy, and so she was quite pleased at his gracious or even—dare she say it—chivalrous behavior.
And it didn’t even make her twitch.
“There’s a slight emergency,” she told him, but before she could explain further, he laid some bills on the table, and they were at the curb climbing into a cab.
Everything he did was handled with that sort of quiet authority, and she stayed silent as they rode the ten blocks down Forty-Ninth Street to her diner.
The booths were nearly full, an eclectic Saturday night mix of young party-goers, older couples avoiding the bigger restaurant crowds and a few singletons with their newspapers and cups of coffee.
Khandi, the night manager, greeted Edie with a weary shake of the head. Patience’s emergencies were somewhat of a regular occurrence, and Khandi had little patience for Patience.
Once they made it to the bustling kitchen, Edie heard the source of the problem soon enough.
Patience was huddled over the sink, sobbing with all the pain of a woman who had just had her heart broken. Edie knew that Patience got her heart broken on a monthly basis, but the waitress seemed to always develop heartbreak-amnesia and trusted far more easily than she should.
That, and her taste in men showcased somewhere below reptilian.
Keeping her judgments to herself, Edie grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, walked over to Patience and hugged her tight, because even stupid women didn’t deserve to get hurt.
“He’s not worth it,” she whispered, dabbing at the spots where Patience’s mascara had started to run, all the while mentally condemning the men who had no idea of the damage they could cause.
“I know.”
“You’ll find somebody better,” Edie reassured her, grabbing a cloth napkin and running it under the warm water.
“I don’t think so,” Patience sniffed. “What man is going to want me?”
“A very smart one. Look, they’re already lining up.” Edie turned and nodded to where Tyler stood, his back to the grill, looking so much better than a reptile, and Edie felt a rock in her throat.
“Who are you?” asked Patience, curious about the presence of a man in the kitchen. Usually men weren’t allowed in the back of the diner, except for Ira, who was over seventy. If Tyler noticed Edie’s discriminatory practice, he didn’t let on.
“Edie’s latest victim,” he answered without hesitation. Right then, Stella, the cook, flipped some pastrami on the sizzling surface of the grill, sending drops popping in all directions. Cautiously, Tyler moved away.
Patience started to laugh, and even cracked a smile at Tyler, who was wearing his uncomfortable frown, but his eyes were nice. Edie met those warm eyes and smiled at him herself.
“You’re not going to take her to a strip club, are you?” he asked, while Patience washed her face with the warm rag.
“No, someplace better.” Edie cocked her head toward her approaching manager. “Khandi, raid the bottom drawer in the office. There’s a little black Armani in there that would look great.”
“I can’t wear my Converse with that,” Patience protested, whose fashion sense wasn’t nearly as promiscuous as Edie’s.
Edie took a look at the red high-tops in question. “Of course you can.” She nudged Tyler in the ribs, awaiting confirmation.
“It’s a nice look,” Tyler added without hesitation.
Khandi nodded, as well. “Go with it. Can’t say the old look has gotten you far.”
Eventually, Patience agreed and Khandi went for the dress. Every now and then Patience would glance curiously at Tyler, but she was too nonconfrontational to say anything, unlike Stella, the thrice-retired school teacher who lived to make trouble.
“What’s wrong with
him?
” Stella asked, slapping a sandwich together and adding a pickle to the plate, before sliding it down the counter and ringing the bell with a lot of pent-up aggression.
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” replied Edie, who saw Tyler’s perfection as an actual flaw, but she wasn’t about to explain that in front of heartbroken Patience.
“There’s something wrong with everyone that Edie’s with.” Patience politely acknowledged what Tyler had said earlier about himself.
“I’m in an emotional coma,” Tyler explained. “She’s trying to bring me back to life.”
“Should have known,” said Stella, now satisfied that Tyler was no more than the usual.
Edie suppressed a sigh of relief. Emotional coma, she thought, eying Tyler thoughtfully.
You know, that might work.
While Patience was changing in the bathroom, Edie headed for the office to check Sunday morning’s delivery order. Tyler didn’t say a word, watching intently as Edie relaxed in her desk chair as if she owned it. Which she did, she reminded herself, flipping through the various invoices.
After verifying that yes, there would be food for the following week, Edie shot him a fast look. “Emotional coma. That’s pretty good.”
“My brother tells me that all the time.” Tyler assessed the small space, but didn’t judge, which was much more courteous than Edie would have been. She supposed that was one of the differences between Texas and New York. New Yorkers knew better than to care.
“He sounds a lot livelier than you,” Edie told him, a slight verbal jab only because she wished he weren’t so nice, so likeable, and thought a few purposely chosen words might raise some hackles.
“He is,” he confirmed, hackles completely unraised.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, fixing her eyes on the antique fixtures, running numbers in her head, because her office had never seemed so tiny, so ramshackle, and even though she knew he wasn’t judging, she was making judgments for him, and Edie never liked to be judged.
He let her sit there, mentally fidgeting, until she finally—courageously—lifted her eyes from the boxes and papers and numbers and contemplated the source of her anxiety.
What was it about him that scared her so much? She’d stared down muggers, haggled with bank managers, threatened Con Ed with legal hari-kari if they shut down Stella’s power. Tyler Hart shouldn’t even make her blink. But he did. Was it the thoughtful dark eyes, the nose that was just an inch on the wrong side of arrogant, or the serious mouth that he kept firmly shut? His wasn’t a face for the magazines or the movies, he was too reserved for business, but sometimes she could see further than she wanted. He gave away nothing, no clue, no gesture, but her mind recognized things in him.
There were people in the world who climbed in the boxing ring that was life, people who opened themselves up to the world, taking punches and reaping the big gold trophies for the pain. And then there were the others. The ones who hid. Sometimes they hid behind a big mouth and a lot of manufactured bravado, and sometimes they hid behind a serious mouth and thoughtful dark eyes. In the end, though, no matter how you did it, hidden was hidden.
Edie knew why she kept herself out of the ring. But why Tyler?
“What are you going to do, now?” Tyler asked, which on the surface was such an innocent question that Edie, taking the surface answer, shot him a grin.
“Right now, we bowl.” The serious mouth didn’t move, but she noticed the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Edie pushed away from the chair, and closed the book on the diner. Disappointment didn’t bother her. Never had.
Twenty minutes later, the mismatched threesome arrived at the lanes at Chelsea Pier, an intriguing mix of dim cocktail lounge, party lights in shades of blue, purple and pink, loud, throbbing music, high-backed leather couches and bowling lanes. The place was packed full of men. Old men, young men, bowling teams in their coordinating uniforms and a small group of teenagers who were blasting lasers in the arcade. Amidst all that testosterone and blaring rock music, Patience looked ready to bolt.
Tentatively Patience entered, her hair neatly styled, the Armani clinging exactly as Edie’d known it would. When she wasn’t wearing a yellow apron, Patience could be quite the looker, and heads turned as she passed.
Directly in front of them, a teenager type manned the long black shelves that were packed with shiny balls and shoes. Everything was artfully arranged, completely unlike any other bowling alley in the world—which was the main reason for the place’s popularity.
Tyler stared impassively at his red, white and blue shoes, but when he looked at Edie, all he did was quirk a brow.
“Scared?” she taunted.
“Nope,” Tyler answered. “You?”
“Of ugly shoes?” Edie scoffed. “Ha. Nothing like bowling shoes to reveal the lily-livered cowards among us.”
Realizing they were one missing, Edie noted that Patience was now frozen in place, a vision in high-tops and Armani. It took a strong woman to carry off the look, and before the night was over, Edie was determined that Patience would be transformed.
Edie stared at her, humming “Ride of the Valkyries.” “I can’t bowl,” Patience protested, but before she could wimp out, Edie thrust a pair of bowling shoes into her hand.
“Neither can I. That’s what makes it fun.”
“You didn’t bring her here to pick up a guy?” Tyler asked, as Edie watched her ball drift helplessly into the gutter. Most red-blooded competitors would be discouraged, but Edie bowled with that same sort of kamikaze attitude that she did everything else, and didn’t seem to mind at all.
She turned to him, hands on curvy hips, and shook her head. “Nah. It’s too soon. You know what becomes of the broken-hearted? They go out bowling. Every Saturday night there’s a huge group of the dateless here.”
He glanced over to where Patience was sitting, eating and laughing as if she hadn’t been contorted with misery earlier. “She’s going to be okay?”
“Until tomorrow night, when she’s alone. And then she’ll call.”
When her score flashed on the video overhead, Edie murmured something obscene. Tyler walked up behind her, not wanting to gloat, but yes, there was an extra bounce in his step. His first throws had gone in the gutter, but once he realized that he was hooking right, he’d managed to compensate, and now he was beating Edie’s ass, not that it was a monumental accomplishment, but he suspected Edie was far too accustomed to losing. Although, to be fair, some of her poor choices accounted for her issues with success, or lack thereof. However, since technically it was those very same poor choices that had put her in his bed, he didn’t think he needed to point that out.
Bowling hadn’t been as scary as he’d expected. The place was top-shelf, each lane topped with a comfortable seating area where black, cushiony leather seats surrounded a granite table. The waitresses were discrete, the drinks were stiff and the walls between each lane provided a private ambience that could almost put a man in mind of other entertainments if he were so inclined.
He and Edie were just starting the third game when she suggested a cash wager. At first, Tyler had declined, but then she stared him down until he decided it was rude not to accept. Hey, if she wanted to part ways with some cash, he was okay with that.
The next frame, she threw a gutterball, then a lucky spare, but Tyler followed it with a wicked split that he knocked out proudly.
Who knew that bowling could be this much fun?
And if Edie were making the game a little closer, well, victory would be that much sweeter. “You know, if you worked on your delivery, you might do better,” he suggested, trying to be helpful.
As soon as he finished speaking, she turned and looked at him with amazingly vacant brown eyes. Too vacant, warned a voice in his head. This time, she pulled her right arm back, then followed through with a rocket shot that hung to the right, until the very last second when it hooked center…
dead center
.
Tyler watched as ten pins fell, hard and loud. The machine cleaned away the toppled pins, as well as the last bits of his toppled ego.
“Lucky shot,” he called out, slightly juvenile, but the male ego was a fragile thing.
“Lucky?” she taunted, and then threw three consecutive strikes. Tyler kept his tongue glued firmly to the top of his mouth, resisting name-calling, insults, or anything that might indicate he wasn’t able to lose with dignity.
He was down twenty-five pins when she missed her spare, and when she had her back to him, he did allow himself a smug smile. By the tenth and final frame, she had him beaten, and Tyler gallantly offered to double down.
Edie focused on him. “Sucker’s bet,” she said with a shrug. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said, and then took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He was a world-class cardiac surgeon, had backed the Oilers long after the Earl Campbell years and damn it, there was no way he was getting beaten by a girl.
He bowled two strikes and a spare and was ahead by a dozen pins when she approached the line, wiggled her hips, started to pull her arm back, then stopped.
Patiently, Tyler waited. He could see she was getting nervous. Finally, she threw the ball and ended with a strike. Not bothering to hide her smile, she skipped to the high-backed leather couch, sat down next to him and crossed one long leg dramatically over the other. At this angle, he could see right up to the very tops of her thighs. She assumed he would ogle. However, Tyler was a gentleman, and he did not ogle. Much.
Completely aware of his weakness, she slapped a hand on his thigh. “You’re up, sport.”
Before he rose, her hand slipped higher, only a touch, but it was enough. Brain function ceased, and all remaining blood rushed to his cock.
“Cheap tricks,” he whispered, and then promptly knocked down the one and two pins, leaving the rest standing, much like his cock. Her laughter should have egged him on, should have fired his competitive spirit. It should not have tightened his groin into something even more painful.
But it did.
“You’re going down,” she told him cheerfully, and he smiled, not so cheerfully.
“Maybe, but you’ll love every minute,” answered some other voice that wasn’t Tyler’s.
She pushed at her hair, once, twice, before the confidence returned. She missed an easy spare, and he shrugged apologetically when she sat down.
“Cheater,” she muttered under her breath, and he patted her bare thigh.
She shot him a skeptical look under her lashes, and when she threw again, two more strikes followed.
Now the score was tied, and it was the ninth frame.
“You think you can win, buster?” she jeered, and he watched, completely unmoved as her confident little ass shifted against the black leather cushion.
“Why not?” he asked innocently.
“Ha! I’m two well-handled balls away from victory.”
His scrotum tightened, which had been her intent, but he noticed that she shifted again. Oh, she didn’t want him to see, but he knew.
“Your turn,” she reminded him, and reluctantly he approached the line. Twice he checked over his shoulder, and she grinned and waved every time as if nothing was wrong.
He ended with a miserable spare. She was waiting when he returned to the table.
“I don’t need underhanded maneuvers to win,”
she mocked, and he met her eyes coolly.
“Am I supposed to understand that?”
She leaned closer, and he smelled the sharp tang of her perfume, and before he could stop himself, he breathed deeply.
“Are you trying to be sneaky?” she asked, moving closer, her mouth, now only inches from his.
“No,” he told her, since he was never sneaky.
“You don’t need to lie.” She kissed his mouth once, twice, before her lips grazed the base of his ear. “I like you bad. I like you sneaky. I like you dirty. It makes me wet, damp, drenched with the very idea of it.”
As a medical professional, Tyler was aware of the various biological responses to arousal, so it was completely understandable when he took her mouth and pulled her firmly in his lap, that he did find that she was wet, drenched and not ice cold, but burning with heat. So much heat…
Feeling emboldened, he pushed a finger inside her, once, twice, more than satisfied with her tortured moan.
Her hips ground against his hard-on, not helping matters, and then she opened her eyes, sharp with desire. “I’ve got your ass now,” she whispered with authority, taking a playful nip at his lower lip.
There were few men able to maneuver their hands in tight places and perform delicate procedures, but Tyler could.
“You think?” he asked, then slipped three ice cubes beyond the innocent blue polka-dots, burying them deep inside her.
Her eyes opened wide with shock, and she jumped up from his lap, bumping her leg on the table, before pulling her skirt low.
Feeling a profound sense of satisfaction, Tyler folded his arms across his chest, and watched as she walked stiffly to the line. Her previously, perky and confident ass noticeably shifting first with discomfort, then pleasure.
Oh, she must be miserable,
he thought to himself. The human body was a miraculous thing, full of mystery and vulnerabilities. Nothing that a trained medical professional didn’t know how to exploit.
He was so completely engrossed in the fantasy of her bowling shoes riding on his shoulders that he missed her first strike.
Another followed. Game over.
Edie returned to him, and yes, she was still moving uncomfortably, but before she sat, she discreetly adjusted her skirt. A less astute man might not have spotted her right hand disappearing for a moment, but then it reappeared, and apparently everything was restored to its proper place.
Damn it.
She curled her legs beneath her, and twinkled up at him. “Sorry about the loss. I hope you’re not too…deflated.”
Deflated? He was going to be stuck like this for another year. And it would be all her fault. Gallantly, Tyler took her hand, covered it with his own and then brought it to his lips.
Slowly, she smiled at him.
“So why don’t you ask me back to your hotel?” she purred.
“I don’t know if I can make it that far,” he answered quite sincerely.
“We’ll have to improvise,” she told him, jerking her thumb in the direction of the nearest exit.