Speed Dating (16 page)

“So, I’ve seen you on TV kissing my brother. Is that your full-time job?” the power-suited sister asked.

Dylan’s mouth settled back to its straight line again. What? Did he think she didn’t understand him? Did he believe she was going to disappoint him? Oh, no. Not tonight.

“I’m between jobs,” she said.

“Unemployed,” Dylan’s dad said to his mom in a tone that suggested they didn’t want to know what kind of jobs she was between.

Mary Beth was obviously not a sweep-unpleasantness-under-the-rug type. She moved to sit beside Kendall, looking interested, and Kendall revised her first impression. She had a feeling that, in spite of the fact she’d entered the family firm, as it were, Mary Beth was more like Dylan than she was like his uptight parents.

“What kind of work do you do?”

However, as much as she thought she might like Mary Beth under normal circumstances, these weren’t normal, at least not for her. Having brought Dylan here under protest to a home where he clearly wasn’t appreciated, she needed him to know she was on his side.

“I’m in the service industry,” she said.

“Probably a waitress,” Dylan’s mother said with disdain.

“Which month did you pose?” Mary Beth asked.

She shot a glance at her date, who had settled back in his chair and was watching her. “Actually, I’m an actress,” she said, remembering how she’d first met Dylan.

He sent her a wink, and she felt as though he’d kissed her.

“Let’s move into the dining room, shall we?” Mrs. Hargreave rose and led the way, ending further discussion of her occupation.

Dinner was, if possible, more strained than the cocktail hour. The dining room was frighteningly perfect. A rectangular table set with fancy china, pressed linens and crystal was laid for five. A silver bowl of roses sat in the middle of a tablecloth that had been ironed so there wasn’t a crease, a line, not the tiniest wrinkle. The cloth lay heavily on the table, cascading off in perfect folds as though it had been painted on. The roses were cream-colored, each one coming into bloom as though the bush had been ordered to produce an entire dining table’s crop of roses that very afternoon.

Mrs. Hargreave took her place at the head of the table and invited her son to sit on her right. The two women were directed to sit on either side of his father who sat, very correctly, at the other end of the table from his wife. Kendall was mildly surprised that there wasn’t a sixth diner simply to provide perfect symmetry to the table setting. Perhaps the idea of subjecting one of their friends to Dylan’s questionable date made an uneven table preferable to social ridicule.

She ended up being the one with the empty place yawning between her and Dylan’s mother, so she felt like the odd one out.

A uniformed maid appeared, followed by a second,
so they were all served their dinner at once. Dylan’s father turned to Mary Beth. “What’s your opinion on the Lund case?” he asked her.

The two were soon buried in a complex conversation that no one outside the law profession could possibly follow. Dylan’s father talked to his sister with animation and pleasure. He’d never addressed one direct remark to Dylan except to ask if he wanted another drink.

Stress crawled up her legs like fire ants.

She glanced over at Dylan to find him staring at his plate while his mother leaned forward, looking past him and listening with full attention to her daughter.

How could she have been so wrong? She’d imagined Dylan as the favored child, something she’d seen on more than one occasion, where the daughter was overshadowed by a brother. The male heir. At least the favoritism in this house had a feminist slant. Except that Mary Beth had followed in her father’s footsteps, in some ways becoming the son Dylan would never be.

Kendall wanted to hate Mary Beth on principle, with her power suit and her legal mind, the way she’d usurped Dylan’s place in the family order. Yet somehow, she couldn’t do it. There was just enough of Dylan in his sister for Kendall to withhold judgment. More, there was an expression on her face that suggested she knew their family dynamic was whacked but what was she supposed to do about it?

No, Kendall thought, she’d at least wait until dessert before banishing Mary Beth to the mental disaster zone where she’d consigned his parents within minutes of meeting them.

It wasn’t the longest dinner she’d ever sat through. She had, after all, attended her fair share of actuarial dinners that made up for in longevity what they lacked in wit. But this was right up there with the most unpleasant meals of her life. Perfect food and wines to complement each course couldn’t cover up the tension between Dylan and his family.

A couple of times, she tried to bring him into the conversation. That earned her glares from him, blank looks from his mother and father and a look of interest from the sister.

After dinner, when she hoped they might make their escape, Dylan’s mother suddenly turned to Kendall and said, “You seem very interested in Dylan’s career. Perhaps you’d like to see his collection of school trophies.”

“Mother,” Dylan said in a warning tone.

“I’d love to see his trophies,” she said. Finally, some sense that they took pride in their son.

Dutifully, she followed his mother into the library, a grand old room smelling of fine leather and dust. Books lined the walls, and the room contained several seating areas and a huge, old desk with a top-of-the-line computer sitting incongruously on it. Dylan’s mother led Kendall to a glass case that contained trophies, cups and ribbons.

“Here is Dylan’s trophy from the debating team in high school. They went all the way to the national championships. They came second.”

“The debating team. Very impressive.” She glanced up to see the entire family had followed.

“And here’s the medal for winning the highest score
in math.” She sighed. “He was such a bright boy, with such a promising future.”

Not one single bit of racing paraphernalia was contained in that cabinet of pride. It was as though Dylan had ceased to exist when he quit the debating team and stopped acing math.

“You know,” Kendall said brightly, “you should clear a space in that cabinet for when Dy wins the NASCAR NEXTEL Cup.”

The cabinet shut with a decided click.

For an uncomfortable moment, no one said anything or even moved.

Kendall broke the silence.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, but we should get going. I have an audition tomorrow.” She smiled at them all, doing her best to look like a bimbo. “I need to go home and run through my line.”

S
HE AND
D
YLAN
emerged from the house, and she felt a breath of relief flow out of her body.

“Wow, that was—”

The sound of the door opening and closing behind them stopped her.

“Hey, wait,” his sister called out.

They turned and waited.

“How long are you in town for?” she asked Dylan.

He shrugged. “Not long. A week, maybe.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“I should hate you.”

“But you don’t. You can’t help yourself.” She turned to Kendall. “It was nice to meet you, Kendall. I hope I get to see you again.”

“Thanks. I—” She stopped to think. “Amazingly, I enjoyed meeting you, too.”

Mary Beth took out her business card and handed it to Kendall. “Call me. We’ll do lunch. If you want all the dirt on my bro, I am your woman.”

“We’re probably going to be really busy,” Dylan said, moving toward the car.

“What kind of dirt are we talking?” Kendall wanted to know. “Embarrassing moments on the sports field?”

“The entire blooper reel of his life will be laid out before you.”

There was a flurry of metallic clicks as Dylan hit the automatic key pad.

“Old girlfriends?”

“I know all.”

“Kendall?” Dylan said with a warning note.

“Coming. Would tomorrow be too soon?”

Mary Beth grinned at her. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“You’re not having lunch with my sister,” Dylan ordered when she got into the car.

“I have a date. I never break my promise.” She turned to him, his profile was uncompromising. He lifted a hand and jerked his tie loose. “What are you afraid she’ll tell me?”

“Nothing. She’ll tell you nothing. She’s a troublemaker, that’s all.”

“Not the only one in the family, Mr. I-only-date-scary-women-with-big-hair-who-pose-nude-for-men’s-magazines.”

The hard lines around his jaw softened. “I can’t help myself. They bring out the worst in me.”

W
HEN THEY
arrived home, she said, “Dylan?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I had no right to push myself into your family like that.”

“It’s okay.”

He pulled off his jacket and tie and tossed them over the back of the couch.

“Are we really staying a week?”

“We might as well, now we’re here. There’s a break
in the racing schedule, I’ve got some jobs to do around here and I can sure use a rest.”

“And I can finally start getting my résumé organized.”

“Don’t,” he said with a sudden scowl.

“You know, you’ve been really good for me. I had so little faith in myself when I jumped into your car. Now, I’m seriously considering not going back to my company. The opening’s been delayed and I don’t think they’re in any big rush to have me back. Maybe it’s time for me to move on. There are other jobs, other firms.”

“Don’t,” he repeated.

“Why?” she asked softly.

He moved forward until he stood directly in front of her. He pulled her into his arms. “Because I ain’t nearly done with you yet.”

“Well, that’s good. Because I’m not nearly done with you, either.”

The sad truth was she was fairly certain he’d be done with her a lot sooner than she would be done with him. Like maybe ever. Well, she’d worry about that—and about an ensuing broken heart—when the time came. Until then, she planned to enjoy every minute. Even the kind of sad minutes, like this one. There was so much she wanted to say to him, about the evening and the strange dynamics of his family, but she didn’t know where to begin or if he’d welcome her curiosity, so she said nothing.

He stroked her back in long, soothing movements, but she felt he was looking for comfort as much as he was giving it. He stroked her the way a hurting child might stroke a favorite stuffed animal or a beloved pet.
She squirmed a little at her own mental image of herself as the family mutt.

“Cold?” He rubbed a little faster.

“No. Not really.” She decided to share a little of the truth with him. “I was thinking I’ll be sorry when this is over.”

“Then stay.”

“I don’t belong here. One day very soon, I’m going to have to go back to my own life, and the longer I stay, the harder it’s going to be.” She took a breath to steady herself, trying to make him understand without giving too much away—like the fact that she was very much afraid she was in love with him. “I’m not part of your world.”

“Sure you are. I can’t imagine what these last weeks would have been like without you.”

“Probably they would have been very much like all the other weeks you raced when I wasn’t around.”

“The same, only with a lot less winning and a lot more losing. I know you think it’s crazy and superstitious of us, but we’ve all seen the difference. You bring me and my team luck.”

“That’s nice, but statistically impossible, of course. A number of factors go into winning. Better—”

“Forget the luck, or the statistics. Nobody could have helped me out of the jam with Ashlee the way you did.”

“That’s another thing. I’m not a real girlfriend, either. I feel like I’m living somebody else’s life. I keep pretending to be all these things I’m not. Even my clothes aren’t my own.”

“Now, honey, you can’t tell me you like all those dirt-and mold-colored clothes better than the ones you’re
wearing now, because if you did I’d have to go against my principles and call a woman a liar.”

She chuckled, as she knew he’d meant her to, but she wouldn’t be fobbed off. “No. Of course I love these clothes. And I enjoy being part of your team. I’m having a wonderful time.” Too wonderful. Much, much too wonderful.

“So everything’s fine.”

“No. Everything is not fine. I feel like I’m on leave from my own place in the world. I’m a planner, a…I look at the future and calculate things like life expectancy and risks associated with certain lifestyles, and I have to tell you that what I’m doing is extremely high-risk for me.”

“Why?” The single word was said simply, but she thought he sounded hurt.

She tipped her head back and tried to explain. “Because Cinderella doesn’t always get the handsome prince. Sometimes the prince isn’t for her, and she ends up back in her dead-end job. Don’t you think that the longer she plays at being the princess, the harder it’s going to be to go back?”

“This is total garbage. First off, you work in an insurance company. You don’t sweep ashes. Second, I am no prince, and I have never for one second treated you like a princess.”

She sighed softly. “No. But you made me feel like one.”

“So, what are you saying? Are you looking for some kind of commitment? Because you know I never—”

“Of course you never,” she interrupted him quickly. “I never expected anything or asked for it.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that now I want it.” She heard her voice waver and cleared her throat, determined to be strong. She reached out for him and clasped his hand. “It’s not your fault, Dylan. It’s mine. I’m such an idiot. I never should have jumped into your car that day. I was hurt and angry and lost and I thought, for once I’m going to do something crazy, impulsive, wild. So I took a flying leap into a getaway car.” She laughed softly, thinking about how ridiculous she must have looked to that line of actuaries watching in amazement.

“And you’ve had fun. We’ve had fun.”

“Oh, yes, we have. More fun than I ever imagined. But Dylan…” She sucked in a breath and told him the truth, even though she knew it would ruin everything. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

T
HAT WAS
strong and honest. Just the kind of statement Carl Edwards had said he was looking for from a woman. Unfortunately, Dylan didn’t have that sort of reaction. Maybe he was looking for something else, she thought.

He didn’t say anything, or move. She felt a tiny twitch in the hand that still clasped hers.

For a while she heard nothing but the soft sounds of their breathing and the crazy pounding of her heart.

“You know, Kendall,” he said at last, “sometimes people get into situations and think they feel more than they do.”

“No!” she shouted, amazed at the fury that possessed her. “No. Don’t you dare throw it back at me. I feel what I feel and it’s honest. I love you. I don’t want anything from you. I know you don’t love me back.”

She swallowed, determined to hang on to control, or at least, if that wasn’t possible, to stop herself from sobbing all over him. “I never expected that you would, but now I’ve so stupidly fallen in love with you, I don’t think I can go on like this indefinitely.”

“Maybe if you stick around, it will burn itself out. I’m no prize, you know.”

She smiled. “I know. It’s funny. At one time I thought I’d marry Marvin. We have so much in common. But I know now that I never loved him at all. At least I’ve learned to recognize my own feelings. I’ll be okay, you know. I’m strong. But you have to make it easy for me to go.”

“When?”

“I think I should go soon.”

He looked at her, a slight frown pulling his brows together. “I’d like you to give me two weeks’ notice.”

“Two weeks’ notice? Dylan, I kiss you before races. It’s an unpaid, voluntary position. You want me to give you notice? Like a real job?”

“Yes.”

She was about to tell him where he could put his notice when she stopped herself. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Half a month, give or take, before her dream would end. If she was smart, she’d go right away, but she wasn’t that smart, or that strong. She had half a month to get both smarter and stronger. “Okay.”

She didn’t know what to do and she could tell he didn’t, either. Normally there would be meetings or events to get ready for, but for the next few days there was nothing. So they stood there, slightly awkward. “Do you want anything?”

Apart from you to love me back? “No. I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

“Okay.” He headed to the fridge, opened it, pulled out a beer and then put it back. He closed the fridge door and turned back to her. “I wish it could be different.”

She nodded.

“Can we still stay here for the week? I want to show you around and maybe teach you to ride a horse.”

She stared at him, at that rugged, too-handsome-for-his-own-good, and somehow sad, face. “I’d like that.”

She walked over to stand in front of him and he looked down at her for a moment, serious eyes in a serious face. Then he lifted his hands to her hair and finally he kissed her.

Their kiss was soft and slow and tender, unlike it had ever been before. Was it because she’d admitted her feelings to him? Or because he’d spent a lousy evening with his family and he needed her comfort? She didn’t know, but when he kissed her she saw the confusion in his gaze and the sadness. “I wish I could give you what you want,” he said.

She raised her head up to touch her lips to his. “I’ll never forget any of this.” And because she was already so much braver than she’d ever believed possible, she said, “I love you.”

He kissed her again and then clasped her fingers and held their joined hands against her heart.

Maybe he didn’t love her back, but at that moment she’d never felt closer to another human being. Of course it wasn’t going to last, but she wanted to know everything there was to know about this man, wanted to take memories with her that would live inside her,
moments like this that she could bring out like photographs in an album, to pore over and savor.

“What do you want, Dylan?”

After a long moment, she heard him say, “I want to win the Cup.”

“Statistically, that could still happen this year.”

“Yes, my little actuary. Statistically, it could.”

“And that’s your life’s ambition? To drive fast?” She didn’t mean to sound unimpressed, but really. “You’ve already won two Cups. You’ve been clocked going faster than any driver ever.”

“For one lap.”

“But how many times can you break your own records? How many times can you keep winning?”

“A lot of times and not get bored.”

And suddenly, it hit her with a powerful and instant insight. “That’s it, isn’t it? I think that’s why you were in that nonwinning streak. You were bored. I made your life more interesting. I challenged you.”

“You think I’m winning now because of you?”

It was the most egotistical, unscientific reckoning she’d ever made in her life. She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I do.”

“So now you believe me about the luck?”

“No. I think I cured your boredom, at least temporarily.” She tipped back her head to look him straight in the eye. “And I think you should figure out why that might be.”

Kendall looked at him for a long time. She opened her mouth, then shook her head a little and closed her lips.

“What?” he asked.

She kissed him swiftly and headed off to her room.