Dare to Love (3 page)

* * *

“D
AMN
!” Doug glanced at his watch as he listened—again—to the annoying busy signal, and hung up the phone with a little more force than was necessary. Opening the fly of his jeans so he could tuck in his clean T-shirt, he swore again. He had hoped to get through to the woman before he had to see her again, and breakfast was due to start in less than sixty seconds.

If he didn't go now, he'd be late, and he wasn't about to give Ms. Andrea Parker any more reason to look down her perfect nose at him—even though, judging by her busy telephone, she was going to be late herself. The apology for his off-color remark would just have to wait, maybe indefinitely.

He was just pulling out one of the two vacant chairs left at the round table set for seven when Andrea walked into the small breakfast room. She was wearing blue jeans and a short-sleeved, button-up shirt with two pockets in just the right places. He wished to hell he hadn't noticed.

He looked at his watch. She'd made it with about two seconds to spare.
Wouldn't you just know it.

She was wearing that smile again, too. His stomach lurched.

Hunger pains. That's all it was. He'd had them enough to know, hadn't he? But, hell, why couldn't the woman smile like everyone else he knew? A simple lifting of the corners of the mouth, add in a few facial lines, you've got a smile. But not Andrea Parker. No, her smile lifted right up off her face and electrified anyone in its path. She had no right going around giving everyone the illusion that she really cared, that she'd be there if she was needed. Doug had learned a long time ago not to believe in illusions.

He was going to have to call Stan. Maybe they could reassign him to another team, another mentor, another session.

“Hi, guys. Everybody sleep okay?” Andrea asked, sliding into the last empty chair. It was two down from Doug. He was thankful for small mercies. If he moved his own chair a little and leaned back just the right way, he didn't even have to see her.

He hadn't called Celia in a long time, hadn't slept with her in even longer. Maybe that was his problem. He'd just been too long without a woman. Maybe he should give Celia a call.

The men around him all nodded or grunted in reply to Andrea's cheery greeting. Doug remained silent. First thing in the morning was not a good time to chip away at the defenses of a bunch of strong, confident men. Hell, no time was a good time. Didn't the woman have any sense at all?

“What's for breakfast?” she asked the silent group, apparently undaunted by their evasive eyes and grouchy expressions.

“Eggs. They're scrambling yours, since you weren't here to order,” the big Swede answered. He was sitting right next to Andrea, so it would have been downright rude of him not to reply. Doug felt a moment's empathy for the guy, but mostly he was just glad it wasn't him.

A couple of black-suited waiters appeared at the door, carrying large trays of dishes covered with metal lids. No more was said around the table as breakfast was served. Doug got scrambled eggs, too—not that he minded. He wasn't picky about
what
he ate, only
that
he ate.

“Anybody here a Browns fan?” Andrea asked.

A couple of the guys grunted an affirmative.

“Did you catch that pre-season skirmish on Sunday?” she asked without missing a beat.

Here it comes,
Doug thought, pushing back his black leather wristband. The food on his plate no longer held much appeal. She was going to start playing with their heads now.
Go ahead, Officer Parker. Touch me.

He figured the odds were that the lady didn't even know what sport the Browns played. He'd seen it happen a million times—women in bars or sports clubs, or even in line at the supermarket, trying to get close to a guy by bringing up sports. And most of the time—all the time, in Doug's experience—they knew only enough about the subject to embarrass themselves.

A couple of the officers were not quite as sharp as he was. They fell for her ploy and began to discuss NFL football with her—specifically, the Browns' chances of making it to the Superbowl this year.

She paused when the question was thrown at her, and Doug was tempted to lean forward enough to see her face. He would've liked to watch her squirm.

“I'd say we have an outside chance of going all the way,” she said.

That's it babe, now let's hear you back that up,
Doug thought, spreading a glob of grape jelly onto his toast.

“Their quaterback's healthy, he's throwing well, they're a veteran team, the coaching staff is finally solid and the rookie nose guard they got from the first-round draft pick is going to make their defense the strongest in the NFL. If they're on, yeah, I think they can do it.”

A piece of soggy toast stuck in Doug's throat, sinking slowly down to his stomach. The woman knew football. The woman really knew football. She not only knew what she was talking about, but she sounded as interested in the subject as any guy. She hadn't been stringing them along, humoring them, playing with their heads, trying to win their trust. She'd just been making conversation—ordinary, everyday, nonthreatening conversation.

Doug felt an unwelcome twinge of respect for her. And a fair amount of relief. And he suddenly knew that he'd better start watching himself. He couldn't afford to get soft. Life ate up the softies, and, only if they were lucky, spit them back out.

Most of the major NFL contenders had been picked apart by the time breakfast was over. Andrea not only knew team stats, she knew which coaches had been fired from where and rehired by who. She knew what teams had a good running offense and which ones could rely on passing. And when one of the guys mentioned a rookie whose record she knew nothing about, she asked as many questions as a reporter for
Sports Illustrated.

Doug still didn't feel that she qualified, in any way, to be any kind of a mentor to him. He wasn't so easily swayed. But by the time the breakfast dishes had been cleared away and the table wiped clean, he wasn't quite so resentful of Andi Parker. He settled back in his chair lazily, slouching down just enough to be comfortable while still keeping his muscles poised and ready to spring into action.

He watched Andi's hands as she juggled some papers in front of her. They were slender hands, with long, slim fingers. Her nails were short but smooth, as if she wore them that way on purpose, not because she bit them. Doug had never liked long nails. They could hurt a man, just when a woman's fingers were making him feel good. When he started to imagine Andi's fingers forming a soft cocoon around him, he shook his head in self-disgust. He was definitely going to have to make that call to Stan or to Celia—probably both.

“Okay people. Let's get to know each other. Who wants to start? I know—let's go around the room and tell our names and where we're from. And maybe add what we like to do best. Doesn't that sound like fun?”

Doug's head shot up.
What in hell?
Had the woman lost her ever-lovin' mind? She'd raised her voice by a couple of octaves at least, and was talking to them in that tone of voice reserved for babies and cute puppies. He felt his hackles rise. There was no way in hell he was going to recite his name like some damn kindergartner in Show-and-Tell. And he damn sure wasn't going to tell anyone where he was from—ever. He gathered his curriculum and stood up. It was time to make that call to Stan.

“Leaving us so soon, Doug?”

Her words were spoken to his back as he headed for the door. And though the volume of her voice was as carefully controlled as always, her tone cut clear through to his gut. She wasn't talking cutesy now. She was dead serious, and sounding a little victorious as well.

He turned around.

“You realize that these sessions are not optional. If you leave now, you're out of the program.”

Her threat was not negotiable. Doug sat back down. The guy to his immediate right, Steve something or other, sent him a sympathetic glance.

Andi tapped the eraser of her pencil against the papers stacked in front of her. “Okay, who wants to begin?” she asked, using that sing-song voice again, as if she'd never been interrupted.

She looked to her right. The ends of her short blond hair brushed against the back of her neck. “How about you, Sven? Can you tell us your name and share with us where you're from?”

Sven shrugged, looking almost as insulted as Doug felt. Doug's glance moved around the table to the four other men seated there. There was Keith Randolph, the big redhead; a tall, skinny guy called Jim; Daniel, the shortest of the group; and Steve, with whom Doug figured he probably had the most in common. Like himself, Steve looked as if he'd had his nose broken a time or two. Right then, all four of them were wearing expressions similar to the Swede's.

Andi glanced around the table too, eyeing them all with such a sickly sweet, phony smile on her face that Doug could barely stand to look at her.

“Well, then, how about if I begin? We'll all feel more comfortable then, right?” She wasn't giving up.

Is this lady for real,
Doug wondered. The men moved in their seats, as if unable to get comfortable. All but one of them had their arms crossed against their chests. Even Doug could read that particular body language.

“Let's see. I'm Andrea Parker,” she said, still in that singsong voice, and then she giggled.

Doug swore under his breath.

“I was born and raised right here in Columbus, Ohio, and what I like to do best is, gee, um, oh, I guess, eat?” She paused, as if waiting for a laugh.

Was the woman honestly trying to be funny? Doug was at a total loss and growing angrier by the second. No one talked down to him and got away with it for long—not anymore.

“Now, who wants to go next. Keith? You look brave, how about you?” she asked, still talking in the same insipid voice.

The redhead shook his head and looked away, refusing to meet her eyes. His chin was jutting out about a mile.

One by one, she looked at all of the others and got similar reactions. Chins were jutting all over the place. If the broad didn't do something soon, Doug decided, she was going to find herself the recipient of a full-scale walkout.

“Not feeling too good right about now, are you, gentlemen?” Andrea asked, her voice soft and even again.

The guys looked at her, wary but curious. Even Doug found himself watching her, wondering just what was going on.

“Please remember how you felt just now each and every time you walk into a classroom full of bright, offendable sixth-graders. If you try to be their best friend the minute you meet them, or pretend that you're their equal, despite your age differences, you might as well turn around and walk right out the door. The most important thing to remember
at all times,
when dealing with your kids, is to be completely honest with them. Don't try to be funny if you're not, don't pretend an interest in something you know nothing about, don't claim to be good at something you don't do well, and above all, don't ever talk down to them. You'll lose not only your credibility, but possibly several lives as well.”

She was good. Doug had to hand it to her. It had all been an act, but for a minute there even he hadn't been sure. She was damn good. He, for one, was never going to walk into a group of people again without being aware of how his actions could affect each and every one of them.

More interested than he had expected to be, he suddenly wasn't quite as anxious to make that phone call to Stan. It could wait at least until lunchtime.

“Now relax, guys,” Andi was saying. “While we do all have to get to know each other rather well in an awfully short time span, we don't have to immediately crowd each other's space. The lecture you'll be attending this afternoon covers the first of the seventeen DARE lessons you'll be presenting in the classroom. It deals mainly with the necessity for rules and laws, and with basic human rights. You should all be able to recite those in your sleep, so we don't really have specific material to cover this morning.

“I'm going to suggest instead that we get acquainted out on the basketball court that's located behind the swimming pool. But only if you all understand up front that while I like the game, I'm not good at it, and don't have any particular desire to get any better. And if, when we split up into two teams, someone picks me anyway.”

The weight in Doug's chest lifted for the first time since he'd packed his bag and left his apartment the day before. He could relax for a while. No one was going to probe his psyche on a basketball court.

Doug had heard the usual rumors about the mentor-trainee relationship, about the closeness among DARE officers, and he'd been dreading the training almost as much as he'd dreaded the year he had to spend in elementary-school classrooms. He wasn't sap material.

But he was getting a reprieve, and judging by what he'd seen that morning, he might even be able to convince Andi that some guys just weren't the sensitive type.

He leaned his chair back on two legs and reached behind him for a couple of plastic stir sticks lying on a coffee cart.

“How about this side of the table,” he said, pointing to Steve, Keith and himself, “plays against that side, and we draw straws to see who's stuck with Andi.” He broke one of the sticks in half. “Shortest straw loses.”

There was general agreement all around. Sven drew for the other team, and left Doug with the longer stick in his hand. Doug looked across and saw Andi smiling as the groans emitted from her side of the table. He could no longer deny that her smile was doing things to him that had never been done to him before. It made him feel kind of like warm mush inside. He didn't like warm mush, and he was relieved that she wasn't on his team. He needed to stay the hell away from her.

It didn't strike him until they were all out on the court, dressed in shorts and T-shirts, that he'd figured it all wrong. Not the staying-away-from-her part—that definitely would have been smart—but the playing-on-the-opposite-team part. A player never guarded or was guarded by his own teammates. A player did not spend the game face-to-face—within kissing distance, for God's sake—with his teammates. A player only did that with members of the opposing team, and Andi was on the opposing team.