Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (37 page)

She was being irrational and she knew it. Plus, she was scaring Harold to death.

“Do you want me to call someone?” he murmured. “A doctor? Or that boyfriend of yours? He’d want to know you’re sick.”

“He knows,” she assured him bitterly. “He just doesn’t care.”

Harold blanched. “I’m sure that’s not true. Why don’t you come to my house? I’ll make you some tea—”

“I
have
tea.” She gestured toward her mug, knocking it over with her wide swing. Then she burst into tears. “You’re so sweet, Harold, but you need to go away.”

He didn’t need further persuasion. “You have my number. Call if you need me. And in the meantime, get some sleep, okay? Things will look better in the morning.”

• • •

Sean couldn’t get Rachel Gillette out of his mind. Should he call her? Should he call Bannerman and check on her that way? No one had heard from the couple since they took off from the restaurant, and he assumed they were holed up in Rachel’s little bungalow, having sex on the kitchen table and scrolling through lists of top-notch agents, since apparently Murf had blown the deal.

Dinner had been grim after the couple ran away, mostly because John Spurling had been livid. Controlled, of course, but still, Sean couldn’t remember seeing him so outraged at a supposed friend. Of course, he had never seen Bannerman that angry either, had he?

Johnny had unloaded on Murf, assuring him he had crossed a line by propositioning Rachel
. Blatant manipulation.
That’s how the big dog had labeled it, and Sean reluctantly agreed. It had been cool when Murf sang Rachel’s praises. Because she was in fact amazing. But in retrospect, it felt cheap and manipulative.

John didn’t know the schoolteacher as well as Sean did, so he didn’t understand that Murf was actually correct, at least in theory. With the right mentor, she could be a killer agent. She had it all, at least in Sean’s eyes. Beauty, brains, taste—except when it came to boyfriends—and intuition. She always seemed to know what Sean was thinking, didn’t she?

Wasn’t that why she pestered him about his love life? She sensed a disturbance in his force, otherwise known as Kerrie Cosner, and wanted to help. And he had no doubt she
could
help if he confided in her.

My prediction? You’ll be married to the girl of your dreams within a year.

If he hadn’t already loved Rachel Gillette, that observation would have sealed the deal. He wanted to pledge his loyalty to her. To protect her from guys like Murf.

Guys like Bannerman.

Except she
wanted
Bannerman. She had made that clear, first at her house but more poignantly during happy hour. In those hilarious, fun-filled moments before Murf ruined everything, Rachel had emitted a glow equaled only by the awe on Bannerman’s face when he looked at her. It had freaked Sean out. Made his eyes bleed. And yet, it was so bizarrely romantic.

So right.

The door to room 108 opened and Kerrie stepped inside, her hot-pink outfit skimpy, her hot-pink smile mischievous. “You’re here! I’m always afraid you won’t show up.”

“I can’t stay away,” he admitted. “But I’ve got problems, Kerrie. Remember my blind date? The schoolteacher from the wedding?”

Kerrie gasped. “Is she okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, she’s fine.” He chuckled.
“She’s
fine, I’m a mess.”

Kerrie didn’t smile. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, really. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Especially because . . .” He eyed the plump breasts that were bursting out of her skintight top. “I’ve been thinking about
you
too. I swear it.”

She glared. “Tell me why you’re worried about Rachel.”

Impressed she even remembered Rachel’s name from a throwaway phone call, he told her warmly, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Kerrie glared again. Then she folded her arms to block his view of her chest. “Talk to me, Sean Decker. We
love
that schoolteacher, don’t we? She’s like Joan of effing Arc. The only friend we have in common, and the only one who matters. So tell me what’s wrong or I
swear
I’ll put my panties back on.”

He stared, dumbfounded. Why would Kerrie feel so strongly about Rachel?

Of course, she could accuse him of the same thing. Caring too much about Rachel.

But still?

He wanted to spill his guts, but Rachel would hate that, wouldn’t she? She was so private. So formal. And Bannerman would resent it too. Even worse, Kerrie might abuse the information, strictly out of love, and cause world war three.

So he said quietly, “I saw Rachel this week. And we bonded like hell. Not sexually, obviously. But I care about her. And I got the impression she was—well, in over her head.”

Kerrie’s amber eyes widened. “With a
guy?”

“Yeah. Some random dude who’s completely wrong for her. I might be wrong, but that’s the vibe I got.”

“Oh, no. Poor Rachel.”

He smiled fondly. “She asked about
my
love life, and I had a revelation. Wanna hear it?”

Kerrie nodded.

“She’s gonna love you, baby. And she’ll love
us
even more. It might not matter to the outside world, but it means a lot to me. So . . .” He took a deep breath. “If I ever introduce you to her, treat her like an ally. A friend. Or let’s face it, a kindred spirit.”

“Joan of freaking Arc,” Kerrie agreed happily, tackling him to the bed. “I’m sooo glad you love her, Sean, because I love, love, love her too.”

• • •

Since it was Palm Sunday, Rachel had planned on attending services at the cathedral instead of on campus. Now she didn’t even consider getting dressed. It was all a crock, wasn’t it? The pageantry? The optimism? Faith in something bigger than oneself?

She no longer believed in that. Or anything else. Bannerman? She didn’t even
know
him. The future? Marriage, children, growing old together?

What a crock.

She didn’t even visit the pomegranate tree, clinging to the belief that nine blossoms remained, determined to survive against the odds.

Fuck the odds.

Rachel’s heart had hardened so completely she barely recognized herself. He wasn’t coming back. Maybe he would call, since he had promised he would, but seriously? A promise from Bam Bannerman? Was she really that demented?

All she knew for sure was he wouldn’t show up in person. Not ever and certainly not on Friday, even though fresh-faced students awaited him.

He wouldn’t call. He wouldn’t show up. He had trashed her heart, her dreams, her fucking sinuses.

His work was done.

Even to her own ears, her own sensibilities, that assessment seemed harsh. Except for the fact that she had woken up that morning in such a pitiful, sobbing state, she honestly feared for her sanity. She
had
to get this under control. And more importantly, had to stop blaming herself. Right or wrong, if she wanted to survive, she had to accept her own humanity and move on.

Maybe if she had just woken up sobbing, it would have been okay. Or if she had sobbed his given name.

But she hadn’t said “Vince.”

It was so much worse than that. Because somewhere between deep sleep and bitter awareness, she had awoken with a single syllable, straight from the gut.

Bam.

• • •

She didn’t watch the Super Bowl or work on school projects. She just showered, dressed in clean pajamas, and sat at the kitchen table, her eyes on the clock, willing it to be nighttime again so she could sleep, wake up, go to school, and come home.

He had said he would call “next week.” She had hoped he’d call sooner. Then she had hoped he would consider Sunday as the beginning of a new week.

Now her hopes were pinned on Monday. He would call. Or he wouldn’t. And if he didn’t, she would know everything she needed to know.

And because she had given up on seeing him in person, she jumped out of her skin when a knock sounded on her front door precisely at noon.

Oh, my God!

She knew she should powder her blotchy cheeks. Or at least change into something prettier. But her heart propelled her to the door and she threw it open, then stared blankly at Rafael.

“Oh . . .”

She had forgotten about him. Forgotten about Kerrie. Forgotten about everything but Bannerman and their mind-fuck of a relationship.

Rafa’s gorgeous brown eyes blazed with concern. “Are you sick?”

“Sinus infection,” she explained automatically.

“Is anyone taking care of you?”

She met his gaze, invigorated by the youthful devotion. “Is Kerrie at the restaurant already?”

“Pay attention,
chica,”
he said with a fond smile. “Her life revolves around you. But she’ll understand if you’re sick.”

“I’m not just sick. I’m heartsick.”

He nodded sagely. “Then you definitely need to have lunch with her.”

• • •

She knew Rafa was right, so she asked him to wait in the living room. Then she changed into jeans and a black T-shirt, found the hugest pair of sunglasses she owned, and followed him to the town car. When he opened the front passenger door, she didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t a client this time, she was Rafa’s guest. Rafa’s friend.

And it felt pretty good.

“I’ll kill the bastard for you,” the adorable driver promised. “Make him wish he was never born.”

“How did I survive without you?” she asked gratefully.

It was a tender moment, but ultimately meaningless. And after that they proceeded in silence, neither sure what to say next.

When they pulled into the restaurant’s circular driveway, she panicked. “Rafa?”

“Your friend will take care of you. You’re like sisters, aren’t you? This is what sisters do.”

It made sense, propelling Rachel into action. “She
is
my sister. Thanks, Rafa. I’ll be fine now. And I’ll be back quick, because I’m sick—honestly—so I’m not going to eat or drink. I’ll just visit with her for a few minutes, then you can take me home.”

• • •

Once inside, she spotted her lunatic friend right away, since she was in their regular booth and already sipping a martini. And luckily she was chatting with Agnes, so she didn’t sprint across the room to attack.

You can do this, Rachel. Just let her drone on and on and on about Sean, then cut it short and go home.

“Hi, Agnes.” She smiled at the waitress, then slipped into her seat. “Hey, Kerrie. Sorry I’m late.”

“Are you sick?”

“It might be bird flu. So I can’t stay. I just wanted to tell you in person.”

Kerrie eyed her intently. “You’ve been crying?”

Agnes seemed similarly concerned. “Are you okay, honey?”

“I’ll have a vodka martini,” Rachel said quietly. “Hold the olives. Because God forbid I ingest a vitamin.”

“Woah.” Kerrie gave the waitress a look that roughly translated to:
there’s a huge tip in this if you pretend it’s all normal.

Once Agnes left, Kerrie asked carefully, “Did someone die?”

Rachel’s voice quavered. “I had a fight with Vince.”

“Who’s Vince?”

It struck her funny in the most ridiculous sense. Because
no one
called Bam Bannerman “Vince” except his clueless ex-girlfriend.

“Oh, God,” Kerrie whispered. “You mean Vince
Bannerman?”

Rachel nodded, sobbing pitifully.

Kerrie scooted out of her side of the booth and joined Rachel, wrapping her arm around her shoulders. “Poor baby! He called you? Even after Sean told him not to? He’s a beast.”

“He’s a w-wonderful man,” Rachel corrected her miserably. “We’ve been seeing each other. And I’ve loved it. Every minute of it. Until this weekend.”

Kerrie gathered her close but didn’t say anything. And Rachel was grateful because really, what was there to say?

Agnes reappeared in record time with two martinis, two vanilla milkshakes, and a stack of hot, fragrant onion rings “on the house.”

As soon as she was gone, Kerrie said gently, “Just tell me if we hate him or love him. I’m good either way.”

Rachel giggled in semi-hysteria. “I don’t know. I think we love him, but he dumped me on my ass, so I’m not sure.”

“Okay.” Kerrie cradled her sympathetically. “Just cry it out.”

Rachel sobbed for a few more moments, then murmured, “I’m so glad you’re here. But you need to be over there.” She gestured toward the other side of the booth. “People are staring.”

“Screw ’em. I’m on you like glue until we work this out.”

Rachel’s heart swelled. “Thanks.”

“Are you serious? After all the times you helped me? I’m in this, Rachel. Just tell me what you need.”

She smiled fondly. “I need you to go back to your side of the booth. Please?”

“You’re such a prude.” Kerrie flashed a playful smile, then planted a kiss on Rachel’s cheek, slid the plate of onion rings to the center of the table, and returned to her original seat with her milkshake firmly in hand. Then she told Rachel gently, “Just start from the beginning. And don’t leave anything out. Especially the sex stuff.”

• • •

Rachel left most of the “sex stuff” out but the story still sounded pretty hot to her ears. She also left out the kindergarten details, mostly to protect her school’s reputation. And she omitted the fact that Patrick Murphy had been present at dinner, because that seemed like a breach of confidentiality. So she just focused on “drinks with Johnny and Erica Spurling. And Sean, who was such a doll as always.”

Then she explained the problem. “Apparently, I acted like my relationship with Vince was casual. Even though I don’t see it that way. Even though I always thought
he
saw it that way. At least, ultimately.” Smiling, she added, “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

Kerrie gave her an apologetic wince. “Sean mentioned it to me. More or less.”

“What?
When was this?”

“Last night. He said he was worried about you because he thought you were falling for some quote-unquote random dude. But he didn’t tell me it was Bam.”