WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition (32 page)

“What in the world was that?” Beth asked.

“I’m going to watch the Knicks play tonight
with David Willingham.”

“The Knicks aren’t in town.”

Celia stopped walking and turned to look at
Beth. “How do you know?”

“Gary? The world’s biggest Knicks fan. Why do
you think he’s taking me to dinner? There’s no game on
tonight.”

“I just assumed it would be the Knicks,”
Celia said. “Who else plays at the Garden?”

“I don’t know. The Harlem Globetrotters?”

“Very funny, Beth.” Celia grabbed her arm. “I
need cab fare. Do you have any cash?”

Beth rooted through her purse. “You’re going
to go meet a stranger? Alone? Are you out of your mind?”

“Out of options is more like it. He’s buying
me a ticket, with my gold card nonetheless, and I’m to meet him at
his seat.” She stopped talking and stared up at the twinkling
lights of her favorite city before closing her eyes in defeat. “I
completely forgot what seat he said he was in. What am I going to
do?”

Beth handed over forty dollars. “I guess
you’ll have to page him. Thank goodness you got his name.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she said, and stuck her
arm in the air to hail a cab.

“Cel, I’m not comfortable with you doing
this,” Beth shouted over the hum of traffic. “I should go with
you.”

“On Valentine’s Day? No way. I’ll be fine.”
She felt anything but as the cab pulled over to the curb.

“Call me as soon as you get your phone,” Beth
insisted. “I mean it, Cel. If you don’t call me within an hour, I’m
calling your brother.”

“Trust me.” Celia opened the door. “If I
don’t call within the hour, I want you to call my brother. I’ll
grab my purse and get the hell out of there.”

• • •

The Knicks weren’t at the Garden that night.
It wasn’t even a basketball game. Perfect. After a day spent
dodging delivery boys with flowers for everyone but her, and an
afternoon downpour, she stood in line at Will Call for tickets to a
hockey game. Celia hated hockey. And it wasn’t only one ticket he’d
bought at Will Call.

“You mean he bought two tickets?” she asked
the girl behind the counter.

“He took one and left one for you.”

“Great,” she said. Just great. She looked at
the ticket stub. He’d charged two tickets for $89 dollars each.
That purchase, on top of her new purse, put this Valentine’s as her
most expensive yet. She was going to give David Willingham a piece
of her mind.

Two

David kept half an eye on the game and half
an eye out for Celia Mason. He felt a little foolish with a bright
yellow purse on his lap, but he wanted to be sure she found him.
He’d had a better seat with the ticket he’d pawned, but he figured
she’d have forgotten his row, aisle, and seat number, and knew the
extra expense would save them both a lot of time and aggravation.
Besides, her picture had been intriguing enough to pique his
interest.

He was already pissed that he was running
late when he’d heard her phone ring. He was rooting through her
wallet, trying to figure out what to do with the purse he’d spotted
on the floor of the cab. Between the irritated look on her face in
her driver’s license picture, the miles of curling hair, and the
little zipper bags she had to keep her purse neat and organized, he
wanted to meet the dark haired beauty.

The phone call had done it. He listened to
her sultry sounding voice and he knew that she’d just as soon hit
him over the head with her purse when she finally got it back.
Celia Mason would fight for what she wanted and worry about the
consequences later.

When he spotted her inching sideways along
the row, he knew his gamble had paid off. Dressed in head-to-toe
black, from her knee-length parka to the knee-high black boots, she
wore a yellow scarf to match the yellow purse he still couldn’t
figure out how she’d left in the cab.

She glared at him with eyes as dark as her
coat and reached for the bag on his lap as she pivoted to leave. He
grabbed her hand and got a whiff of her perfume — something sexy
and dangerous. “I don’t even get a thank you?”

She put her free hand on her hip and looked
down her very attractive nose at him. “Thank you.”

“Sit down!” someone yelled from behind where
she stood. With a roll of those very alluring eyes, she plopped
down in the seat and huffed out a breath.

“Everything in here?” she asked.

“Check for yourself.”

After going through her purse and, much to
his chagrin, carefully counting the cash in her wallet, she leaned
back and placed a half-hearted smile on her face. “I suppose I
should thank you for real this time, even though I’m out $178 for a
game I can’t stand.”

“I take it you’re not a Rangers fan?”

“I’m not a hockey fan.” She plucked the beer
from his hand and took a generous sip. When he stared at her with
raised brows, she only shrugged and handed it back. “I figured I
bought that as well.”

“You thought wrong. I’ll be happy to get you
one of your own.”

She considered his offer with puckered lips,
and then looked toward the ice when a Capitals player slammed a
Rangers player into the glass and the crowd went crazy. “I’m not
staying,” she said.

He liked her looks, her style, and her smell.
He knew worse ways to spend an evening. It was time to play
hardball. “Oh, I see,” he said. “You’ve got a Valentine’s date.”
When he saw the irritated line between her brows, he knew he’d
touched a nerve and hoped like hell she didn’t leave. “Don’t let me
keep you.”

She spared him a glance. “I told you I don’t
like hockey.”

“What’s not to like?”

She glanced around. “It’s as cold in here as
it is outside, I can never keep track of the puck, and at what
other sporting event do grown men wear jerseys as if the coach
might call them onto the ice at any moment?”

David mentally thanked the Lord he hadn’t had
time to go home and get his jersey before the game.

“Most major sports,” he answered. “So what do
you like?” He deliberately shifted forward and stared at the
Bloomingdale’s bag between her feet. “Except shopping.”

Her mouth twisted into a pout. “I like
baseball.”

“Baseball’s too slow.” He kept his eyes on
the ice in a calculated move and spotted an intentional tripping.
He was missing a pretty good game, but so far she’d proved worthy.
Besides, there was always ESPN.

“See,” she said, pointing at the ice where
two players had shed their gloves and started throwing punches, to
the delight of the crowd. “This game is barbaric.”

The refs broke up the fight and sent each
player to the penalty box. He sat back down and resumed their
discussion. “It’s fast moving, fun, and entertaining.”

“Is that your criteria for a successful night
out?”

He locked eyes with her and inched closer to
her ear. He only tortured himself on her scent. “I don’t have
criteria, but if I did…” He looked her over from head to toe. “You
and hockey would fit the bill.”

When her gaze slid to his mouth, he nearly
groaned. “I think I’ll take that beer now, Dave.”

He gave himself a mental high-five. “Be right
back.”

• • •

Celia let out the breath she’d been holding
as David’s impressive backside slid in front of her view and
continued down the aisle. She watched him ease through the sports
fans, excusing himself along the way, and felt her brows lift as he
took the stairs two at a time to fetch her beer.

She unwrapped the scarf from around her neck,
and then fished her phone from her purse to call Beth, something
she’d forgotten to do when she’d gotten a look at her
purse-snatcher.

“Are you okay?” Beth asked in a frantic
voice.

Celia plugged her ear with her finger and
shouted into the phone. “I’m fine, and so is my purse-nabber. He’s
hot and very sure of himself. This may be the first hockey game
I’ve enjoyed.”

“You’re staying to watch the game?”

Celia unzipped her makeup bag and applied
some gloss. “What else have I got to do?”

“Wine and your favorite movie?”

“Can’t compare to David Willingham.” She
mashed her lips together and dropped the gloss back in the bag. “I
think he’s my Valentine’s present.”

“Celia, please be careful,” Beth warned. “You
don’t even know this guy.”

“I’m in a packed arena, not alone in his
apartment. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying and have a nice dinner with
Gary.”

She tucked the phone back in her purse and
tried to tame her hair and straighten the hem of her black jersey
dress. She really liked the way he looked, from his dark blonde
hair and moss green eyes to his blue work shirt and navy pants. She
felt at a huge disadvantage that he knew so much about her.

David handed her a beer and sat back down in
his seat. He offered her a salted pretzel. “I like a little salt
with my beer,” he said.

“I feel like we’re not on even ground here,
David.”

“Look,” he said with a smile that had dimples
popping out from his cheeks. “I apologized for the tickets.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She took a sip
of her beer and carefully set it in the cup holder by his calf. He
smelled male and musky. “I think you should let me look through
your wallet.”

“Why?” he sputtered. “So I can pay you
back?”

“You’ve gone through my purse,” she reminded
him. “You know where I live, what I do for a living, where I shop,
what brand of tampons I use.” And birth control, much to her
embarrassment.

“Fine.” He shifted to retrieve a leather
wallet from the back pocket of his pants and handed it over. His
fingers brushed hers in the exchange.

“Let’s see…” She flipped open the wallet and
pulled out his license. “Not so flattering yourself,” she lied. He
looked young and cocky, and incredibly handsome, with a sideways
grin and longer hair.

“My misspent youth,” he said.

She flipped through his meager credit cards.
“Only two? American Express and Visa. That’s it?”

“What else would I need?”

“Men.” She rolled her eyes and moved on. She
plucked his business card from a slot. “David Willingham, Senior
BPM Engineer, MacGiven.” She looked at his profile as he watched
the game. His slightly crooked nose and five o’clock shadow left
him just short of pretty. “I have no idea what that means.”

“I manage end-to-end business processes for
corporations.” When she stared at him blankly, he said,
“Consulting.”

“Oh, okay.” Satisfied that she’d never
understand if he tried to explain, she continued to rifle through
the well-worn leather. Her stomach clenched as she pulled out a
picture of a young girl smiling from a woman’s lap. “Is this your
wife and child who are right now waiting at home for you?”

“Celia,” he said with a tsk in his voice.
“That’s my sister, Rebekah, and her daughter, Maddie. They live in
North Carolina.”

Okay, she thought. He’d answered too quickly
to have lied. She’d been suckered too many times by married men
without a ring or a conscience. “Is that where you’re from?”

“Nope. I’m from upstate New York. My
brother-in-law works in the research triangle.”

“So,” she said as she folded his wallet
closed and held it out to him, “do you have any at home?”

“Any what?”

“Wives or children?”

He turned his head and looked her in the eye,
even as the crowd cheered and everyone got to their feet around
them. “No wife, no kids, at home or anywhere else.”

Celia could feel the look he gave her all the
way to her toes. She hadn’t expected to meet a really attractive
guy at the end of her crappy day.

“So why are you alone on V-Day?” he asked.
“There’s no lucky guy waiting for you at a fancy restaurant?”

“No lucky guy.” Not since eight months ago
when she and Michael had agreed to see other people and she
discovered she preferred being alone.

“Only me,” she heard him mumble before he
turned his attention back to the game.

Her blood was pulsing. Every nerve ending in
her body felt alive and it had nothing to do with the game or the
energy from the crowd. She let her arm graze his leg as she reached
for her beer. “What about you?” she asked. “Hockey on Valentine’s?
That’s a little pathetic.”

“Some of us like hockey.” He reached over and
tore off a piece of her pretzel and popped it in his mouth. “And
Valentine’s is just a made up holiday.”

“Really? Made up by whom?”

“It’s a collusion between the card, flower,
and restaurant industries.”

“What about the candy industry?”

“How could I forget about candy?” he
joked.

“And jewelry,” she added. “And you may as
well throw in the fashion industry, because any woman worth her
salt has to have a new outfit for the big night out.”

“Exactly,” he said. “An entire holiday
invented so people — guys mostly — will spend money.”

“Some women appreciate gifts from men,” Celia
said with a deliberate bat of her eyelashes and a lifting of what
was left of the pretzel he’d bought for her.

He leaned over and kicked her Bloomingdale’s
bag with the toe of his very nice Italian shoes. “And some women
buy their own gifts.”

She shrugged and leaned down to deposit her
beer in the cup holder. “What can I say? I didn’t get any gifts
from a man today.”

He regarded her with one raised eyebrow.
“What about the pretzel and the beer?”

“Lovely gestures from a man who owes me
$178.”

“Ouch.” He laughed and drew his eyes back to
the game. God, he was cute. Ask me out, David, she willed him
silently. Ask me out now.

“How about if I buy you some dinner after the
game? We can call it even.”

Yessssss. “Even would mean a nice restaurant
with tablecloths and a waiter.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “What kind of
guys have you dated? Of course I mean a nice restaurant. Do I look
like the kind of guy who’d buy you a hot dog from the street
corner?”