The Trouble with J.J. Read online

  For one horrible eternity every pair of eyes at the party riveted on Genna. It seemed even the flamingos were staring at her. She could feel their eyes burning into her back.

  Death by slow torture would be too good for him, she thought, taking back all the feelings of contrition she’d had Friday afternoon. She was definitely sticking to her original opinion of him: J. J. Hennessy was an arrogant, mannerless, macho swine. A gorgeous, sexy, arrogant, mannerless, macho swine. And she was absolutely certain she wanted nothing to do with him. Almost.

  He is not normal, she reminded herself as she limped around her kitchen slamming pots and pans onto the counter. She’d had her fill of crazy people when she was growing up. All of her father’s family was certifiable, her father included. A self-proclaimed inventor, he’d chased one harebrained scheme after another until he dropped dead, leaving his family with nothing but debts and not even a cent of insurance. He’d been an overgrown boy with no concept of responsibility. Just like J. J. Hennessy.

  “Why’d you leave the party, Gen?” Amy whined, letting herself in the kitchen door.

  Genna opened the refrigerator and started flinging vegetables into the sink. Potatoes sailed through the air one at a time, arching gracefully into the porcelain basin. A bunch of carrots missed the target and skidded down the counter, sliding into a piece of salt-glazed stoneware. Scallions flew like scattering buckshot. Amy dodged a stalk of celery. Genna answered without coming out of the refrigerator. “I won’t be a party to madness.”

  “Lighten up. A little madness is good for a person.” Leaning around Genna, she snatched a Coke out of the fridge and plopped down on a stool at the counter.

  “Who are you now, Dr. Joyce Brothers?” Genna shot her friend a glare as she returned to the sink and started peeling carrots with a vengeance.

  “It didn’t take a shrink to see you weren’t trying very hard to have fun,” Amy answered.

  “You shouldn’t have to try if it’s fun,” Genna said without turning around. “I don’t happen to like mass insanity, and the taste of beer turns my mouth inside out.”

  Suddenly suspicious, Amy asked, “What are you making?”

  “Vegetable soup.”

  “But it’s ninety degrees out!”

  “I’ll freeze it.”

  “You’re upset, Genna,” she singsonged in her grating voice, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

  “I am not upset.” Genna stabbed a potato with her paring knife.

  “You always cook when you’re upset.”

  Genna spun around with the knife clutched in her hand, her eyes wild. The beer in her bangs had dried, leaving them stiff and straight as string. The front of her blouse was one big stain. “I am not upset!”

  Amy smiled serenely and drummed her fingers on the counter. “Not at all. Are those chocolate chip cookies over there?”

  Glaring at the clear glass cookie jar, Genna said nothing. One jar of cookies was hardly proof. Thank heaven Amy didn’t know about the three frozen cakes. She turned and calmly attacked a stalk of celery.

  “Wasn’t it nice of J.J. to invite everyone over? He’s so sweet—”

  “He’s a lunatic.” Chop. Chop. Chop.

  “I’ll bet he signed a hundred autographs this afternoon.”

  “He’s a spectacle.” Stab. Stab. Stab.

  “He’s got style.”

  Genna faced her friend with an exasperated look. “The man mows his lawn in stripes and puts pink flamingos around the doghouse.”

  “I said he had style,” Amy qualified. “I never said anything about taste.”

  They were silent for a moment while Genna dumped her mutilated vegetables into a big stock-pot and set it on the stove to simmer. Amy sipped her soda, waiting for Genna to turn toward her so she could watch her friend’s expression when she dropped her bomb.

  “I think he’s interested in you, Gen. As in ‘romance.’”

  Something akin to panic flashed across Genna’s face, then changed into annoyance. “I think he’s interested in most of the unmarried female population of Connecticut.”

  “Are you attracted to him?”

  “Certainly not,” she said huffily. She turned back to her cupboards and started rummaging through them. How could she be attracted to a macho lunkhead like him? Absurd.

  “Come on!” Amy scoffed. “The guy’s got a bod to die for!”

  “He’s moderately good looking … in a brutish sort of way,” Genna said grudgingly, her blood heating up at the thought of his muscular arm draped across her shoulders, his lean hip bumping hers. Those gorgeous, translucent blue eyes took her breath away, and he had a smile that could melt stone. Tom Selleck should be so good looking.

  Amy snorted. “It seems to me you’re trying pretty darn hard not to like him.”

  It was Genna’s turn to snort as she ripped open packages of yeast and dumped them into a bowl of hot water. “I don’t have to try not to like him. It comes naturally.”

  “Bull.” Amy plucked a cookie from the jar and munched on it. “I think you know he’s a hunk and a half.”

  “Ha!”

  “I think you know it, and it turns you on, and that’s why you’re upset.”

  “I am not upset!” Genna shouted, flinging flour into the bowl, a cloud of white dust rising to coat her hair and face.

  “What are you doing there?”

  “Making bread.”

  “Oh, good day for it,” Amy said dryly, reaching for a second cookie. “You can put it out on the driveway to bake.”

  Genna snarled as she took a wooden spoon to the batter.

  “Careful, you’ll dislocate your shoulder.”

  Sometimes Genna wished Amy weren’t such a good friend. Amy never hesitated to say what was on her mind, and no amount of nasty looks or sarcastic remarks could drive her away if she didn’t want to be driven.

  Neither woman spoke for several minutes. The sounds of the party came in through the screen door. Someone was getting thrown into the kiddie pool.

  “Genna, are you afraid to try another relationship because of what happened with Allan?” Amy asked gently. She winced as she saw her friend flinch at the name. Damn Allan Corrigan to hell and gone, Amy thought.

  The pain was automatic, a conditioned response, but Genna had a firm hold on her emotions when she answered. “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m desperate either. I don’t have to throw myself at the first guy to come along.”

  “J.J.’s hardly the first guy to express an interest.”

  “He’s an irresponsible playboy who wants only to get me in his Jacuzzi!” Her hands squeezed the bread dough. She pretended she was strangling Jared Hennessy. It had to be his fault she wanted him and wanted him gone all at the same time.

  “I don’t think that’s true,” Amy said, “but it sounds like fun just the same.”

  “He’s not my type,” Genna said stubbornly.

  “You and your blasted type!” Amy said disgustedly, banging her Coke can on the counter. “You don’t want a man. You want a three-piece suit and a subscription to the Wall Street Journal.”

  “I want someone who’s quiet and loyal—”

  “Springer spaniels are quiet and loyal,” Amy commented sardonically. “I don’t think they shed much either.”

  Genna turned around and glowered at her pudgy friend. “There’s nothing wrong with looking for a person with certain qualities.”

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Amy agreed. “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun either. You’re a fun person, Gen. What are you going to do with Mr. Dull N. Boring when you find him?”

  Unable to come up with any kind of suitable answer, Genna turned back to her dough and slugged it.

  Amy slid off her stool and headed back toward the party, stopping at the kitchen door. “I don’t think that’s what you want at all, but you’ve convinced yourself that’s the kind of man you need to feel safe. Do yourself a favor, Gen. Live it up. Have a summer fling.”

/>   Genna walked to the screen door as she wiped her hands on a blue striped towel. She watched Amy cross her lawn and rejoin the festivities next door. There was Jared, wearing a sombrero, dancing with a flamingo in each hand.

  “So he’s a hunk. Why should I care? Why should that upset me? It doesn’t. He could be ten hunks and it wouldn’t bother me,” she said resolutely.

  She chewed her bottom lip as she watched the sun gild a male body that should have been a bronze sculpture. Amy said she was looking for a man she would feel safe with. What was wrong with that? Nothing. She certainly wouldn’t feel safe with Jared. A nun wouldn’t feel safe with Jared.

  “Maybe I should bake a cake as long as I’ve got the flour out.”

  THREE

  JARED STARED DOWN at the letter in his hands. A feeling he had experienced only rarely in his nine years in the NFL slashed through him like a knife. Fear. He hated it, resented it, but couldn’t stop it from tearing his insides apart.

  The letter, neatly typed on ivory vellum, was from Simone Harcourt, his ex-wife’s older sister. He’d met her only a handful of times, but he’d spent enough time with her to have formed a lasting opinion: She was a cold, determined woman who despised him. The letter that trembled in his hands was absolute confirmation of that.

  Simone didn’t believe he was fit to be Alyssa’s only parent. She didn’t believe his lifestyle provided a suitable environment for a five-year-old girl. She claimed it was public knowledge that he was dedicated to decadence and that a life of parties and loose women did not hold a place for a child. She was prepared to take action—legal action—to see to it that Alyssa was spared the horrible fate of growing up under a playboy’s influence.

  A shudder jerking his body, Jared drove a hand through his close-cropped hair and swore. He swore until he couldn’t think of any more curses, even though he was trying to give up the bad habit. He had vowed to quit swearing when Alyssa had come to live with him. The thought pulled a wry laugh from his throat.

  He rubbed his hand over his face, then looked at the Super Bowl ring on his finger. It was large and impressive, the ultimate symbol of success in his profession. He was at the top, the pinnacle of his career. He was a celebrity, respected by his peers, and he had more money than he knew what to do with. He would gladly have given it all to the next stranger to come down the street if it meant keeping his baby girl with him.

  When he’d married Elaine he hadn’t been ready to settle down, but she had gotten pregnant and he had done the right and honorable thing. From the start their marriage had gone awry. Elaine had continually derided him for his freewheeling lifestyle—which she had enjoyed as much as he before their marriage. Rebellious, he had refused to give it up just as he had never given up the idea that Elaine had gotten pregnant because the idea of being married to a pro quarterback had appealed to her.

  Less than two years after their marriage, Jared had given her a generous divorce settlement and walked out of her life, returning only to pick up his daughter for his regular visits specified in their separation agreement. He and Elaine had managed to destroy whatever fragile feelings they had had for each other, but one infinitely precious gift of their relationship remained. Alyssa. Leaving her was the only thing he regretted about his divorce; she was the only good thing he had to say about his marriage.

  Jared heaved a sigh, carrying the letter and a Bullwinkle tumbler half full of Irish whiskey out onto the front porch. He sat on the step and stared out at his striped lawn, feeling helpless.

  Sometimes he believed he’d stayed in the fast lane all these years just to spite Elaine. Or maybe it just had taken him this long to grow up. Whatever the reason, he’d become disenchanted this past year. He was tired of city life, night life, and being the life of the party. He’d changed his priorities, matured. He was ready to settle down. He wanted a real home, a dog, a wife maybe. And his daughter. More than anything, he wanted his daughter.

  Would Simone Harcourt really be able to take her away from him?

  What could he do to prevent it?

  Twilight was gathering around Tory Hills. Jared swatted a mosquito on his arm and breathed deep the scent of newly mowed grass coming from the Ralstons’ lawn next door. In his own yard two squirrels chased each other up and down the birch trees. Across the street, Michael Dennison, Amy and Brian’s oldest son, was going after their shrubbery with a hedge trimmer. A silver car turned the corner at the end of the block. Genna.

  J.J.’s secret agent—Amy—had told him Genna was heading into Hartford today in search of a summer job. After nearly a week of searching, she’d struck out in Tory Hills and the nearby Hartford suburbs.

  He knew how she felt. He wasn’t doing so hot trying to win her over. Half the time she looked at him as though he were a piece of meat gone bad. Then he would manage to crack through her defensive line and make her laugh, only to have her pull away from him. He was reasonably certain she was attracted to him physically, but that didn’t cut much ice with a lady like Genna, especially since she seemed determined to keep her distance from him.

  Amy had hinted that Genna’s reluctance was the result of a soured relationship. If that was the case, he’d have to tread carefully. He needed to win her trust. If only he could think of a way to help her out that would keep her around so he could figure out how to gain some yards toward winning her heart.

  The evening breeze fluttered the letter in his hand.

  Suddenly inspiration hit him over the head like a baseball bat. If his plan worked, he would end up with custody of his daughter and Genna too. You’re a genius, Hennessy.

  Genna’s car came up the driveway and disappeared into her garage. Minutes later Genna came out looking like a wilted flower, her pink linen suit limp and wrinkled, a dejected frown on her face. Even her usually bouncy chestnut hair looked sad and droopy. Jared’s heart went out to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her and cheer her up.

  “Hey, Genna!” he yelled, standing up. He didn’t want to leave the porch for fear Alyssa would wake up and he wouldn’t be able to hear her. “Come on over!”

  Genna groaned. Why him? Why tonight? “Why me?” she muttered, limping across Jared’s lawn with her pink pumps dangling from one hand.

  “Where are your crutches?” he asked, concerned.

  “They didn’t go with my outfit,” she said wearily, leaning against a white pillar. She felt like a dishrag and was sure she looked like one too. She really wasn’t up to J.J. tonight.

  Shooting her a look of reproach, he dropped to his knees on the sidewalk, his hands tenderly examining her nylon-clad ankle. “It’s puffy. Hot too. You really shouldn’t be walking on it, especially in heels.”

  “Yeah, well, I might as well get used to it, because walking is going to be the way I’ll get around if I don’t find a job.”

  Jared stood and leaned against the same pillar with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “No luck, huh?”

  “The word doesn’t belong in my vocabulary.”

  He bit his lip. She sounded so depressed. Poor thing. He almost felt guilty at being glad she hadn’t found a job. Almost.

  “I know what you need,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

  Genna eyed him suspiciously. He was wearing baggy khaki shorts and a pink T-shirt that said REAL MEN EAT QUICHE AT FRANCESCA’S. “Don’t pull out a tool on me, Jared. I’m liable to kill you with it.”

  He laughed, his diamond earring sparkling in the twilight. “Now don’t get homicidal on me, Gen.” He picked Candy the mannequin off her lawn chair and dumped her unceremoniously on a shrub. “Pull up a chair. I’ll be right back.”

  He dashed into the house and returned thirty seconds later with two cold soft drink cans.

  “Root beer?” Genna questioned, accepting the can and sinking down gratefully onto the lawn chair.

  “Nothing beats the blues better.” He sat on the porch floor facing her, leaning back against a pillar with one long leg dangling down the step, the other kne
e drawn up. “It’s my secret passion. You have any secret passions, Gen?”

  “Hmmm?” She found her gaze drawn to an alluring gap in the leg of his shorts. Was he the underwear type or not? Abruptly she realized he was waiting for an answer. She blushed furiously. “No. None.”

  He grinned and swigged his root beer. “I have to confess, I’m sort of glad you didn’t find a job today, because I have a proposition for you.”

  Genna sat stock-still, afraid to let her imagination loose to decipher his comment.

  Jared’s smile died a slow death as he picked up Simone Harcourt’s letter and tapped it on his knee, trying to think of the best way to phrase his offer. “I—a—I’m in kind of a bind. I need an image consultant.”

  “An image consultant? I don’t understand.” She was too innately polite to agree with him right off the bat. Besides, he seemed perfectly happy with the image he had, bizarre as it was.

  “This letter is from my ex-wife’s sister. She wants custody of Alyssa,” he said, all humor gone from his voice.

  “What?” Genna felt as if she’d suddenly had the wind knocked out of her. Despite what she claimed to think of Jared, she knew he adored his daughter. She’d watched him play with Alyssa in their backyard the last few days. He was endlessly patient with her, gentle and tender. Maybe he was a little too indulgent, but that was to be expected under the circumstances. He never looked at that little girl with anything but love in his eyes. It was there now as he looked up at Genna, love for his daughter, and that hint of vulnerability that tugged at Genna’s heart so.

  “She doesn’t think I’m a fit parent.”

  “Not a fit parent?” she asked with indignation.

  “She doesn’t think I’m ‘normal’ enough.”

  “Uh-oh,” Genna thought out loud.

  He gave a harsh laugh. “You don’t think so either?”

  “It’s not that I agree with her,” she hastened to clarify. “I think you do a fine job with Alyssa. It’s just that you’re not … normal. I’m sorry.”