The Trouble with J.J. Page 6

  The living room held large, comfortable-looking masculine furniture covered in a nubby oatmeal fabric. The arrangement was haphazard. A minor problem. A framed poster of the Hartford Hawks logo was the only wall decoration. A dozen football trophies sat on the oak mantel in no kind of order.

  Throw pillows would give the room color, she noted on her pad. Maybe they could group the football stuff around Jared’s desk, an oak rolltop beauty that sat off to the far side of the door, cluttered with papers.

  She looked around, wondering what to do with the walls. She had suggested hiring a decorator for the house, but Jared had refused. It was important to him that his house look like a homey, lived-in home rather than a layout for House Beautiful. That made sense.

  Genna glanced out the window to make sure Jared wasn’t doing the lawn in paisley. She shook her head. He wore faded cutoffs that strained the bounds of decency and an enormous Chinese coolie hat. She printed the word wardrobe on her legal pad.

  Sliding down onto the window seat, she wondered what his lawyer would have to say when he called back. Could his sister-in-law really try to take Alyssa away? The possibility made Genna sick. She freely admitted the shy little girl had stolen her heart. She hated to think of not having Alyssa around. And if it bothered her so much, what must it be doing to Jared? she wondered.

  Not fit to be a parent. Anger boiled inside Genna. Jared was a little unorthodox, but he was more fit to be a parent than many so-called normal people she knew.

  He went by the window again with a flamingo dangling by its throat from a belt loop on his shorts.

  Genna shook her head. “Now I’m defending him.”

  She tried to imagine the sister-in-law, Simone. Jared’s comments made the woman sound like the next prime-time soap vixen: Alexis Colby in a bad mood. It was hard to picture her in a different light, since Genna was on Jared’s side, but she made an effort. Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle was as good as it got. Women who tried to take children away from their natural fathers just couldn’t be pictured as Beaver Cleaver’s mom.

  Of course, Genna thought, Simone didn’t look at Jared and see Robert Young from Father Knows Best either. Her perceptions of him would have been colored by his divorce from Elaine. And Simone had lost her only sister. It was probably natural for her to want to have Alyssa fill that void in her life.

  Genna glanced back out at Jared, who was trying to push the lawn mower while the puppy bit into his sneaker and pulled in the opposite direction. Even though she hadn’t known him long and still refused to admit she liked him, she already felt an intense loyalty toward him. Simone could rot. Genna would do everything she could think of to help Jared.

  Bernice was the ideal housekeeper for J. J. Hennessy. Fifty-nine, and built like the corner mailbox with a poof of red hair, her personality was just a little left of center. After spending her entire life in Brooklyn working in an underarm deodorant factory, she had retired and divorced at fifty-five and moved to Tory Hills to be near her favorite niece. Bernice was gruff and outspoken, but she had a heart of gold and more sense than to feed a five-year-old sausage-anchovy pizza.

  It took all of ten minutes for Jared to hire her. Bernice fell in love with Alyssa on sight, though she readily agreed to Jared’s terms of noninterference where his daughter was concerned. There was a token argument over salary, then Bernice said, “Okay, boss,” and padded off in her Nikes to start the laundry.

  “I love that woman.” Jared beamed. “Did you hear what she called me?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Hennessy.”

  “Will you call me boss, Gen?”

  “Start moving the furniture, Jared.”

  Genna sat at her kitchen counter that evening, making out a grocery list while she waited for the timer to go off so she could take the double fudge brownies out of the oven and put the German chocolate cake in.

  “I am not upset,” she said aloud as she tried to think of people to give the goodies to. Was that rest home bake sale this weekend?

  “Perfect,” she said to herself. “Take all this food up there and then check yourself in, Genna.”

  She may or may not have been upset, but one thing was clear—she was spending more on baking supplies than she was making on this so-called job. She looked over her list and tried to eliminate items.

  It was all J.J.’s fault. He had her bouncing off the walls with his sexy body, sultry kisses, and outrageous behavior. He was driving her crazy. One minute she was swearing up and down she didn’t like him, the next she was exhibiting all the symptoms of malaria just because he’d looked at her a certain way. How could it be possible to want to kiss him and slap that teasing grin off his face all at the same time?

  “He’s not for you, Genna,” she said. And why do you have to remind yourself if you don’t like him?

  The back door banged.

  “Hey, Teach, what’s cooking?”

  She scowled at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you ever knock?”

  “Only when I run on cheap gas.” He straddled the stool next to hers, picked three oranges out of her fruit bowl, and started juggling. “Come on, Gen, let’s go. It’s singles’ night at Fred’s Foodtown.”

  “Please,” she drawled with annoyance. “I will not go shopping for a man like I would for a—a—a leg of lamb.” She added leg of lamb to the list in front of her.

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. We can pretend we don’t know each other.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  He caught all the oranges and clutched them to his chest, gazing dreamily into space. “We may by chance bump into each other by the meat counter. I can see it all: I’m standing near the chicken, fondling the breasts. Then I move on to the beef, eyeing your rump roast while you gaze raptly at my tenderloins.”

  “You’re perverted,” she said evenly, scribbling steak on her list.

  “Who knows?” He put the oranges down and draped an arm across her shoulders. “Maybe we’ll find love near the bathroom tissue as we dance cheek to cheek and squeeze each other’s Charmin.”

  Worn down to the point of no control, Genna started to giggle, then laugh outright. Shaking her head, she gasped a breath and said, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Jared asked.

  “Don’t make me laugh!” she said, laughing, sliding off the stool and going to the stove to take out the brownies. She had to hold her stomach with one hand and maneuver the pan with the other.

  “Why not?”

  “Because. I’m liable to forget I don’t like you.”

  His voice softened. “Would that be so bad?”

  Genna sobered, put the pan on the stove, and turned to face him. She sighed. “I’m afraid so. You’re not what I need.”

  Jared slid off the stool and closed the distance between them. His pride didn’t smart even a little bit. Genna liked him all right, he was sure of that. She didn’t like liking him, but she did just the same. His blue eyes looked deep into hers as he took the oven mitt off her hand and caressed her cheek with it. “What about what you want?”

  The texture of his voice ran over her, both rough and smooth, like raw silk. He’s standing too close, she thought. His warm, hard body beckoned hers. She could never think straight when he got close. It was as if he radiated some kind of magnetic field that made all her mental instruments go haywire. And those incredible eyes of his didn’t help any either. She forced her eyes shut to close out their hypnotic beauty.

  “I want …” Her voice was thin and flimsy, like chiffon. She tried again. “I want stability, security—”

  “Invest in CDs. Life was meant for living, Genna. Grab it while you’ve got the chance.”

  She took a step back from him and opened her eyes, feeling more in control. “You’re not what I want. You’re a crazy person.”

  “Hey, look out!” He winced, a smile teasing his mouth. “You’ll bruise my ego.”

  “Baloney. You’ve got an ego the size of the Empire State building.”
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  He grinned and leered at her. “Yeah, and you should see the rest of me.”

  Genna slanted him a disgusted look and fell onto the gold-tiled floor in a fit of laughing. Jared joined her, leaning back against a cupboard and stretching his long, muscular legs out in front of him. Dragging herself to a sitting position beside him, Genna struggled for control, finally clearing her throat and taking a deep breath as she wiped tears from her face with a hotpad.

  “So, where’s Alyssa?”

  “At the movies with Courtney and Amy. Cinderella. I would have gone, too, but those ugly stepsisters give me the creeps.” He arched up to fish in the pocket of his jeans, leaning into Genna as he did so, and pulled out a crumpled package of M&M’s. He poured several into her palm, then poured some directly into his mouth. Munching on them, he asked, “So what have you got against crazy people?”

  Genna singled out a yellow M&M and popped it into her mouth. “My father was a crazy person. He worked as a boiler maintenance man, but he thought of himself as an inventor.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’d he invent?”

  “The personal portable inflatable dome for allweather yard parties, among other equally absurd things.”

  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Nor are you likely to,” Genna said, the old bitterness sneaking up on her. “He was an irresponsible dreamer. He spent all his time goofing off with his ridiculous inventions. They never sold. One day he was carrying boxes of the useless junk up to the attic, and he had a heart attack and died.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jared said quietly, watching her struggle with some deep inner emotion.

  “Yeah, well, no great loss,” Genna mumbled, fighting off the feelings of helplessness and anger the memory conjured up. “He left my mother with three daughters to raise and not a penny in insurance.”

  “What’d you do?”

  Staring at the cupboards across from them, she didn’t answer right away. Finally she just said, “We got by.”

  She didn’t want to tell him about the lean years that had followed her father’s death, the years before her mother had met and married Bob Hastings. Bob was a brick. He’d given them all a nice safe home, security, and love. He was an insurance underwriter, the kind of man a woman could depend on.

  They just sat for a while, Jared mulling her story over in his head. No wonder she was so hung up on her Mr. Right being normal with a boring job. Those things equaled security to her, the security she had never had as a child.

  Jared thought of himself as an individual, a good euphemism for being a little off the wall. And he had an unusual career, a career he was envied and admired for, but one the average kindergarten teacher—Genna in particular—was probably threatened by.

  Based on what her father had done, Genna had convinced herself that Jared’s individuality meant irresponsibility. She’d taken one look at his diamond earring and stamped him as Mr. Wrong. He intended to show her over the next few weeks that looks often were deceiving. He was as reliable as Old Faithful. Given a little time, he hoped she’d see that.

  Genna got up, padded to a cupboard and took out wineglasses, then to the refrigerator, where she removed a bottle of white wine. These she handed down to Jared. She grabbed the container of apple cookies and brought it down to the floor with her.

  “So,” she asked as he poured the wine, “is your whole family as weird as you are?”

  “Yep,” he said, grinning as he handed her a glass. “My dad designs twelve-meter racing yachts and builds fireworks in the garage in his spare time. My mother teaches theater at DePaul University. She speaks fluent Gaelic and once decorated each room in our house to look like the set of a different Shakespearean play.”

  As they drank the wine and ate cookies, Jared told Genna about growing up in a big family where everyone was encouraged to be themselves. He told her all about his three brothers and three sisters—he was number four in the group. He’d gone to college at Notre Dame, where he’d majored in partying and minored in chasing women. He’d come away with a degree in mass communications and a permanent knot on his head where one of the retired priests had whacked him with a crucifix for fooling around during Mass.

  Genna listened, a relaxed smile on her face. Amy had told her Jared had been the most sought after high school player in the country and that he’d won the Heisman trophy his senior year of college. He’d taken over as quarterback of the Hawks his second year as a pro. The team had been on the bottom of the heap, but he’d stuck it out with them as they rebuilt into a championship team.

  Jared mentioned none of these things, and Genna began to wonder how she could have thought him arrogant. Sure he’d come across the day they’d met like he’d believed his T-shirt slogan about being God’s gift to women, but she was learning that was an act of sorts. He kidded around as if he were the most obnoxious man on earth, but when it counted, he was quiet and thoughtful.

  She studied him surreptitiously as he refilled their glasses, that now-familiar electric sensation zipping through her, mingling with the tingling warmth of wine in her belly. He was one incredibly sexy hunk of a guy. There was no denying that. She felt more and more attracted to him. There was no denying that either.

  “Where on earth do you get those T-shirts?” she asked, staring at the red cotton top stretched across his mile-wide chest. Two black lobsters held up a sign that read EAT PETE’S SEAFOOD. HE NEEDS THE MONEY.

  The corners of his mouth turned up. “Fans send them. It’s kind of a tradition.”

  “You really don’t go out hunting for them?”

  He laughed at the relief in her voice, sensing a barrier going down between them. “No, but I like them and I feel obligated to wear them.”

  “That’s sweet,” Genna said, genuinely touched. He was a star, he didn’t need to play to the whimsy of fans. He could have thrown the things in a box—he still would have been a star. But he wore them in honor of the people who supported him.

  “Oh, yeah?” he said, setting his glass aside and taking Genna’s from her. He shifted onto one hip and leaned so close, Genna’s eyes almost crossed looking at his short Irish nose. “Well, I think you’re sweet.”

  His mouth closed over hers, warm and gentle, seeking, tasting. Genna sighed into his mouth as his kiss coaxed her lips apart and his tongue delved in to sample the flavor of desire. Her hand came up to rest along his jaw, the shadow of his beard rasping pleasantly against her palm.

  “Mmmm …” he murmured, pressing tiny kisses to the very corners of her mouth. “You are sweet.”

  Genna could barely breathe, she was so startled at the sensations taking over her body. When he touched her, she lost all control of herself. She felt boneless as she leaned into him, initiating the kiss herself this time. A shudder ran through her at Jared’s moan of pleasure when she pressed her tongue into his mouth to explore. He tasted wonderfully of chocolate and wine and apple cookies.

  In one smooth move Jared pulled her onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. One hand sank into her thick hair, the other strayed under her navy polo shirt, his fingertips feather-stroking their way up her rib cage to the swell of her breast. He cupped the soft, heavy flesh, his thumb caressing the tight bud at its center.

  Her mind a mist of passion, Genna gasped into his mouth and arched against him, her thigh pressing hard against his arousal. Deep inside her an exquisite, empty ache throbbed, begging her to let go the last shreds of her sanity. Jared could assuage that ache. Never mind that she hadn’t been with a man in nearly a year. Never mind that she hardly knew this one and would have sworn up and down in a saner moment that she could hardly tolerate the sight of him. There was something in his touch, in his kiss that scattered all logic and cut down to the plain unvarnished truth: She wanted him.

  Jared was thinking along the same lines. He wanted to lay Genna down and gently tug her top out of his way so he could see her breasts, touch and kiss them. He wanted to ease her white shorts down her legs so he could bury
himself between them.

  But even as Genna’s hands slid under his T-shirt to caress his back, Jared was acutely aware of one major fact: they were making out on her kitchen floor. Not that he minded. It just wasn’t the right place for their first time together. And, although his hormones were willing to put up a lively argument, it was too soon.

  He eased his hand from the sweet fullness of her breast, ignoring her whimpered protest, and brought it up to rest against her cheek as he lifted his lips from hers.

  “You have a very sexy mouth,” he said, his voice warm and textured like velvet.

  “Really?” The word was whispered through her wet lips.

  “No one’s ever told you that?” He kissed her earlobe.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “A testimony to the sad quality of the men in your life.” He kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “Your mouth is very, very sexy.”

  Genna sighed as his lips touched hers. His tongue ever so gently traced the outline of her mouth.

  “I like the way this corner kicks up all by itself right before you make a smart remark.” He pressed a kiss to the right corner of her mouth. “And I love this bottom lip when you pout.”

  “I don’t pout,” she stated.

  He chuckled, a deep, hoarse, masculine rumbling low in his throat. “There it is.” He took her lower lip between his and sucked gently, then pulled back away from her.

  He stared into Genna’s eyes, and he waited for the other shoe to drop. Any second now she was going to start to feel guilty, he was sure of it. Instead, she started to giggle.

  “I think we’ve had too much wine.”

  “Naw.” He smiled, relieved. He rested his forehead against hers. “Not quite. I’m sober enough to know that if I got you to drink a little more, I could call a blitz and rush your pass defense.”

  “What would happen then?” she asked, her voice a husky purr she didn’t even recognize.

  “Sack.”

  “Sack the quarterback? But you’re the quarterback.”

  “Yeah,” he said, grinning lazily. “In this game sacking the quarterback takes on a whole new meaning.”