Read Online Fair Play by Deirdre Martin - Free Book Online Page B

escaping.”
    â€œNo. No! ” He put his hand over his heart. “I swear on my mother’s grave that is not what I was thinking.”
    â€œNo?” Her left eyebrow was practically touching the sky. “Then what were you thinking?”
    â€œI never expected a dinner invitation. And when it came, all I could think about was how I hadn’t had a Sunday family dinner since my mom died. I was so thrilled I didn’t stop to think how it might look to you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Theresa.”
    That seemed to do it. The truth always did. Theresa slowed her pace and her expression relaxed.
    â€œYou and your brother don’t have any family?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, we do, but it’s not the same. My mother was always the one who did Sunday dinner. She was the best cook.”
    â€œHmmm.” She seemed to be mulling this over. “You should have checked with me first to ask how I felt about it,” she said, almost sounding apologetic.
    â€œI’m sorry.” He peered at her, trying to get those big, almond-shaped green eyes of hers to look directly into his. But she wouldn’t. Jesus, she was stubborn. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead.
    â€œApology accepted,” she said.
    Delighted to have reached a state of détente, Michael was eager to keep the ball rolling. “So we’re friends now?” he ventured.
    â€œI wouldn’t go that far,” Theresa returned in a tone bordering on affectionate.
    â€œNo?” Michael asked, thrilled to witness the return of a more playful Theresa. “How far would you go?”
    â€œDepends. I—”
    She stopped herself. Michael could actually see it happening, Theresa willing herself to stop flirting with him. It was like a curtain fell over her face. The transformation was startling, the more so because he didn’t understand it.
    â€œLet’s stick to business, Michael, okay?” Her tone was brisk.
    Michael deflated. Business. Sure. “So how’s the PR stuff coming?”
    â€œIt’s coming. I’ll call when l have everything ready and we can arrange a time to meet.”
    â€œHow about we talk about it over dinner one night this week?” he asked politely.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œCoffee?”
    â€œNo.”
    No, no, always no. What the hell is her problem with me? “Look, do I have bad breath or something?” he blurted.
    Theresa looked at him as if he’d just escaped from Bellevue. “What?”
    He followed her up the steps leading to the subway platform. “Can I ask you something?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWhat do you have against me?”
    She stared at him.
    â€œSeriously,” he continued.
    â€œI don’t have anything against you,” she assured him, backing away slightly.
    â€œSo, then, what’s the deal? One minute ago, we were having a nice conversation. Now you won’t even go out for coffee with me. What gives?” She peered at him over the top of her glasses, the better for him to feel the full effect of her reserve, or so he imagined.
    â€œDon’t take this the wrong way, Michael. But I don’t go out with guys whose last names end in vowels.”
    â€œWhat?” He peered at her quizzically. “Did you just say what I think you said? You won’t go out with anyone Italian?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhy the hell not?”
    â€œBecause it’s been my experience that Italian guys are not my cup of espresso, okay?”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding me.” Utter disbelief overtook him. “What the hell is wrong with Italian guys?” he demanded. Beneath his feet, he could feel the platform beginning to vibrate; the train was coming. He didn’t care. He’d get his answer before she hopped aboard if it killed him.
    â€œAnswer me, Theresa, c’mon!”
    Her expression was pained as the train slowly