Playing the Player(57)

I shook my head. “I thought you liked movies. You do know who Marilyn Monroe was, right?”

“Not a total moron, BB.” He tapped the side of his head. “Room in here for a few pop culture facts next to the sports stats.”

That made me laugh out loud, and his answering laugh warmed me more than the food or the tea.

“Okay. So, Marilyn was like a lost girl, you know? She was way more talented than people gave her credit for. Not just another beautiful blonde. Actually, she was a brunette once upon a time.” I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t know why guys think only blondes are hot.”

His eyes flicked to my hair, then he gave me a lazy grin. “Agreed. Why limit the options?”

I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, you know Joe DiMaggio? Baseball legend?”

Slade tapped the side of his head again. “Yankees. Got it.”

“So he loved her desperately. He wanted to take care of her, when everyone else just wanted to use her.”

Slade lifted the teapot, then paused mid-pour. “And then?”

I sighed. “He was insanely jealous. You know that famous picture with her dress blowing up around her legs?”

Slade nodded, his eyes never moving from my face even as he refilled his tea cup.

I cleared my throat, suddenly embarrassed about my rambling. “He sort of flipped out about that. He pushed her around after the photo shoot, so she left him.”

Slade set down the teapot. “Wow. Intense.” He sipped some tea. “So that’s Max and Gilly’s future, huh? That’s bleak, BB, even for you.”

I was hardly making this a romantic dinner by telling depressing stories. “Yeah, I guess it is.” I’d always been weirdly fascinated by old Hollywood actresses. The more tragic the story, the better. But I was killing the mood, which was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Maybe Gilly will be the genius professor, and Max will rock the X Games.”

Slade pushed his empty plate away and grinned. “Man, I’d love to see that.”

“Me, too. That’d be hilarious. We could wear ‘Team Max’ shirts and cheer him on.”

Slade’s eyes hooked on mine. “They’d interview us for one of those human interest segments. You’d be the nanny who helped him believe in himself. He’d have his own brand of lavender oil that all the girls would buy.”

We laughed together, and for a few moments it felt like we were like the other couples in the restaurant, on our own tiny island of happiness and private connection.

Slade’s phone buzzed again while the waitress cleared away the plates. He glanced at it, frowning.

“So, you probably want to get to that party, right?” I tried to hide my disappointment. “You can just drop me off and—”

“No.”

We stared at each other across the table.

“No?” I sounded like a brainless echo.

He shrugged. “Not in a party mood. How about a walk?”

“A…walk? In the dark?”

He grinned at me. “You’ve heard of moonlit strolls, right? I bet Marilyn and Joe did it all the time, up in the Hollywood Hills.”

My heart ricocheted in my chest. Was he playing me? Maybe I’d call his bluff. I answered his shrug with my own. “Okay, as long as I don’t have to climb any trees in the dark.”

He chuckled as he reached for the bill that I hadn’t even noticed, peeking out of its fake leather folder. “We can stay on the ground tonight.”

I put a hand out for the check. “If you won’t let me treat, let’s split it, okay?”

He glanced at the receipt, then up at me. “Why can’t you just let me buy?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess we’re both stubborn.”

I nodded. “I think we’ve established that.”

His easy grin returned. “Okay, we’ll split it tonight. But next time it’s on me.”

Next time? That was twice tonight he’d said that, but I shrugged like it was no biggie. “Deal,” I said lightly, even though my heart rate ratcheted up beyond what could possibly be safe for a seventeen-year-old girl.





Chapter Thirty-One


Slade


June 20, Thursday

I’d never done the moonlit stroll thing before. Alex probably had, with a gourmet picnic basket and a blanket. I tried not to think about other after-dark activities as Trina and I navigated the gravel canal path. I especially tried not to think about how she’d looked at me when she’d joked about doing a tabletop dance.

I dodged a pile of dog crap, nearly hidden in the darkness. “So what did Sharon mean today, when she asked about picture books and you said you’d check with the library?”

Trina’s feet scuffed next to mine, kicking pebbles along the path. “Sharon likes the kids to take a book with them when they move out of the shelter, and we keep a supply on hand for nightly reading. So I check with the library for old books they’re planning to sell at their annual book sales. Sometimes I check thrift stores, too.”

I thought of the box of old picture books in our basement. “I might be able to donate some. Probably a few classics in there. Dr. Seuss. Thomas the Train.”