“Well, if you want to discourage her attentions, wear a fake wedding ring. That ought to cool her jets.”
Jeff opened the passenger door to his dark-green Porsche and helped Allison into her seat with more concern than usual. Allison enjoyed his solicitousness. She just wished it wasn’t because she’d left half her skin in the intersection up the street.
“I doubt Sherry would be dissuaded by a wedding ring,” he said as he slid behind the wheel. “She’d just consider it a little extra challenge. What I need is a wife, a flesh-and-blood wife.”
Allison batted her eyelashes. “Why, Jeff, this is so sudden.”
Jeff didn’t laugh, as she expected he would. Instead he looked at her with a speculative gleam in his eye.
“What?”
“How would you like to be my fiancée for the weekend? Run a little interference for me?”
“I told you, I’m not going to the convention.”
“You can change your plans. It’s not too late to register as a walk-in. C’mon, Allie, it’ll be fun.”
Allison’s instincts told her to say yes. What a fantasy, walking around for four days on Jeff Hardison’s arm, pretending they were engaged. “It would be dishonest.”
“It would save me from Sherry the Leech. Please?”
“What about all the other women? As I recall, you usually cut a wide swath on a long weekend in Dallas.”
“Not this time. I’m mending my ways. No more tomcatting. I’ll be your devoted fiancé, proper in every respect.”
That would be the day.
“I’ll take you to dinner at Antares,” he wheedled.
Antares was the revolving restaurant atop Reunion Tower in downtown Dallas, and Jeff knew darn well it was her favorite restaurant. He was really going for the jugular.
She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Let me see if I can rearrange my appointments.” She knew all the while she would give in to his request. She was pretty much powerless to say no to Jeff, and he knew it. Anyway, she’d been looking for an excuse to get up to Dallas and see her former roommate, Stephanie Rich, who was a gynecologist. If she phoned right away, Steph could probably squeeze her into her schedule.
She most definitely did not want to see her regular doctor, who happened to be Jeff’s father, about her little health problem.
ANNE HARDISON froze, a French fry halfway to her mouth. “You’re going to do what?”
Allison enjoyed the look of shock on her friend’s face. They were lunching at their usual spot, Triple Z Barbecue. Anne’s husband, who was Jeff’s younger brother, Wade, was taking his turn today watching their new baby.
“I’m going to pose as Jeff’s fiancée to keep this certain woman, Sherry, from hitting on him at the convention,” Allison explained. “She just about drove him crazy last year.”
“And you agreed?” Anne asked, dumbfounded.
“Sure. Why not? It’s a favor between friends.
Anyway, he promised to take me to Antares for dinner.”
“You could afford to take yourself to Antares. Allison, honey, he’s taking advantage of you. He’s using you.”
“Oh, he’s not, either.” Allison took a bite of her barbecued beef sandwich. She loved the fact she could eat anything she wanted, guilt-free, since she started bicycling.
“Yes, he is,” Anne insisted. “He’s a big boy, and I’ve seen him break a heart or two without blinking an eye. I’m sure he can fight off a dozen Sherrys if he wants to. I think he has another angle.”
“Like what?” Allison took a sip of iced tea.
“I don’t know. Like…like maybe he’s tired of being single, and he wants to test the waters—see how it might feel to be committed, without really committing.”
Allison laughed so loud the construction workers at the next table looked over. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”
“No, I think I’m on to something,” Anne said, her enthusiasm rising in her voice. “Jeff has been hanging around at our place quite a bit, helping out with the rodeo camp. He’s wonderful with the kids, and sometimes I catch him looking at Wade and me and the baby with this sort of wistful expression on his face.”
“You think he’s jealous of your marital bliss?”
“All men get the urge to settle down and procreate sooner or later, even Jeff.”
Allison took a particularly savage bite of an onion ring. “Even if you’re right, I’m not the one he fantasizes about. I mean, get real.”
“What do you mean, ‘get real’?”
“I mean, Jeff can have any woman he wants. Why would he set—”
“Don’t you dare use that word, settle. Jeff Hardison would be damn lucky to have you. Any man would.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, Anne, you don’t have to stroke my ego. Jeff is attracted to sophisticated model-types with long legs and collagen lips. We both know I’m no beauty queen.”
Anne threw down her French fry, splattering ketchup on the checkered tablecloth. “That is such bull! You could go up against any woman in this town—or anywhere, for that matter. You’ve got great skin, great cheekbones, great hair—”
“Mousy brown is not great.”
“But it’s thick and shiny, and—”
“Anne, cut it out, okay? I don’t care that Jeff doesn’t notice me.”
“Oh, don’t you?” Anne asked innocently. The silence that followed her question was charged with enough tension to suffocate a mule.
“We’re just friends, and I like it that way,” Allison said, trying her best to sound casual.
“Liar.”
Suddenly Allison found it hard to swallow. She’d nurtured her ridiculous crush on Jeff for years, and no one had ever suspected. Or had they? She’d never said a word to anyone and always acted completely indifferent around Jeff, but Anne was very observant.
“You haven’t mentioned this to anyone, have you?” Allison asked, dying a thousand deaths. Her secret, her precious secret, was out in the open.
“Um, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t have to mention it. Everyone knows.”
Allison thought she was going to throw up. Surely this was just a terrible nightmare. “Everyone?”
“Everyone but Jeff, the lunkhead. I guess he’s so used to women adoring him that he’s oblivious.”
Here, at least, was a shred of hope. “You’re sure he doesn’t know? And nobody’s said anything to him?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“Listen, Anne. He can never, never know. Promise me you won’t say anything to Jeff.”
“I won’t. I wouldn’t do that. But, Allison, why can’t he know? In every relationship, someone has to make the first move. Why don’t you just tell him how you—”
“I did that once.”
“When? I thought—”
“In seventh grade. I screwed up my courage and asked him to the Christmas dance at the country club, and he was grossed out by the whole idea.”
“Good Lord, Allie, that was eons ago. He probably doesn’t