“I know.” Rachel hesitated, imagining the lectures she’d have to endure from their mother, who still clung to the fantasy that a woman who had remained single in her late twenties was as pure as a preadolescent milkmaid. “All right, it’s Garret Kelly.”
“Who?” Rhonda was no doubt searching her mental database of socially prominent eligible bachelors and coming up blank. Which meant her sister was dating a nobody. The horror!
Rachel’s smile broadened. “Garret Kelly. Star of the Dallas Devils lacrosse team.”
“Oh. An athlete.” Worse than a nobody to Rhonda’s way of thinking.
“Hey, he’s a great guy and a lot of fun.”
“Just what I want in a serious relationship,” Rhonda said dryly. “You’re almost thirty. You can’t play the party girl forever.”
“I will if it will keep me from acting like someone who sucks lemons for fun,” Rachel said. “Listen, this has been a ball, but I’ve got work to do. Goodbye.”
Before Rhonda could say anything else, Rachel hung up, then sat back and stared at the phone. The two sisters knew just what to say to push each other’s buttons, so that almost every conversation became a verbal duel.
Usually, Rachel enjoyed sparring with Rhonda. Big sister was so predictable. It was fun to poke holes in Rhonda’s inflated sense of propriety.
But today she found little joy in the aftermath of this conversation. She’d secretly hoped that by acknowledging the importance to Rhonda of chairing the Winter Fantasy ball that her sister might extend a similar olive branch and be happy—for once—that Rachel’s career was going great and that she was about to realize her dream of her own television show.
If not that, then couldn’t Rhonda have been more excited about Rachel’s date with Garret Kelly? Couldn’t they have laughed and shared confidences, the way sisters were supposed to do?
She sighed and opened a new file on her computer. Rhonda was Rhonda and there was no sense trying to change her. And she’d never stop trying to change Rachel, but that was a losing battle. Rhonda would never realize that Rachel didn’t want to be respectable and modest. Not when the alternative was so much more fun.
RACHEL CONVINCED MOIRA to come with her to the Dallas Devils game Friday night. “Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Moira said when she met Rachel at the light-rail station. “You hate sports. So do I, for that matter.”
“But you’re my best friend so you’ll come to support me, right?” Rachel fed dollar bills into the ticket machine. The train would drop them right at the stadium, saving the huge hassle of parking downtown.
“You don’t need my support.” Moira accepted her ticket. “Though you must have it really bad for Garret Kelly if you let him talk you into coming to a game.”
“I’m doing this for my career, remember,” Rachel said. Well, mostly for her career. Seeing Garret again was merely a bonus.
“Oh, right. The bet. What does the Wild Man think about that?”
“He doesn’t know. Denton didn’t tell him and I’m certainly not going to.” The train arrived and they climbed aboard.
Moira plopped into the seat beside Rachel and shook her head. “I don’t know. What’s going to happen when he finds out?”
“If he finds out, I’ll laugh it off as another of Denton’s publicity stunts. He’s always coming up with crazy stuff like that.”
“Then why not tell Garret now and get it over with?”
“Because…” She chewed her lower lip. “Because I really like Garret and I don’t want him flipping out over the whole Man Tamer thing.”
“He’s going to find out about your column one of these days. Especially if you take it to TV.”
“But by then he’ll know me better. Plus, I’ll have applied my principles to our relationship and he’ll see how great they’ve been for both of us.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“I know you haven’t had much success with David,” Rachel said. “But I think that’s because you haven’t given my approach time to take effect.” Granted, maybe the man-taming principles didn’t work for everyone. But letters from her readers and her own studies into behavior modification assured her they were effective most of the time.
“One thing I don’t understand is, I thought your techniques were designed for women to use on their boyfriends or husbands. You and Garret hardly know each other.”
“Yes, but that could change.”
“Oh?” Moira leaned toward her, her expression avid. “So I was right when I said he was interested in you, too.”
“You could say that. He asked me to go to bed with him last night.”
Moira laughed. “If every man who wanted to have sex with you qualified as a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a free night in the week.”
“Maybe, but this was different.” Rachel allowed herself a small smile. “I wanted to go to bed with him, too.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
She sat up straighter. “We’d just met!”
Moira shrugged. “What better way to really get to know a man?”
She had a point, Rachel conceded. The train arrived at their station and they were swept along in the crowd making its way to the arena. They found their seats—center court, front row, thanks to Garret—and settled in. “Looks like a hockey setup without the ice.” Moira pointed to the nets at each end of the court. “Those are the same as hockey, too.”
“How do you know so much?” Rachel asked.
“I guess I picked up a few things from David.”
Just then the arena went dark and an announcer’s voice boomed. “Get ready to welcome your Dallas Devils!” With an explosion of fireworks and the blare of heavy-metal music, a double line of motorcycles raced into the arena. On the back of each was perched a scantily clad dancer. Behind them, heralded by more fireworks, the players, clad in shorts, loose jerseys, gloves and helmets, raced in.
The crowd screamed and whistled, louder even than the music. Rachel wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but refrained. “There’s Garret!”
Moira pointed to the fourth man in the first row of players—number thirty-six, the name Kelly stitched across the back. Rachel probably wouldn’t have recognized him. The helmet covered his head and the padded jersey made his shoulders even broader. Her gaze shifted to the only part of him that wasn’t covered. “Nice legs,” she said. They were muscular and toned, dusted with brown hair.
“They all have nice legs,” Moira said appreciatively. “Too bad the shorts aren’t tighter, though.”
After the Canadian and American anthems were played, they settled in to watch the game. Rachel’s bottom had barely touched the seat before the crowd roared and surged to its feet again. “Devils’ goal!” the announcer shouted. Lights flashed and music pounded as the players raced to the end of the court.
“What happened?” Rachel asked.
“We scored, I guess.”
The rest of the game was like that. The action shifted from one end of the court to the other with lightning speed. The Devils scored another goal, then the Roughnecks came back to score three. Thank God for replays or Rachel never would have figured out what was happening.
Even then, she found it impossible to see how anyone could catch a hard rubber ball in a small net at the end of a stick, then run the length of the court with it, all while opposing players whacked