MARISSA VANDERSON
"I'll sleep with you."
"You will?"
"Sorta." He grinned. "I guarantee that the last thing Dane wants is for me to make love to you. If he thinks we're going to have sex, it'll drive him crazy. He won't let it happen."
"What if he does?"
"He won't."
Marissa thought about Brent's suggestion. While she liked the idea of confirming how Dane felt about her, she had doubts about Brent's methods. "It sounds deceitful."
"It's for his own good, believe me."
"I don't lie well." Her fingers drummed the table. "I get twitchy when I fib."
Brent covered her hand and squeezed it. "He'll mistake it for nervousness about losing your virginity."
"I am nervous about losing my virginity. I'm thinking about keeping it for a while longer."
"Good for you."
Marissa saw the kindness in Brent's gaze. Mischief lingered there, too. "You like the idea of fooling him, don't you?"
"I like the idea of waking him up to the possibilities of a relationship with a beautiful and charming woman."
"All right. I'll do it."
***|***|***|***|***
DANE SINCLAIR
DANE WATCHED FROM the rear view mirror as Tuesday exited the restaurant and sprinted across the street. The boy slid into the car and eased the door shut.
Tuesday flashed a grin. "This is like Mission Impossible."
"Just tell me what's going on."
He flipped open his notebook. "It doesn't look good, man. They're holding hands and laughing. It looks like they're having a blast."
Holding hands? Brent was supposed to be his friend. That bastard! "I'll kill him," muttered Dane.
"Why are you hating on Brent for taking what you threw away?"
"I didn't throw her away." Dane exhaled. Brent wouldn't sleep with Marissa. He wouldn't. "Did you get close enough to hear what they were talking about?"
"Just once. I circled around the restaurant and lingered near this dessert cart for a minute."
"Well?"
"You're not going to like it."
"Tuesday..."
"Okay, okay. Your friend said, 'I'll sleep with you,' and Miss M said, 'You will?'"
Dane clutched the steering wheel, wishing it was Brent's neck. "What else?"
"Man, I don't know. Someone's grandma asked me for a slice of cherry cheesecake. I ended up serving the whole damned table." Tuesday closed the notebook. "Do I look like a waiter to you?"
Dane looked at Tuesday's black pants and white shirt. "Yes."
"I didn't even get a tip."
"Speaking of dessert, did they order any?"
"You mean did they order whipped cream to go?"
The image of Marissa covered in whipped cream made Dane clutch the steering wheel even tighter. "Don't be such a smart ass. I wanted to know if they were getting ready to leave."
Are we going to follow them?"
"You're damn right we are."
"Cool." Tuesday rubbed his hands together. "If you want me to spy, you need to provide some tools. I need one of those supersonic devices—you know, where you point this little dish and you can hear all the way to Cuba? And one of those little headsets so I can talk directly to you. A mini-cam wouldn't hurt, either."
"You watch too much television."
"I gotta do something in the afternoons."
"How about going to school?"
"What for? Besides, man, after Miss M's adventure is over, I gotta find another job." The boy grimaced. "I don't eat fast food. You know why? 'Cause I've spent too much time flipping frozen burgers and wearing paper hats."
Dane glanced at Tuesday. "I'll make you a deal."
"What?"
"If you go to school, I'll give you a job at the TeenCenter."
"No way, man. That place has rehabilitation written all over it. I like who I am."
Dane dragged his gaze away from the entrance of the restaurant long enough to look Tuesday in the eye. "And who are you?"
"I'm the one spying on your potential girlfriend because you don't have the balls to tell her you like her."
"It's more complicated than that, Tuesday."
Tuesday rolled his eyes and turned away. "Hey! There they are!"
"We'll talk some more later."
"Whatever."
Dane started the car. Despite his initial reservations, Dane liked Tuesday. He wasn't going to back off or give up on the young man. Just as soon as his ordeal with Marissa was over, Dane vowed to work with Tuesday—if he didn't disappear after he got paid.
"C'mon, man, they're leaving."
They both watched as Brent's truck exited the parking lot. Dane put his car into gear and followed his ex-best friend and Marissa to their rendezvous.
"This isn't a hotel," said Tuesday. "This looks like—"
"My apartment complex," said Dane. "He's taking her to my place."
"We're supposed to be at your house playing checkers or something."
Dane wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel. Had Tuesday misheard the conversation between Brent and Marissa? Maybe Brent had been trying to talk her out of sex. Yeah. Otherwise—
"We've got about a minute to get to your house. By the way, Brent just parked in your space."
Dane pulled into the visitor's parking area and backed into one of the spots. Then he grabbed a basketball out of the backseat and handed it to Tuesday. "There's a basketball court on the grounds. We'll meet up with them at the door and claim we were playing b-ball."
"Okay, man, but I kicked your ass. I got some serious game. Should we try to sweat or something?"
"What?"
"I'm just trying to make it authentic."
Without responding, Dane got out of the car and Tuesday followed. They jogged across the parking lot then turned the corner of Dane's building just as Brent and Marissa reached the stairs.
Marissa stood on the second step, her hand on Brent's shoulder, her head bent to catch what he was saying. She laughed then cupped his cheek. Brent pressed her palm to his lips.
"Oh, shit," muttered Tuesday.
Small black dots danced in Dane's vision and buzzing filled his ears. He felt like a cloud of bees had descended on his head. His legs stiffened and it was an effort to keep walking. What's wrong with you, Sinclair? She can screw whoever she wants.
Tuesday sprinted ahead, tossing the basketball up with one hand and catching it behind his back. Dane wished the boy would slam the ball into Brent's head. Instead, like a big show-off, he twirled it on his finger and asked, "Hey, Miss M! Did you have a nice time?"