Not Playing Fair (The NOT Series Book 2) Read online

  Not that I was trying to woo him into anything beyond a nice chat, but this was still part of the date. I’d rather he remember the night for something more than my near-death experience.

  He stopped when he spotted the table. “What did you do?”

  Doubts kicked in. Was I being too obvious? Trying too hard? “I just got a plate and some silverware so you can eat.”

  “And lit a candle.”

  Leaning forward, I blew out the flames. “Nope. No candle.”

  He set the bag from the restaurant on the table before sliding the candle farther away. “I appreciate the gesture, but if you kept that lit, I’d need to steal some of your allergy medicine. Sorry.”

  Relief flooded through me. “Thank goodness. I was afraid you thought I was trying to seduce you.” The moment the words were out I dropped my head into my hands. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

  “You could try,” he said with an even tone, “but I’m not that easy.”

  Was he serious? His expression was unreadable as he pulled containers of food from the bag. After letting me squirm for a full twenty seconds, he paused and shot me a grin. “I’m kidding, Megan. You’re really cute when you’re flustered.”

  He was cute all the time, the jerk. Kicking off my shoes under the table, I tucked my legs beneath my bottom and leaned on the sofa arm. “You’re an agitator, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll plead the fifth on that one.” Popping open a small container, he quickly closed it again. “Someone didn’t get the memo. These go in the garbage.”

  “What is it?”

  “The mushrooms. I told the hostess we didn’t need them.” Sitting back down, he opened the next container. “This is your Chicken Picatta. Are you sure you don’t want some now?”

  I was a bit hungry, and my throat felt much better.

  “I could eat a little bit. Let me get a fork.”

  When I returned, Ryan took the plate from my hand and used his fork to dish up half of the container. He handed the plate back before moving on to his Pork Chop Valdostana. Once he’d neatly served himself and then closed and stacked the containers, he sat back and rested the heavy plate on his chest.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a kitchen table,” I said. “There’s just nowhere to put one in here.”

  “I eat most of my meals like this. Growing up, we weren’t a sit down to dinner and talk about your day kind of family. Between my sports, Rachel’s piano lessons, Dad working second shift, and Mom driving us kids all over the place, meals were quick and casual.”

  That sounded hectic, but nice. A full family unit all going in their own directions but together when they could be.

  “Did you play anything other than baseball?” I asked.

  “Around middle school I did all three—baseball, football, and basketball. Then most of the guys hit growth sports and by junior year, size became an issue.” There was no pity-me or bruised ego in his tone. “I was built for baseball, and that’s where I put my focus.”

  Resting the plate on my bent knee, I said, “You aren’t short though.”

  A dark brow arched high. “Not to you, maybe, but five foot eight is below average when it comes to men’s sports.”

  He had a point. Personally, I preferred baseball to the other two. Way less contact which meant far fewer injuries.

  “How young were you when you started playing softball?” he asked.

  “Eight,” I replied. “I think Dad was trying to find a distraction from the missing mother stuff. We tried piano lessons, but I have zero musical abilities. Then there was ballet, but the instructor said I was too old by that point.”

  Ryan nearly choked. “Eight was too old?”

  “To be a beginner, yeah. I didn’t mind. Tutus and toe shoes were not my thing either.”

  “But softball was?”

  I pointed at the cluttered bookshelves around the room. “As you can see, I’m a book person. As a kid, if I wasn’t at school, I was in my room reading. But the first time I hit the ball, I got this crazy rush of adrenaline, and I’ve been playing ever since.”

  “Did it work then?”

  Now he’d lost me. “Did what work?”

  “As a distraction from your mom leaving.”

  A question I hadn’t thought of before. “Yes and no. While I was on the field, I could focus and forget that there was a hole in my family. But then the game would end, and the moms would gather near the bench to pick up their kids.” I shoved a piece of chicken around my plate. “Dad was always there so it wasn’t like I had no one. I just wished she would’ve been there.”

  “I get that,” he said, and we fell into companionable silence.

  I thought of the letter tucked into the drawer a few feet away. Thought about how badly I wanted that letter twenty years ago. How I’d longed for any sign that she thought of me. That she would come back and we would be a family again. All of which made me feel disloyal to Dad.

  “When I first heard from my birth mother,” Ryan said, “I got really angry. Like if she didn’t want to be in my life back then, what gave her the right to come back all those years later.”

  The man was reading my mind. “But you still met with her. Why?”

  He sat up and lowered the plate to his lap. “I wanted answers. I stopped questioning her motives and decided that I deserved to know what happened. Why she did what she did.”

  That’s what I’d been doing for the last week. Trying to guess what Geraldine wanted from me. I hadn’t stopped to even consider that I might want something from her.

  Without a word, I set my plate on the coffee table and crossed the short distance to the desk. Pulling the letter from the drawer, I returned to the couch and set the envelope between us.

  “What is that?” Ryan asked when I held silent.

  “I got this last Friday. It’s from my mother.” As if I’d set a live grenade on the sofa cushion, Ryan went still. “I haven’t opened it,” I added.

  “Why not?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “Okay, that’s a stupid question. What do you think is in there?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve come up with countless scenarios in my head. She needs money. She’s ill and having regrets.” Pulling my feet up, I hugged my knees and rattled off the one I’d come up with a few days ago. “She needs a kidney and I’m her only living relative.”

  “Are you?”

  “Her only relative?” I shrugged. “I assume so. She was an only child and her parents died when I was a baby. If there’s some distant cousins out there, I don’t know about them.”

  Silence reigned again until he set his plate next to mine on the table. “Have you thought about having someone else read it first?”

  Interesting idea. “Are you volunteering?”

  “I can’t claim to be an impartial bystander, since I care enough not to want what’s in that envelope to hurt you, but I also know what you’re going through. When my letter came, I let my mom read it first.”

  The idea had merit. This could be like going through the experience with a seasoned guide. Someone who’d been there, done that. Then again, he was supposed to be my date, not my therapist.

  “I’m sure you didn’t bargain for any of this when you asked me to dinner.”

  “If you mean I never guessed the date would be this interesting, then yeah,” he replied. “But that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s a good thing that I gave you a heart attack at dinner, and now I’m considering putting a twenty-three-year weight on your shoulders?”

  A gentle smile curved his lips. “I’m the one who offered, but no pressure. If you aren’t ready, put the letter back in the drawer until you are. There are no rules for this stuff.”

  I stared at the envelope, debating what to do. Putting it off would only mean my imagination running away with more outlandish possibilities. I’d opted not to read it because I wasn’t going to give her the power to affect my life, but that’s exacting what was happening anyway. Better
to get it over with.

  Hopping to my feet, I snagged the letter opener from a cup on the desk. Handing it over, I took a deep breath and said, “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Wait,” I said as he slid the opener under the flap. “Hold on.”

  Ryan stopped in mid motion. “Are you changing your mind?”

  I perched on the edge of the cushion. “No, I just need to take a few more deep breaths.” Breathing in and out, I emptied my lungs one more time. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

  He waited, as if testing to see if I’d stop him again. When I held silent, he cut the envelope open. Pulling out the letter, he said, “You’re sure you’re good with me reading it first?”

  A nod was the best I could do as all the moisture from my mouth had gone to my palms.

  In silence, he unfolded the lined paper and scanned the words. There was only one sheet, and there were no words on the back. That meant no lengthy explanations or long pleas for my forgiveness. When his eyes reached the bottom of the page, he flipped it over, and then back, his jaw tight.

  “Well?” I said, about to jump out of my skin.

  One dark brow arched high. “You aren’t her only living relative,” Ryan said.

  I popped to my feet. “What?”

  “There’s no request for money, or any of the other things you suggested earlier. But she does have a request.”

  Why did he look so annoyed? “A request? For what?”

  Ryan held the letter out. “You should read it.”

  I didn’t feel good about this. “I’m not giving her anything. If that’s all that’s in there, then forget it. I’ll just throw it away.”

  “No,” he said. “You need to read it, Megan.”

  Rubbing my palms on my thighs, I stared at the single sheet of paper. This was the moment. Shaking out my hands, I stood and paced away, then came back and sat again. “Okay, I can do this.”

  Letter in hand, I read in silence.

  Dear Megan,

  This is your mother. I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me, but know that I wouldn’t be writing this letter if it wasn’t important. I’ve learned that my daughter, Cassandra, is there in Pittsburgh attempting to research my past. She told her brother that she’s been working at a local library, and your name came up. She has no idea who you are, and I’d like to keep it that way. I long ago left the person I was behind, and I don’t want that history coming to light now. Please do what you can to dissuade Cassandra from pursuing this further. If you cannot stop her entirely, at least keep her from finding the information she’s looking for.

  Thank you,

  Geraldine

  Numb, I stared at the words until they blurred on the page. She had another daughter. And a son. Children that she’d raised while I’d been left behind, wondering what I’d done wrong. Why she hadn’t wanted me.

  I had siblings.

  “Cassie,” I said, realizing who the letter was about.

  “Do you know her?” Ryan asked.

  I looked up. “She’s been working at the library for a week or so. We talked the other day, and she said she and her mother don’t get along. That she refused to share anything about her life before Cassie was born, so she came here to find the answers herself.” Glancing back to the letter, I muttered, “But for some reason Cassie’s last name is O’Malley. I never would have suspected we’re related.”

  Ryan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Are you going to do what she asks?”

  Was I? Just because she’d given birth to me didn’t mean I owed her anything. She hadn’t even apologized for leaving. For abandoning me. In fact, she made me sound like some dirty little secret that needed to stay that way. Was she ashamed of me? I deserved better than that. Dad deserved better than that. And Cassie deserved her answers.

  “No, I’m not. I’m going to do the exact opposite.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, “but you might want to think about this. As you just found out, learning you have a sibling is a big revelation. You won’t just be telling Cassie you exist. You’ll be telling her that her mother abandoned a child. If they’re already on rough terms, news like that isn’t going to help.”

  Why would I want to help? Cassie deserved to know the truth. But I did need to think about how to do this.

  “I’ll find a better way to tell her than I just found out, but I won’t help Geraldine keep this from her. Two decades is long enough.” I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “I feel like an idiot for not opening this sooner.”

  Ryan reached for my plate before picking up his own and getting to his feet. “Don’t beat yourself up. You had good reason for putting it off.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he walked over to the kitchen.

  “I assume you have a microwave over here,” he said, finding the appliance in the corner of the counter. “We’re going to start this meal over again, and we aren’t doing it with cold food.”

  This man really liked do-overs. I pushed off the couch to join him in the kitchen. “I can do that.”

  Ignoring me, he slid my plate into the microwave, tapped a couple of buttons, and hit start. “Your dinner will be served in forty-five seconds.” Leaning his back to the counter, he crossed his arms and watched me with a narrowed gaze.

  Not sure what was happening, I tried not to squirm. “What?” I finally said.

  Ryan shook his head. “I’m trying to figure out why Fletcher would have been stupid enough to let you go.”

  Did I give him the real reason? I mean, this date was likely to give him false notions about my life. Like, that I had one. Since I’d already stretched the truth about my job, I decided not to compound the lies. In fact, this was a good way to test what his reaction to the truth of that might be.

  “He used the old we’re too different cliché, but what he really meant was that I’m too boring for him to be with.”

  Dark brows arched high. “Too boring?

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “What does he want? A circus act?”

  “That might work for him, actually.” I laughed, but for some reason felt the need to defend him. “He just likes excitement and being social.”

  The microwave dinged and Ryan turned to retrieve my food. Setting it on the counter next to me, he said, “Make sure that’s warm enough.” While I stirred the noodles, he put his own dish in the microwave. “You know why Fletcher is like that, right?”

  As far as I knew, the two men were virtual strangers. “It’s just who he is, I guess.”

  With pursed lips, he shook his head. “He’s insecure.”

  Fletcher insecure? That was ridiculous. “Trust me when I tell you that no one thinks as highly of Fletcher Howard as Fletcher does.”

  “It’s an act,” Ryan insisted. “He needs constant outside validation because he doesn’t actually like himself at all.”

  Was that possible? Had the problem really been him and not me? If so, what did that say about how long I stayed and never noticed what was really happening?

  “You barely know him,” I pointed out.

  “True. I’m only going by my brief interactions with him and what you’ve told me, but I stand by the assessment.” Flashing that sexy grin of his, he added, “Also, I might have minored in psychology in college, and Fletcher Howard is a textbook example of the insecure male. The car. The need for attention. His breaking up with you but not wanting to see you go out with someone else.”

  Some of this was making sense. I’d taken a psychology class myself, though I’d never attempted to apply the basics I’d learned to the men I’d dated. Duh. That would have been a smart thing to do.

  “Now I feel sorry for him.”

  The microwave dinged again and Ryan spun to open it. “If he’s lucky, he’ll find the right person and eventually learn to feel better about himself.” Which meant I had not been the right person. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Is yours good?” he ask
ed.

  I touched the noodles in the center of the plate and said, “Maybe another thirty seconds for the pasta.”

  “I can do that.”

  While the food was switched around again, I felt a strong desire to get my confession over with. “We haven’t talked much about our jobs.”

  “Now that’s a boring subject,” he said. “How about we watch a movie?”

  Not the reaction I expected. I needed an opening to this topic and he wasn’t making it easy. “I doubt your job is boring. I’d love to hear about it.”

  “It’s just a bunch of numbers. I’d put you to sleep within minutes.” The timer went off and Ryan handed over my plate. “See if this is better.”

  I tested the food and found it heated through. “Yes, this is good.”

  “Then are we ready for dinner and a movie?” he asked.

  I could always confess after the movie. Grabbing two bottles of pop from the fridge, I said, “Let’s do it.”

  As the sun penetrated my eyelids, I felt something pressing against my back. Not quite awake, I stretched and my toes hit something hard as memories of the night before floated back. The scene at the restaurant. The letter. Ryan and I watching a movie. I recalled leaning my head on his shoulder as Bruce Willis dangled from the side of a building. After that, there was nothing.

  Realization dawned. I fell asleep on him.

  Opening one eye, I spotted the TV beyond the coffee table and my fears were confirmed. Then I realized I had no idea if Ryan was still there. He definitely wasn’t on the couch with me, and I couldn’t imagine he’d sleep in my bed and leave me out here on the sofa. Just in case, I checked the floor.

  I was alone.

  With a groan, I pushed up and swung my feet onto the carpet. The Winnie the Pooh Christmas blanket that was usually draped over the chair in the corner bunched around my hips. As I shoved the hair out of my eyes, I spotted a sticky note on a pop bottle and snatched it off.