Fair Play by Deirdre Martin

straight to the locker room to shower.
    I have a date, she thought, amazed. Maybe it’s time.

CHAPTER 05
    Fall was in the air. Theresa could feel its invigorating bite, and every tree she passed proudly displayed its new wardrobe of oranges, reds and yellows. For most people, the new year began in January. But for Theresa, it always started in the fall, when the hot, dreamy days of summer officially ended and everyone was forced back to the realities of work or school. To her, autumn was a time laden with possibility. Normally, spending a glorious day like this on a non-Sunday trip to Bensonhurst would dampen her spirits.
    Not today.
    She was meeting Reese Banister for drinks tonight. She imagined his face illumined by flickering candlelight as his sensitive blue eyes unlocked the secret of her soul. . . .
    Stop.
    Now was not the time to fantasize.
    She had arrived at Dante’s and had work to do.
    The door to the restaurant was open, and she ducked inside. It had been a month since she’d last seen Michael, running like a lunatic beside her train. In the interim, she’d been busting her butt coming up with a good plan for putting Dante’s on the map. Her gut instinct was that Michael—irritating as he was—would be open to her suggestions. It would be an uphill battle with his brother. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Michael sitting at the same table as last time.
    But he wasn’t dressed casually in jeans and a tennis shirt.
    This time he was wearing tight black polyester pants and a sleeveless white undershirt known in some circles as a “wife beater.” Around his neck was a giant, gold Italian horn. On his left hand, an ostentatious pinky ring. On his right wrist, a braided gold bracelet thick as a dog collar. His hair was slicked back and a toothpick dangled suggestively from his lips.
    â€œHey, babe,” he crooned as she approached the table. “What took ya so long?”
    Theresa bit her lip, but it was no use; she burst out laughing. “What on earth—?”
    â€œWha? I’m an Italian guy, right? So I figured I’d bedda start lookin’ and actin’ da part.” He slouched down his chair, opening his legs wide. “Lookin’ good today, sweet-cakes. My wife’s working late. Wanna go out dancin’?”
    â€œStop it,” Theresa begged.
    â€œStop what?”
    â€œFine.” Theresa slid into the seat opposite him. “I was wrong. Now cut the wiseguy act. You’re giving me the creeps.”
    â€œOkay, baby. Anyting for you.” Michael straightened up in his chair, removing the toothpick from his mouth. “Better?”
    â€œA bit.” Theresa found herself smiling. “You need your head examined,” she told him.
    Michael grinned. “It got a reaction out of you, didn’t it?”
    â€œI suppose,” Theresa admitted begrudgingly.
    Michael noticed her eyes do a circuit of his body, pausing to admire his bare biceps. He held up his right arm, making a fist and flexing his arm. “You wanna cop a feel, baby? Be my guest.”
    Giggling, Theresa reached out to briefly touch the rock-hard muscle.
    â€œNice and hard, huh?” Michael asked.
    â€œOooh, very hard,” Theresa snorted, playing along.
    â€œJust the way the ladies like it,” Michael confided. “Wanna touch the other one?”
    Theresa started to speak, then stopped, heat rising to her cheeks. Stop, a voice in her head warned. Stop now. This is exactly the kind of behavior that got you in trouble in the first place. Stop flirting. Stick to business. “Let’s discuss the restaurant instead, shall we?” she returned lightly. But even as she said it, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes off his body. And that bracelet! “Where did you get that jewelry?”
    â€œThe horn is Anthony’s. The ring and the bracelet belong to my cousin Paul.”
    â€œOr Paul ie ,” Theresa