Page 22 of Just Say (Hell) No
Thatgot through. “Pardon?”
Victoria looked startled. “Why? It’s true.”
“How do you know what size he is?”
Victoria sighed. “I didn’t say hehadone. I said hewasone. The judge in my sex crimes case, before he summed up like he was representing the defense.”
“Oh,” Nyree said. “Sorry.”
Victoria went on, “And I know Seb’s right. When we went to dinner last night, he said, ‘Let it go. It’s over. It’s one case.’ But sometimes, that’s harder to do. Because it’s also one damaged little girl.”
“I think you realize it’s over,” Nyree said. As always, she longed to shout, “Dump him!” And possibly do a ceremonial dance, in case it helped. Seb was just so…smug.“Being sorry for onedayisn’t exactly marinating in the loss. I’d be sorry, too. Iamsorry, and it wasn’t my case. Go ahead and be sorry.” She finished her drink, picked up the basket of washing she’d been folding, and stood up. “Got to go, though. I have some work I need to think about, and an early date tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Victoria sat up straighter. “New work? Painting work? And what date?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking, on the date. Photographing the rugby boys again. I’m not… I can’t talk about the work yet.” An idea she had, tickling at the back of her mind. If she talked about it, she’d lose it. She had to find her way through to it with a charcoal pencil.
Victoria glanced at the television screen, where Koti James was powering his way through one tackle with his freakish upper-body strength, going down at last under the pressure of two more, and somehow flicking the ball away one-handed, without looking, in the split second before he hit the turf. The wing, Kevin McNicholl, plucked the ball out of the air as if he’d known it would be there, put his red head down, and charged for the tryline. Another tackle, and there Marko was again in the breakdown.
You couldn’t see much of him. It was a rear view.
Which was enough.
Time to go.
Victoria said, “I could come with you. I could look, at least. I know you don’t like them, but I think I could see my way.”
That was good news. Non-Seb good news. Of course, a rugby player might not be any better than Seb, since Victoria’s attraction would be based on the same things, the things that also made them arrogant. Height. Muscles. High testosterone levels. Money. Et cetera. And then there was their disturbing tendency to be twenty-two, or married.
Marko wasn’t either, though. And he wasn’t Seb. He was kind to puppies and kittens. Seb probably kicked them. In short, Marko could be the best thing that could happen to Victoria.
And yet, somehow, Nyree was saying, “It’s better if I do it alone, sorry. I’m trying to keep it low-key so I don’t spook them or come off like a fan. And, no, I haven’t told them who my stepdad is, so don’t ask. I don’t need the complication. It’s business.”
It’s business,she repeated to herself at nine the next morning as she found a carpark on Tamaki Drive not too far from the Mission Bay fountain and opened the crate. They had a perfect day for it. Glorious sun, puffy white clouds, and the patented sparkle to the turquoise waters of Waitemata Harbour. Perfect.
For business.
She headed to the fountain, where the Art Deco urn and the three bronze sea monsters sent their sprays of white high into the early-autumn sky. Not too busy out here, she saw with satisfaction, thanks to the early hour. A fair number of kids, though, running and shrieking around the playground, which gave her an idea. If she could get Marko posing with a doganda couple kids? That would be good. She’d brought photo releases just in case.
One of the kids, a little girl of two or so, was running towards her right now, in fact, followed by a couple with a baby in a pushchair. She’d be perfect, because she was adorable. Marko’s harsh face showcased beside that golden skin, those shiny dark curls, and all that life? The little girl was waving her hands in excitement as she ran, then looking back at her father, who was pretending to chase her.
Oh.Well, yeh. Dad was Koti James, his glorious body resplendent in shorts and jandals. She’d told Marko, “No uniforms. We’ll go with mufti this time, the casual look,” and he’d evidently passed along the message.
He’d brought his kids as well? Better and better. She dropped the leash to the ground, stepped on it fast, told the dog, “Stay,” and got out her camera with her heart beating faster. This was manna from heaven.
“Already focused on the show pony,” the deep voice behind her said. “And here I brought the kitten and all.”
She was already smiling when she turned, and then she wasn’t.
It wasn’t because of how Marko looked. He’d shaved today, which wasn’t about her. His usual post-match routine, that was all. He looked good scruffy, and he looked good cleaned up. Tough both ways. He had a gash on his forehead covered with surgical tape, and that didn’t hurt his looks, either. The fluffy gray kitten sat on the shoulder of his black T-shirt, which stretched over the acreage of his arms and chest as per specifications. It all created a nice contrast. Aesthetically speaking.
It wasn’t that. It was the girl.
“How ya goin’, Nyree,” Koti said, and Nyree turned to face him again, feeling like a human fidget spinner.Focus.Koti, who as usual looked as if he’d onlywatcheda rugby match, had the curly-haired toddler in his arms now, a shot that would make any newspaper editor sing for joy. He said, “Marko said you were bringing a dog. I made the mistake of telling Kate about it in front of my daughter, and here we all are. This is Maia. She longs for a dog with every beat of her heart. You can probably tell.”
The little girl was indeed leaning out of her father’s arms, stretching her hands out for the dog and making urgent noises. Koti tightened his grip on her and said, “Oh, sorry. My wife Kate, and that lump under the blanket is our son Mikaere. Asleep, which is a lucky thing, as you’ll be able to hear yourself think. This is Nyree, baby, who’s doing the thing for the SPCA.”
“Hi,” said the brunette with the pushchair. She was even shorter than Nyree, and her accent was American. “Right upfront—Koti can get his picture taken, but we’re not going home with a dog today, sonobody”—she cast a meaningful look at her daughter—“should get excited.”
