Under the Table Page 11

  He was empathetic in his dealings with the people who stood before him, even matter-of-fact in his delivery. He didn’t go off on long tangents at the litigants. He waited as long as he could before he issued bench warrants for people who didn’t show up to answer their summonses, calling out their names with a quick look around the room, before finally handing off the paperwork to his clerk.

  Zoey knew he recognized her when during one of his scans of the courtroom, his gaze rested on her and he did a double take. Then he looked directly at her and his stare turned icy. The whole encounter took less than three seconds, but it was enough to make her blood run cold through her veins.

  This is a huge mistake, Zoey thought. She watched, glued to her seat near the back of the room, as the judge became less and less tolerant of the defendants that stood before him. Fines began increasing and sentences became stiffer, accompanied by stinging lectures about responsibility, and he barked orders of silence when people tried to explain themselves. All done with intermittent glares in her direction.

  After one of those scowls, Judge Hollister motioned to the bailiff by crooking a finger. The bailiff bent his head toward the judge while covering the court microphone with his hand. They shared a muted exchange and they both looked at her. When the bailiff headed toward where she was sitting, Zoey’s flight response kicked in. She jumped out of her seat and out the closest door.

  She ran until her chest hurt when she tried to draw breath and the pain in her side was unbearable, her legs turning into cramp-filled logs. She slowed down to a hurried walk back to the train station.

  Safely on the train back to the city, Zoey was unable to quell the shudders that continued to plague her. It would’ve been one thing if Randolph Hollister was nasty and abrupt to everyone, but until he caught sight of her, he seemed logical and compassionate. He knew he was no innocent victim when it came to what happened with Ruth. One look at her was all it took for him to have what she considered a public temper tantrum. And that made Zoey feel worse. Thanks to her efforts, all she managed to accomplish was doubling the fine for a guy with an expired insurance card and a woman receiving a ten-minute scolding about how she shouldn’t be speeding with kids in the car.

  * * *

  “Of all the arrogant, pigheaded, sanctimonious . . . ,” Ruth sputtered after Zoey reported the news.

  At least she wasn’t angry at Zoey for trying to approach him on her behalf. She waited patiently for Ruth to settle into a more obscenity-laced tirade. Ruth could swear better than the average sailor on shore leave.

  “You know what?” Ruth threw her Lean Cuisine dinner into the microwave and slammed the door. “I had no idea that the bouncers face-planted him on the street, and if he wasn’t such a first-rate ass clown I would almost feel sorry for him.”

  “What are you going to do?” Zoey asked.

  Ruth watched her sesame chicken spin around in the microwave. Zoey could practically hear the wheels turning as Ruth considered her options. She turned back to Zoey with an evil smile.

  “I’m not going to do anything.”

  “You’re not going to show up to court?” Zoey was aghast.

  “Oh, I’m going to show up to court all right. And I’m going to show up looking like the most innocent, proper damsel they ever saw.”

  “Don’t you think your money would be better spent in hiring a lawyer instead?” Zoey longed to introduce Blake back into the conversation. If nothing else, he would give her good advice.

  “I wasn’t going to buy anything. I thought maybe I could borrow some of your clothes?”

  If Zoey wasn’t so apprehensive of where Ruth was going with this, the insult might have stung more. “I don’t own anything like that. And we are not even remotely the same size. You mean you’re going to go for the baggy matron look?”

  Ruth briefly looked Zoey up and down. “You’re right. Looks like I’m going shopping.”

  “You need to be shopping for an attorney.”

  “I’m not throwing away money to try and fight a rigged system,” Ruth scoffed.

  Zoey was nibbling on her cuticles—a bad habit that she thought she’d beaten years ago. “I think that’s a bad idea.”

  “Which is why you’re you and I’m me. I’m going to make this joker look like the worst kind of creeper.”

  The verdict was in. Ruth was going insane. She was going to go full throttle against someone Zoey had just explained was a first-class jerk. Explaining to his wife what happened to him that night must have been quite inconvenient for him. Randolph Hollister didn’t seem like a man who would let go of a grudge. From all she had witnessed, she seriously had to question if he even had a moral code. Ruth was a force to be reckoned with, but he had a much better arsenal. Zoey knew where her loyalty had to lie, but it didn’t mean she was at all comfortable with it.

  After sending a text to Tristan asking if she could stop by and seeing his warm reception to her text, Zoey grabbed her purse and left, without another word.

  Chapter 14

  Zoey made one stop before getting to Tristan’s. When he answered the door, he was back in his goofy golf clothes, this time red plaid knickers that tucked into his white knee-high socks and a white polo shirt. Given the recent turn of events, they, and he, were a sight for sore eyes.

  “I didn’t want to miss you, so I was waiting to clean up until you got here,” he said, reaching for the shopping bags she carried. “I was starting to think you had changed your mind.”

  “Not a chance,” Zoey replied excitedly. “I just got an idea and made a pit stop. To thank you for the other night. Take those to the living room.”

  On the way over to his apartment, she had thought about telling him about Ruth’s latest escapade, then decided against it. She was tired of Ruth. She needed a break from the stress of it. After remembering how Tristan released stress, she got an idea. Zoey made a small detour to the GameStop.

  “Zoey,” Tristan said, pulling the guitar out of the bag by its long neck. “I think your guitar is missing some strings. Like all of them.”

  “No, it’s not.” She laughed. “I remembered what you said about Sonic the Hedgehog. I figured it was time to get your gaming into the twenty-first century.”

  And if he was going to like it as much as she was thinking he would, it would curtail some of his television watching. She pulled the used gaming console out of the box, complete with cables already plugged in. “This is a PlayStation Three. Sorry I had to buy one used. The new ones are a little out of my budget. And if you hate it, then I can say I tried and not feel awful.”

  “I’ve heard of these,” he said with fascination, still staring at the black plastic guitar with its colorful buttons on the neck and lever used to strum. “But all the commercials have them being used for games where you shoot people. Or steal cars while shooting people. Then you team up with other players and shoot people. They look too violent for me.”

  “Not all of them, my friend,” she replied while pulling the final object out of the bag, a DVD case. “This game is called Guitar Hero. And don’t worry, you can play it alone without being noticed by anybody else’s system. There are a whole bunch of versions, but I picked out the one that is all Aerosmith.”

  “You didn’t.” They exchanged grins, remembering the night they met.

  “Don’t get too excited. I’m not sure ‘Walk This Way’ is on the playlist.”

  Their grins turned into full-blown smiles.

  “Come on, techno guy, let’s figure out how to plug this thing into your television and get to rocking.”

  Between the two of them, they were able to hook up the console without directions. When they were done, he picked up the guitar and held it out to her. “You want to do the honors?”

  Zoey shook her head. “No way, this is your toy. But I’d be willing to pick the song.”

  Excited to get started, they skipped the tutorial. She chose “Sweet Emotion.” “Now remember, the colored stars coincide with the colors on t
he frets. You push the colors and strum with that lever where the hole in a normal guitar would be.”

  Tristan flicked at the thin metal arm that extended out from the guitar. “What the heck does this thing do?”

  “I think that’s called a whammy bar. It’s for when you want to riff like crazy. But one thing at a time, okay?” She pushed the button to start the game and raced to the couch for a front-row seat to his first concert.

  “What am I supposed to do about all those people standing in front of the stage?” He pointed to the television as the music keyed up.

  “They’re your crowd, waiting for the show to start.”

  “Amazing.”

  And in his plaid golf knickers, he proceeded to butcher “Sweet Emotion.” He started out well enough. When he blew that first chord, he winced like he’d been electrocuted. The virtual crowd let out a yell of discontent. Then it turned into pure torture to her ears. His fingers struggled to keep up as the stars moved faster across the television screen. Some of his sour notes created such a screech, Zoey waited for the glass in the windows to shatter. By the time the game labeled him a total failure and the crowd rained down their disapproval, the other players in his band throwing down their instruments to walk away in disgust, Zoey and Tristan were both laughing so hard, they were wiping away tears.

  “That was awful!” He fell down onto the couch beside her.

  “Cringe worthy,” she agreed when she finally caught her breath, still clutching her sides.

  “I think that audience called me a lot of things. Hero wasn’t one of them.”

  “Yeah, they were a tough crowd. I think your bandmates stormed off to have a meeting and fire you.”

  Tristan refused to be daunted. Zoey kept picking songs and he kept trying to play them. Her attempts fared no better. Plus, it was much more fun to watch him. He was so engrossed, he never bothered to change out of his golf attire, which added to her overall enjoyment. Somewhere around midnight, they had a pizza delivered, another first for him.

  “You know,” he said sincerely, after tearing into his third slice of Ray’s Works, “Guitar Hero and pizza may be the best things that ever happened to me. Next to you, that is.”

  She wished he wouldn’t do that. Look at her that way, with the big wide eyes and disarming smile. Say things that were borderline what a lover would say, even though she knew he always spoke from the heart. Zoey concentrated on her pizza.

  “Is it corny to say that’s music to my ears?” she said.

  “Maybe, but I don’t think there’s enough corny nowadays. It’s a welcome reprieve from sarcastic.”

  They played until almost three in the morning before Tristan said, “I hope you don’t have to work tomorrow.”

  “Luckily, I’m off till the weekend.” For the first time since she started being her own boss, she wasn’t completely overexcited with taking another step in her adventure. In the moment, with an old worn-out PlayStation, a pizza, and Tristan was where she wanted to be. It was a strange reversal; instead of getting him out in the world, staying cloistered in his little part of it was infinitely better.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t have to start heading home.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” he offered. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Hospitality was what he was raised on. There was nothing untoward in his invitation. Spontaneous sleepovers were for the friends who didn’t mind it when they saw you with bedhead or sheet lines on your face or film on your teeth. Or who were going to see you naked, possibly misplace your panties.

  “I appreciate the invite, but I have stuff to do first thing in the morning.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth and he was pulling the phone out of its cradle to call his car service. Maybe he had second thoughts about the spontaneous invitation idea as well.

  “There’s no way I’m letting you go without making sure you get home safely,” he said while dialing.

  “Tomorrow I wouldn’t mind picking up where we left off.” she hedged, wanting to gauge his reaction.

  He looked up from the phone and smiled. “It’s a date.”

  Zoey came home to an empty apartment and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, too tired to worry about Ruth’s whereabouts. She woke up briefly when Ruth got home to change for work. Ruth quietly went through her get-ready routine, their conversation little more than “good morning” and “have a good day,” and Zoey fell back to sleep with the sound of the front door closing. The next time she opened her eyes, it was nearly noon and Tristan had texted he’d be home after two.

  When she got to his place, added to the guitar was an additional guitar, an entire video game console drum kit, and a microphone complete with stand.

  And he was wearing his leather pants. Those hot, delicious leather pants. A black ribbed tank top showed off his golfer’s tan, cutting the color off midsinew on his biceps.

  “What’s all this?” Zoey asked, averting her eyes from him to keep from drooling.

  “After you told me that Guitar Hero had lots of other versions, I went to check some of them out. That’s when I learned there’s a game called Rock Band. I couldn’t resist getting the entire setup. Now we can play together.”

  There was no way for her to tell him that watching him had become her favorite game. She loved to watch the way his face scrunched up in concentration and how he unconsciously bit into his lower lip when he had to speed up his movements to keep from missing notes or a long drawn-out chord. Add all the leather and muscle, and it was a no-brainer.

  “Tristan Malloy, I think you’re obsessed.” An easy statement for her to make, since it was how she felt as well. Only her obsession had nothing to do with music or silly video games.

  “I’m not going to deny it. Did you know in the most recent versions, the crowd isn’t quite so rude? The guys in the band still get pretty pissed though.”

  “What a bunch of divas.”

  “Do you want to play?” he asked, slinging the guitar strap over his shoulder.

  The only playing she wanted to do with him had nothing to do with instruments. If she didn’t know him better, she would swear he had begun to tease her.

  “Sure.” Zoey sat down at the drums and picked up the sticks. Not only did she want to spare him her singing, but she also thought it would be the easiest instrument to keep up with. It would also ensure that he was standing in front of her, so she could watch the leather pants in action. She tried to twirl one of the sticks between her fingers like a pro and promptly dropped it.

  Tristan was a quick learner. Most of the booing was directed at Zoey’s drumming skills. She missed most of her cues after any drum break she had because she was too busy watching him. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty. They switched the instruments up here and there, with them both on guitars next to each other being Zoey’s favorite.

  When he moved over to the microphone and picked “Learn to Fly” from the Foo Fighters, Zoey was mesmerized. Not only did he have a lovely baritone, something he now felt comfortable enough to share, but he also felt free to add some of the dance moves she still had trouble erasing from her memory. Her opinion hadn’t changed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen hips that swiveled like that. Tristan seemed to get off on the crowd cheering, going so far as to point at the TV screen as if they could see him. He knew the chorus without needing the words that scrolled across the screen and belted them out with his eyes closed. It was nothing short of adorable, and when he was done with the song Zoey realized she hadn’t played a single note. Thankfully, Tristan had been so into his performance, he hadn’t noticed her watching him.

  “That was so fun,” he remarked, sticking the microphone back in the stand.

  “I have to go,” Zoey said quickly, taking off the guitar. “I forgot I have some price quotes to work up.”

  It was an excuse, but the walls felt like they were closing in and she needed to get out of the room before she d
id something she’d regret.

  Tristan looked confused.

  “Oh. Okay,” he said, trying to mask his disappointment. “I was going to make dinner tonight.”

  “I’m going to have to take a rain check. I’m late with these quotes as it is,” she lied. She gathered up her things and hustled out the door, unable to look him in the eye.

  Her feet dragged as she made her way back home. It seemed fitting. Her spirit had begun to drag as well. Maybe it was the lyrics to the Foo Fighters song, the symbolism she was mistakenly attaching to them—about looking for someone to save him—and the heartfelt way he sang them, the way he already knew most of the words. Maybe Ruth had been right all along, about the unlikelihood of being able to make a platonic friendship work. It didn’t matter. There was no way around it.

  She had fallen for Tristan Malloy.

  Chapter 15

  When Tristan called her the next day to chat, Zoey told him about what was happening with Ruth before he could extend any invitations. She stopped short of telling the part about her sister’s ill-conceived idea to handle the situation without a lawyer. She was grateful that this time she had a valid excuse for telling him that the next few days were going to be busy.

  “That guy was a judge? Wow. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  His words and genuine concern were comforting, but all Zoey felt was stress. She had betrayed their friendship by falling for him. And now she was too scared and selfish to tell him for fear of him backing off. She was too drawn to him to have any hope of walking away herself.

  “There’s nothing for you to do, but thanks,” she told him. Her voice was shaky, something that she hoped he’d interpret as worry.

  “Do you want me to come along for support?” Tristan persisted in his desire to lend a hand. “I was there and can testify that he was buzzing around her all night.”