“Thank God.” She said it so fervently he had to hide a smile.
“Now, Annie, how do you expect to identify with your average American male if you know nothing about the sport that consumes most of his Sunday afternoons from late summer through winter? You owe it to yourself and the future of your practice to watch the Super Bowl.”
“I prefer to identify with his poor wife, who’s left to raise the children, mow the lawn and suffer in silence while the slob sits in front of a TV and stares at a bunch of grown men beating one another’s brains out.”
“Obviously you’ve missed the finer points of the game,” he said dryly.
“That’s okay by me.”
This clearly wasn’t getting them anywhere. Ann’s beliefs seemed entrenched. With only ten minutes to go until game time, he didn’t have a lot of time to win her over. He gazed longingly at the comfortable sofa and the thirty-four-inch television screen. “Is there another TV in the house?”
“Jason and Paul have an old tube TV in their room.”
Hank felt his heartbeat screech to a halt. It would be a travesty to watch the Super Bowl on a tube TV. “I don’t suppose…”
“Not on your life,” she said adamantly, turning the sound back up with a quick flick of the remote control.
If he drove like hell, there was still time to get to a bar. Or he could suffer through the game on the smaller screen. Or, he decided with a certain amount of roguish delight, he could use his considerable charms to get Annie to change her mind about sharing. As skittish as she was, ten minutes ought to be just enough time for that. He dropped down on the sofa beside her, mere inches from her.
“So what are you watching?”
She regarded him warily. “It’s a report on herbal medicine in China.”
“Any good?”
“It’s fascinating.”
“Good. Tell me what’s happened so far.”
She gave him a sharp look. “Why?”
“So I can catch up. If this is what we’re going to watch, I don’t want to feel left out.”
“This isn’t a suspense thriller. You won’t be confused if you don’t know what’s already happened.”
“But you said what you’d seen so far was fascinating. Fascinate me.”
“I thought you wanted to watch the Super Bowl.”
“I did, but I’d rather spend a quiet evening right here with you.” He allowed his hand to drift innocently to her thigh when he said it. He felt the muscle jerk beneath his touch, but to her credit Ann never glanced away from the television.
“Go away, Hank.”
“Am I bothering you?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled at her honest, heartfelt response. She turned a fierce scowl on him.
“Go away,” she repeated.
“Why? I think this is cozy. I want to share your interests. If this herbal medicine thing is as good as you say it is, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it just as much as a football game.”
With a deep sigh, she turned and handed him the remote control. “You win. Watch the game.”
“Are you sure?” He’d flipped the channel before the question was out of his mouth.
“Very sure,” she said wryly, getting to her feet.
Hank grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. “Stay and watch it with me.”
“When pigs fly.”
“Give it a chance. I was willing to watch the China thing with you.”
“Sure you were.”
“Honest.”
She chuckled despite herself. “Your nose is growing, Riley.”
“Okay, so it was a calculated risk. Stay and watch this with me. Football’s no fun alone.” He reached behind the sofa and came up with two beers. “Here you go.”
To his astonishment, she took the bottle without protest and tilted it up. When she took another long swallow and then another, he began to get worried. “Maybe you should slow down,” he said.
“Why? Isn’t this the way you’re supposed to watch the game? A beer in one hand, a bowl of chips in the other. Where are the chips, by the way? I’m sure you have them hidden away somewhere.”
Still watching her warily, he reached behind the sofa again and retrieved the potato chips.
“Any dip?” she inquired as she took a handful.
“In the refrigerator,” he murmured, bemused by her odd behavior. Chips? Dip? Why wasn’t she yelling her head off by now? “I’ll get it.”
When he came back, to his amazement she hadn’t switched channels. He held out the onion dip. She loaded down a chip with the sour-cream mixture, then popped it into her mouth.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“But you hate all this stuff.”
“But I’m a good sport. Don’t forget that. Now be quiet. They’re playing the national anthem.”
All through the first quarter, Ann sat stoically beside him, drinking her beer and eating potato chips as if she’d been deprived of them since childhood. She did not, however, look as though she were enjoying herself. She closed her eyes every time she anticipated the players making contact, which meant she was missing most of the game.
She watched the aftermath of a particularly violent third-down defense with a sort of avid fascination, then shivered. “Brutal. What is wrong with you? How can you stand this?” she said, turning her gaze on him. She actually looked shaken.
“Annie, this isn’t just a matter of brute force out there. It’s not just twenty-two guys trying to see how hard they can slam into one another.”
“You’ll never prove that to me.”
“I can if you’ll keep your eyes open for a couple of plays here. Now watch this. See the receiver going out for that pass. See that leap, the way he turns his body and reaches over his shoulder for the ball. Have you ever seen a ballet dancer execute a turn any more gracefully than that?”
“What do you know about ballet?” she scoffed.
“Season ticket holder, Miami City Ballet,” he retorted.
She stared in obvious astonishment. “You?”
“Me. Do you know that male dancers have almost as many injuries as football players? They wind up with bad backs, knee surgery, hip replacements. Do you wince when you see them on stage?”
She considered the argument thoughtfully. “I never thought of it like
