panty hose, slacks became the only alternative. She didn’t own many pair;
most of her wardrobe consisted of interchangeable skirts and jackets. By the time the doorbell rang at a quarter after six, she was still vacillating over what to wear. None of the pants she’d tried on looked right. The black cords she had on now were much tighter than she remembered, definitely not a suitable choice even though they did complement the salmon silk shirt she’d already decided on. The doorbell pealed again, helped along no doubt by an impatient finger held in place.
Amanda opened the door to find Brady leaning on the doorbell. He still wore the same clothes he’d had on when he’d questioned her several hours before.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized, obviously anticipating her wrath. “Something came up at headquarters.”
Her distracted “That’s okay” was quickly followed by his murmured “Well, well, well,” complete with raised eyebrows.
Immediately on the defensive, Amanda said, “They’re just pants.”
Brady’s warm gaze rose to her eyes. “Oh, I wasn’t looking at the pants. I was admiring what’s in them.”
Don
’
t you dare blush,
she fiercely instructed herself, cursing the heat she could feel stealing into her cheeks. In an attempt to distract his discerning attention, Amanda directed Brady toward the living room. “Come on in and pour yourself a drink while I finish getting dressed.”
“Wait a minute,” he instructed, putting his hand on her arm as she had done to him earlier in the day. “Why do you have to change?”
“I can’t go out like this,” she protested.
“Why not? You look great. So good, in fact, that you might cause a riot. But never fear, I’ll be there to protect you.” His voice resumed its teasing inflection.
“You never said where we’re going.”
“It’s a surprise. Come on, let’s go.” He bundled her into her coat and hustled her out of the house.
“But where are we going?” Amanda repeated as he started the car and pulled out of the drive.
“All right, I’ll give you a clue. We’re going to see Tempest.”
“Shakespeare?” Amanda was disappointed. She didn’t feel like sitting through a play tonight, she was too keyed up.
Brady slashed her an affectionately reproving glance as he chided, “No more hints, Mandy.”
To Amanda’s surprise, they didn’t end up in some experimental playhouse, but in a computerized video game arcade. Dozens of different electronic fantasies stood along the walls, ready to pit their microchip wits against all contenders. Chromatic displays flashed across darkened screens while simulated sound effects of exploding warheads clashed with the futuristic roar of hyperspace. Added to this was the blaring music from a juke box, its overblown speakers distorting what turned out to be an Eagles’ song.
The place was crowded, with lines in front of some machines. Amanda had never been inside one of these arcades before and was astonished at how involved the players became. Some were perched on stools, their eyes glued to the artificial world displayed before them. Others were actually dodging the attacking starships, their bodies jerking from side to side.
Brady grasped her hand as a group of teenagers threatened to separate them. Amanda accepted his clasp with appreciation—she didn’t relish getting lost in this place. Catching sight of a free machine, Brady tugged her over to it. There, displayed in garish artwork, was the word TEMPEST .
She cracked up. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Hey, I promised you Tempest, didn’t I? Never let it be
said that Brady Gallagher welched on a promise.”
Amanda eyed the unit with amused caution. “I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“I’ll show you. Here.” Brady reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a couple of quarters, disproving Amanda’s earlier claim that nothing could fit in those tight confines.
A moment later there was a virtual explosion of
most of her wardrobe consisted of interchangeable skirts and jackets. By the time the doorbell rang at a quarter after six, she was still vacillating over what to wear. None of the pants she’d tried on looked right. The black cords she had on now were much tighter than she remembered, definitely not a suitable choice even though they did complement the salmon silk shirt she’d already decided on. The doorbell pealed again, helped along no doubt by an impatient finger held in place.
Amanda opened the door to find Brady leaning on the doorbell. He still wore the same clothes he’d had on when he’d questioned her several hours before.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized, obviously anticipating her wrath. “Something came up at headquarters.”
Her distracted “That’s okay” was quickly followed by his murmured “Well, well, well,” complete with raised eyebrows.
Immediately on the defensive, Amanda said, “They’re just pants.”
Brady’s warm gaze rose to her eyes. “Oh, I wasn’t looking at the pants. I was admiring what’s in them.”
Don
’
t you dare blush,
she fiercely instructed herself, cursing the heat she could feel stealing into her cheeks. In an attempt to distract his discerning attention, Amanda directed Brady toward the living room. “Come on in and pour yourself a drink while I finish getting dressed.”
“Wait a minute,” he instructed, putting his hand on her arm as she had done to him earlier in the day. “Why do you have to change?”
“I can’t go out like this,” she protested.
“Why not? You look great. So good, in fact, that you might cause a riot. But never fear, I’ll be there to protect you.” His voice resumed its teasing inflection.
“You never said where we’re going.”
“It’s a surprise. Come on, let’s go.” He bundled her into her coat and hustled her out of the house.
“But where are we going?” Amanda repeated as he started the car and pulled out of the drive.
“All right, I’ll give you a clue. We’re going to see Tempest.”
“Shakespeare?” Amanda was disappointed. She didn’t feel like sitting through a play tonight, she was too keyed up.
Brady slashed her an affectionately reproving glance as he chided, “No more hints, Mandy.”
To Amanda’s surprise, they didn’t end up in some experimental playhouse, but in a computerized video game arcade. Dozens of different electronic fantasies stood along the walls, ready to pit their microchip wits against all contenders. Chromatic displays flashed across darkened screens while simulated sound effects of exploding warheads clashed with the futuristic roar of hyperspace. Added to this was the blaring music from a juke box, its overblown speakers distorting what turned out to be an Eagles’ song.
The place was crowded, with lines in front of some machines. Amanda had never been inside one of these arcades before and was astonished at how involved the players became. Some were perched on stools, their eyes glued to the artificial world displayed before them. Others were actually dodging the attacking starships, their bodies jerking from side to side.
Brady grasped her hand as a group of teenagers threatened to separate them. Amanda accepted his clasp with appreciation—she didn’t relish getting lost in this place. Catching sight of a free machine, Brady tugged her over to it. There, displayed in garish artwork, was the word TEMPEST .
She cracked up. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“Hey, I promised you Tempest, didn’t I? Never let it be
said that Brady Gallagher welched on a promise.”
Amanda eyed the unit with amused caution. “I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“I’ll show you. Here.” Brady reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a couple of quarters, disproving Amanda’s earlier claim that nothing could fit in those tight confines.
A moment later there was a virtual explosion of
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