figured he shouldn’t be surprised she was a patron of the New England Razors’ hangout. She could scout for her next victim at a sports bar, and it would be easy pickings.
Marisa took a deep breath, and Cole watched her chest rise and fall.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s start again. And how are you, too, Cole?”
“Is that how you start the day in school? Correcting your students’ manners?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
Jordan stepped forward. “Don’t mind Cole. Mom sent us to Miss Daisy’s School for Manners, but only one of us graduated.” Jordan flashed the mega-kilowatt grin that had earned him an underwear advertising campaign. “I’m Jordan Serenghetti, Cole’s brother. I’d shake your hand but as you can see—” he held up his gloves, his smile turning rueful “—I’ve been pounding Cole to a pulp.”
Marisa blinked, her gaze moving from Jordan to Cole. “He doesn’t look the worse for wear.”
Cole’s muscles tightened and bunched, and then he frowned. He should be used to compliments... Besides, he knew she had an ulterior motive—she still needed him for her fund-raiser.
“We stay away from faces,” Jordan added, “but his nose has been broken and mine hasn’t.”
“Yes,” she said, “I see...”
Cole knew what he looked like. Not bad, but not model-handsome like Jordan. He and his brother shared the same dark hair and tall build, but Jordan’s eyes were green while his were hazel. And he’d always been more rough-hewn—not that it mattered at the moment.
Jordan flashed another smile at Marisa. “You may remember me from Cole’s high school days.”
Cole forced himself to remember the expensive orthodontia as the urge hit to rearrange his brother’s teeth. He noticed how Jordan didn’t reference the high school fiasco in which Marisa had had a starring role.
“Jordan Serenghetti... I know you from the sports news,” Marisa said, sidestepping the whole sticky issue of high school.
Cole had had enough.
“You don’t take no for an answer,” Cole interrupted, and had the pleasure of seeing Marisa flush.
She turned her big doe eyes on him. “I’m hoping you’ll reconsider, if you’ll just listen to what I have to say.”
“If he won’t listen, I will,” Jordan joked. “In fact, why don’t we make an evening of it? Everything goes down better with a little champagne—unless you prefer wine?”
Cole gave his brother a hard stare, but Jordan kept his gaze on Marisa.
“The Pershing School needs a headliner for its Pershing Shines Bright benefit,” Marisa said to Jordan.
“I’ll do it,” Jordan said.
“You didn’t graduate from the Pershing School.”
“A minor detail. I was a student for a while.”
Marisa took a step and swayed, her heels failing to find firm ground in the ring. Cole reached out to steady her, but she grasped one of the ropes for support, and he let his arm fall back to his side.
Careful. Touching Marisa was a bad idea, as he’d been reminded only last week.
“Cole’s the better choice because he graduated from Pershing,” Marisa said, looking into his eyes. “I know you have some loyalty to your school. You had a few good hockey seasons there.”
“And thanks to you, no championship.”
She looked abashed and then recovered. “That has to do with me, not Pershing, and anyway, there’s a new school principal.”
“But you’re the messenger.”
“A very pretty one,” Jordan volunteered.
Cole froze his brother with a look. He and Marisa had known each other in a carnal sense, which should make her off-limits to Jordan. But he wasn’t about to let his brother in on those intimate details—which meant he was in a bind about issuing a warning. Jordan was a player who liked women, making Marisa a perfect target for the charm that he never seemed to turn off.
Jordan shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe it wasn’t Marisa’s fault.”
None of them needed him to elaborate.
“It was me at the principal’s office,” she admitted.
“But you’re sorry...?” Jordan prompted, throwing her a lifeline.
“I regret my role, yes,” she said, looking pained.
Cole lowered his shoulders. He’d gotten the closest thing to an apology.
Still, Marisa had another motive for showing up today. And while he may have gotten over high school and his suspension a long time ago, forgiving and forgetting her treachery was still a long time coming...
Jordan shot him a speaking glance. “And Cole apologizes for being Cole.”
Cole scowled. “Like hell.”
They hadn’t even touched on intimate levels of betrayal that Jordan knew nothing about.
Jordan gestured with his glove. “Okay, I typically leave the mediation talks to the NHL honchos, but let’s give this one more try. Cole regrets messing up with his last prank.”
“Right,” Cole said tightly but then couldn’t resist taking a shot at his brother to dislodge the satisfied look on his face. “Jordan, talk show host is not in your future.”
His brother produced a wounded look. “Not even sportscaster?”
“Since we’re all coming clean,” Cole continued pleasantly, looking at Marisa, “why don’t you tell me what’s in this for you?”
She blinked. “I told you. I want to help the Pershing School get a new gym.”
“No, how does this all help you personally?”
Marisa bit her lip. “Well... I hope I’ll be considered for assistant principal someday.”
“Now we’re getting warmer,” he said with satisfaction, cocking his head because this was the Marisa he expected—full of guile and hidden motives. “Funny, I had you pegged for the type who’d be walking up the aisle in a white dress by now and then juggling babies and teaching.”
Marisa paled, and Cole’s hand curled. She looked as if he’d scored a dead hit.
“I was engaged until a few months ago,” she said in a low voice.
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?” Had Marisa entrapped someone else from high school? Unlikely.
“Maybe.
