Field of Pleasure (3 page)

“Yeah, but that no-fraternizing rule is ignored more than the Sabers' rule on not taking anything from the field house.” Jared held up the roll of Ace bandages he'd snatched from the equipment room to prove his point. “Believe me, there's definitely some fraternizing going on.”

Her features softened, her eyes crinkling at the corners as an easy grin pulled at her lips. “Sorry, but I'm a bit of a rule follower.”

God, that smile of hers was devastating. It stirred things inside him that hadn't stirred in months.

“Well, it's the off-season,” Jared said, feeling a little more confident with each second that smile remained on her lips. Maybe his flirting skills weren't as rusty as he'd first thought. “There's nothing against some friendly conversation during the off-season, is there?”

She hesitated for the barest moment, before saying, “That's…not a good idea.”

She looked beyond his shoulder and gave a two-finger wave to someone coming up the hallway. A second later, Liani Dixon, one of the few members of the dance squad Jared knew by name, bounded up to them.

“Sorry that took so long,” she said to Chyna. Liani looked from him to Chyna, and then back to him. She held out her hand. “I'm Liani,” she greeted. “I don't think we've ever officially met.”

Jared shook her hand. “No, we haven't.”

The only reason he knew her name was because she
was one of those Saberrettes who had ignored the no-fraternizing rule last season when she'd hooked up with Randall the night before one of the Sabers' away games. Funny thing is his teammate had given up her name only after Jared had pried the information out of him, and Randall had never brought the incident up again. The one time Liani's name had surfaced in locker-room talk, when one of the rookies mentioned that he'd like to hit that, Randall had nearly taken the guy's head off.

“I feel bad not knowing more of you by name,” Jared admitted. “I don't attend many team functions outside of the regular game and practice, so I haven't had a chance to meet all of the Saberrettes. I appreciate what you all do for the team, though.”

He looked at Chyna, hoping his compliment would earn him another one of those sexy smiles, but the swift dip in her brow was as far from a smile as you could get. Jared recalled the conversation on fraternizing they'd been engaged in right before Liani joined them, and he understood. “What you all do for the team” had a different connotation when he looked at it that way.

“I meant the cheering,” he clarified, earning a confused look from Liani.

That's it. He was done making an ass of himself.

“I think it's time for me to head home,” he said. “It's been a rough practice. I need about two hours in my whirlpool.”

“I hear you. We're on our way out, too,” Liani said.

“Can I give you two a ride somewhere?” he asked.

Chyna's eyes went wide with what could only be described as panic. “I…um…I think I forgot my cell phone back at the judging table,” she said to Liani. “You go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I don't mind waiting,” Jared offered.

“But I'm not going home. I told my mom I'd come over today. Just go on without me,” she said, and took off down the hallway back toward the field house.

Jared pointed to Chyna's retreating form and turned to Liani. “Did I do that?” he asked.

Liani's grin spread from ear to ear. “I think you did. And all I can say is it's about time somebody got under her skin.”

A
s the doors closed at the Dekalb Station subway stop, Chyna inched closer to the back of the car. There would be a mass exodus at the Atlantic Avenue/Long Island Rail Road interchange and she had her eye on one of the seats toward the door. As soon as the train pulled to a stop, she shouldered her way to the back so she could get a seat before an incoming passenger could snatch it up.

She plopped onto the hard plastic and pulled her iPod from her duffel bag. Stuffing the ear buds in her ears, she skipped to Jennifer Lopez's “Love Don't Cost a Thing” and mentally rehearsed the routine she and Liani had put together for next season's opening preseason game. But before J.Lo could sing a note, Chyna pulled the ear buds out and, with an irritated sigh, stuffed the iPod back into her bag.

She needed to focus. This freelancing job Liani had helped her land with the Saberrettes was a golden opportunity. It was the first chance she'd been given to make
some real money from her dancing. She needed to keep her head in the game. But concentrating on anything other than a certain unbelievably built football player just wasn't in the cards at the moment.

Jared Dawson had flirted with her.
Twice.

Granted, he hadn't done the best job, but who was she to issue style points when it came to flirting? His very nearness had had her so discombobulated she had a hard time remembering either conversation.

That excuse she'd lobbed about adhering to the Saberrettes' rule against players and cheerleaders dating had been the most practical evasion tactic. Even though the rule didn't technically apply to her, witnessing the ramifications of Liani's encounter with one of the Sabers last year—her friend still refused to tell Chyna which one—had been enough of a deterrent. Chyna had enough things on her plate these days: school, her commitment to the dance studio where she volunteered, paying the bills, checking in on her folks. She certainly didn't need to add nursing a broken heart to the list.

Even if heartache wasn't the outcome of “engaging in some friendly conversation,” as Jared had put it, Chyna simply didn't have time to get involved with anyone. Especially now that she was the official independent choreography consultant to the New York Saberrettes.

Her lips curved in a grin.

Independent choreography consultant. That had such a cool ring to it.

Despite the fact that the job was only temporary, and Lord knew the salary wouldn't have her yacht shopping anytime soon, this freelancing gig officially made her a professional dancer. She was earning money through dance. It was a start.

History had taught her better than to hang her hopes
on ever paying the bills with her love of dance, but that's why she wore uncomfortable high heels and worked hard every day as an administrative assistant. It was why she'd put herself through college, taking classes online for the past six years.

It was the reason she would eventually get that junior management position that had just been posted on the job board at the hedge fund where she'd worked since a week after high school graduation. She'd scraped her way up from errand girl to clerical assistant to senior administrative assistant. The junior management position required a college degree, which Chyna would have by the end of the summer semester.

That is, if she could get her mind off a certain football player long enough to concentrate on the ton of schoolwork she had to get done tonight.

Jared Dawson was supposed to be the safe crush. Liani had talked about how crazy in love he was with his girlfriend. Which was why, of all the Sabers players, he had been the most sensible candidate for lead role in Chyna's fantasies. She had never contemplated those fantasies becoming reality.

But after their second encounter of the day it was no longer a question. Jared wasn't interested in just making small talk.

Tingles of the very naughty variety skittered in places that had her blushing. Thank goodness for the relative indifference of New York subway riders. No one would notice her flustered state.

The disembodied voice announced the train's arrival at the Fort Hamilton station. Chyna lifted her duffel over her shoulder and exited the train. She walked four blocks to her building in Brooklyn's Bay Ridge neighborhood
and made it up the two flights of stairs to her third-floor walk-up. She could hear her baby scratching at the door.

“Mommy's home, sweetie,” Chyna called through the thick wood. She pushed the door open and was greeted by six pounds of excited dog prancing around her feet. Chyna dropped her duffel and her keys and scooped up her Yorkshire terrier, Summer, from the floor. “How is Mommy's baby? Mommy is so sorry she had to leave you alone all day.”

She quickly grabbed Summer's leash and took her for a bladder-easing walk around the block. Back in her apartment, she filled Summer's doggie bowl, showered and heated up leftover pizza for dinner. Twenty minutes later, Chyna settled on the futon in her postage stamp-size living room that doubled as her office and dining room, and grabbed the stack of journal articles she'd gathered from the tomes of NYU's library.

Highlighter in hand, she read the same paragraph six times before tossing the article and highlighter aside. The frustrated growl she allowed herself didn't even begin to make her feel better. Not being able to concentrate on the Saberrettes' routine was one thing, but when thoughts of Jared got in the way of her schoolwork, it was a problem.

After six years of fitting in as many classes as her overstuffed schedule would allow, she was just a couple of months away from finally earning her college degree. Her academic future—no, scratch that—her
future,
period, depended on acing her independent study project.

Determined to put Jared and his endearingly bad attempts at flirting out of her mind, Chyna picked up the highlighter and forced herself to concentrate. She was good at compartmentalizing. Jared was a Saberrettes problem and since she'd left all things Saberrettes-related back at the Sabers facility, he was no longer an issue. For
the rest of the night she would be Chyna McCrea, college student.

Summer scampered onto Chyna's lap. She plopped her chin on the journal article, her tiny ears perked up like antennas.

Chyna picked her up and rubbed her nose on her doggie's belly.

Make that Chyna McCrea, college student and doting mommy to one high-maintenance Yorkie.

 

Jared juggled three beers, a bag of Doritos and a bowl of peanut M&Ms from the bar in Torrian's tricked-out rec room. It occupied the basement of the four-story Murray Hill brownstone. The room had been gutted, then outfitted with a collection of toys that could make a grown man cry.

A mahogany pool table occupied one corner, while a trio of pinball machines and a virtual reality racing game took up another. In the middle of the far wall was a sweet seventy-inch LCD flat-panel television. Torrian had just had four smaller televisions—if you could call thirty-two-inch flat screens small—installed, one at each corner of the larger seventy inch screen.

Having a bevy of man toys at their fingertips was nice, but it was the marble gaming table that saw the most action. For the past four years the table had hosted countless games of dominoes, with the occasional poker game thrown in to change up the pace.

Thank God for game night. After the whirlwind of changes he'd been through since walking in on Samantha and Carlos, Jared was infinitely grateful for this dose of familiarity.

Theo Stokes, former linebacker for the Sabers who now worked as a commentator for the all-sports network
Sports Talk TV, shuffled the dominoes around on the table. “You said Paige is at a blogger's convention?” he asked Torrian.

“Yeah, don't ask me what bloggers have to convene about. Don't ask her, either. It'll get you slapped.”

Jared grinned. “Thanks for the warning. Of course, that's the first thing I'm going to ask the next time I see her.”

Torrian's fiancée, Paige Turner, was a former blogger for an entertainment magazine. She'd given up her position to become the PR person for Torrian's restaurant, the Fire Starter Grille, and had recently started up a new blog dedicated solely to dining out in New York City.

Jared grabbed a handful of Doritos. “Are we ever going to have Deirdre's cooking again?” he asked before stuffing the chips into his mouth.

“Did I hear my name?” came a voice from the top of the stairs. Torrian's sister, Deirdre Smallwood, head chef at the Fire Starter Grille, started down the stairs carrying a tray.

“I had a couple of these mini empanadas left over from today,” she said when she reached the landing. She headed straight for the side table, setting the tray on it.

“Thank God. I miss having you spoil us, Dee.” Jared rose from his chair to give her a peck on the cheek.

“I figure you boys are grown now, but a little spoiling never hurts.” She laughed then returned his kiss. She turned to the table, faltering a step. “Hello, Thelonious,” she directed at Theo, who responded with one curt nod, and a very brisk, “Deirdre.”

Jared looked from one to the other as he slid back in his chair. The tension between them was so thick he doubted one of Deirdre's sharp chef knives could slice
through it. Jared glanced over at Torrian, who shook his head and made a cutting motion at his neck.

Okay.
Something was definitely going on there.

“Well,” Deirdre said, clasping her hands together. “I guess I'll see you all later. Torrian, don't forget, you promised to pick Dante up from his friend's house. I don't want him riding the subway after what happened last Friday night.”

“I'm on it,” Torrian said.

They were quiet as Deirdre walked up the stairs. As soon as the door closed behind her, all three men at the table spoke at once.

“What happened with Dante?” Theo asked Torrian.

“Why are you such a jackass?” Torrian spat at Theo.

“What's going on between you two?” Jared questioned.

Theo held up a hand. “Answer my question first. What happened with Dante last Friday night?” he asked, referring to Torrian's seventeen-year-old nephew.

“He got jumped on the train heading out of Brooklyn.”

“Is he okay?” Theo asked.

“He was a little roughed up. Nothing too bad. Deirdre's more worked up about it than Dante. I'm surprised she let him go out at all.”

“What do you expect?” Jared chimed in. “He's her only child. Of course she's going to be overprotective.”

Torrian turned to Theo. “Now answer my question. Is there a reason you automatically turn into a jerk whenever Deirdre is around?”

“He's scared of her,” Jared said.

“Shut up,” Theo barked.

“Admit it, dawg. You don't know what the heck you're doing when it comes to Dee.” Torrian pointed a finger
at him. “I'm warning you. If you wait too long to figure it out, you're going to miss your chance.”

“Are we gonna play dominoes or gossip like a bunch of girls?” Theo growled.

“Can't we do both?”

The look Theo shot Torrian's way was pure evil. Jared decided to step in to prevent possible bloodshed.

“If it'll make you feel better, you're not the only one with woman troubles.” His friends both looked at him with uneasy stares. “I'm not talking about the obvious,” Jared said. “I told you all I'm over Samantha. For the most part,” he tacked on at the end.

“About time,” Theo drawled.

“In my attempt to put Sam behind me, I tried to make a move on someone else today. I got shot down hard.”

“Oh, yeah, you owe me this story.” Torrian chuckled. He glanced over at Theo and nodded toward Jared. “This one decided to go after one of the Saberrettes.”

“Dude, seriously?” Theo laughed.

“She's not a Saberrette,” Jared clarified. “She's a choreographer the squad hired to help with new routines for next season. It doesn't matter one way or the other. She wouldn't cut me a bit of slack.” Jared shook his head, laughing at himself. “I felt like a fool. I'm so out of practice with this stuff.”

“Look, if you want to get her attention—” Theo started, but Torrian stopped him.

“Hold up!
You
are trying to give woman advice? You?”

“Just because you tricked Paige into giving you the time of day doesn't make you Casanova.”

“Casanova had dozens of women, not just one. Shows how much you know.”

Jared settled back in his chair to enjoy the show as two of his best friends volleyed insults back and forth at
each other. But it didn't take long for him to tune them both out, his mind conjuring an image of heavenly gray eyes in a face fit for an angel. God, she was lovely.

Whether she admitted it or not there was definitely chemistry between them. Jared saw it in the way her smile had softened when she looked at him. It was only after the threat of being confined in a car with him that she'd panicked. He decided to take that as a good sign.

Theo and Torrian were still trying to decide who was better equipped to give woman advice. Jared didn't have the heart to tell them he didn't need their help. He knew what he was going to do as far as Chyna was concerned.

He was going to win her over.

She'd thrown down the gauntlet when she'd scurried away from him earlier today. If there was one thing Jared loved, it was a good competition. Even better, he loved to win. His competitive nature was the foundation of everything he did. It was why he loved the game of football so much. It was why gambling had grabbed him by the throat. That very first win at the craps table had been all he had needed to become hooked.

Today, Chyna had pulled at the competitive cord that ran through his veins. She was a challenge. A very
hot
challenge who made him feel things he thought would take months, if not years, to feel again. And like every other challenge he'd faced, he was determined to come out on top. One way or another, he was going to win her over.