Impulsive (4 page)

He hadn't seen her or spoken to her since they had parted company
outside Tom Nelson's office the previous evening, and he was dreading the
moment he'd see her again and have to begin acting as if he actually liked the
smart-mouthed witch. His teammates were going to think he'd lost his mind,
taking up with such a homely Amazon.

Hopefully, he'd seen her at her worst yesterday, all sweaty and
red-nosed from crying, without a stitch of makeup. Still, heaven only knew what
she might look like normally, in the full light of day. He prayed she wouldn't
look too awful, that she would spruce herself up a bit for her role as his
girlfriend.

But not too much. God forbid she would overdo it and show up
looking as if she'd applied her cosmetics with a trowel! Or wearing some
atrocious outfit and tons of cheap costume jewelry. Even mousy-drab was better,
he supposed, than having people believe he'd taken up with a two-bit hooker who
moonlighted as a circus clown! If she was plain as a mud fence, he could at
least claim he was attracted to her personality or her intellect or some such
foolishness. And later, he could claim temporary insanity, or the phase of the
moon, or the peculiar alignment of the planets, or one concussion too many.

"How many fingers, T.D.? C'mon, Ty, blink or something, will
you?"

Ty jerked back to reality to find himself still prone on the
ground, his coach leaning over him with a concerned frown. "What?"

"Fingers, big guy. How many?" the man repeated, holding
his hand in front of Ty's nose.

"Three. Why?"

"Why? Shit-fire, man! You been lyin' there staring at the
clouds for five minutes. We thought you'd been knocked clean out, but for the
fact that your eyes were wide open. Now, where does it hurt most?"

"Nowhere but my pride, and my tongue. I bit it."

"What about your neck? Are your ears ringing? Twiddle your
fingers for me."

"Dammit, coach, I'm fine. Just got my bell rung a little,
that's all. Nothing serious."

"You're positive? Your timing's been off all day."

"I know. It happens sometimes, okay?"

The coach nodded. "Sure, but that being the case, why don't
you take a breather and let Jack get in some practice?"

"Suits me," Ty agreed, as he allowed the man to help him
to his feet. "Let Hays enjoy a little abuse for a change. Maybe it'll wipe
that smug expression off his face. Besides, he's looking entirely too spiffy
and spotless over there. It's like playing with Mr. Clean, for God's
sake!"

"Don't worry, T.D., we'll muss him up good for you,"
Dean "Dino" Sherwood
promised. "Sorry about
hittin' you so hard, man. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," Ty assured him. On a laugh, he added, "But if
you find any marbles or teeth rolling around out here, don't throw them away.
They're probably mine."

He had his helmet off, and his water bottle halfway to his mouth,
when he spotted her. She was in the lower section of the stands, sitting next
to her devious-minded godfather, who was obviously not above a little bribery
to get his dowdy goddaughter a steady date. From this distance, she didn't look
too bad. She was wearing cut-off shorts and a sleeveless blouse knotted beneath
her breasts, what there were of them, to leave her midriff bare. Her mouse
brown hair was parted in the center to fall in a sleek bob that curved along
her jawline, with a fringe of bangs cut straight across her forehead. Not a
great style for her—it reminded Ty of the little Dutch boy on the paint can—but
at least it appeared neat and clean this afternoon.

As Ty had feared he would, Tom waved for him to join them.
Grudgingly, all but dragging his feet with every step, Ty made his way to the
stands and trudged up the few rows of seats.

As he drew nearer, he was glad to see his worst fears laid to
rest. She hadn't lathered on the makeup. In fact, she didn't seem to be wearing
any at all, other than a bit of mascara and a hint of lip gloss. Now that she
wasn't ready to faint or keel over from heat exhaustion, her natural complexion
was neither pale nor ruddy, but lightly suntanned and blemish-free, discounting
the spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. If she'd been shorter,
and several years younger, she would have been the perfect Norman Rockwell
picture of the ail-American tomboy. Or, in Ty's opinion, a female version of
Tom Sawyer.

Ty was still a few feet away from them, morosely contemplating his
misfortune, when Tom leaned toward Jess and said something that must have
struck her as terrifically funny. In an instant, her entire expression was
transformed as she tossed her head back and let loose a laugh. Even as he
witnessed it, Ty couldn't believe it. Her hair fell away from her face,
revealing
high, strong cheekbones that would have been the envy of any
fashion model. Her eyes lit up with delight, and suddenly they weren't just a
nondescript hazel, but an intriguing shade of golden-brown, ringed by a wide
band of green. Straight, pearly white teeth came into view as her lips curved
upward and parted on the most enchanting smile Ty had ever beheld.

She still wasn't beautiful, not in the usual sense of the word.
But "pretty" didn't quite measure up, either. "Striking"
was the term that came immediately to Ty's mind. Followed by
"stunning," which was precisely how Ty felt. Stunned. That a mere
smile could change a common plain-Jane into a downright attractive female, all
in the blink of an eye. It was akin to watching a magician perform one of those
sleight-of-hand maneuvers that left you shaking your head in amazement.

Okay, so maybe the boobless wonder isn't a total zero after all,
Ty
thought to himself.
The tricky part is going to be to keep her amused the
majority of the time. At least when we're out in public together. As long as
she smiles like that, maybe no one will find it odd that I supposedly find her
appealing. And if I can talk her into stuffing a pair of falsies in her bra,
her figure wouldn't be bad, despite her height. Lord knows she has the longest
legs I've ever had the privilege of ogling! Add a touch of eye shadow and some
makeup to cover her freckles, and a new hairdo, and who knows, and she could
turn out to be rather alluring, in her own way.

Tom's greeting drew Ty out of his private musings. "Hey, boy!
Are you okay? You had me worried for a minute or two there."

"Yeah. Coach Danvers just thought I could use a break, that's
all."

Jess's lovely smile converted itself into a smirk. "I'd be
pleased to oblige, now that you're all rested up from your little siesta out
there on the field. What would you like broken first? An arm? A leg? How about
a kneecap, for starters?"

Ty returned her look with a false smile of his own. "Now, is
that any way to talk to your main squeeze? You might actually hurt my feelings
with that sharp wit of yours."

"I doubt it," she rebutted. "You've got the hide of
a rhino, and the disposition to match."

"Be still my heart! The woman's mad about me!" Ty
quipped.

"You're supposed to like each other, remember?" Tom
growled, rolling his eyes. "So shape up and behave like adults, if that's
possible."

"Consenting adults, I hope," Ty amended in yet another
attempt to get Jess's goat.

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," she informed
him. "Or maybe you should, just for the fun of it."

"I'll pass, thanks."

She faked a simper. "Pass? Oh, golly gosh! Do you really know
how to do that? And here I thought all you could do was get knocked on your
backside and count stars every couple of plays. My grandmother could dodge a
sack better than that."

"Your grandmother's dead," Tom reminded her dryly.

Jess nodded. "Then I guess that says it all."

"Not quite." Tom directed his next mandate toward Ty.
"After practice, you can introduce Jessie to the other players. The sooner
they meet her, the sooner she can start interviewing them for her story."

"Sure," Ty agreed, with a grin. "I'll march her
straight into the locker room as soon as practice is over. You'll be right at
home there, won't you, Jess? Surely it won't bother a seasoned reporter like
you if the fellas strip down to their skivvies in front of you. No doubt you
saw more than that yesterday while you were hiding out in that locker."

Jess's face flushed guiltily, but she managed a fair retort.
"Whether I did or not, I have to assume there's less blubber on a pod of
whales than on several of those guards and tackles. It thoroughly amazes me
that any of them can walk upright, let alone run."

"That's beside the point," Tom put in. He leveled a hard
look at Ty, jabbing a finger at the quarterback's chest. "Listen up,
James. You will introduce Jessie to the team outside of the locker room, just
as you would any woman for whom you had the highest regard. Say, your mother,
for instance. You will
continue to treat her with the utmost respect for the entire time
you two are dating. She's not some floozy you picked up on a street corner.
She's a lady. I trust you know the difference?"

"Loud and clear, boss. I'll treat her like my kid sister.
Just don't blame me when this farce you've cooked up doesn't fly. I can't
pretend to be bonkers over her and keep her at arm's length, too. The guys
simply wouldn't buy it."

"I realize that. Just know where to draw the line."

"Better yet, let me draw the line," Jess proposed.
"You two seem to be forgetting that I have a say in this as well."

"Hardly," Ty scoffed. "Not with you running off at
the mouth every two seconds. Tell you what,
sugar plum.
We'll just play
this thing by ear, and if you're real lucky, I might let you seduce me."

Jess laughed outright. "Are you kidding? You can't even score
on the football field."

Jess had the horrible feeling she was heading for deep trouble
with this pretext of being Ty James's girlfriend. The primary problem, other
than trying to fool everyone else, was that she found the smart-ass quarterback
altogether too attractive for her own good. Moreover, he was a
"toucher." As he led her around, introducing her to his fellow team
members, his arm was either slung across her shoulders or around her waist,
holding her close to his side in a none-too-subtle signal to the guys that she
was his exclusive property.

Jess's skin positively tingled in every place he'd touched; and foolish
as it was, each time he tossed a false endearment her direction, accompanied by
a smile that could have charmed a cobra out of its hide, her heartbeat jolted
into double time. Worse, she had the awful suspicion that he knew exactly what
his actions were doing to her, and was enjoying it immensely. The best clue, no
doubt, was the big goofy grin she couldn't seem to wipe off her face the whole
while.

Then, just as she thought this first ordeal was over, one of
the
guys suggested they all go out for pizza. Naturally, the invitation was
extended to Jess, since several of the others intended to call and have their
wives and "significant others" come, too. Before she could politely
decline the offer, Ty accepted for both of them.

In an evasive move, Jess told Ty she would meet him there, since
they both had their own cars, and she didn't want to leave hers in the stadium
lot. Besides, she had a couple of errands to run first.

Ty responded by giving her a look that said, without words, that
he knew she was trying to give him the slip and wouldn't show up at the
restaurant if she drove away by herself. "That's okay, honey," he
said, loud enough for the others to hear. "We'll take your car, and leave
mine here for now. But hand over your keys, because I'm driving. Not that I
have anything against women drivers, you understand," he added with an
ingratiating smile. "I just trust my own driving skills over anyone
else's."

Drat! She'd been outflanked before she'd gotten off the line of
scrimmage! Jess fished her keys out of her purse and slapped them into Ty's
outstretched palm, aware that without them she couldn't leave while he was
showering and changing into his street clothes, which she most certainly would
have done otherwise.

Half an hour later, in the close confines of her little Honda
Civic, Jess marveled at how much smaller the interior felt with Ty crammed into
it. His shoulders took up two-thirds of the front seat space, for crying out
loud! If that wasn't enough, he had the nerve to criticize her choice of
transportation!

"How can you stand driving this sardine can?" he
complained.
"Where's your sense of national pride, woman? Couldn't you buy
American-made, at least?"

"For your information, smartzenheimer, this car rolled off an
assembly line here in Ohio. Therefore, I do not consider it a foreign
model," she informed him stiffly. "Moreover, I'm thoroughly satisfied
with it. It gets super gas mileage, and has a terrific warranty."