Making the Play (4 page)

James turned his face up toward his mother. “I'm hungry too, Mom.”

Thanks, kid. I owe you one.

She ran a hand over his tousled, blond hair. “You can eat when we get home.” Bethany turned her hazel eyes on Grant. “Thank you for joining James today. I'm sure it's one of those moments he'll never forget, playing football with his favorite Mustangs player.”

“It doesn't have to end.” He squatted down in front of James, praying this was one of those times he could ask for forgiveness after the fact since he doubted she'd give him permission to do what he was about to.

“It doesn't?” The little boy's eyes were wide with excited wonder and he brushed back several sweaty strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“You promised to help me work on my sign language, remember?” Grant's eyes twinkled mischievously as he squatted down to James' level again. “We can do that while we eat. Where do you want to go, James? I'll take you wherever you want for dinner.”

“I don't think—­” Bethany began.

“Dino's.”

“The pizza place?” he asked, impressed by James' selection.

Bethany sighed. “He likes the sports memorabilia,” she explained, sounding defeated.

“Dino's it is, then.” A half-­smile curved the side of his mouth, and he deliberately avoided meeting Bethany's gaze, hoping any irritation she might feel for him would fade before they arrived at the pizza place. “We'll have a guy's night.”

“Can Mom come? She's not a guy.” James looked up at Grant with every ounce of wide-­eyed innocence he possessed and Bethany bit back her laugh. Grant wanted to hug the boy right then and there for helping break the tension he could feel mounting between him and Bethany.

“You're right, she's not.” Grant frowned and pretended to be thinking about the dilemma before leaning closer to James and lowering his voice. “I think we can let her come this time. We'll just
pretend
she's a guy, okay?”

James' lips pursed as he thought about it. “But she's a mom,” he insisted. “That means she's a girl so we can't have a guy's night.”

Bethany crossed her arms and cocked her head at Grant as if to say
now what?

Bethany wasn't kidding. James was smart but he was still a six-­year-­old. As an idea took hold, Grant smiled back at her.

“I guess I'm just going to have to take both of you out on a date then.”

“What's a date?” James asked, curious about what must be a new concept.

“It's
not
a date.” Bethany shot daggers his direction. “Mr. McQuaid, I'm afraid—­”

James tugged at her skirt. His fingers moved quickly.
I'm hungry, Mom. Let's have pizza. Please.

Grant knew the instant she decided to give in. Her face lost the frown as she looked into the angelic face of her son, her eyes tender and soft. Adoration was written there clearly. She would rather give in to her son, in spite of her trepidation, than disappoint him.

She sighed and signed back,
Fine
.

Grant couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of Bethany's relationship with her son. She loved him and he adored her. There was no mistaking it. They might not be the perfect family, but they were a family nonetheless.

Grant longed to have a family of his own. Instead, he had football. Until now, he'd never longed for anything else more. Until today, he'd never resented his career choice.

 

Chapter Four

G
RANT PULLED INTO
the half-­full parking lot at Dino's, wondering again if he shouldn't just head home. Even he knew this went above and beyond the typical fan experience. But this was no longer about James' being a fan. He couldn't even convince himself this was just about James anymore. He liked the kid, had fun with him at the park today, and he liked Bethany. Somewhere between playing ball and his conversation with Bethany on the grass, he'd begun to wonder what it would be like to have more in his life.

As he climbed out of his car, he looked around for any sign that Bethany and James might already be here waiting for him. She'd insisted on taking her own car, making it painfully obvious that she didn't want to be here with him, even though he'd been nice, polite, even gentlemanly.

Maybe you're not her type
, he thought.
Maybe she's already got a boyfriend.

Grant felt a swirl of guilt center in his stomach. What if she did?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely. Her discomfort, the way she tried to keep her distance, it would all make sense if she was already taken. A woman as pretty as she was wasn't likely to be single. But she'd repeatedly made it clear she didn't date.

Seeing Bethany's sedan, he slid his Camaro over the center line of two parking spots beside it. He wasn't taking any chances with his baby. The '69 candy-­apple red Camaro had been his first big purchase after he'd been drafted and he still loved this car. It might be cliché but there was something about a man and his muscle car that just couldn't be denied—­it felt great to have that kind of power in his hands and adrenaline rushing through his veins when he opened her up on a stretch of highway.

When he didn't immediately see Bethany or James waiting for him, he made his way to the front door, glancing at his watch. He'd been caught at the stoplight but they couldn't have arrived more than a few minutes ahead of him. The bells over the door jingled loudly but no one even looked up as he entered. Every eye was focused on one of the pool tables. A cheer went up in the room and he moved closer. The last thing he'd expected to see was James, standing on a bench, shooting pool.

The boy looked up as he came closer. “Hi, Mr. McQuaid!”

James' face beamed with pleasure as he hopped down from the stool, knocking one of his implant microphones off. He reached and slid it back into place.

“Come play pool with me.” James slid his hand into Grant's and dragged him toward the table.

Grant didn't miss the way every eye turned his direction when James said his name, or the way ­people around the table moved to let him through. Or the frown that slid to Bethany's brow as soon as she saw her son holding Grant's hand. James reached for his small cue stick and chalked it like a pro.

“I'm winning.”

“Who are you playing?”

“Me,” Billy, the youngest son of Dino's longtime owner, complained. “I should really get back to work. Here.” He shoved the cue stick into Grant's hands. “See if you can do better.”

Grant looked at the crowd surrounding the table, unsure what to do. The easiest move would be to miss his shots, let James win and pretend it was a fair game, but one look at Bethany was enough to cast that idea aside. She stared at him with a slight smirk on her lips, as if she was daring him to beat her son. For a moment, he got the same feeling he did when a linebacker shot him a grin during the snap count. Bethany knew something he didn't and there was a good chance he was about to get destroyed. It also hadn't escaped his notice that James wasn't using a regular pool cue from the stock the pizza place kept. He had a custom-­made cue stick, just the right size for him. It was unusual and kicked his curiosity into high gear.

Grant worked his way around the table toward Bethany, not missing the flicker of apprehension in her eyes as he got closer. “Okay, Mom, how good is he, really?”

She couldn't hide the pride that swelled and her smiled broadened. “I could probably survive off his winnings if he ever wanted to start hustling ­people.”

“Great.” Grant rolled his eyes. He wasn't a great player to begin with and now he was about to get schooled by a kid. He bumped her hip playfully with his own, moving her aside. “At least you can say you warned me.” He pointed at the ball nestled in the corner pocket. “I'm solids, right?”

“Yep.” James smiled at him and Grant noticed one of his bottom teeth was missing. Damn kid was adorable. “I only have one left,” he said, pointing at the eight-­ball.

Grant shook his head, mentally preparing himself to be spanked by this kid and humiliated in front of at least twenty ­people from town.
Please don't let any of them be reporters
, he prayed.

It took all of five minutes for James to win the game. As soon as he'd sunk the eight-­ball, he climbed down from the bench and threw his arms around Grant's legs, giving him a warm hug. Without even thinking, Grant bent down and picked him up, lifting him so he was at eye level.

“Want to play again?” James asked, a bright gleam in his blue eyes.

“Maybe later. Let's order our pizza and we can visit for a little bit first.”

James wiggled in his hands and Grant put him back onto the floor, following him to the front counter where Bethany joined them. Reaching his hands to the top of the counter, James hopped up, trying to see over the top even though he was far too short. Grant picked him up again and pointed at the menu.

“What kind do you want?”

“Pepperoni and cheese.” The boy bounced up and down in Grant's arms excitedly, until his mother cleared her throat beside them. “Please,” he corrected with a sheepish grin.

“You heard the man,” Grant said, laughing at James' infectious excitement. “A large pepperoni and cheese. Make that light on the sauce and heavy on the cheese with as thick a crust as you can.”

“Will that be all?” Billy gave James a mock glare, sending the boy into peals of laughter again as he shook his finger at James. “You just wait until next time,” he warned.

“I
always
beat you, Billy.”

“Not next time. You want the usual drinks, Bethany? I can bring them over in a ­couple minutes.”

Grant looked at her, confused and shrugged. “Sure.”

“You're awfully daring. How do you know it's not all the soda flavors mixed into one pitcher?” She turned and headed toward a nearby table and slid into the booth.

“Ah,” Grant said on a long, nostalgic sigh. “Long live the suicide soda.” He slid James into the booth beside his mother and took the seat across from them.

“It's nothing that bad, just cola and root beer mixed,” she informed him.

James was like a human jumping bean on the seat, unable to still his little body. “Can I go play video games?”

“Puh—­” Bethany began.

“Please,” he added quickly.

“Yes, you can.” Bethany reached into her purse and pulled out several dollars. “You remember how to get change?”

Grant had never seen a kid so young give a look of such teenage condescension but James pulled it off without a hitch. “I know, Mom.”

“Okay, James.” She mimicked his tone with a laugh and, shaking her head, turned back to Grant, rolling her eyes.

“He's got to be the coolest kid I've ever met.”

“Yeah, he's pretty great,” she agreed, her eyes filled with affection for her son as she watched him run to the change machine. “Mr. McQuaid, I just wanted to apologize again for yesterday. James doesn't usually take off that way but he loves football and when he saw you and your brother playing, ­coupled with the fact I wouldn't let him play at recess . . .” She shrugged. “I don't want to even think about what could have happened.” He could see even the idea left her shaken. “And, while you probably don't understand what it means to him for you to have played at the park with him today, it means a lot to me.”

Grant opened his mouth to tell her how he'd been happy to do it, how he'd like to do it again, but she didn't give him the opportunity to speak.

“But I hope you don't have the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea,” he repeated. He had a sinking suspicion he knew where this conversation was leading.

“James is a great kid and he's easy to like. It's also not hard to see that he's my life and I'd do anything to make him happy, which you know because you used it to your advantage to get us here. But I'm not sure what you're hoping to gain from this . . .” She sighed as she searched for whatever word she might be looking for to describe the torture she looked like he was putting her through.

“Don't say
date
. It's not one—­you said so yourself.” He couldn't help himself, any more than he could help the grin that lifted one corner of his mouth. “Relax, okay? This is not a date. I get it. You aren't looking for a relationship and neither am I. Message received loud and clear. But I do like your kid and there's nothing wrong with the three of us being friends, is there?”

She narrowed her eyes skeptically, searching his expression. “I guess not,” she finally agreed.

“Good because I had fun with him today.” Grant looked at the boy intent on the video game and furiously pounding at the buttons on the ancient machine. “I was surprised he knew as much about football as he did. Does he play for a team here in town?”

“Football?” Bethany's brows shot up and her pretty brown eyes widened in surprise. “He has to be seven for the youth team here in town but he wants to. His doctor in Tennessee said he could, but I just don't know.”

“You don't want him to play?”

Grant watched her as she played with the straw in her soda, swirling it nervously. Even though they'd come to an agreement to be friends, she still seemed on edge and he wondered how he could get her to relax and take him at his word. Usually women threw themselves at him, whether he wanted them to or, more often, not. But not this woman. She was strung tighter than his brother Linc's guitar.

It was contradictory to the put-­together, in-­control illusion she was trying so hard to convince him of. While she might look perfect, he knew she was hiding behind the fantasy. Her white sundress made her look fresh and innocent, showing off just enough leg to rev his imagination into gear but still be appropriate for a park outing. With her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, it made her look younger than she claimed to be—­twenty-­six if he'd done his math correctly—­and sweet as a spring shower. Her purse matched the color of her boots and the entire look screamed flawless. But he wasn't buying it.

He could see the anxiety in her eyes. She was hiding something. Her eyes scanned the pizza place, moving quickly from watching James to watching the others in the room curiously. She was fidgety, skittish, but trying to conceal the fact.

Part of him felt the same way. As attracted as he was to her, those cowboy boots made him want to turn tail and run. She might not be a local but she was still a small-­town girl through and through. He'd dated enough of them to know a real one from a fake and the real ones were full of far too much piss and vinegar for his liking. Between those boots and the curves she was sporting, he heard warning bells going off. But ­couple that with the fact that he found himself
wanting
to spend more time with her, in spite of the fact that he didn't want anything to interfere with his return to football, and those warning bells turned into full-­fledged sirens.

Bethany's hand stilled the straw and she tipped her head to the side, giving him an identical look to the one James had just given her, like he'd just asked her the world's stupidest question. It took him a moment to even remember what he'd asked.

Football, about James playing, that was it.

“I'm his mother. I don't want him to get hurt.” She went back to twirling the straw. “But I also want to see him happy, which is the only reason we're here now. Mr. McQuaid—­”

“Grant,” he corrected.

He hadn't missed the disapproving tone of her voice and could tell she was gearing up to tell him again why she shouldn't have come. He wasn't about to take the bait.

“What made you decide to move from Tennessee to California and leave your family?” he asked, changing the subject.

She looked up at him through her dark lashes suspiciously, as if she wasn't sure how much she wanted to reveal to him. She bit the edge of her lip with straight, white teeth and desire began a slow descent from his stomach to his groin before he could halt it.

“It wasn't exactly my idea. It was my Mom's. She thought it was time for us to have a fresh start. Then, when I landed the job at the school, it seemed almost like kismet. I miss them terribly, so does James, but I can also see she was right. The move has been good for us. Hard but good.” She glanced at her son, now standing on a chair in front of an old Centipede arcade game. “Although he really misses his Grandparents.”

“Grandpa?” Grant guessed, looking up as Billy delivered their pizza. “Thanks. James,” he called. “Food's here, buddy.”

“Okay, I'm almost done.” Grant laughed to see the boy maneuvering the video game controls better than he ever could.

Bethany gave him an odd look, as if she was trying to figure out his motives and Grant wanted to ask her about it but held his tongue. He didn't want to give her the chance to clam up on him again when she was finally opening up a little. “Is that who taught James to play pool?”

“Pool, how to swim, baseball. My Dad's been the closest thing James has had to a father, so leaving . . .”

She let her words trail off, eyeing his reaction before sliding a slice onto a plate for her son and one for herself. She only picked at her food and Grant wondered how she'd been expecting him to respond, or what she hoped he'd say. From the way she was acting, he suspected the two were completely different things.