One Night with a Quarterback (16 page)

“She's . . . something else,” he said neutrally.

“She's Tabitha,” Cassie said dryly. “She has a very good way of making everything ‘fine.' It's her favorite word. ‘I'm fine. We're fine. Everything is fine.'”

He laughed. “Yeah, I'd say that's true.”

“Do you know them well? Tabitha and the girls?”

“Not the girls, really. They're at charity functions, and they attend a lot of the home games, but they're in the skybox and I'm on the field. And other than saying hello to them at charity stuff, I don't have much to say to them.” He scrunched his face a little. “I think I danced with the older one once, at some formal charity thing.”

“Irene.” He nodded. “She's trying so hard to be the little lady her mother wants her to be. Which is fine.” She laughed at the unintended joke. “Mellie's more boisterous. She's a bundle of energy, and I don't think she minds at all veering off the path her parents have set for her. Handful.”

Trey squeezed her hip. “Speaking of handfuls.”

“Yeah.” Cassie sighed. “I know. I'm just hoping when we make this clear to others, I'm not going to get the metaphorical boot from the family.”

“We'll play it by ear. Keep it on the DL for now, and stay respectful. Coach and the family are going to be hit hard for a few days with this. So let's not add to the stress by bringing up how we accidentally found ourselves in a relationship.”

“Right. Yeah. Good.” Cassie nodded, and kept nodding until Trey cupped a hand around her neck and halted it. “Sorry. Nervous.”

“I know.” He kissed her temple, then got out of bed and walked around until he found her clothes. Dumping them on the bed by her, he motioned for her to get dressed. He pulled on his own sweatpants, commando.

“What about your friends?”

“Stephen and Josiah? Won't say a word.” He seemed to know without asking, implying a same level of friendship she had with Anya. “Josiah won't say anything because he understands the privacy issue. Stephen won't say anything because he thinks it's hilarious to watch it play out in secret.”

“The sign of best friendship. Finding humor in our failures.”

“That it is.”

Finished dressing, she walked down the hallway toward the stairs. “So, if you've been in the NFL since you were twenty-two—”

“Twenty-three,” he corrected. “I was red shirted my freshman year of college.”

“Twenty-three,” she started again, “you've had, like, a decade of professional ball. Not to mention the college ball. Where are all your trophies? The pictures of you doing the Heisman?” She struck a pose that had him laughing. “What? I did it right.”

“Sort of,” he said between chuckles. “Come here.” He opened the closed door next to the staircase. One she'd assumed was a linen closet, since it always remained closed when she'd been upstairs. Instead, it looked to be an office. The first thing she saw was the large desk, taking up a great deal of the room.

Then she stepped in, and saw . . . Trey. Over and over again. His walls were covered with framed news clippings, framed awards, framed photos of him, both black and white and in color.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “You have a self-shrine.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled. But he looked embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his neck like it burned.

She did a quarter turn and found the closet . . . or what she assumed had once been the closet. The doors were gone, and instead of bars for hangers, there were rows of shelves. And covering the shelves were awards, trophies and, of course, a few more framed photos.

She snorted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled around it. “It's . . . nice.”

“It's my mom's work,” he said darkly. “When I bought the place, she and my sister came down to visit with a huge box of my stuff that used to be in my room. Most of it was from college, but some was stuff they'd clipped from their own newspaper, or from online articles. She thought I'd want it.” He glared. “I didn't. But she insisted, so I told her to go at it. Put it up in here. Do whatever you want, just keep it all confined to this one room. I rarely use it, so I don't have to look at it.”

“Okay, that's . . . sort of sweet.” He made a concession for his mom, letting her have her way in his own house because it was important to her. Cute. “Meanwhile, I appreciate that you've kept it all in this one room with the door closed. That might be sort of creepy, to have yourself staring at you all day in the house.”

“You think?” He took her elbow and dragged her out of the room, closing the door as they left. And he shuddered. She laughed and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“It's not that bad.”

“It's worse,” he argued, then followed her to the door. “You're not going to pull a Houdini act on me, are you?”

“Disappear into the night?” She shook her head. “I'm here to stay. I won't leave, even if we go sour.” She winced. “That came out wrong.”

“No it didn't. Your family comes first. Of course it does. I respect that.” He drew her in for another kiss, one that melted her knees just a little and made her question her own driving abilities afterward. “Just don't shut me out. Okay? Text me tonight after the interview. I want to make sure you're okay. And if you need me—”

“I won't,” she promised.

“I know. But if you do.” He kissed her hair and stroked a hand once down her back. “I'll be ready. Mexico is just a short six-hour drive. We can be across the border and having anonymous margaritas by noon tomorrow.”

“Appealing, but still.” She waited for him to open the front door, then looked over her shoulder. “Trey? One more question.”

“Anything.”

She grinned. “Are the glasses real?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Pity. They were pretty hot.” She winked and headed for her car. “See ya, Clark Kent.”

It was an out-of-body experience, watching yourself on television. Cassie wanted to speak to herself. Felt herself shifting in her seat, and wondering why Cassie on the screen didn't shift as well. It was like a mirror, but one with a serious lag, or a fatal flaw. What she saw, and what she thought, were two disconnected things.

Real Time Cassie felt extremely embarrassed.

But TV Cassie looked cool as a cucumber as she answered a pointed question about waiting until now to make contact.

Real Time Cassie wanted to squeak with shock when they flashed a photo of her from three years ago, which was her current Facebook profile photo.

TV Cassie didn't flinch.

“You look good,” Mellie said, bouncing. “Where'd you get that shirt?”

“PR people brought it in,” she said quietly, eyes still glued to the screen. “They didn't trust me to wear the right things.”

Tabitha sniffed, but said nothing.

Irene covered a laugh with a cough.

The screen cut to a video image of the four Jordans, standing up at the most recent charity dinner, Ken announcing his family. The interviewers voice pointed out he had
conveniently
left Cassie out of the family moment, though she appeared in attendance from looking at photos from the event.

“Everything's a conspiracy,” Ken muttered, arms crossed over his chest, stretching his Bobcats polo.

More photos flashed, this time of both Tabitha and Ken doing work for Eyes on the Family and the announcer speculating if the organization would be harmed by this announcement, as having a “love child” from another woman seemed to run toward the antithesis of the charity's mission.

The last seconds of the video were of Cassie and Ken smiling at each other, almost as in straight contrast to the problems her existence might bring for the coach. The moment it was off, Ken's cell phone rang. He glanced at it, then at Tabitha.

Her mouth was pursed, white lines bracketing around her color-leeched lips. She nodded, stiffly, and he left the room to answer it.

Cassie's own phone buzzed with a text. Anya checking in. She sent a one-word answer, which she knew Anya would understand meant “More to come later.” Then she realized how quiet it was. Tabitha hadn't moved since the interview started. Her hands were still clutching her knees, like she'd fall off the edge of a cliff if she let go.

Irene's arms were crossed in a mirror of her father's earlier position. She looked . . . annoyed. And trying so very hard to be mature and aloof about the whole thing.

Only Mellie seemed unfazed by the tension. “I was on TV . . .” she sang, bouncing. “I was on TV.”

“So?” Irene shot back. “You looked awful.”

Mellie's face drooped a little. Cassie rubbed her youngest sister's arm.

“I thought you looked very pretty. That gold tone is great with your hair.”

At that, Mellie rebounded a little, and stuck her tongue out at Irene. Her sister rolled her eyes in response.

“I suppose . . .” Tabitha glanced toward where Ken had left to take the call. “I suppose we'll go on in for dinner. Cassandra, are you staying with us?”

Cassie blinked, not sure if she was asking about dinner, or longer. “I . . . yes. If you are okay with that.”

Tabitha only blinked, then turned to walk into the dining room.

“Was that a yes?” she muttered under her breath.

Mellie hugged her. “Stay. Please? Now that we can be sisters outside the house, too, can you take me shopping? I have a lot of places I want to go, and Mom never lets me in those stores.”

“Right,” Irene said with a snort, rising elegantly to follow her mother. “And anything you bring home from those stores will end up in the trash.”

Mellie growled, but her sister ignored her and walked into the dining room.

“Of course I'll go shopping with you.” Cassie looked toward the TV. “Maybe . . . after things have died down a little.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she checked. Trey.

Are you okay?

“Go on in, I'll be there in a second.”

“Don't be long or Mom will pop a vessel,” Mellie whispered, then skipped ahead.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, then she sent him a message back.

Okay. Nothing more than I expected. Real test comes later, I guess.

His reply was almost immediate, as if he'd been hovering.

It's a test you can handle. I miss you.

Now that was adorable. She had no words, so she sent him a smiley face. Total copout, but she wasn't intellectually prepared for anything better at this point.

“Cassandra! Making us wait is rude, you know.”

Speaking of tests . . .

* * *

Trey and Cassie lounged in the back of Trey's SUV, which was pulled up to the drive-in theater. Cassie had insisted on popping a huge tub of popcorn before they'd left his house, as well as running to Target before so she could sneak in and grab some snacks. He'd felt like a moron, letting the car idle in the parking lot, but now that her story was live and she'd received reporters calling on her cell phone—how the hell did they
do
that stuff?—neither of them wanted to risk more attention.

Trey's hopes for Cassie that the whole story would blow over seemed to fade hourly. ESPN picked up the story from local news and, to Cassie's horror, had replayed it and analyzed it. They'd had a consultant come in to discuss “the situation” Coach Jordan had found himself in. Previous players, and even some old teammates from Coach's days in the league, had called in with their opinions. Mostly positive, painting him as a good guy who was doing the right thing in a fucked-up situation. Others were more malicious, referring to him as a pious do-gooder and a hypocrite.

Everything he'd feared.

He'd had his own little fires to put out. Stephen breaking his promise with “a single night of beer” at his house . . . thankfully not driving anywhere afterward. The younger guys wondering what this Prodigal Daughter scenario meant for the season. His agent, wondering how to distance him from the potential scandal so sponsors didn't start worrying.

Fucked. Up.

And yet, here, in their little den of solitude, nothing touched them. They were alone, anonymous, and happy. He'd turned off his phone, and she as well, and they simply watched a double feature of
Despicable Me
and its sequel. They'd deliberately picked this one because it had less attendants, but also because he hadn't seen the sequel and Cassie considered that a crime against humanity.

She snuggled against his side, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Popcorn.”

He held up the plastic container so she could reach in, kissing her on the temple at the same time. “Thanks.”

“For what?” She took a handful, spilling kernels over his stomach and onto the carpeted floor of his SUV. So he'd have to get it vacuumed out. Small price.

“For being cool with such a simple date. Not begging me to fly you somewhere so we could have a quick vacation away from prying eyes.”

She snorted. “With your workout schedule? Please. Like that would happen. Also, I don't do flights well.”

“Really?”

“Yup. It's one of the reasons I drove here to begin with.” She made a rocking motion with her hand. “The slightest turbulence and I'm panicked, sure we're about to plummet.”

“Can't have that.” He rubbed his hand down her shoulder over the blanket. “So exactly what are these minions? Animals? Humans? Hybrid?”

“We don't question their existence. We are simply happy for it. Now
shh
.” She placed a buttery, salty finger over his lips. “Gru is about to—hey.” She tried to jerk her finger back from his mouth, but he caught her wrist and licked the saltiness. “Gross.”

“Yum.” His tongue darted out to taste the tips of her fingers, one by one. “You're a delicious morsel. Snacking is highly encouraged, you know. Part of the movie experience.”

“Oh, is it?” She waited until he was finished, then slipped the hand under the blanket and started tugging at the waistband of his jeans. Immediately, his cock hardened in hopeful anticipation. “Maybe its my turn for a snack, then.”

The image of Cassie, her head under the blanket, her mouth surrounding his erection and taking him deep, in the dark cavern of his SUV, had him groaning and shifting on the hard floor. “I'd love that, baby. Trust me, but no. Not here.”

She squinted. “Seriously?”

“All we need is the car to start rocking and some manager to come knocking.”

She huffed. “Rude.”

“Rude, but also unfortunate.”

“Fine.” She glared. “Goody goody.”

Now there was a term he didn't get often. “One of us has to keep things on the straight and narrow.” He leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, though nobody could hear them. “And when we get back home, I would love nothing more than to—”

A vibrating against his hip made him stop. “I thought we agreed to save the toys for home.”

“Har, har.” She reached into her pocket and drew out her phone. “Text.”

“We also agreed to turn off the phones.” He made a grab for it, but she held it away. Short of flattening her, he couldn't reach. In the cramped back area, his movement was too restricted.

“You agreed. I didn't say yes. Hold on, let me just . . . shit.” Her posture changed, shoulders drooping. “Party's over. Tabitha's on a rampage and Mellie wants me back home.”

Trey just grinned. “I'm having high school flashbacks.”

Cassie raised a brow. “You have a secret girlfriend back in high school?”

“No, I was never cool enough to pull off crap like that. But the whole ‘mom on a rampage, gotta get home' text from a sibling? That I can relate to.”

She stared for a moment, then groaned and let her head fall into her hands. “This is so pathetic. I'm twenty-eight and dating like a high schooler. New low.”

Because he couldn't say anything more, he just slapped her thigh playfully. “Up to the front seat. Let's roll. Family drama awaits.”

Before she crawled up to the passenger seat, she kissed him sweetly. “I'm sorry to cut things short.” Then she pulled back. “Think they'll give you a refund since we haven't seen the second movie yet?”

He resisted telling her he could rent out the whole damn drive-in next weekend to do it over again. “Probably not. It's fine. We'll watch it on DVD.”

“Experiencing it in theaters is always better.” She sighed at the lost opportunity.

They were back on the road again when she laced her fingers with his. “Sorry.”

He squeezed. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

* * *

Cassie knocked on the front door, waited, then heard one of the girls yelling. At least, due to the higher pitched voice, she assumed it was one of the girls and not Tabitha. But nobody answered the door. She tried the knob, but as usual, locked. She wandered around to the side door, where Mellie came in and out on her visits to Cassie's pool house. It was unlocked, making Cassie think Mellie had been over at her place earlier, rummaging through her closet or makeup drawer again. The housekeeper would never be so careless as to leave the door outside unlocked.

Stepping in quietly, she closed the door and listened. She could hear Tabitha's voice, low and rapid. She followed the sound. She and Mellie must be fighting again. About her? Or about something new?

But when she reached the main stairs, she found Mellie sitting at the bottom, eyes red-rimmed and a little puffy. Her arms curled around her knees in a defensive position, one ear pressed down as if to muffle the sounds. Her phone sat next to her on the step.

“Mellie?” She took a step forward, paused, then knelt down and put her arm around her sister's shoulders. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“They're fighting again,” she muttered, closing her eyes. “I hate it when they fight.”

“They . . .” She listened, but could only hear Tabitha's voice now. Though it was too far away to make out the words, she could feel the anger vibrating through the walls. “Tabitha and Ken?”

“No, Dad's not here.” She sniffled and lifted her ugly polo shirttail to wipe her nose. Cassie refrained from offering to go get a tissue. Not the time. “Irene.”

“Irene?” Cassie couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. Irene was a mini-Tabitha, made perfect in her mother's own image. What would they ever fight about?

“They started arguing a month ago and haven't stopped.” She coughed, and Cassie rubbed her back soothingly. “It makes my stomach hurt.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Cassie could relate. How many nights had she lain awake in her bed, stomach tied in knots with worry for her mother during the fight against cancer? Emotional pain could bring on physical symptoms, no question.

She kept rubbing Mellie's back, waiting for the voices to calm down before approaching the death match upstairs. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit. You want some cocoa and a movie? That always makes me feel a little better.”

Mellie rubbed a wrist over her eyes, then just shifted until she could rest her head on Cassie's shoulder. “In a minute.”

“Okay.” She held her youngest sister—not half any longer, but just the sister she'd always wanted. And knew she'd do anything to keep from losing her. Losing either of them. “All right. We'll just wait.”

After another few minutes, Mellie yawned and stretched. “They should be done now. I'm going to my room.” She hugged Cassie, quick and tight. “Thanks.”

“You want me to walk up with you?”

She gave her a sad smile. “No, I'm okay. Sorry I bothered you.” Then, missing her usual bounce, she ran up the stairs like she was fleeing demons from hell.

She should go. If there was a disagreement, it was between mother and daughter. She wasn't the parent, and she wasn't the cause. They'd likely fought about . . . something. Anything. Who knew.