Pass Interference (4 page)

God! She was a disaster and heading toward complete self-destruction.

Scrubbing her face clean of the thick layer of makeup that still remained and brushing her teeth made her feel marginally better. Next on her list—a hot shower and shampoo. Maybe she could wash away the person she’d seen in the mirror. But first a cup of coffee.

Grabbing her phone, she made her way downstairs and started the coffee brewing. Next to the machine were three gigantic boxes of boutique chocolates courtesy of Nate Broder, her obnoxious ex. She hated throwing them out. That would be just so wasteful. Maybe she’d give them to her cleaning lady again. The woman had an unquenchable sweet tooth.

She was just filling her mug from her single-serve coffeemaker in the kitchen when she heard the staccato beat of drums that signaled an incoming call. Leaving her mug to finish filling, she grabbed her cell from the counter where she’d set it down, taking a moment to check the caller identification first. Nate. Crap. Didn’t this guy ever give up?

For a while he had stopped calling. She’d figured since she’d been deleting all his calls without answering them, calls that used to come in two or three times a day, he’d gotten the message. But yet, here he was again. What the hell? Maybe it was time to state the message a little more clearly.

“I asked you nicely not to call me anymore,” she opened with. “You took me at my word for a while. The situation hasn’t changed. Not a bit.”

Nate’s irritating chuckle floated over the connection. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

Tyler gritted her teeth. “Listen to me, and please try to pay attention. I thought you’d gotten the message. We’re done, Nate. Finished. I don’t want to talk to you, text with you, have lunch with you… Nothing. We are finished. Don’t call me again. I mean it.”

He was silent for a moment. “Tyler,” he said at last in his all too familiar drawl. “I was just checking to see—”

“See what? Nothing about my life concerns you anymore. I thought we had that taken care of.” She resisted the urge to slam her fist on the counter. “Anyway, just so you know, I’m changing my number. Again.”

“I don’t know why we can’t at least be friends.” His voice had that oily, egotistical sound that she hated. “Maybe have lunch together once in a while. Enough time has passed I thought we could at least be friendly acquaintances. We did enjoy each other’s company.”

“I think only one of us had any enjoyment.” Tyler looked at the phone and frowned. “How did you get this number, anyway? I just changed it again.”

He laughed again. “I’m an attorney with connections. I can get anything I want.”

“Except for me. You can’t get me. We aren’t friends. We aren’t anything. Now go away and don’t call again.”

She pressed the End button with more force than necessary. They’d each had a reason for getting into the marriage, neither of which had anything to do with love. It was the one time she’d tried to do anything to make herself respectable in her father’s eyes. A last-ditch effort for a man who made it all too obvious he despised her lifestyle. Nate had thought it would give him a seat at the right hand of her father.

That hadn’t worked for either of them. Before three months were up, she’d known what a mistake it was and kicked him to the curb. For a while the persistent messages he left in her voice mail were rich with anger. Then began the deluge of flowers and candy and texts, a good indication that he wasn’t about to give up.

She was still holding the phone when it chimed again. This time it was Chad Sinclair, media relations director for the Hawks. Another big effing pest.

“What is it, Chad?” She didn’t need to ask him how he got the number. She was meticulous about leaving it with her father’s secretary every time she changed it. She didn’t need the ten tons of shit that came down when she didn’t, although she had no idea why he even cared.

“No hello? Or, hi, Chad?” His voice was nearly as smooth as Nate’s and irritated her just as much. She really hated the occasions when she had to spend time with him.

“I’m really busy. What do you want?”

“Okay. Okay.” He dialed it back. “Just wanted to remind you of the event this Saturday night at the Conquistador Club.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “This Saturday?”

“Yes. The big fundraiser for athletic scholarships. The Hawks are big benefactors.”

“Oh, yeah, another command appearance.” An obligation forced on her by her father—if she wanted to keep the money in her trust fund flowing.

But he never left the choice of escort up to her, probably thinking she’d bring someone from her skanky nightlife. So Chad got the nod and made sure she got to each and every one. Maybe she’d once hoped if she continued to attend, her father would see a different side of her, see she wanted to please him and maybe even…like her.

But it hadn’t made even the tiniest dent in the situation. She’d finally got the message nothing she did would change things with her father, but couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Did he think that by forcing her to attend these, she’d begin to bond with the Hawks? She hated the effing football team. She saw it as the child that had usurped all her father’s affections.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Chad told her.

“Fine.”

“So, I wondered if you’d like to have lunch with me today?”

This was only about the fiftieth time he’d asked her. She had no interest in spending time with him beyond what she had to.

“Thanks, but I already have plans.” Or she would as soon as she made them.

“You know,” he said, in what she assumed was his most seductive tone. “I’m really a nice guy if you’d get to know me outside of our obligatory dates.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m just not interested. See you Saturday.”

She clicked off and finally managed to get her mug from the coffee machine.

Chad was always the perfect escort, dancing attention, even after she started drinking too much, often making a real fool of herself. A few times when he brought her home, he’d actually had to half carry her into the house and up the stairs. She always had enough wits about her, though, to make sure he left before he could try to take things further.

When she heard the chimes for the third time, she let out a string of curses.

Ed Spinelli. What did he want now?

Had she pissed someone off royally? Was that why the three men who annoyed her the most all just happened to call her this morning? Or was Mercury in retrograde or the stars out of alignment? Did that mean she could expect a call from her father, too?

Ed wrote a sports blog that was followed by half a million people. He’d hit on her at a Hawks barbecue where she’d given one of her many command appearances. She’d gone out with him for a couple of reasons. For one she was curious about someone who had a blog that people followed religiously. For another, he’d written a lot of unflattering things about the Hawks, so it had been another big
Fuck you
to Kurt.

The man was hardly her type, tall and skinny with an ego bigger than the stadium. She’d expected him to be funny, charming, full of exciting and interesting things to do. Instead she’d discovered that his entire personality was confined to the words he wrote on his computer.

She’d been stupid enough to date him more than once. She’d broken it off when she found out that his goal was to get in her pants as his way of giving her father the finger. Apparently he was the only person in San Antonio who didn’t know Kurt Gillette didn’t give two hoots what his daughter did.

He hadn’t been too happy when she broke it off, but at least he hadn’t stalked her via her cell phone, unlike her ex. When she’d sent Ed a text telling him to lose her number or she’d do a blog about him, he finally got the hint. She had seen him out a few times with other women and figured he couldn’t be too heartbroken. She hadn’t heard from him in ages now, and wondered what was up with him now.

She had barely tapped the button to send the call to voice mail when—damn it!—here came another one. She looked at the screen and couldn’t decide whether to answer it or not. The number wasn’t familiar but the readout also didn’t say Unknown or Blocked like the other weird calls she’d been getting, so she took a chance.

“Hello.” She waited but no one replied. “Hello,” she repeated. Still silence. Not even any background noise. Her fingers tightened on her cell and her stomach cramped with tension. Would this never stop? “Hello.” This time she shouted it as anger bubbled up inside her. “Listen, whoever you are, this is not fun. Don’t call me again.” She paused. “Do you hear me?”

When there was still no answer, not even heavy breathing, she disconnected the call and tossed the phone down on her bed, as if it had a disease.

Crap.

Damn it all to hell, anyway.

The calls had started three weeks ago, silence, then heavy breathing. In the beginning, they’d only come once a day, then it had escalated to two, then finally four. At first, she kept saying, “Hello? Hello?” but no one ever answered. All she heard was that damn heavy breathing. Then whoever it was would hang up.

She’d thought it was some guy who’d somehow gotten her number and was pranking her. Since she didn’t make a habit of giving it out, the choices of who the caller could be should be limited. She’d changed her number twice since it started, to the irritation of her carrier, but too bad for them. They got paid, didn’t they? So how did some stranger keep getting his hands on it?

She was pretty sure they hadn’t gotten it from any of her friends. They were all very careful not to share each other’s information with anyone. If it was Nate or Chad or even Ed, what would she do next? Who would she tell? Tyler Gillette, the wildest woman in San Antonio. As she’d told Betsy, everyone would just think all this was a by-product of her crazy lifestyle. She’d stitch her mouth shut before running to her father. Maybe Rafe would help her, but he was off-limits. Besides, after last night he’d probably never go near her again.

Her own damn fault, for playing out this outrageous charade all these years.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number from the readout. No luck, just as the other times she’d tried. All she got was “That is not a working number.” As someone who didn’t live under a toadstool, she was aware that telemarketers bought phone numbers that they could hide behind. But no one spoke up and tried to sell her anything.

Climbing the stairs, she reviewed other possibilities, ticking off more names.

Maybe someone from the Hawks who’d seen her and wigged out on her? Was it someone hanging around the fringes of her life, lusting after her or angry with her for something? She tried again to think of every man she’d picked up and walked away from. Or those she’d hung tight with for a few days, maybe even weeks, then ditched with little more than a verbal kick in the ass.

She gave herself a mental shake. Time to get dressed and get moving. Nothing would get solved this way. She just kept hoping whoever this was would finally get tired of the game.

She stood in the shower, spreading the body wash lavishly over her skin, hot water sluicing over her, and tried to remember every place she’d had her phone for the past couple of weeks where someone could palm it long enough to check the number. She had to admit sometimes she wasn’t as careful about keeping it in her purse as she should be. Maybe it had happened before that, and whoever was doing this had just been biding his or her time. Who had she pissed off so much that they were making these kinds of calls to her?

Oh, well, Tyler, how much time do you have?

She hadn’t made any friends in the dive bars she trolled. Besides, that had all been nothing but a ploy. What had she thought? That the famous Kurt Gillette would finally ask her what the hell this was all about? Clutch her to his heart and ask how he could help? Unfortunately, her plan bombed since she never got the reaction she wanted. She wondered who was more disgusted with the person she’d made herself into, her father or herself?

In any event, she was pretty sure it wasn’t anyone from her nightlife. They were all highly unlikely to indulge in games like this. She could barely recall half of the idiots she’d strung along in the bars but none of them would have her number. Would they? And no one else jumped out at her.

Maybe, possibly, one of her friends had laid their phone on a bar or table and someone had managed to scroll the contacts list. Or… The list was longer than her driveway.

First thing today after she dressed, she was getting another phone with yet another new number. She’d keep this one for all those annoying calls and use the new one for personal calls. That way she’d have some control over the situation. Maybe the person would get tired of it and go away.

She dried herself off, her mind doing a quick flashback to the previous night and Rafe. Calling him had been a move of desperation for her. She hadn’t known who else would rescue her from the rapidly deteriorating situation. She got the feeling he didn’t have a very high opinion of her but not nearly as bad as how she saw herself. What the hell was she doing with her life, anyway?

In a short robe and still barefoot, she carried a fresh mug of coffee out to the deck and dropped down into one of the lounge chairs. Letting the sunlight warm her, she closed her eyes for a moment and there was Rafe’s face again. That thick shock of midnight-black hair set off a dark face with a square jaw and high cheekbones. Eyelashes as black as his hair and as thick as a woman’s curtained eyes of a shocking electric blue. Faint evening scruff shadowing his square jaw made him look devilishly sexy. And his lips. God, those full lips, so soft yet at the same time hard and demanding. Remembering the feel of them, she touched her fingertips to her mouth.

If she’d just pushed it, she was sure she could have had him. The swollen thickness of his cock had been unmistakable when she’d imprinted her body against his. And she hadn’t imagined the heat of the kiss before he’d forced her away. His tongue had been just as much involved in that kiss as hers.

She didn’t think it would have taken much more effort on her part to coax him inside the house, to peel off the soft-collar shirt that matched his eyes so perfectly and the jeans that hugged his muscular legs and very fine ass. Oh, yes, she’d noticed his ass.