Playing for Keeps (17 page)

“I like the Ashton. It’s our place,” she quipped, brushing sand from her damp body so she could wiggle back into her jeans.

She didn’t want to admit the truth. Going to his house felt too personal. The Ashton Hotel, Murf’s door, the Fish Gotta Fly—these were appropriate places. Romantic and fun, but always respecting the boundaries.

In contrast, Johnny’s house overlooking the river—or as he liked to remind her,
two
rivers—was his home. The place where he’d bring the schoolteacher or some other domestic goddess. She’d be lovely, and smart, and have a manageable career. And a demonstrated love of children.

And most of all, she’d put Johnny ahead of herself.

Wincing, Erica reminded herself that she didn’t hate Johnny’s future bride. She actually admired her. Envied her. And knew for a fact he was underestimating the demands of a teaching career if indeed he chose the schoolteacher. The poor woman would have papers to grade, students who needed after-school help, bullies to deal with, and in some horrible but hopefully rare cases, suspected abuse. Then there were parent-teacher conferences. Fund-raisers, Back to School Night. And the list went on and on.

Maybe Johnny’s sister-in-law had made it look easy, but it wasn’t. So he’d likely end up with more conflicts than he bargained for.

But he was right about the traveling, which was really his biggest problem with Erica.

In any case, Erica respected the anonymous fiancée enough not to have sex in her future home. The bride would undoubtedly purge the place of all linens and furniture that might have been subjected to her husband’s premarital exploits. But still, Erica didn’t want to be the skank who had had sex with him on the counter where his children would one day eat grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Tell me why,” he repeated. And while his tone was soft, it also warned that he was bothered—maybe a lot—by this continuing disagreement.

“You said we’d never fight. And I’m counting on that. Because if we fight about
this
of all things, it will break my heart.”

He seemed properly shamed by the warning. “Don’t say that. It’s crazy. Everything’s good with us. And we can forget about my house. I don’t even know why I keep bringing it up.” He kissed her warmly, then trailed his lips down her throat. “I just wish you could stay longer.”

She sighed, sensing the start of another argument. And once again, it would be her fault. He was right to want a longer visit. She wanted one too. But she had to be on the flight at two the next afternoon, and it was already dark outside. They would eat at some remote restaurant where there wouldn’t be many fans to recognize him. Then they’d drive back to Portland, make love at the Ashton, and sleep with a bizarrely urgent intensity in each other’s arms.

Then he’d go to practice while she packed and answered email from the Caldwell Agency. Then he’d pick her up, take her to the airport, and drive away. He would want to get out of the SUV and kiss her good-bye, but she wouldn’t allow it. Because she didn’t want publicity shots or videos plastered all over the place, documenting her affair with the talent.

Of course, under other circumstances, she could forgive that.

But Johnny Spurling was someone else’s future fiancé. And
that
, as the Godfather had taught her, she could
not
forgive.

• • •

“Look at that tan,” Steve said with a warm smile when he saw Erica in the office that Wednesday. “I’m surprised you got any beach time, given all the work I sent during your supposed vacation.”

“It worked out perfectly,” she assured him, jumping up to give him a hug. “Looks like the place is still standing.”

“Barely.” He settled into her guest chair. “We’ll have to get you a real office soon, don’t you think? The one next to mine is nice. Small, but with good natural light for that artist’s eye of yours. What do you think?”

She steadied her voice so the excitement wouldn’t blast through. “That sounds wonderful. Won’t other people mind?”

“Other people didn’t design the Lager Storm account. And frankly, that work you did on Sumpter in Greece is even better. Almost makes me want to use erasable ink, even though”—he cocked a teasing eyebrow—“the whole point of ink is so you
can’t
erase it, so it still doesn’t make sense to me.”

She laughed, wondering how he’d feel if he knew he was echoing Johnny Spurling’s complaint. Probably pretty good, since he had become a full-fledged Lancers fan.

“Men,” she said with a smile. “It’s so black and white with you. But erasable ink is all about nuance.”

“It’s about the ability to change your mind,” he teased. “So yeah, you’re right. It’s a female thing.”

Erica arched a disapproving eyebrow. “You know as well as I do that Sumpter’s formula becomes permanent after eight minutes. So it’s the best of both worlds. You can change your mind, but only for a short time. Any prudent person would welcome that ability. Or at least, any prudent woman.”

“They’re going to love you,” he assured her. “And I’ve been thinking, maybe instead of just sitting in at the meeting, you could make the pitch yourself.”

“What?”
she demanded, sounding more like a croaking frog than a sophisticated junior executive.

Steve grinned. “Before you thank me, it comes with a price tag. Like everything else around here.”

“Name your price,” she insisted, but when he grimaced, she steeled herself. If it was Lager Storm news, she’d die. Or at least melt into a pool of disappointment.

But there was no stopping him now, so she nodded. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

“It’s Lager Storm. Or should I say, Helmut. He’s worried about the wildcard game.”

“Oh, is that all?” She exhaled in relief. “I’m sure Johnny will win even if he has to run every play himself. I’ll call Helmut and reassure him.”

“I actually need you to go there. To Rogue Springs. Hold his hand during the game. It’s what he wants, and even though he can be demanding, this request makes sense.” He licked his lips. “I know you’re all traveled out, but just do this one last trip, okay? Helmut has the whole weekend planned. Lunch with his wife and daughter and the grandkids. Some kind of shopping spree. Then the game on Sunday. He’s sending a chartered jet for you Saturday morning, but it’ll be a long trip because you’ll divert to Florida to pick up his son. Apparently the whole family has playoff fever.”

“Oh, God, I can’t spend every playoff weekend in Nevada. I have so much work to do. And social plans too.”

“Just the wildcard game. If he tries to take it further, I’ll put my foot down.” Steve eyed her with concern. “Is it a problem? Because I can go myself. But he really wants you.”

She looked at him, remembering all the favors he had done for her. Endorsing her initial pitch for Lager Storm, offering up his expertise, propping her up so she looked professional and competent. Then covering for her for her trip to Greece, when she really should have canceled or shortened it. Sure, the vacation request had been made months earlier, but now she had a Super Bowl ad to manage.

Steve had stepped in, assuring Caldwell things would go smoothly. And they had, thanks to him. Now he was bringing her into the Sumpter account, and all he asked in return was one weekend of her time.

“I’ll go. It’s fine,” she murmured. Then she added more forcefully, “If the Lancers win, I’ll make Helmut understand we’ve got smooth sailing ahead. Johnny’s cachet will be sealed. More wins would be even better, but
this
game, this weekend, decides it. And if the Lancers don’t win . . .” She sighed. “I should be with the client. That’s understood. Because the ad will still be a hit—Johnny will still have cachet—but let’s face it. Helmut will need hand-holding.”

And so will Johnny,
she reminded herself wistfully.
He’ll be devastated, and his girlfriend will be nowhere in sight.

On the other hand, she was only his girlfriend for five more weeks.

Wincing, she realized it was starting to hit home. Everything these days reminded her of Johnny’s date with a different destiny. So what was she doing? Punishing him? For being honest from the start?

But it wasn’t about punishing him, or at least, not this time. It was about following through on Lager Storm, and by damn she was going to do just that.

• • •

She took a cab home so she’d be fresh for the phone call, knowing it would be brutal. She herself had been so thrilled about being in the stands during the wildcard game, and in Johnny’s arms soon thereafter. And it meant so much to him too. Win or lose, this would be a moment they couldn’t bear to miss. A moment when he needed her. When his career, his ego, and even his friendships with other players were on the line.

And they’ll be on the line the next game and the next, won’t they? Right up to the Super Bowl?

And meanwhile, Erica’s career, not to mention
her
ego, was at stake too. And so, despite how decimated she felt, she would find a way to explain it to him. To promise she’d be there for the next two games. The divisional championship and then the conference championship. As for the Super Bowl? She would be with the client again for that one, but could join Johnny on Monday if he wanted her to.

That was his call, wasn’t it?

But for the rest of the playoff games at least, she was his. All he had to do was give her this, a pivotal hand-holding session with the client who had believed in her. And had believed in Johnny too. That had to count for something.

Still, she had a moment of doubt when he answered her call in a voice so cheerful it took a bite out of her heart.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “I keep picturing you in that Santa outfit. Man, you know what I like for sure.”

“Hi, Johnny. I have bad news.”

“Just like that? Are you okay? Is it that Frank guy again? I’ll
kill
him.”

“No, no. I just have bad news about this weekend. I’m so sorry, John, but I have to work. It’s killing me, but there’s no way out of it.”

He didn’t respond. She didn’t even hear breathing, although there was a sensation of steam pouring from his nose and ears.

So she persevered. “You know how Helmut is. Constantly second-guessing himself. But he also took a chance on me, and now it sounds like his faith is crumbling. I need to be there during the game. Even though I want to be in Portland.” She cleared the shakiness from her throat. “It’s not like my job is at stake. But it’s the professional thing to do. So I need to do it.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Just effing unbelievable. Don’t they know you have a life?”

“They wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t important. They’ve actually been pretty accommodating, letting me go to Europe for so long. But yeah,” she admitted, “I wish I could be with you. In the stands, cheering you on. I’m so sorry, Johnny.”

He was silent again, but only for a few seconds. Then he rallied. “It’s not your fault. And like you said, you’d be in the stands, so we wouldn’t actually be together anyway. Just fly here after the game and we’ll celebrate together.”

“I want that so bad,” she said carefully. “But I have the Sumpter meeting on Monday morning. Remember?”

“What?”

“Erasable ink. And guess what? Steve’s letting me make the pitch myself. It’s a huge deal. His way of making this up to me, but also an unexpected vote of confidence.”

“Erasable ink? That’s just fucking perfect.” He stayed quiet for a moment, and when she didn’t jump in, he demanded, “Can’t you get out of it?”

“It’s like asking if
you
can get out of being quarterback this Sunday,” she responded carefully. “Your backup could cover for you, right? And you could join me and Helmut in Nevada.”

“Yeah, because erasable ink and the Super Bowl are the same effing thing.” He coughed and added quickly, “I’m just disappointed, you know. I didn’t mean that. At least, not the way it sounded.”

She had been holding her breath, trying not to overreact. Not to argue, not to cry. Just nothing. And now, thankfully, he was fixing it all for her. “I’m disappointed too, John. These days and nights we spend together—” A sob erupted from deep in her heart. “I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’re supposed to go to Nevada and hold that horny drunk’s hand. And I’m supposed to win the game so you can come out here after the Dumpster meeting and let me make it up to you.”

She tried to laugh, but her chest was still tight. “I should have told them no—”

“And then hold it against
me
? Like you said, I would never skip the wildcard game for you unless you were bleeding to death or something. And you shouldn’t skip your thing either. Fair’s fair.”

The words echoed in her brain:
Fair’s fair
.

Wasn’t that the truth? And here he was, acknowledging it. Saying it out loud so she wouldn’t have to.

If she hadn’t fallen for him already, this would have been the moment it happened.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“So? What’s the new schedule?”

“I can fly to Portland next Thursday. Hang out while you practice, then spend the rest of the day with you. And on Friday, I’ll find something to do while you’re at practice. How’s that?”

“It’s good. Great, really.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “And if we lose on Sunday, I’ll come out to New York and hang around your apartment. How’s that?”

“You’re not going to lose. I know it in my heart. This is your year.”

“
Our
year.”

“Exactly.” She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, refusing to let any more doubt or arguments invade their last weeks together. He would win this game, then the next, then the next. Then he’d win the Super Bowl.

Lager Storm would take the country by—well, storm. Erica would get a window office with a real door and become an official member of Steve’s team.

The sky was the limit, as long as she didn’t reach for the stars.

• • •

They only talked once after that, and briefly, to firm up their phone schedule for the weekend. Erica would be in the air most of Saturday, and Johnny had a mandatory team meeting at four p.m. But somewhere in between or afterward, they’d talk. And then again right before the game. And after. And again on Monday after her big meeting. He was being a good sport about it, joking that erasable ink was the future, and insisting he and Murf would order a carton for their next contract session. When she explained erasable ink already existed, but the Sumpter formula was new and improved in terms of non-smearing and erase-ability, as well as a more stable permanent result thereafter, Johnny switched Murf’s order to five cases and then proceeded to tell her what she was going to wear for the weekend of the divisional championship—the elf outfit, the bikini, and the raincoat. Nothing else. No arguments.