Playing for Keeps (35 page)

And emblazoned across the top of the screen was the headline: Grudge Match of the Century.

“Wow,” she murmured. “You look good.”

Johnny scowled. “It’s an insult to both teams. Me and Bourne, we’re important, sure. But we’re standing on the sidelines on D. And we can’t throw a bomb without a receiver. So fuck these guys.”

“You’re the big dogs,” she reminded him as she studied the graphic. Johnny looked amazing, but so did Wyatt Bourne. Mano a mano, complete with padded gloves and glitzy boxing shorts. In its own way it was almost as thrilling as football.

“They should have used your real chest,” she said with a teasing smile.

“Or Bannerman’s?” He grinned. “Don’t worry, I don’t do jealous. But yeah, that doesn’t look like my body. Probably not Bourne’s either.”

“What about his ankle? Is it better?”

“The rumor is he never hurt it in the first place.”

“Why would he fake an injury?” She winced, remembering something she had heard from the sportscasters the week before. “To throw you off? Make you overconfident?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s chicken shit, right?”

“Who knows? The media has its own agenda, and so does the Surgeon. That’s why we can’t take rumors too seriously. Just play our game and know we’re the best.”

“Because you are.” Slipping out of bed, she found her suitcase and pulled out her Aurora, then brought it back to him. “Want to see something amazing?”

“I just did. Nice ass.”

She laughed. “Look at this.” Activating the three-D field, she re-created the Lancers logo in glorious gray, black and blue on—or rather
above
—a hot white background.

He took it from her and stared admiringly. “What the hell?”

“It’s a top secret prototype, so you can’t tell anyone. But watch.” She cleared the screen, then turned it into a football field and drew
X
s and
O
s in approximation of a pistol offense. “Can you imagine if every coach in the NFL had one of these?”

“It’s a prototype? Let me try.”

She watched as he played with it, confirming her belief that a person didn’t have to be a professional artist to create on an Aurora.

“If this is your new client, I don’t blame you for blowing me off. You’re gonna make a fortune.”

“I wish.” She snuggled against his free arm. “Remember the guy I told you about? From the airport? This is his latest project.”

“And he gave you one? Just like that?”

“I helped him name it. So he felt like he owed me.”

“Or he felt like hitting on you,” Johnny said teasingly.

She bit back a smile. “Don’t you want to know what he’s calling it? Aurora. Isn’t that perfect?”

“Yeah.” He handed it back to her. “I like watching you with it. Like a kid in a candy store.”

She nodded. “When I was planning my future, my mother always said she could see it clearly. She had visions of me sitting in the middle of a kitchen floor, finger-painting with a bunch of kids. Because apparently, as a little kid, I used to finger-paint all the time. If we didn’t have real supplies handy, I’d use ketchup or mustard or her favorite lip gloss. Anything that made a pretty picture and a huge mess.” She sighed. “Dad says it too. That’s why he was so sure I’d be an artist.”

Johnny cupped her face in his hand, then kissed her. “You must have been the cutest kid.”

“And while I was smearing condiments all over the walls, you were outside throwing the ball? That sounds pretty cute too.”

He exhaled slowly but didn’t answer, and she wondered if she had evoked memories of his own mom. Of losing her so early in life. She could only imagine how quickly he had changed from a boy to a man that day.

The last thing she wanted to do was bring him down, so she reminded him, “You wanted to talk about something?”

“Yeah. About tomorrow.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “You need to be in Nevada for the game. I get that. And Helmut will have a wild Lager Storm party afterward and you need to be
there
too. So what if I join you? Not right away, but before it ends.”

The suggestion touched her heart. He would be exhausted, and the official Super Bowl bash would still be going strong. He’d be with his team. His father. His brother. Crazy-eyed Beth. Everyone who mattered.

“That’s so sweet. But Monday is our day. Not just for you, but for me too. I need to focus on business tomorrow. After that, I’ll focus on you. One hundred percent, like you said in your press conference.”

“I have the perfect day planned for us,” he assured her.

“Whatever you want.” She touched his cheek, wishing she knew what he had in mind. Did he still want more weeks, more months? All he had to do was ask.

And if he had decided to opt for domestic bliss with a stranger, knowing she would be better than a ruthless career girl like Erica, well then, he could have that too.

And as much as she wanted to blame Beth Spurling for that, she knew it was her own doing. She had given him an ultimatum and stubbornly refused to consider options.

So tell him you changed your mind,
she advised herself firmly.
What’s the worst that can happen?

“So here’s the thing,” he said with unexpected urgency. “Monday is our day, like we said. But tonight I need some solid sleep.” He pushed her back down in the bed, looming over her. Then he admitted, “It’s gonna be intense from the minute my feet hit the floor. Firing the guys up, going over last-minute changes, dealing with the media. So how about we make some old-school love? Then I’ll head back to my own room.”

His passion—both for the lovemaking and the big day facing him—was contagious and she easily abandoned her need to talk to him. It could wait until Monday, couldn’t it?

So she nibbled his ear instead. “Yum.”

He smiled down at her. “You’ll have pancakes with Deck in the morning, then fly to Nevada. I’ll get a W and we’ll party separately. Then we’ll hook up again for the ultimate one-on-one.”

“And you’re good with that?”

“I’m great with that.”

“Well then,” she asked quietly, “what are we waiting for?”

• • •

If she had needed even more proof he was right—that the sex just kept getting better and better—he gave it to her in that sweet, hot lovemaking spree. Then he confirmed it by saying in a husky voice, “Man, I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Me either.”

“Say it,” he urged. “Just this once.”

She knew exactly what he meant, and responded immediately and breathlessly. “I love you, Johnny Spurling.”

“Yeah.” He grinned proudly. “I had a feeling.”

She smiled, completely confused and hopelessly in love. “You need to get some sleep.”

She was sure he’d lord it over her for a minute. And he deserved that after all the torture, didn’t he? But all he did was roll out of bed and dress in his shirt and slacks. Then he murmured, “Murf says I should throw a TD for you. But that’s not how it works. I score for the team.”

“I know.”

“I’ll find some way to send you a message though, so watch closely.”

“I won’t take my eyes off you. I promise.” She shifted into a kneeling position on the bed and he came to her right away, kissing her with quiet passion. Then she smiled and said, “Good luck, handsome.”

“It’s in the bag. Just concentrate on Lager Storm.”

“It’s in the bag. Thanks to you.” She kissed him again, then pushed him away gently, and he nodded. Then he turned, walked to the door, and disappeared into the hall.

• • •

She needed to get some sleep too, so she tried not to think about the mixed signals from her QB. He had made her admit she loved him, but had qualified it, telling her to say it “Just this once.”

And Beth had claimed he now saw the wisdom in his blind date.

Beth Spurling sees what she wants to see, so forget about that.Think about poor
Sean. He’ll be here for pancakes in six hours. Get some sleep.

She smiled as she snuggled under the covers, remembering something else Johnny had said. Decker
and Bannerman were waiting in the wings for her, ready to comfort her if her love affair with the big dog fell apart.

The least she could do was look rested for them.

• • •

At six a.m. the next morning, as she fed plate after plate of blueberry pancakes to Decker, she realized how much they both needed this. It was the biggest day of their lives, or at least, their careers. So much was on the line. Pancakes seemed like the only reasonable approach.

The kicker was wide awake and adorable, chatting enthusiastically. He never once mentioned his frustration over not being allowed to kick a field goal. Instead, it was all about the team. They would win this because they wanted it more than the Jets and because their awesome talent was deeper, broader, and more unselfish. He could taste it as clearly as the juicy blueberries in his breakfast.

Only once did his mood turn serious and only in the sweetest way as he said, “We owe it all to you, Erica. I’ll never forget that. Neither will Bam.”

“Don’t be silly. It was just a minor hiccup. All because he’s not good with faces.”

Decker chuckled. “Only
you
could make me laugh about that.” He quirked a wary eyebrow. “Are you and John still fighting?”

“Not at all.”

“Is he driving you to the airport?”

She smiled. “He wanted to, obviously. But my client has a car waiting to take me to a private jet. All very posh. Plus, you guys need to focus.”

“Yeah.” He pushed back his chair and patted his stomach. “My lucky pancakes. But you’re the real good-luck charm. You should stay and cheer for us in person.”

“Or you could come to Nevada with me and skip the game,” she told him teasingly. “Let’s toss a coin and see whose career should go down the tubes.”

“You and your career,” he drawled. Then he stood and pulled her to her feet. “You’re really okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Good question.” He cleared his throat, then flashed a sheepish smile. “Bam says you’re supposed to kiss me. Because you kissed
him
, and fair’s fair. And apparently John’s okay with it.”

She bit back a smile. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

She knew he’d never make the kind of lusty assault his lunatic friend had, and she was right. He just rested his hands on her hips, then leaned his head down to taste her lips respectfully. To her embarrassed delight, it was romantic. Almost amorous despite the lightness of it.

It also went on for a few seconds too long. And so, when he finally stopped, she told him gently, “We really need to find you your own girl.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed cheerfully. “Too bad
you
don’t have a twin.”

She giggled. “Are you drunk on maple syrup? Or just delirious with Super Bowl fever?”

He laughed too. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t mention that last part to John. Just wish us luck.”

She hugged him fiercely. “You don’t need luck. You’re the best ever. And don’t you forget it.”

• • •

As Helmut’s jet whisked her to Rogue Springs, she used her Aurora to recap the last twenty-four hours. If only she had followed through on her plan to rewrite the ultimatum. To tell him he could have all the time he wanted, even if it eventually led to heartbreak. And maybe they’d actually make it! He had guided a team to the Super Bowl, hadn’t he? Maybe if he took over this love affair, he could design the right plays to get
them
a win.

“He needed to focus,” she reminded herself aloud in the empty cabin. “And you know he would have ended up spending the whole night with you if it was good news. And then what? He’d be exhausted for the game.”

And if it was bad news? If he had decided Beth and “Pop” were right? That he needed more from a relationship than Erica could give?

Then she would have cried her eyes out, he would have felt like crap, and his cocky attitude—the one he needed to compete with the egomaniacal Surgeon—would have failed him.

“Monday,” she decided grimly. “For now, just focus on the game. And the client.”

Disabling the magnetic field on her device, she settled for watching more pre-game hype and within minutes she was all Lancer fan, cheering for her guys even though the game wouldn’t actually start for three hours. She needed that time, given the stormy conditions that were tossing the jet around, and even once they touched down, the pilot informed her, the snowfall would make the trip to the Fish Gotta Fly slow even in a powerful SUV.

Football weather. How much more perfect could this day get?

• • •

Helmut’s grandchildren were ready for her with piles of dolls to dress and fabric to accomplish the task. She was dying to show them her Aurora but didn’t dare. Plus, she had exhausted the primary battery during the flight and wasn’t exactly sure how to install the extra one. So she settled for demonstrating what a sick mind could do with mustard and ketchup on a stainless steel countertop, corrupting the adorable kids while she chatted with Helmut and his wife in the bar’s otherwise spotless kitchen. In the background, but muted, was the pre-game show on TV.

“Are you sure they won’t show our spot until halftime?” Mrs. Hunt worried aloud. “I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“We paid a fortune for halftime,” her husband reminded her. “If they play it early, we’ll sue. Right, Erica?”

“Trust me, they wouldn’t dare.” She smiled reassuringly. “But I should probably pay attention to the other commercials. Sometimes those are breakout hits even if they air early. Our goal is to sell beer, and that’s in the bag. But I want more for us. I want
your
ad to be the one everyone’s talking about tomorrow.”

“That’s what I’m paying you for,” he agreed.

His wife glared. “Listen to Erica. She’s saying this is about more than just money.”

He chuckled. “I
always
listen to Erica.”

Erica smiled. “I’d better get cleaned up for the game. I’m covered like a hot dog.”

“Your beautiful Lancers shirt,” Mrs. Hunt mourned. “Do you need to borrow something from us? Helmut bought a stack of jerseys for the family.”