Playing For Keeps (5 page)

Samantha looked down at her now soggy cereal and sighed. There was nothing worse than Captain Crunch gone to mush. Did she just complain about soggy cereal? That was normal, wasn’t it? Normal people complained about stupid stuff like that. They didn’t worry about finding their next meal or getting through the next checkpoint up ahead. Years of reporting about the hungry in Africa, roadside bombings in Iraq, and the general dark side of the human condition had cured Samantha of whining about such things as mushy cereal. Or worry about gossip. She pushed the bowl away. “So this won’t hurt your career?”

“It’s going to hurl it into the stratosphere.”

“You mean as in any press, is good press?”

“It’s not bad. It’s not a big deal anymore.”

“Back in Iraq it would be.”

Hannah kneeled in front of Samantha and held her hands. “But you’re not there anymore. And this wil probably make it easier for you in the locker room. Won’t it? You’l be able to look at al the ‘beefcake’ you want.”

“Geez, Hannah, you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them al .”

“Then you haven’t seen many!”

That was true enough, so she didn’t respond to the jest, and merely said, “I’m glad you’re elated about this, but Ryan is stil so dead.”

“I’l buy the coffin,” Hannah said as she stood up, unconvinced that Ryan was in any danger.

The phone rang and Samantha knew it was her mother who read the gossip pages as religiously as she said her prayers. Dreading the inevitable she answered the phone. “Hi Mom.”

“Hi, honey. Did you see the Daily Yorker this morning?”

Samantha began to pace the kitchen floor. “It’s not true.”

“Of course it isn’t. Your father told me what Ryan pul ed and I have to say I’m surprised.”

“What? That he’s not the good boy you thought he was?” Samantha knew her mother had a soft spot for Ryan and more than once had tried her hand at match making.

“Wel , I’m sure he’s very sorry.”

“He wil be,” Samantha muttered underneath her breath, then added so her mother could hear, “Wel , I have to get ready for work.”

“Honey, you haven’t wel , you know…peeked?”

She couldn’t believe her mother was asking her this. “Don’t worry, Mom, I plan to memorize al the players’ eye colors.”

“Good girl. Oh, and Samantha, we would love you even if you were a…lesbian.” Her mother whispered the word lesbian.

“Thanks Mom, I’d love you even if you were a liberal.” She whispered the word liberal.

“Don’t be fresh.”

Samantha hung up the phone and surveyed her closet. Normal y she dressed demurely, a side effect from working in mainly Arab nations but it served her wel in the present for locker room visits. But today she needed something sexy, something powerful. Anything but frumpy.

She chose a skimpy red skirt and a sheer white blouse with a lacy camisole that she had purchased on a whim, but never had the guts to wear.

Hannah’s shoes were stil stacked on the closet floor and knowing her roommate wouldn’t mind, she tried on a pair of high-heeled designer shoes that probably cost more than Samantha made in a month. A perfect fit. If only she could say the same thing about the fabulous clothes her super model friend had stashed away in the back of the closet. Once she finished dressing, her makeup came next, and she selected a bright red lipstick to complete her look.

She looked like a hooker - a high class one, but stil a hooker.
Perfect.

She passed Hannah on her way out the door. Hannah let out a whistle. “I get it. When you said Ryan was so dead, you meant you were going to give him a heart attack.”

“Wel , that could be a side benefit. That frumpy comment in the paper stung a bit.”

“Are those my shoes?”

“Um…yeah. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No, I don’t, but if Ryan goes to that footbal stadium in the sky, I might be arrested as an accomplice.”

Samantha laughed. “Don’t worry, I’l tel the police I stole them.” She opened the door and heard Hannah shout back.

“You’re lucky New York doesn’t have the death penalty.”

***

Ryan broke down the field and cut right in a typical wide-out play, but instead of watching for the bal he caught a flash of red and a pair of long, sleek legs on the sideline. He turned his head away from the throw to get a better look.

Was that Samantha?

The bal hit his helmet.

Damn it! His head stung and his vision clouded briefly. He shook out the cobwebs and turned his attention back to the sideline, where Samantha laughed at him before turning to speak with Jeb, the owner of the Cougars. He could’ve gotten a concussion and she laughed at him.

And al he could do was gawk at her.

He’d never seen Samantha in a skirt, never mind the sorry excuse of fabric that hugged her shapely backside and hips. Her thighs were barely covered and he wondered if she wore garters. Was she even wearing panties? He couldn’t help fantasizing about those long legs wrapped around him. Oh man, he was glad he was wearing a cup, otherwise everyone would know he had a raging hard-on.

Ryan raised his gaze to her upper half, but the peek-a-boo blouse in a virginal white, lacey satin did nothing to curb his need. Her lips were the same shade of red as her skirt.

A wave of dizziness overcame him and he doubled over. It wasn’t from the hit to the head either, but from the desire rocking his body. God, it actual y hurt. He should get back to the huddle, but hel , they could run a few plays without him while he recovered. He looked up the field, only to find practice at a standstil .

Jake ran up to him. “Man, is she trying to give al of us heart attacks or what?”

“Try getting hit in the head.”

“Yeah, that hit to your helmet was pretty funny.”

“I think I would’ve been better off if the bal hit my
other
helmet.”

“Man, don’t ever think that.”

Ryan laughed. “I guess you’re right.” He stood up straight, fairly certain he could return to the huddle without hurting himself. He looked over at Samantha who was stil talking with his boss. Her laughter filtered over the field. “Why is she making nice with Jeb?” he asked Jake as he picked up the bal .

“She’s a reporter, remember?”

“And he doesn’t give interviews, remember?”

“Wel , he does have more money than you do.”

“Samantha doesn’t care about money.”

“They al care about the money, they just don’t admit it.”

“Not her.” Then again, he’d never seen her wear anything like the hot little number she wore now.

“Don’t put her on a pedestal, you’l be disappointed when she ends up in the gutter.”

Fame seeking and gold digging women had hurt Jake. Ryan had been there too, but he quickly learned to single out those types of women. He preferred females who were only in it for the sex. That way each got want they wanted and no one got hurt. “Does he have to stand so close to her?”

“Terel , jealousy doesn’t become you,” Jake mocked.

“Shut up,” he said as he threw the bal back to the quarterback. Jealous? He didn’t have a jealous bone in his body.

The team got back to business and they ran a couple of plays. Each time on his way back to the huddle he stole a glance. When he noticed Jeb taking out his card to give to Samantha, Ryan did something he hadn’t done since high school and for the same reason – to attract the attention of a female. He cal ed a play with a route taking him directly along the sidelines, right alongside the lady in red. Hut one, hut two, and break. Ryan tore down the sideline, went up for the bal , but at the last second, Burner breezed in and stole the catch. Damn rookie, who the hel did he think he was?

They were on the same side! Wel , maybe not where Samantha was concerned.

Burner tossed the bal at Ryan’s feet. “Try to keep up, old man.”

“Nice catch, Burner,” said Samantha.

“You better watch it Terel , or the rookie might take your spot away from you.”

Ryan looked at the owner who liked to rile his players up in the name of friendly competition. But Ryan wasn’t feeling too friendly, and al it did was piss him off. Jeb may not know it, but this wasn’t about footbal . Samantha was his. Not Burner’s. Not Jeb’s. Therefore, the owner was about to be pissed off too. “Makes no difference to me. I get the same payday at the number one or number two spot. Hel , I get paid if you bench me.”

He heard Samantha’s intake of air.

The owner must have realized he hit a nerve because he merely said, “And you’re worth every penny.”

Ryan rejoined the huddle and ignored the sideline for the rest of practice.

Back in the locker room, he waited patiently for Samantha to interview him, but she ignored him. She was paying plenty of attention to Burner, though. And Burner was paying plenty of attention - the wrong kind - to her. Ryan’s heart twisted. He wanted to punch something, preferably the rookie. Jake was right; Ryan was jealous. And it didn’t become him.

Pul ing on his pants, he left the top button open because they were a little tight. He knew he’d pay for eating that burger. The socks came next and he bent forward slowly to reach his feet. Burner was right; Ryan was getting old. At this rate he’d need someone to put his socks on for him. He breathed in deeply and sucked up the pain. Footbal players stored hurts like a bear stored fat for the winter. Once the season was over, he’d hibernate and heal, just to do it al over again. Except each year it took a little longer to recover.

Ryan stood up and reached for his shirt and slipped his arms into the sleeves, but left it open when he noticed Samantha making her way towards his locker. To his disappointment she bypassed him to speak with Jake. She stood with her back to him, which gave him a perfect view of her ass. He fisted his hands before he reached out and copped a feel.

“Jake, how’s the ankle?” she asked.

“Better than Terel ’s head,” Jake answered.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s got a hard head.”

“You know it, darling,” Ryan said suggestively. She couldn’t ignore him now, but she did. She went on to ask Jake two more questions about practice and the upcoming game.

Then Jake asked a question of his own. “Can I get Hannah’s number?”

“Oh, you haven’t read today’s edition of the Yorker.”

“Do we look like the type of guys who read the gossip pages?” Ryan butted in again.

“No, you look like you flip straight for the comics.” She turned to look at him while pul ing out a piece of paper from under her note pad, though she handed the paper to Jake and not him.

He leaned over and read the article over Jake’s shoulder, who merely whistled long and slow. No wonder she was pissed at him. “Wel , this explains the silent treatment,” he said lightly.

“Why am I not surprised that this is a joke to you?”

He had her ful attention now.
Finally.
“What? You blame me for this?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wel , yeah.”

“It’s not my fault someone got the wrong idea.” And if he found out who did the talking, they’d be sorry because what happens in the locker room stays in the locker room. “It was a joke, Samantha. Like I told your Dad, I was just breaking the ice with you and the guys.”

“And I ended up being the Titanic.”

“I’ve told you I’m sorry.”

“No, you actual y didn’t say the words.”

“Would it make a difference?”

She didn’t answer.

“Wel , there you go. But I’d like to apologize to Hannah. Maybe she’l be more forgiving.” This seemed to mol ify her.

“That’s…that’s very…thoughtful of you,” she said reluctantly.

Jake, who watched this byplay with great interest, said, “I’d like to apologize to Hannah, too.”

“What for?” Ryan and Samantha asked in unison.

“Wel , I did have a hand in it. Maybe, Hannah wil forgive me over dinner?”

Samantha flipped over a page on her note pad and scribbled Hannah’s cel number. She tore off the page and handed it to Jake. “Remember, you asked for it.”

“What does that mean?” Jake asked.

“You’l see.” Samantha headed for the door.

Jake stared at the number with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Man, what did she mean by that?”

Distracted, Ryan said, “From what I’ve heard, Hannah is a man-eater.” He glanced around the room and caught the stares of some of the other players who fol owed Samantha’s progress toward the door.

“Then dinner would be good choice,” joked Jake. “Right?”

Focused on the door, Ryan didn’t respond. She shouldn’t wear outfits like the one she almost wasn’t wearing in a room ful of men. Especial y, these men, his teammates who he was ready to kil if they stepped out of line. Running out the door to warn her, he yel ed. “Hey, Jameson!”

“Hey, yourself,” she said without stopping.

Ryan caught up to her. “Need a quote?”

“What’s the matter? Your ego need stroking?” She kept walking.

He pul ed her into the player’s meeting room. “It’s not my ego I want you to stoke.” His gaze settled on her lips.

“Let go.”

He released her gently; afraid he would tear the skimpy fabric of her shirt. But then he backed her up against the blackboard. “On the record, you look sexy as sin itself. Off the record, if you ever wear something like this again, I’l have you flat on your back in sixty seconds.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. Was that an invitation? He certainly hoped so. He wanted to taste those ful blood red lips. Needed it. His body cried out for it. He bent his head toward her, but then thought about his half-hearted promise to her brother and backed away.
What was
he doing?

“I mean it, Samantha, sixty seconds.”

***

Samantha stood there in a daze. She came close to final y being kissed by Ryan. So very close. What made him back away? He was a breath away from her lips. She did a quick check of her own breath. No, it was peppermint gum fresh. Then why?

And why did she feel so disappointed? So lost? She should feel indignant. Outraged. Who the hel was he to tel her what to wear? Who did he think he was dragging her in here like some caveman? Feeling more like herself and in control, she left the room. But as she strode down the hal way towards her car, she couldn’t help but replay the scene in her mind. Like a team studying game tapes to see what went wrong, to help them prepare for the next time. Samantha needed game plan of her own.