Playing for Kicks (Play Makers Book 5) (21 page)

So you’ll get some work done for once,
she told herself.
And it has to end sometime. Because let’s face
it, a long-term friendship with such a hot guy just won’t
work.

She had some thinking to do. But she still
owed him a call to re-schedule tacos. So why not stop by his house
on her way up to Ed’s? She could see the lucky shoes, which
apparently meant a lot to him for some reason. And she wouldn’t be
tempted to stay too long since she honestly missed her landlords
and their animal kingdom and didn’t want to miss a minute of
drinks, dinner and gabbing.

So she grabbed her phone and dialed his
number.

When he answered right away he sounded
inordinately pleased. “Hey, babe. This is the first time
you’ve
called
me
. So I finally got to hear your ring
tone.”

She laughed. “You’re too easily impressed.
Especially because this is a good-news bad-news call.”

“With you it’s
all
good,” he assured
her.

Such a loser statement,
she told him
silently, insisting aloud, “I can’t do tacos on Tuesday because
I’ll be in Dallas. But I have time to stop by your place today if
you still want to show me your shoes.”

“Dallas? What’s that about?”

“I thought I told you. I’m interviewing two
of Murf’s Dallas players. Plus I’ve never met Murf himself so it’s
cool.”

“Which players?” he asked skeptically. “Maybe
I should fly out with you.”

“Then you could write the article for me
too,” she agreed.

He was silent for a moment, then just said,
“We’ll talk about it when you get here. I’m stoked about that, by
the way.”

“Me too.”

“John’s gate code works mine too. Do you have
it?”

“Yes, but not your address. Can you text it
to me? And meanwhile, I still need to pack and get gas and a couple
of other things. So let’s say noon-ish?”

“That sounds great.” He chuckled. “Remind me
what the bad news was again?”

She bit back a sigh of arousal, said, “See
you in a couple of hours, Sean,” and then hung up before he could
Tantric her over the airwaves. Then she sank down on the un-made
bed, frustrated. Because as hard as she tried to get a handle on
this friendship, it kept morphing into a sex scandal, and part of
her wanted to give in and enjoy it.

He’s still a flight risk,
she reminded
herself lightly, but that wasn’t the problem. By now, she believed
his claim that he wouldn’t run back to Kerrie. But that didn’t mean
he wasn’t hurting. Confused. Trying to heal. And for a guy, what
better way to heal than jumping into the sack with a drooling
female?

So stay strong,
she counselled
herself.
Not just for yourself, but for the kicker. And once you
finish the article, head straight for Hawaii and get your mojo
back. I’m begging you, please!

Finishing off the last of her protein drink,
she found her voice recorder and verified that the micro-card had
room for an afternoon interview with the kicker, just in case there
really
was
a reportable story behind those lucky shoes.

• • •

She expected Sean’s place to be a lot like
Johnny’s. A fishing lodge nestled in a forest near a rushing river.
And so, when she drove through the gate and saw acres of rolling
lawn in the distance, she actually gasped aloud. It was
breathtaking—so welcoming, so simple, so relentlessly green. Even
when she drove closer and saw that it probably wasn’t a real lawn,
but more like freshly mown green stuff that may or may not have
been grass—or weeds—it still took her breath away.

The house was beautiful too. Nothing rustic
about it, just simple white clapboard. Two stories, the top floor
with a balcony lined with French doors that extended the entire
length of the front, graceful and inviting. Even the roof, which
was pale gray tile, seemed charming. There was a freestanding
three-car garage that matched the house but the scene-stealer was a
dark gray barn with a light gray shingle roof surrounded by an
endless white corral.

Sean was waiting for her so she pulled up
close to him and climbed out of the RAV4. Then without thinking she
told him, “It’s perfect, Sean.”

“I’ve almost got it the way I want it. Sweet,
right?”

“Do you have horses?”

“Here?” He shook his head. “That was the
plan. But I’m away a lot during football season. And the whole idea
with them is consistent handling. So I’m still working out the
kinks. For now, I just use the barn for my workout stuff and
tools.”

“Do you own that woodsy area over there?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. Pristine, I guess you’d
say. I’ve found tons of arrowheads, for example.”

She licked her lips. “I’ve always wanted to
find an artifact. But so far, only bottle caps.”

He chuckled. “You’ll have better luck here, I
promise.”

She stared up at him, almost mesmerized.
“It’s so beautiful.”

“Glad you like it.” He cleared his throat.
“Do you want to see the inside?”

“I’m still stuck on
this
. Is it a
replica of your family’s ranch?”

He grinned. “Not even close. My great-grandpa
built our house a century ago so it’s pretty basic. Big and white,
but that’s where the resemblance ends. And it’s a working ranch, so
there’s a lot of dirt and not much grass until you get to the
pastures. But still . . .” His voice trailed off and she knew
he was imagining other days. Then he finished the thought, saying,
“It’s a cool place.”

“I’m sure,” she murmured, then she turned
away, knowing how she must sound. So charmed. Maybe even confused
since she had imagined it like the McSpurling place. But leave it
to Sean . . .

Her gaze focused on the roof of the barn. “Is
that the famous skylight?”

“Yeah, not bad for an amateur, right?” he
said proudly. “The big test will be the kitchen one, since it’s a
tile roof.”

“You have a kitchen too?” she asked with a
teasing smile. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“Do you want to see it?”

She nodded, and when he took her hand, she
didn’t protest, even though it felt more intimate than kissing.
Like he was leading her into his lair.

Once inside the house, she was again
transfixed, this time by gleaming wooden floors, paneled walls, and
built-in bookcases offset by a walk-in hearth lined with dark blue
tile.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it came together well. The kitchen’s
over here.” He gestured to a huge room with a double-high ceiling,
blue tile counters and gleaming fixtures. “They call it a chef’s
kitchen, which is hilarious since I can barely boil water. But I
like the way it looks. And I can vouch for the microwave since it
heats take-out pretty well.”

“You have all this?” she raved as she walked
the perimeter of the room, touching the Sub-Zero fridge reverently,
then moving to the industrial stove. “And you don’t use it? You
should take cooking lessons.”

“Yeah, they’re on the list. Are you hungry? I
can make sandwiches, no problem.”

“I’m good.” She wandered back to the
bookshelves, where there were volumes on endless subjects.
Astronomy, carpentry, architectural design, and more than anything
meteorology. Weather forecasting. Atmospheric conditions. The
works.

It made sense, didn’t it? If he kicked in an
outdoor stadium, wind was a factor. Sometimes a
huge
factor.
Not to mention rain and temperature and who knew what else?

“Do you want to see the shoes?”

“Not yet.” She eyed his sofa, wondering if it
was the scene of breakup sex. So she quipped, “Memories,
right?”

“That’s a new one,” he said in an offhand
tone. “And I got tested, too, to make sure she didn’t give me
anything. So I’m good to go.”

She knew she should be embarrassed, but
instead she stepped up to him and admitted, “I can’t figure you
out.”

“There’s plenty of time for that, isn’t
there?”

Except camp starts. Then I move back to
Seattle . . .

None of that seemed to matter for the moment,
so she admitted softly, “I’m ready for the lucky shoes.”

• • •

The upstairs consisted of a loft and a huge
master bedroom suite that overlooked the lawn. She tried to ignore
the king-sized bed, reminding herself it was none of her business.
But she had to praise the master bath since it was truly stunning.
Huge but intimate with its tile-lined alcove, claw-foot tub and its
own small balcony.

“I could live in this room,” she told
him.

“Wait till you see the closet. It’s too big
for any single human, or even a couple, and to make it worse, it
has a
second
closet at the back.”

“For guns and money?”

“There’s a built-in safe for those. I use the
extra closet for the shoes.”

She laughed. “Your feet aren’t
that
big, Romeo.”

He laughed too. “Come on.”

The wardrobe in the first closet was mostly
shirts and jeans and khakis along with a couple of garment bags she
assumed contained a tux and some suits. A row of shelves held shiny
black dress shoes, sandals and boat-style shoes, and boots, cowboy
and otherwise. The final wall was filled with jackets and coats,
none of which seemed ostentatious, although she would kill to see
him in the green-wool letter jacket.

It felt so cozy—so Sean—she almost forgot
about the second closet until he opened the door and stepped aside,
revealing at least two dozen shoe boxes, all sporting the X-Caliber
logo, along with multiple pairs of unboxed athletic shoes that had
clearly been worn.

Some on real turf, some on the fake stuff? In
any case, they were working shoes.

The boxes intrigued her. Had he stockpiled
shoes for future use in case X-Caliber went out of business? It
made sense, especially if he really believed he kicked better in
them.

“Are they all lucky?” she asked in a soft
voice.

“Yep.”

She smiled, then noticed something on the top
shelf. A scruffy pair of children’s shoes, probably no more than
four inches in length. “Oh, Sean,” she murmured, picking them up
reverently. “You wore these?”

“Yeah.” He paused, then explained. “After my
dad died and we were cleaning out his bedroom—the master bedroom,
right?—so my aunt and uncle could move in, we found these in my
mom’s old stuff. I’m not sure they were the first pair she bought
me, but they must have had some significance, right?”

Tears welled in Tess’s eyes but she brushed
them away quickly, since her no-crying streak had lasted almost
eight years and she wasn’t about to blow it now. Still, she could
just imagine this emotional sequence of events. The first trip to
the factory store, a blissful moment of bonding for mother and son.
Then the mom watched through the kitchen window as little Sean
climbed fences and trees and horses in his sturdy new shoes. Then
he outgrew them, and even though the mom bought a replacement pair,
she squirreled these away among her treasures.

And they stayed hidden even after she died
because Sean’s father couldn’t bear to sort through her things. To
admit she was really gone. And so it had fallen to the teenage son
to find them. And to cherish them for new and even better
reasons.

“Are you crying?” Sean asked gently.

“Colbys don’t cry,” she murmured. Then she
admitted, “I’m so glad you found these, Sean.”

“Yeah, it means a lot. And look at these.” He
walked over to the rows of new shoes and pulled out a box that
couldn’t possibly contain adult shoes, which he confirmed when he
showed her a pair of tiny black athletic shoes, even smaller than
the ones his mom had saved. “I figured it would be cool if my kid
had a pair.”

Before she could cry again, he opened a
second box that contained tiny pink shoes. “Sexist, right?”

“You’re killing me,” she whispered. Then she
gestured toward four more small boxes. “And you bought them each
more than one pair? That’s planning ahead.”

“Actually, they’re all the same size. Just in
case I have more than two kids. Or whatever.”

She didn’t dare look him in the eye so she
went back to the men’s shoes in various stages of wear. Picking up
the least battered pair, she asked, “So these are the stars of the
show?”

“That’s my current working pair. And these
here? From the Super Bowl, so trust me, they’re keepers.”

It seemed clear they were destined for sex
among the shoes. Not even Tess could resist this onslaught. Then as
if to save her, Sean’s phone played the opening bars of a college
fight song.

He grimaced and turned it off quickly.
“Sorry.”

“Who was that? Cool ring tone.”

“It was John. We’re supposed to fish tomorrow
morning, so nothing urgent.”

“So that’s the Cal fight song? Does Erica
have the same one since she went there too?”

“No, she has a different one.” He coughed
lightly. “Any chance we can let this go?”

“Why? It’s so cool. Didn’t you say
I
had a ring tone, too? I need to hear that one, too.”

“Don’t you have questions about the
shoes?”

She smiled fondly, noting that his cheeks had
reddened, either because of Erica’s song or Tess’s. “Can I hear Bam
Bannerman’s at least? He went to USC, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t use his fight song
because he actually has a
theme
song.” He quirked an
eyebrow. “If you want to hear it, you have to eat a sandwich
first.”

“Deal.” She followed him out of the shoe
closet, but took one last look behind her, feeling sentimental for
the baby shoes, old and new. The tragedy of watching X-Caliber
close their factory store came home at that moment, and while she
wouldn’t dare use her influence, since she was supposed to be
reporting the story, not shaping it, she still knew Sean
had
to prop up the company. Otherwise he might never forgive
himself.