Playing for Kicks (Play Makers Book 5) (52 page)

“How can you joke about this? It’s almost
like—well, like you’ve made your peace with it.” Erica’s tone
turned manic. “If that’s true, then just tell me. I said I’d
support you and I will.”

“I never should have said anything,” Tess
soothed her.
“Please
stop blaming yourself. Especially since
Sean and I will be fine. More important, you and
I
will be
fine. BFFs, right?”

“Can I come over? Please?”

“I need to deal with this on my own. Get past
it so we can all have fun at the gala. Because that’s the plan—I’ll
suck it up, and by the time the party starts, it will all be a bad
dream.”

“I hope so.” Erica coughed lightly. “I hate
to mention this, but just in case it occurs to you…
. . .”

“What?”

“Kerrie does fundraising for the NFL. Or at
least she used to. So I realized I should check. To be sure she
isn’t on the committee for the Literacy Gala. And she isn’t.”

Tess’s gut clenched. “Wow, that would have
been so—well, so awful. Thanks for thinking of it, Erica.”

“And guess who
is
on the committee?
Noelle Sharpe! Not that she’ll be there in person, but it still
seems like an omen, right?”

Tess reached for her copy of
Zombie
Renaissance
and studied the author photo wistfully. So lovely,
so serene. Not a jealous bone in
that
body for sure. Just
compassion and intelligence.

“I’d love to meet her someday,” she admitted.
“But tonight? I’d blubber all over her.”

“Me too,” Erica murmured. “Can’t we please
talk in person, Tess? We’ll get a quiet table and work this out for
sure.”

“It’s ten thirty, lush.”

Erica laughed ruefully. “I meant for
coffee.”

“Whew.”

“We had so much fun that night, didn’t we?
And we will again. No matter what you decide to do about—well, you
know who.”

“Don’t call him that,” Tess pleaded, only
half joking. “I need to run, chickie. For one thing, my hair
collapsed, so I need to have it re-blown. And there’s a ton of
paperwork to review and sign for Murf. Not to mention notes and
doodles. So I’ll text you around four for a status check. How’s
that?”

“
Call
me.”

“I might cry again. So I’ll text you. Then
after I talk to Sean—because you’re right, I need to do that
soon—you and I can talk for hours. I promise.”

“Oh, poor Sean. And poor you.”

“No, poor
you
. I’m already feeling
pretty good. So work on yourself, please? Dust on that dusting
powder and get ready to party. And thanks, Erica. You’re the best
friend ever. No lie.”

• • •

Tess didn’t make any new notes. Nor any new
doodles. Instead she pored over the old ones, tracing her steps
from a lighthearted bartender to a lovelorn fool.

Still, she had to laugh at the drawing of
Kerrie and Melody tugging on Sean’s extra-long arms. She hadn’t
invented that aspect of the relationship, had she? They really
were
ridiculous.

So give yourself a break. He fell for her.
He was willing to give up everything. But she dragged her feet on
the divorce, thank God, and he realized he couldn’t keep dating a
married woman. It was too painful. Too tragic.

But not exactly
Romeo and Juliet
level
tragic. Not with sex farces and re-virgining on the menu.

Feeling a little better, she sent Erica a
text that read:
He’s irresistible, so why fight it? See you at
the gala. U = best.

She knew she should call her but didn’t trust
herself. What if she burst into tears again? She didn’t
feel
like the world’s most competitive bitch anymore, but who knew what
lurked beneath?

Erica’s response was almost immediate:
Call me.

Tess laughed at the stubborn streak, then
texted back:
I’m getting blown. My hair that is. C U in
3.

OK luv U.

Luv U 2
, Tess assured her.

The hotel stylist really was due in a few
minutes to fix her droopy hair, so she began gathering up her
sketches. Then in a moment of inspiration, she grabbed a pencil and
doodled the best Sean yet. Chained to the stone wall of a dreary
dungeon, he howled Tess’s name at the moon through the single, tiny
window while struggling at his bonds, one of which had almost
worked its way loose, thanks to his magnificent stick-figure
muscles. Not to mention the power of his eyes, which were shooting
Tantric rays at the links.

Werewolf Romeo.

She couldn’t leave him if she tried.

Chapter
Seventeen

She looked like Jill again, maybe more than
ever thanks to a pair of sexy black heels and the tasteful but
darker, more dramatic makeup. She had even come to appreciate the
blue dress, since it made her look taller, made her waist seem
tiny, and brought out the cornflowers in her eyes.

By six forty-five her stomach started
fluttering and she was tempted to call the whole thing off. Not
because she was jealous of Sean’s star-crossed love for Kerrie, but
because she was sure Kerrie could pull off this look much,
much
better than she could.

Almost on cue, her phone played a few bars of
the Eagles song. It steadied her nerves and she answered in a soft,
hopeful voice, “Sean?”

“I’m in the lobby. Is your hair ready?”

She giggled. “It’s dying to see you. Come on
up.”

Please don’t have a meltdown,
she
begged herself as she waited by the door.
This moment could be
perfect. But not if you blubber all over him.

With any other guy, she would expect a flurry
of hollow compliments on the new look. But Sean? He’d be so cool
about it. Like she
always
looked good, but this was awesome
too.

And so when he rapped on the door, she
summoned a casual smile, then opened it and was shocked when he
gaped for a second then grabbed her into a frantic embrace while
lacing his fingers in her newly styled hair.

“It’s all here,” he croaked. “Geezus, baby,
you scared me to death.”

“What?”

“I thought you cut it off. I mean . . .”
His smile was shaky. “You can cut it off if you want. But don’t.
Okay? Not ever.”

“I’ll never cut it off. I promise.”

“Geezus . . .” He actually seemed to
gulp for air before his usual cool returned. Then he eyed her
admiringly. “Nice dress.”

“Nice tux,” she replied, trying not to gawk
even though he looked like a Hollywood heartthrob in the fancy
black duds with a crisply pleated dress shirt and adorable bow tie.
Emerald green eyes, sandy hair, killer smile—the works.

She touched his cheek in surrender. “I give
up.”

“Me too.” Resting his hands on her hips, he
brushed his lips over hers once, then again, before settling in for
a long, unhurried love fest.

Nothing had changed. They could stay like
this forever, and she wondered if that was his plan—to ditch the
fundraiser and make love for the rest of the night.

When he finally raised his head and stared
down at her, his eyes were blazing. “So we’re good?”

“We’re good. Let’s party with your
friends.”

“Okay, but . . .” He cleared his
throat. “I need to say something first.”

She gave him an uncertain smile. He sounded
so serious, which suddenly made sense. She wasn’t the only member
of this couple who had had a long, lonely week to think about
things. To wonder where their relationship was headed.

If he hadn’t panicked about her hair, she
might suspect he wanted to cool things down. But it was probably
the opposite. Especially given his romantic nature.

He’s going to ask you—
officially
—to
move in with him,
she decided, knowing if he turned up the
charm she’d give in. But they needed to talk about Kerrie first,
didn’t they? Not because Tess was upset, but because they couldn’t
survive a time bomb ticking between them.

“Can’t this wait until after the gala?” she
wheedled. “My hair will only last so long. Then it turns back into
a pumpkin.”

He surprised her by insisting they talk
first. Then he gestured to the sofa and waited, his face
expressionless.

Confused but not worried, she sat down,
taking care not to wrinkle her skirt.

When he stood for another moment, then went
down on one knee, she gasped, “No, Sean!” before she could stop
herself. Then she added weakly, “Not tonight. Please?”

“It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice
gentle. “It’s the opposite, actually.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“No, babe. It’s the opposite of that too. Or
at least I hope so.” Flashing a warm smile, he reached into his
pocket and pulled out a small square box covered in black
velvet.

“Oh, God . . .” she whispered.

Ignoring her, he handed her the box without
opening it. And while she wanted to insist he put it back in his
pocket—wait for a better time—she just had to know.

So she lifted the lid, then stared in
amazement at a tiny pavé-diamond charm in the shape of a horse. A
wild
horse running free, its mane and tail flying in the
wind.

The most exquisite thing she had ever seen.
Or even imagined.

“Oh, my God, Sean. Is this the horse you
shot?”

“
What?
Geezus, no.” He chuckled
ruefully. “It’s
you
, babe. Can’t you see that?”

“Me?” She stared into his eyes. “How is it
me? I mean—” Wordless, she detached the charm from its satin pillow
so that a delicate, almost invisible white-gold chain came loose
behind it. Turning it over and over in her fingers, admiring every
facet, she insisted, “I love it. I don’t understand it, but I love
it.”

“Wild horses represent freedom to me. Freedom
and harmony with nature. When I met you, I got that same vibe. And
since I was feeling trapped back then—with Kerrie, right?—all I
could think was: If I could be free like that girl, I’d never take
it for granted. And if I could
be
with a girl like her .
. .”

She wasn’t really tracking his words but it
didn’t matter. She just loved the sound of his voice. The warmth of
his eyes. The sparkling horse in her hand.

So she said carefully, “That’s so flattering,
Sean. Especially given the week I’ve had.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point.” He coughed
as though fighting a lump in his throat. “When we met, you had a
simple plan. To phase out bartending so you could focus on your
writing.” His gaze tightened. “How’s that working for you?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you write anything this week?”

“No,” she admitted. “There was so much else
going on.”

“Like packing up your apartment? Moving to
Portland? Working your last shift at Zone D? Deciding about jobs
with Rorsch and Erica? It’s all such bullshit, Tess.” His tone grew
fierce. “You showed
me
how to be free. Now I’ll return the
favor.”

She stared, confused but hopeful.

“Forget about moving in with me. I know I
pressured you, but only because I want to hang out with you. It’s
all I’ve
ever
wanted. But I’m cool with driving to Seattle
ten times a week if you want to live over Ed’s garage for a while
longer. Or even forever. So forget about moving, okay?”

She nodded, impressed by the Sean-like
logic.

“And Rorsch?” His eyes flashed. “Suddenly
you’d be wearing a suit every day? Working in an office on someone
else’s schedule? It’s the
opposite
of your plan. I didn’t
say anything at first, just in case you secretly wanted it. But if
you did, you’d know by now. So your answer is ‘hell,
no’—right?”

She nodded gratefully. “Hell, no.”

“Same with the gig with Erica. She only
invented it so you’d move to Portland. Because
she
needed a
friend,
I
needed a girlfriend, and you needed part-time
income until the articles started selling. Well, guess what?
They’re selling. And you couldn’t get rid of her—or me—if you
tried.”

Tess touched his jaw. “She’s overworked,
Sean. That’s for real. And she’ll need me even more when the baby
comes.”

“And you’ll be there. Just not at her office.
There must be dozens—hell,
hundreds
of grad students who’d
kill for an internship with her or Rorsch. They’d probably do it
for free.”

“You’re saying I should turn down
both
jobs?”

“Do you want either of ’em?”

“Hell, no,” she admitted with a sheepish
laugh.

“Good.” He was clearly on a roll. “What about
bartending?”

“What?”

A shadow crossed his face. “That thing with
Zane threw you. It threw me too. I couldn’t wait for you to be
done, but you’ve been stringing it out for a reason. So if you
still want it, just keep doing it.”

“Bartending?” She stared in disbelief, mostly
because he was right. She could do it or not do it. Work at Zone D
one day per week or seven. Or just be done with it and write all
day and all night.

Freedom—wild-horse style.

Without thinking, she stood and walked to the
mirror above the mini-bar, intending to fasten the chain around her
neck. Then she paused to smile at her reflection. “If you ever
wondered what Jill looks like, it’s this. More or less.”

“She’s a babe,” he said, stepping up close
behind her. “Allow me.”

As she watched, he hung the sparkling pendant
between her breasts. Then she turned to face him, pulled his head
down, and kissed him.

His eyes were greener than ever when he gazed
down at her. “When was the last time you lived in the moment?”

“I can’t even imagine. Maybe when we took
that walk on Turkey Saturday? But you’re right. It’s been a
while.”

“Well, brace yourself,” he said solemnly.
“Because it’s gonna happen again. And it’s definitely gonna mess up
your hair.”