Quarterback Sneak

Quarterback
Sneak

A
Red Hot Valentine Story

By

Desiree
Holt

“All men are assholes.”

Stacy Halligan slouched in a corner
of her couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. A half-finished glass of
wine—her third—rested on the side table by her hand. Somehow, the smooth flavor
of the merlot hadn’t eased the sharp edge of pain she rode. Instead, it tasted
more like vinegar.

“I assume present company
excepted?” Max Sullivan, stretched out in her big armchair, grinned at her, and
took a swallow of beer.

“You’re just a man in the generic
meaning of the word,” she grumped.

His smile disappeared. “What the
hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get your shorts in a twist.”
Stacy levered herself up and took a sip of the wine, making a face. “I mean,
you have all the right equipment.” She ran her gaze over his tall, muscular
body. “At least, I assume you do, since I haven’t seen it firsthand. But I
never think of you as a man. Exactly.”

He frowned. “And exactly how do you
think of me?”

“You’re my best friend. My bud. My
comfort zone.” She flopped a hand at him. “You know. We hang out together.
Drink beer and eat pizza. Tell each other shit. I don’t have to worry if my
makeup’s messed up or I’m wearing the right clothes.”

“Yeah?” Max cocked his head. “I’m
not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

Stacy scowled. What bothered him
tonight? Usually he sat there listening while she vented about her latest
romantic disaster, making appropriate comments. At least, appropriate to her.

They’d been neighbors for three
years, ever since she bought the condo next to his. When he came over to
introduce himself and she learned he was a football player, backup quarterback
for the city’s NFL team, the Warriors, she blew him off. She had been ready to
write him off as a muscle-bound jerk who used and discarded women and barely
had room to fit himself and his ego in the same room.

Max, however, was persistent in his
and actually turned out to be a nice guy with a great sense of humor. Since
neither of them seemed to fit the other’s dating profile, they didn’t have to
do the usual mating dance. Instead, they became very comfortable together,
hanging out on weekends when they had no other plans, helping out when
circumstances called for it.

Like now, when her latest so-called
romance crashed and burned like a comet falling from the sky.

She liked Max. Really liked him. He
made no demands on her except to take in his mail and keep an eye on his place
when he traveled with the team. In return, he provided refreshments on nights
like tonight when her life fragmented again and she needed someone to help her
pick up the pieces.

How did she make such consistently
poor choices where men were concerned? You’d think the feature writer for a
woman’s magazine would have a better grasp of what men were all about. Would
have a stronger bullshit meter. But no, she simply kept going from one disaster
to another. Maybe it came from being the gray dove to a peacock of an older
sister. Or a hangover from college where her roommate barely passed her classes
yet scored very high in hot men. So she’d concentrated on her writing, her
career, secretly hoping some man would come along and coax her out of her bland
environment.

Unfortunately, she chose men very
unwisely.

Assholes.

Why couldn’t she fall for someone
like Max? And why suddenly think of Max and romance in the same breath?

She had to admit he was damn
appealing, with his tall, muscular athlete’s body. Mouthwatering, even in the
ragged T-shirt and worn jeans he wore. His midnight black hair, the thick kind
women loved to run their fingers through, and his ocean blue eyes, framed by
equally dark eyebrows and lashes, were what romance novels would call
mesmerizing. Lips that looked as if they knew their way around a woman’s mouth.

Jeez, Stacy. Get over it. What’s
with you? This is Max. Solid, comfortable, dependable Max. My brain must be
cooked because of my latest self-inflicted disaster.

“Stacy?”

She blinked, suddenly aware he
spoke to her.

“Huh?” She blinked again. “What?”

“Where did you go in that pretty
head of yours? You zoned right out on me.”

Giving herself a mental shake, she
reached for the wine again. One word stuck in her mind.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Max tilted his head, studying her.
“Of course I do. You’re a damn fine looking woman.”

“Oh, great. Damn fine looking. You
sound like you’re describing my mother. Or worse, my grandmother.” She lifted
her wine glass then set it back down. It had truly lost its flavor for her
tonight.

Max set his beer on the floor
beside him and hitched forward in his chair.

“What’s this really all about,
Stace? Is it that jerk, Kurt? I told you he was a loser. You should have
listened to me.”

“You say that about every man I
introduce you to,” she pointed out.

“Maybe you take up with the wrong
men,” he suggested.

“What?” She gritted her teeth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.
It’s just that ever since I’ve known you, the men you hook up with have been
asswipes.”

“Asswipes? Good word. I like that
better than assholes.”

“Anyway, you’ve had breakups
before. Plenty since I’ve known you. What’s so bad about the latest one that
it’s got you all uptight?”

She chewed on her bottom lip. How
could she explain it to him? She shared the blame. She obviously didn’t put
thought into the men she chose or the relationships that developed with them.
She spent so much time on assignments for the magazine she just hadn’t put the
right kind of effort into her dating situation.

She already knew the other females
at work thought her a dating loser. When they talked about hot weekends, she
slugged down nonfat decaf lattes and wrapped herself in the misery of her
latest breakup. She’d stopped contributing to their dating adventure stories
since hers always had such pathetic endings. Why couldn’t she hold onto a man?

Kurt was merely the latest mistake,
but also the worst. She never should have dated someone on the staff,
especially the hot marketing guy everyone lusted over. Her problem? Flattered
he asked her out, she’d ignored the warnings from her colleagues that she was
not his type and she’d just get hurt. Not his type? What the hell did that
mean? Did they have such a low opinion of her because she didn’t flaunt her
body and make an ass of herself the way a lot of the other females did? Well,
whatever. Now, not only had she been dumped but she’d also been exposed to a
humiliation way too public for her satisfaction. She did her best to ignore the
I-told-you-so looks even as she imagined all the whispered comments.

“Stacy?” Max prompted her again,
his voice gentle. “Aren’t you the same woman who’s been telling me for three
years romance is nothing but a myth made up by greeting card companies and
florists? The one who keeps saying it’s a line men hand out to women? That you
didn’t have time for more than meaningless sex and a lot of laughs?”

“It was easier that way,” she
mumbled.

“Excuse me? I can’t hear you.” He
cupped his ear. “Could you repeat that, please?”

“You heard me. I said, it’s easier.
You guys are all alike. All you want is a lot of laughs and a lot of sex and
then a handshake when it’s over. Or maybe not even the handshake. So if I don’t
take things seriously, I don’t get hurt.”

“Let’s be clear. When you say ‘you
guys,’ I assume you’re lumping me in with the general male population?”

”If the shoe fits.”

He stared. “I think I’m insulted.
How the hell would you know if I’m like that? Do you follow me around?”

Her cheeks heated again. “No, of
course not. But I see the parade of female characters in and out of your
townhouse. They could almost be interchangeable.”

“It’s hardly a parade.” Max leaned
back and rested an ankle on the opposite knee. “Anyway, you’re making a lot of
assumptions here, Stacy. Maybe I just haven’t found the right woman to get
serious with yet. I lead a pretty busy life, you know.”

“That’s nothing but an excuse.” She
flapped a hand at him. “You make time in your life for me.”

“That’s—”

“That’s what?” she demanded.

“Different,” he finished in a lame
voice.

“Because I’m not like a real woman,
right?” she snapped. “I want conversation instead of getting naked fifteen
seconds after we meet. I want to do something besides roll around on the
sheets. And I don’t want to have to fluff up the packaging every time I turn
around. Go ahead. Say it. Out loud.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I’m just so
depressed right now.”

“Don’t take what I’m saying the
wrong way, but I’d think someone who writes features for a woman’s magazine
would have a different take. Or have you been so busy producing stuff—articles,
whatever—to give other women their dreams that you forgot what it takes to have
your own? So again, what’s so different this time? And what makes Kurt so
special?”

“He broke up with me two weeks
before Valentine’s Day.” The words popped out of her mouth before she could
stop them. “He told me he had something special planned. I guess this was it,
damn it.”

“Valentine’s Day?” Max parroted.

“Yeah, you know. Big day for
lovers? Hearts and flowers? Candy? Wine? Maybe jewelry? Big romantic dinner?
The works?”

“Valentine’s Day,” Max said again,
taking another swallow of beer.

“You say that like it’s a foreign
concept,” she snarked. “It happens every February fourteenth. Surely you’ve
heard of it before. Sent flowers to your gaggle of females. Oh, wait. You
probably have so many, you order an assistant do it. Someone at the team
complex.”

Max slammed his beer bottle down on
the floor beside his chair. “Stacy, what in the fuck has gotten into you
tonight? I don’t have a—what did you call it?—a gaggle of women, and you know
that. I’m better than that. And I didn’t think you were so shallow all that
crap meant life or death to you.”

She wanted to cry, something she
seldom did. Why be nasty to Max because of her disappointment in herself, in
what her life had become? All work and meaningless play.

“Stace?” he prompted.

“Every year we do a special issue
for V-Day.” She nibbled a fingernail. “Our issue this year is spectacular. Lots
of shots of lovers in romantic settings. Great ads that promise all kinds of
fantasies from pleasant dreams to gigantic orgasms. With the situation so hot
and heavy with Kurt, I bought into the myth myself.”

Max’s eyebrows rose. “Gigantic
orgasms? Where’s that ad?”

She waved a hand at him. “You know
what I mean.”

He looked at her, curiosity stamped
on his face. “I do?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered,
dropping her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know if it was Kurt himself, to tell
you the truth. All the women drooled over him, though, and I finally thought I
was a big deal because we were a couple. He made it no secret when we broke up
because he’s trolling for his next conquest.”

“And he’s the guy you’re crying
over?” Max had an incredulous look on his face.

“Okay, I’ll say it. He fed my ego.”
She let out a long sigh. “And now, I won’t have a date for the big Valentine’s
party. Again. What makes it worse is he’ll be at the event. The publisher
demands everyone’s attendance, so I’ll have to show up and watch him playing
touchy-feely with someone else while putting up with everyone’s pity all night
long.” She brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “Damn, Max. How did I get it so
wrong?”

“Maybe, subconsciously, you knew
all these other guys weren’t worth your time, so you forced the breakup. Did
you ever think of that?”

“Huh?” She stared at him.

“Stace, don’t get mad at me but
think for a minute. If you were really into any of them, you’d be a lot more
than ticked off. You’d be devastated. They might just not be what you’re
looking for. Maybe first you have to figure out what you really want.”

“If I tell you what I want, you’ll
think I’m a brainless female.”

“You’re not,” he protested. “You
are a beautiful, desirable woman who happens to pick men who are self-centered
jerks.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorted.

“Come on, honey,” he coaxed. “This
is me. Good old Max. We can say whatever we want to each other, right? So let’s
hear it.”

“I’m going to sound really stupid.”
She sighed.

“The only stupid thing is not
saying what’s on your mind.” His mouth curved in a crooked grin. “Go ahead.
Let’s hear it.”