Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (6 page)

She gives me a little smile, and I can't help but notice again how pretty her face is when she's smiling. "Yeah. Thanks for remembering."

"No problem."

I
'm trembling
with excitement as I step out of my shower, my hair dripping but I don't mind. My hair is thick and straight and nearly impossible to change from that. Back in school, I almost always just let it air dry on my way to class, it didn't matter. I can run a brush through it after I get dressed, and I'm good to go.

A date? Really? I mean, I know it's not a date-date, but
holy shit!
Tyler Paulson is taking me out on a
date.
Regardless of the fact he's
my
Tyler summer camp, he doesn't know yet I can still tell, he asked me out to dinner.

I mean, I know I should be pissed off still about last night, and the way he horn dogged with those two club sluts, but I'm not. For some reason I believe him when he said that he doesn't remember what happened, and the way he's acted all day, maybe he didn't do what I immediately thought he did when he answered his door naked, oh so gloriously naked, at noon.

My God, did you see his junk?
the little voice in my head that seems to love the naughty side of life, asks.
Tight abs, that little trail of hair down to…

I roll my eyes, even as I acknowledge the truth, Tyler is sexy as hell and gave me quite an eyeful today. But we're just going out to dinner, that's all. I couldn't even get my initial idea for a reservation, the place that had been Zagat's choice as Toronto's most stylish restaurant, but instead a table at a still stylish higher end steakhouse over on Simcoe. I've been there once before, a team event, and I think Tyler will like it. Aged steaks, some seafood if that's his thing, but still, the sort of place I'd never go to by myself.

"Now, what do I wear?" I ask myself, standing in front of the closet. I don't really have a lot, I mean, most of my money that I don't use for the basics of life goes to help out my parents, but there's one dress. I didn’t buy it off the internet like Tyler joked. It was a gift from a friend of mine, we went to the University of Toronto together. Gail and I were total opposites in so many ways, except that we clicked, and it was hard to let her go when she got her dream job in Vancouver. Her last gift to me was a belted Jovani two tone cocktail dress, with a plunging back that doesn't let me wear a bra underneath, and an asymmetrical slightly form fitting skirt that shows a lot of my right leg. The whole thing is done with illusion lace, and the sleeveless sides bare my arms to the whole world. I've never worn it outside of trying it on for Gail the day she gave it to me, and it's sat in my closet for two years now, along with the matching high heels that I will admit I've worn one or two other times, black five inch stilettos.

“Here goes nothing," I whisper, reaching for the dress. I look down at myself, and wonder if I'm really going to do what I plan on doing, then nod. Tyler set a rule . . . I'll follow it.

Putting the dress on my bed, I go to my underwear drawer and take out my sexiest set of panties, a black satin piece that is the exact color as the skirt of my dress. I pull it on, feeling more powerful and pretty already . . . dare I say it, sexy even? Yes, I feel sexy, and it's an awesome feeling.

I don't have to unzip the dress at all, Jovani did a great job of mixing stretch fabric with the lace, although I do have to kind of worm myself around, my thighs rubbing together as the skirt slides up to settle at my waist. There's a belt too, and I remind myself to not forget it as I slip my arms into the straps of the top and try to adjust my breasts inside the built in bra. Finally, with a bit of a jump and a hop, everything seems to jiggle into the right place. I don't look at myself in the mirror until after I get the belt on, but when I do, even without my high heels, I'm stunned by how I look.

I look
hot.
Like, real hot, the hot that would be a date for a guy like Tyler. Whoa. Who is this girl?

"Let's see how I look with some makeup," I say to myself, going over and getting ready there. I'm not the sort of girl who wears a lot of makeup, I've never felt comfortable in it and I think my natural skin tone and look helps that anyway, but while I do, I see the subtle reminders of my teen years, and one of the reasons why I ended up so shy. Still, the scars on my cheeks and forehead are getting smaller each year, and maybe by the time I'm twenty-five I won't be reminded daily of this bullies from high school. I've tried foundation or other skin treatments, but it doesn't work on me, it just makes it all stand out more. Ah well.

A quick brush of my hair, and I look at myself in the mirror, stunned again. That's not me. It can't be. Like, the mousy look, the hunched shoulders, the lock of hair that seems to always find it's way over my face . . . it's all gone.

Instead, I see my shoulders pulled back, and lips that aren't quite juicy but maybe still kissable. The dress even makes my breasts seem bigger somehow, maybe because of the curve of the built in bra. Best of all though, my legs look about a kilometer long and actually toned as I pull on my high heels. Maybe all those lunchtime trips up and down the stadium steps has paid off.

Driving to Tyler's hotel, part of me wishes that I could have been picked up like a real date, but the restaurant is close to the hotel, I didn't want to make him drive more than he has to. He might have said no alcohol, but if two sangrias screwed him up so much last night, then we need to make doubly sure.

I text him when I get to the parking lot, and he replies right away, saying he'll be right down. I sit in the lobby and wait, a bit of nervousness coming back to me as I see the looks from the few men who walk through the lobby. The one man gets elbowed by his wife, or at least I think it's his wife. God I must look like a slut or something. Oh God, no I can't . . .

The elevator dings, and I reach for my purse, ready to run out, but I look back, stopping when Tyler walks out. I thought he looked nice before, but he looks heart-stopping in a black outfit that I at first mistake for a tuxedo before I see the red tie and realize it's just a well cut suit. "Tyler?"

Tyler sees me and stops, his eyes widening as he sees me. "April? You look . . . amazing.”

I can't help it, I blush. I stop, unable to flee as he comes closer. "Thank you," I whisper, "and you . . . where did you get that suit?"

Tyler looks down and laughs. "You won't believe me if I told you."

"No, really, where? It looks like a thousand-dollar suit."

Tyler nods. “Originally it probably was. But that was when whoever bought it the first time paid for it. It's a Hart Schaffner suit that I found at the Hollywood Goodwill."

"No way." Goodwill? Really?

Tyler nods and gives me a megawatt smile. "Yeah, a little known secret for the poor but wanting to be trendy or fashionable in Los Angeles. Check the Beverly Hills or Hollywood Goodwills. A lot of the A-listers, or the studios even, will donate clothes really quickly if they are not part of a famous costume set or something. I got it for a hundred bucks, and spent another fifty getting it tailored to my body."

"Well, if you said you were a secret agent, I wouldn't doubt you at all," I reply, smiling. "You look . . . well, if I can use the word, dashing."

"Mmm, remember that for the team," Tyler says with a light laugh. "Dashing Tyler Paulson. That'll sell some t-shirts."

Tyler goes to ask another question when my cellphone rings. I wince and pull it out, my wince turning into a frown when I see the number. It's the hospital. "Excuse me a moment, Tyler. I need to take this."

"Of course. How about I pull my car around, and I can meet you back here in a second?" Tyler offers, giving me my privacy. I nod gratefully and take the call.

"Hello, this is April Gray."

"Miss Gray, this is Dr. Fontaine from hospice. I hate to call you so late, but there's been an incident with your mother."

Mom? Oh no. "What happened?"

"She had a bit of a panic attack and pushed a nurse," Dr. Fontaine said. "There were no injuries, but she was upset for a while. We had to sedate her."

I sigh, nodding. That's the third time in the past two months. Mom's really starting to have problems. I think we're looking at the transition from mid-stage to late-stage Alzheimer's now. "I understand, Doctor. I'll try to visit this weekend.”

"We'd appreciate it, Miss Gray. Your father tries, but with his condition, he's often weakened too."

"I know. Thank you, Doctor. I'll do my best to get up there. Goodbye."

Out front, Tyler's face is concerned when I sit down. "Is everything okay?"

I shrug. "Personal. Nothing you need to worry about."

Tyler studies my face for a moment, then shuts off his engine. "Are you sure? I mean, this date . . . it can wait, you know."

"No you can't," I reply kindly. "You start practice tomorrow, and you're going to be going all out until the first three weeks are done. That's the preseason, you know. Besides, there's nothing that can be done about my problem right now, and there is something that can be done about enjoying dinner. It's okay, really."

Tyler nods and starts his engine again, driving the short distance to the restaurant. In almost any other shoe I would have walked, but the stilettos mean I’m glad he drives the short kilometer or so. Parking, he comes around and offers me his arm like a gentleman, and I’m walking on clouds as we enter the restaurant, even with the news I’d just gotten. Yet again, eyeballs click as Tyler walks in, the hostess biting her lip when he gives her his name in his rich tenor.

But I notice something too, as we walk . . . some of the men are looking at me. I'm surprised, and Tyler notices. "What is it?"

"I'm not used to men looking at me," I whisper as we reach our table. "It's weird. Do I look strange or something?"

"They're looking because you’re the prettiest woman in here,” Tyler replies with a warm chuckle. He holds my chair for me, and helps me in before going around to his seat. "I'm a fortunate man tonight."

"You flatter," I reply, blushing, but Tyler shakes his head.

“I’m serious.”

I feel even warmer, and search for anything to change the subject and take the focus off me. "So where did you learn such good manners? Opening doors, escorting, my chair . . . you're almost old-fashioned."

Tyler chuckles and traces a design on the tablecloth with his finger. "My father insisted that I learn some of, what he called, society skills. He's from the country club set, and while he had no problems with me being an athlete, he also insisted that I learn at least something about his background."

"What does he do?"

He goes a bit quiet, then shrugs. "He's a lawyer. We don’t talk a whole lot ever since he and Mom got divorced when I was in high school. He moved out of Cali, went overseas to work in his firm's London office. He emails, and he paid for some of the perks I had going through college, but we don’t see each other too often. He could’ve given more, but he claims he didn’t want me ending up being a trust fund kid. Ironic.”

"What do you mean?"

Tyler shrugs. "The one trust fund kid on the football team, he's the one who just signed a huge contract with the Wildcats. At least, we thought he was trust fund until it came out his Dad was secretly in debt up to his ass. Duncan's maybe my best friend from college. He had all the trust fund kid perks, and still turned out fine. He's about to be a father."

"Wow, really?"

Tyler nods. “I guess he did have help. He met the right girl. They fell in love, and well, she kept him straight.”

”You sound a bit jealous."

“I might be, a little bit,” Tyler says, laughing. "I think we're all searching for that
One
, I guess. I seem to be one of those just keep searching, and getting myself in trouble doing it."

"We all do stupid things," I reply. "Me, I'm not exactly prime mental material myself."

"Why do you say that? I mean, you graduated college, you've done a good job with helping me out the past few days . . ."

"Actually, you're my last chance with the Fighters," I tell him, surprised I'm letting it slip. The cat's out of the bag though, so I might as well finish it. "I've been with the team just a little over a year and a half, starting out doing an internship my last grading period, and in that time I've been dismissed from being a PA twice now. Mr. Larroquette told me, I screw this one up, I need to start seriously looking for another job."

"Well, what screwed it up in the past? Was it just bad luck?”

I shake my head, looking down. “I’m juts not assertive enough. I don't ask questions when I should, because I don't want to look dumb. I make mistakes, or don't speak up when I should and others make mistakes."

I thought Tyler would have laughed, but instead he reaches across the table and takes my good hand. "Then let's make a deal. You help me keep on the right path here in Toronto, and I'll help you with shyness. I still don't know what you’re shy about though."

I want to answer, but instead the waiter comes, and after we place our orders, Tyler looks around at the restaurant, obviously impressed. "You chose well."

"Thanks. I know it's not Los Angeles, but we've got some nice places in Toronto."

"I agree. I've been surprised at that. But it's a pretty city. I'll enjoy the time I'm here."

I take a sip of water, wondering if I should ask the question that's been on my mind multiple times over the past few days. "Tyler . . . I know this may not be my place, as your PA or your date, but you've made a few comments, like you don't want to play in Toronto for a long time."

"Guess it's that obvious?" Tyler responds with a sigh and a chuckle. “It’s not anything against the city. I just want to get to the League — it’s always been a dream. Plus, Duncan's signing bonus alone for his rookie contract in the League is worth what I'd make in years here in Toronto."

"So you want the big money contract?" I ask, not offended. Just about every guy who comes up to Canada is looking for another shot down south. "Even if it means playing for a team that has no chance at winning?”

Tyler chuckles. "Okay, maybe not, but you get my point."

I want to say there are things more important than money, but I can't. Not with the situation I'm in right now, where I'm pouring every spare penny I can into trying to make my parents' lives a little bit easier at the hospital. Instead, we make small talk until dinner comes, and I will give the restaurant credit, they may be a steakhouse but they make a pretty mean filet of salmon too. The whole time, Tyler's looking at me with desire in his eyes, and warmth fills my belly, focusing between my thighs.