The Game of Love (19 page)

Chris stared out over the grassy area and pavement surrounding the tennis courts, littered with trash. Someone had tipped over a metal trash can, and leftover food and bags and paper towels tumbled out. The bleachers were gooey with spilled drinks. She didn’t even want to think about what the bathrooms looked like.

The invitational had been a great success. The matches were competitive, the other coaches were grateful for the added opportunity to compete, and the entire thing was a boost of confidence to her own girls, who had won one match but lost two others, bringing their season’s record to eleven wins and seven losses. A vast improvement over previous years.

With Sectionals only a week away, they needed all the extra practice and competition they could get. Not that Chris harbored grandiose illusions of this season turning into a
Hoosiers
moment. But even from the first day of practice, there had been serious growth.

There was growth, and there was hope.

“All right, ladies. Let’s get to work!”

The expected groans and bitching followed. She couldn’t blame them. After the long day that had started at seven in the morning for them, cleaning up the wreck that was their spectator area was not high on their to-do list. But the only way she could get the administration to sign off on the tournament so late in the season had been to promise the team would clean up after the tournament so they didn’t cost the school in janitorial overtime.

It seemed like a steal of a deal at the time. Now, watching her team grumble as they chased down flying napkins and hauled out buckets of water to scrub the bleachers down, she was starting to wonder if she hadn’t made a serious miscalculation.

“Cavalry’s here.”

She whirled around. A gust of wind stung her wide-open eyes, making them water. Blinking rapidly, her vision cleared enough to see Brett standing there, several eager beavers from the football team in formation behind him. “What are you doing here? What are they doing here?”

“You said you had to clean up after the invitational, so I thought I’d bring some help to speed things along. You guys have been here for ten hours already.” To his players, he added, “Go to it, boys.” They scrambled to do his bidding without a word of back talk. How did he do that…

As if he could read her mind, he winked. “I promised them pizza if they helped out. Primo currency to the teenage male.”

“Ah. Bribery. Wise method.” She didn’t bother fighting the smile. “Thank you.”

His arm snaked around her, pulling her into his warm embrace as he placed a kiss on the top of her head. Though she wanted to curl into his body heat and be held after the long, exhausting day, she forced herself to step back and away, out of arm’s reach. “You promised.”

His expression went from happy contentment to annoyance. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” With that, he walked away toward the bleachers, mumbling incoherently.

Still ticked off, apparently. She walked in the opposite direction to check the status of the bathrooms.

They’d had their first official fight as, well, whatever they were that morning. Brett had tried to give her a good-luck kiss—just a quick peck on the lips—in the parking lot before the invitational, and she’d turned her head to deflect him. She tried to explain her intention to keep their affair and their coaching jobs separate. No PDA while on the job.

He’d argued with her, saying she was deluding herself if she thought people wouldn’t at least think they were dating. But she held firm. It was one thing to have people guessing, unsure. It was another to make the bold statement with a physical display of affection.

Dax had always loved PDA. A sloppy wet kiss in celebration of a big win for the media’s benefit. A crushing hug for comfort after a loss—conveniently keeping his good side to the cameras. A touch here, a caress there. All for his public image. It made her skin crawl just thinking about it.

Being overly affectionate in front of others wasn’t her thing to begin with. Even with someone like Brett, who wasn’t always looking over his shoulder for a photo op. But she didn’t want the added public scrutiny that went along with it. It would be hard enough after the affair ended, when Brett was finished with her. She didn’t need the entire town watching her personal life unravel. Not again.

After last-minute adjustments to the bathroom and making sure everything was restocked, she checked back at the courts. The place looked spotless. Ah, to have the energy of a teenager again…Brett stood on the first step of the bleachers with the crowd of players gathered at his feet.

“All right guys, great job! Pizza’s on me at the Slicery on Western. I’ll meet you over there.”

As the kids stampeded to their cars, she yelled, “Drive carefully!” and then cringed over the mom-ness of the statement.

Soon only her car and his SUV were left. She shifted, not sure what to do with the discomfort between them.

“Come here.” It was quiet, husky, but with an edge of steel. Apparently he didn’t have the same problem.

She took one more look around to assure herself they were alone, then stepped into his arms. As she relaxed against his chest, he pulled her in closer. Turning her face into his shirt, she breathed in the calming scent that was him. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into the fabric.

One big hand stroked over her head, down her long ponytail to rub her back in soothing circles. “No, I’m sorry. You’ve told me before it made you uncomfortable and I pushed. That was an asshole move. You’re entitled to your feelings and I shouldn’t fight against them. I’m sorry.” He dropped a kiss on her temple.

And with that little apology, she stepped off the cliff of denial and fell headfirst into love with Brett Wallace.

She wanted to groan at her pathetic resistance. Had she really been so stupid to think she could keep her heart away from this man? Once again, she had handed herself to an athlete on a silver platter.

But this time when things fell apart—and they inevitably would—she was with someone who wouldn’t be cruel. She could look back at their time together fondly, instead of with bitterness and regret. Even if she did love him, it was still a temporary arrangement, no matter how she felt. They’d agreed on it.

“Shouldn’t we get over to the pizza place and make sure those kids don’t eat you out of a retirement plan?”

He chuckled. “Probably. The way those guys put food back, they might clear out the tri-state area of mozzarella cheese and pizza sauce.”

He kept his arm slung over her shoulder as they walked to her car. They were back in a good place, back where they could enjoy each other again.

Back to collecting as many good memories as she could before the bubble burst.

Katie wrapped the scarf tighter around her throat, covering as much exposed skin as she could from the frigid night air. The bigger she got, the less tolerant she was of life in general, including the weather.

And tonight was no exception, despite the fact that it was the last home football game before the run for State started. But she still had a little over a month to go, so no use in turning hermit now. From what she was hearing, the hermit stage would come once the baby arrived.

Chris settled down next to her and handed her a cup of hot chocolate from the concession stand. The first sip burned her tongue, but she didn’t care. Drink now or watch it freeze into a choco-block before her eyes. Rubbing the raw portion of her tongue over her teeth, she glanced at her best friend.

She sat, not in that ramrod straight position that screamed “I was forced to go to finishing school,” but rather in a slouched, relaxed position, just like every other spectator sitting on those God-awful concrete seats.

Actually, her best friend had never looked so stress-free. Nobody had said a word about recognizing her in the picture with Dax, she was having wonderful luck with her tennis team, work was going well and she was getting laid on a regular basis.

The beast.
She’d reached the “It’s just not worth it anymore” stage of pregnancy three weeks ago, much to Jared’s dismay. But really…if she had to deal with cankles, bruised ribs and the urge to pee every seven seconds, he could handle a few weeks of pregnancy-induced celibacy.

It was his fault, anyway.

But although Katie knew that things were basically good over in We’re Just Keeping It Casual Land, she had an idea that stronger feelings teemed just under the surface. And as the official best friend to one half of the party, that made it her job to make sure everyone ended up happy.

“So, Chris.” She paused to clap when Northeastern ran for a big gain. “How are things with Brett?”

“Hmm, good.” She didn’t look away from the field.

Ah. A football fan is born. “Do you have a drawer over there yet?”

Her friend’s head snapped around. Hair from her ponytail whipped Katie in the face. “What?”

She rubbed her eye. “Watch the lethal weapon. I just mean, you spend so much time over there, I figured maybe you’d camped out a space. It was one of the reasons Jared said he knew it was time to propose. I had more clothes in his closet than he did.”

“Um, no. No drawer. Don’t need one. And besides, sometimes he comes to my place. Or we’re apart for the night. Whatever, no big deal.” She shrugged her shoulder, but from the way her eyes narrowed in on Brett on the sidelines, Katie knew better.

“Well, that sounds convenient.” Think, think, think. What would draw her out? Ah. “Looks like Carla Jamison is licking her lips while staring at your boyfriend, sweetie.”

“He’s not my boyfr—Carla who?”

Bingo. “Oh, nobody. She’s just some divorcee that’s been chasing after Brett ever since he moved back into town. She’s, let me think. She’s two years older than me. Never really liked her, to be honest.” Katie pointed toward the front row. “There she is, the one with the straight black hair? She dresses like an off-duty prostitute. I have to admit, though, I’m a little jealous of her gorgeous hair.” Hiding her grin, she gave a tired sigh and lifted one shoulder. “But I forgot about your whole casual rule thing. So, doesn’t really matter.”

“Yeah. Casual.” Chris was measuring up Carla Jamison like they were thirty seconds away from stepping in the ring to go a few rounds.

Casual affair her big, pregnant butt.

Chris was opening a can of instant soup when her cell phone rang. Without looking, she picked it up and cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder while using both hands to coax the stubborn condensed dinner from its can and into her waiting pot. “’Lo?”

“Chris, don’t hang up.”

Oh, for the love of God. “Dax.” A cylinder of broccoli-cheese blob plopped into the pan, retaining its shape. “I don’t have bail money.”

“I’m not in jail.” He cleared his throat. “So, you saw the news report, huh?”

“Sure did. Interesting choice of actions. Then again, you were always the ‘Act first, think never,’ type of guy, so I’m not really surprised.”

“I was provoked.”

Chris didn’t have to try hard to imagine a four-year-old with a Mohawk telling his preschool teacher someone punched him first so it wasn’t his fault. She walked to the fridge, pulled out the milk and added it to the gelatinous blob in the pot, whisking it into a semi-appetizing consistency and then let the heat do its thing.

“Dax, could you get to the point of this phone call?” Might as well ride it out.

“You know, Chris. I want you back. My life’s been shit without you. I need you back.”

She allowed herself the childish pleasure of rolling her eyes, since nobody could catch her, then got a bowl down. “I believe the ‘life is shit’ part, as would most ESPN viewers. But you don’t need me. You need a good therapist and some anger-management classes.” Oh, that felt good.

“I want you.”

“You didn’t want me when you had me. I believe the words ‘frigid ice block in bed’ were used a time or two. You had me for the cameras and slutty rink bunnies to make your mini-goalie happy.”

“I’ve matured, I’m past that crap.”

She laughed. “Oh, yeah. I can see how you’ve grown. Nothing says ‘I’m a better man’ like a mug shot.” She sobered up, stirred the soup. “Dax, don’t make me change my number. Again. Just get over it. Go find some moronic eighteen-year-old virgin to fit your
recovering rage-aholic
image.” She stopped herself. “No, don’t do that, that’s not fair to the virgin. Just be single for a while. Get help. And leave me the hell alone.” The phone snapped shut with a satisfying crack, and she slid it down the counter out of her way and stirred her dinner some more.

That had felt good.

Wait, good?

She took a step back from the stove, reminded herself she just spoken to Dax and waited for the nausea to roll in. The headache. The sickness.

Nothing.

Huh. A slow smile curled her lips as she grabbed a piece of bread and started buttering it. She wasn’t a shrink, but it didn’t take one to tell her that something had shifted in her life, enough to where a conversation with her ex didn’t produce physical symptoms.

She could get used to that.

Her hand jerked when she heard the unexpected chime of the doorbell, turned the heat on the burner off, gave her soup one last stir. She planned to work through a few last-minute drills before Sectionals next weekend, grade some papers and head to bed early. Not the most exciting Saturday night in the world, but being an adult wasn’t always fun.

She checked the peephole, unsurprised to see Brett standing there with a bag of Chinese food. She opened the door. “Well, I didn’t realize coaching paid so badly that you had to take a second job.”

“Maybe it’s just my true calling,” he said, grin flashing.

“I’m all for everyone finding their purpose in life, but I didn’t order Chinese delivery.”
Or a hot hunk.

“Complimentary with the company.” He bent down to give her a quick, fierce kiss before sliding by her into the townhouse.

“I was in the middle of something,” she said, mostly to be contrary, to keep her heart steeled.

“You know, you wouldn’t need to bother answering the door if you just handed over a spare key. I coulda made myself comfortable until you were done.”

“I don’t…I mean…” Whoa, key?

He winked. “I’ll trade ya for the code to my garage.”

She closed her eyes, building a mental defense against the feelings that swarmed her when he said things like that. Like they were just any other couple in love, dating, heading for permanency. She chose to ignore it, to pretend he hadn’t said a word. Putting on her game face, she turned back with a smile. “I just wasn’t expecting you, since we didn’t talk today. I just made soup.”

He lifted one shoulder, unconcerned. “So save it for later. Chinese’s hot now.” He set the bag on the coffee table and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it over the back of the loveseat before sitting in front of his dinner. He toed his shoes off, unrolled the top of the bag and lined up one carton after another on her coffee table. The scent of orange chicken and other tangy flavors had her mouth watering, erasing any memory of lumpy condensed soup.

“Fine.” She flopped down next to him, grabbed a carton and a pair of chopsticks. “But only because the soup was going to suck anyway.”

He stuffed a piece of chicken into his mouth, but not fast enough to disguise his knowing grin. Damn man, couldn’t fool him any longer.

And what did that mean, that she was incapable of holding herself back around him?

He turned on the TV, and they ate while flipping channels, settling on a sports show reviewing the match-ups for that weekend’s NFL games. Between mouthfuls of food—and sometimes around them—he would comment along with the men behind the desk. “Idiots” and “you’ve got to be kidding me” were mentioned more than once, along with more colorful adjectives. After they moved on to cover some high-stakes poker match, he grunted his satisfaction and turned the sound down low, leaning back against the cushion and pulling her into his arms for a cuddle session.

Chris relaxed into the curve of his arm, knowing how things would go. They’d snuggle, he’d ask about the team, about any game plans. Despite having a miniscule understanding of the game, he’d give pointers, many of them comical and off-the-wall. They’d share a bowl of ice cream—because he was watching his figure and couldn’t be trusted with his own bowl—and they’d make out on the couch before heading up to bed.

Where they may or may not make love.

It was the nights that they didn’t that worried her the most. In those quiet, peaceful evenings, she was almost afraid he could read her mind. That one day, he’d find out how weak she truly was to resist him. Disaster.

This. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid. And now she was smack dab in the middle of a personal hell of her own making. Again.

But instead of leaving his arms, she turned to nuzzle Brett’s chest and inhaled the smell of Tide and his spicy deodorant. His arm gave her a comforting squeeze while he dropped an absent kiss on the top of her head. Hell felt a lot like heaven.

“Jesus. Shit like this gives athletes a bad name.”

“Mmm?” She turned, and saw out of the corner of her eye they were doing a quick recap of the recent biggest sports scandals. Currently, a golfer with more than one mistress to his name was being discussed. “Yeah. Bad name.” She wasn’t even going to make it through a bowl of ice cream, not this exhausted. Maybe she could con Brett into giving her a ride up the stairs. If she played her cards—oh God.

The volume low, she watched the scene, now permanently scarred into her memory. Dax launching himself over the half wall into the sea of spectators. Oh, God. Distraction. Distraction. Could she light something on fire? Maybe she could knock the TV over. No, that was stupid, how the hell could she manage that from here?

Wait. Why was her brain going there? Distracting Brett had never been that difficult. Mentally rolling her eyes at her own stupidity, she slithered over his legs until she straddled him, her body effectively cutting off his view of the screen. Taking the remote out of his hand, she gave him a sultry smile while pointing over her shoulder and clicking the off button.

“I’m tired of TV. Aren’t you?”

Instant response. His eyes took on a glossy look, his breathing hitched almost imperceptibly and, beneath her butt, she could feel the growing erection. “Yeah. I’m tired of TV.” Then he stood, grabbed her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom.

This would not be a quiet night.

She was the sexiest woman he’d ever known.

In her ripped T-shirt, frayed jeans and lopsided ponytail, she should have looked grungy. Instead she carried it off like a queen, as confident in her tattered kick-back clothes as any model wearing some slinky number. Only sexier, because she wasn’t trying.

Keeping a firm hold of her legs, he carried her up the stairs, fighting the urge to ram her up against a wall and just take her. Damn, that thing she did to his neck was driving him insane. Giving in for a moment, he leaned to the side and her back hit the wall hard enough to rattle a landscape farther down the hall. His mouth took hers with such urgency he was shocked she didn’t slap him for it. But God, he needed her.

He took, not caring at the moment whether he was giving back. Her moans told him he was, regardless. Tongue sweeping in for possession, he squeezed her thighs, hard, letting her know how desperate he was getting. She answered his plea by raking her nails down his back, slanting her mouth to give him even more access. And just when he thought that he could stay there all day, feasting on her mouth, she squeezed her legs, bringing her pelvis tighter against his cock.

Christ, he wasn’t going to last thirty seconds. He tore away from the warm suction of her lips and made a pathetic imitation of a geriatric speed walker, busting ass to get her horizontal. Coming up to the princess bed, he unhooked her legs. “Let go, baby.” Just as she slid her arms away from his neck, he tossed her on the bed, smiling as she bounced once before settling.

He ripped his shirt off before he slid over her. But he took time now to savor her. His hands undressed her slowly, caressing and teasing where his fingers trailed over sweaty, slick skin. She shivered as the colder air hit her heated body.

Finally, when she was bared to him completely, he just sat. And stared. Her breasts weren’t the largest he’d seen, her hips weren’t very round. But the flush that covered her body, the way her chest rose with each unsteady breath, the way her eyes tracked him with desire, not greed…she was everything he wanted and nothing he had ever found before. And he was going to use every opportunity at his disposal to show her exactly what she had come to mean to him.

He nudged and prodded until she lay on her stomach, face turned sideways on the pillow, a sly smile curving the part of her lips he could see. “Am I getting a back rub?”