Completing the Pass (10 page)

He was quiet for so long, she thought he'd get up and leave her there, until she remembered she'd driven and had the keys firmly in her pocket. Then he eased into her slowly, pushing her back down against the grass, and kissed her.

Their mouths fused with warmth and wetness. His tongue didn't wait for invitation, but slipped in, taking advantage of her gasp of surprise. The wild grass cushioned her perfectly, providing coolness against her skin when she felt like she'd burn up.

His hand caressed her arm, and his chest pressed against hers until her breasts were flattened beneath him. The weight was thrilling.

Then he eased back and grinned. “Maybe I
was
ready for the next step.”

***

He knew he'd ruined the moment with that smartass little comment, but he couldn't help himself. Looking at Carri's flushed face below his, the way her kiss-swollen lips had parted so perfectly, her eyes glazed with the haze of passion . . . He'd needed to get himself on solid ground so he could be cool, be calm. Otherwise he might have broken all the rules, found a softer patch of grass, laid her back and made love to her.

And that was absolutely not how he wanted their first time to be.

Because after that speech of hers, and that kiss, he knew there would be a first time. And a second. A third . . .

“What the hell was that, Josh?” Carri pushed at him, rather ineffectively, until he sat up. Her scowl lacked all heat as she straightened her tank top and fluffed out her hair. A piece of grass floated down to the shadow of her cleavage without her noticing. He decided to let it pass without a word.

“If you don't know what that was, then you and Robert Perkins weren't doing what I thought you were doing when I walked by you out here junior year.”

“My junior year, your senior year,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair. It was mashed against the back of her head, and nothing she did seemed to fluff it back up. Irrevocable damage.

He grinned.

“I've been thinking . . .”

“Dangerous,” she whispered, crossing her legs and looking out across the diamond. Her focus was so intense, he almost expected to turn and see a ghost team playing a game of pickup,
Field of Dreams
style.

“Why don't we go out?”

That broke her concentration. “Why don't . . . Why don't we go out? That's a joke, right? You're joking.” She paused, then nodded. “It was a joke.”

“Not a joke. I'm serious. Why don't we?”

She spared him a withering glance. “We've been over this before. The prerequisite for dating is usually liking someone first.”

“Doesn't have to be.” When she huffed out a laugh, he went on. “I'm not talking about dating for real. I'm talking about using each other as a ruse.”

“A ruse. What is this, a Sherlock Holmes book?”

“Smartass. You want to get out of the house more. I can see it, you need to leave. It's wearing on you to be with your parents so much.” When her eyes narrowed and she glanced away, he knew he'd hit the nail on the head. “I need to escape the insanity of what my life might be like. And frankly . . .” He sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. “I'm scared I might get a big head with the attention.”

She gave him a baleful glance. “Your head's already a little too big for your body, so I wouldn't worry about that.”

“See?” He pointed. “That right there. That's what I need. I need those little pinpricks to the ego in case I start getting full of myself. You'd never let me climb up on a pedestal. You'd just kick it out from under me.”

“You don't get to
climb
on the pedestal. Someone puts you on there. Don't you know anything?” she grumbled, brushing off her knees, which weren't at all grassy or dirty. Her ass, however, was probably a grass-stained mess. He grinned again.

“Why are you grinning?” she asked warily.

“No reason. The point is, we're fulfilling a purpose in each other's lives.” His eyes tracked her torso as she bent over, almost in a stretch. Her cleavage was much easier to see from here. He fought against the boner by shifting a little. “We've spent a long time being annoyed, aggravated, or pissed off at each other. Not without reason—”

She laughed genuinely at that, and he felt like he'd thrown a perfect spiral.

“—but now we can finally work together to get something we both want.”

Right now, he wanted Carri. It was a stunning turnaround for his body—hell, his mind—to wrap itself around, but the truth was undeniable.

“Working together, instead of antagonizing each other.” Carri tapped her chin for a moment. “It's different.”

“It's right.” He held out a hand to shake. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out to take it. Then jerked her hand back and wiped it on her shorts before shaking for real.

To catch her off balance, he jerked her hand until she toppled against him. Wrapping his arm around her back, he arched up to kiss her again. She ducked just in time to miss it.

“What?” He let her pull back. “Jesus, we just rolled around in the grass ten seconds ago.”

“Exactly.” Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “I'm not . . . I can't. Not with you.”

That stung, though it wasn't a shock. “What, I'm that ugly?”

“I'm not staying. And you're . . . We're . . . It's too weird.”

Her nose scrunched up as if she were trying to process exactly what was
weird
about it.

“You're in town for the moment. We're going to be spending time together. And frankly, I want you. Physically, I mean.” Her eyes darted toward him before looking back toward the ghost baseball game. “Yeah, it was a little bit of a kick to the stomach, but there it is. If you can honestly look me in the eye and say you don't want me, too, I'll leave it alone. But,” he added, cutting her off as she opened her mouth, “I'll know if you're lying. You do that thing with your lips when you're lying.”

“I do not!” she shot back, pursing them exactly like she always did when she lied.

He just smirked.

“Let's just say,” she said after a minute, “that I'm not against the idea of . . . something. Whatever that
something
ends up being.”

Time to cut his losses and circle back for the kill later. “Deal.”

The day after Josh's absurd—and alluring—proposition, Carri sat at Gail Leeman's kitchen table while her father napped on Gail's couch, the sounds of a lunchtime gameshow softly coming from the room. Josh had been worried about his mother's security after she'd received several phone calls asking for interviews. Gail had, of course, declined, but when Josh had heard about it, he'd hired a security firm to install a better home-security system. Since Gail worked, Carri had offered to come stay at her place so the security team could do their work.

Yes, Carri thought as she scrolled down Facebook aimlessly, that was one thing she could say about Josh. He was a fantastic son.

While Herb snored contentedly on the couch, Carri sat at her laptop and let her mind drift in her favorite way . . . real estate. She opened up her browser and let her fingers play, manipulating various search-engine functions to find different houses. List view, map view, single-family house or condo, two bedrooms to four, she searched and played and debated comps.

Her cell phone rang, and she answered it while opening up the listing for the auction house. “Hello?”

“It's me,” Jess said, sounding more businesslike and less friendly. “When are you coming home?”

Well, hello to you, too.
“I'm still not sure.”

There was a long pause, to the point Carri lifted the phone away from her face to see if she'd been hung up on. But the call was still going.

“I need to say something,” Jess said slowly. “And I need you to listen all the way before you say anything.”

With a suddenly dry throat, Carri croaked out, “Okay.”

“I want to buy the short-sale house.”

Carri glanced at her computer screen. What timing, that she'd been looking right at it when her PM called. It was the perfect bungalow for a young professor and his or her spouse. Right off campus, the opposite way of student housing, so no loud parties. Good backyard, but nothing too large to maintain. And ugly as Pinterest sin inside. The bones were fantastic, the location unbeatable in a college town. The inside just needed cosmetic fixes and updates . . . a lot of them. Her favorite kind of project.

“Carri? Did you hear me?”

“Sorry,” she managed to get out. “Yes, I heard. Just . . . mind wandered. Lots going on here.”

“I'm sorry. How is your dad doing?”

Little late for small talk now. “He's got his good days and his bad. Today's pretty good.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Jess's voice was stiff, almost as if she regretted taking the small sidestep into personal territory. “But back to this issue of the house . . . If you won't buy it, I will. I have an investor ready to go in with me on my first flip. And if you won't take advantage of it, I will.”

Carri rested her phone against her chest and rubbed at her temples. “I can't tell you not to, Jess. But is this you quitting? Is this your version of a two-week notice?”
Please say no, God, say no.

“No, but it's my warning that I won't be around much longer. If I'm going to flip the house, I need to have time to do that. I have no break here as the only one in charge of the rentals.”

“Just a little longer, Jess.” Begging worked, sometimes. She had zero pride left anymore. “Please. I'm doing the best I can. I can't just leave my parents without this insurance thing all figured out. Please.”

“I'm not quitting,” her friend said quietly. “Yet. Just giving you a heads up. It's time to start looking for a replacement for me, or come back yourself. I can't make the decision for you . . . just give you the kick you need to make it.”

Thanks for that, I guess?
Carri said good-bye and hung up, but continued to cruise real estate.

It wasn't until Herb shuffled into the room an hour later that she realized she'd left Salt Lake City and had started looking at real estate in Santa Fe. She shut her laptop with a snap just as Herb sat beside her at the kitchen table. “Hey, Daddy. Want a snack?” Gail wouldn't mind if she raided the pantry. Just another bonus of having all but grown up in this house as much as her own.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“Just some real estate. Nothing important. Mindless stuff.” When he kept watching her, she shrugged. “How about some peanut butter toast? I'm feeling like some protein.”

***

Josh took his position at the center blue cone for what felt like the seven hundredth time, crouching in position, his eyes staring ahead at the imaginary defense, and farther down, toward the goal line. Normally, that was his goal. But right now . . .

Michael Lambert counted off a fake play, slapped the ball, then snapped it back into Josh's hands. With quick shuffling steps, he used footwork to move back five yards, quarter-turn his body so he ran backwards ten yards to one orange cone, then ran forward ten more to another cone. He turned forward to sprint toward the end zone as if he hadn't found an open man and was taking it in himself. The three-cone drill, designed to focus on footwork, was his new most hated thing. And he'd done it so much his feet felt as if they were going to fall off.

Josh wheezed out a breath and rested his hands on his knees. This would be how he died. The headline would read:
Backup QB Murdered: Death by Footwork Drills
.

Normally Josh didn't mind the footwork. It was a good rest for his shoulder, which most quarterbacks struggled with during their careers. But between the L-drill, various tackle-dodging plays, and flat out sprinting for conditioning, he was done. Just done.

“Jesus God Almighty, Leeman. You're slower than an elephant dragging a house.” Coach Barnes wandered over and stood beside him. At least, Josh assumed by the voice and the shoes it was Coach Barnes. He couldn't straighten to look the man in the face between gasping breaths. “I thought we warned you not to go soft in the off season.”

“Didn't . . . Didn't . . . Di . . .” He ended the stuttering on a low moan and nearly pitched forward. The coach's hands pushed at his shoulders until he was upright. Then, seeing the look on Josh's face, Barnes took a big step back. Clearly, he looked exactly how he felt . . . as if he was about to vomit.

“He's faster at the L-drill than I was last year,” Trey said mildly, walking over with only a slight hitch. In the last three weeks at training camp, his ankle had gone from a thick Aircast to just a supportive wrap. To everyone's naked eye, it looked like he was on the mend, ready for business as usual come game one. But every so often, Josh caught the wince as Trey would step back to work on a pass. And the team's physical therapist was always nearby, hovering, as if they weren't willing to let him out of their sight. It wasn't a good sign.

“He needs to get faster,” Barnes barked out. “His arm isn't what yours is, with accuracy or distance. If he's going to keep up with the big dogs, he'll have to outrun them to give himself a better chance to hit a target or just do the job himself.”

“Or you could just let him be and hope he does all right.” Trey shrugged when Barnes gave him an
Are you on drugs?
look. “He's done just fine anytime he's gone in before.”

“
He
is standing right here,” Josh said, then clamped his mouth shut before he accidentally puked on one of them.

“Uh, I'm just gonna . . .” Michael stood, looking supremely uncomfortable, then pointed in the general direction of the corner of the practice field. Where nobody else was. “I'll just . . . Over there. So . . . yeah.” He took off without waiting for a reply.

“If you keep pushing, you'll give him a complex. Then how useful will he be to you?” Trey shot at Coach Barnes. A few receivers down on the opposite end of the field looked up, and Trey flushed, realizing he'd yelled the last bit.

“I'm fine,” Josh muttered. He didn't want Trey fighting his battles. If the coaches wanted him to run a fucking Iron Man before the game, he'd do it. He'd just have to get faster. Stronger. Somehow.

Coach Barnes just shook his head. “Go shower. Bring your A game tomorrow,” he added in warning to Josh before leaving the area.

“Let's go this way.” Trey wrapped an arm around Josh's shoulder and walked as if they were just two pals heading out to the bar for a drink. But Josh could tell he was using the awkward stance to mask the small limp as they walked by a few reporters on the way to the locker room. Trey waved, but then shook his head at their invitation to talk.

“How are you handling the extra notice?” Trey asked.

“They camped out at my apartment for a while, but after someone from a floor which shall remain nameless threw water balloons at them . . . they've stopped.” Josh smiled at the memory, and the innocent look Matt Peterson had been wearing for the following practice. “I ended up stopping to talk once, gave the party line for the most part, and they've moved on. It helped that the one guy from the Lakers was caught with the prostitute in his car the other day.”

“Best way to clear a scandal,” Trey said dryly as they entered the tunnel to the locker room, “is make another scandal. Let me know if you need help with figuring out how to avoid them. It'll get tighter as the season approaches, and then they back off a bit until playoffs.”

“Good to know.” He was already sick of feeling like he had to dodge and weave when he made it to his apartment. They couldn't come in—and none of them were stupid enough to try—but the apartment security could do very little to keep the vultures from camping out on the sidewalk of the public street in front.

Trey pushed the door open, let Josh go in first, and followed behind. Josh walked with him to their lockers, which sat side by side.

He hung his head and draped a towel over it, almost like closing the shade on a room's window. Blocking out the brightness of the locker room, muffling the sounds. Creating a fraction of peace in a crazy environment.

Until Trey ripped the towel off and tossed it into Josh's locker. “Cut that shit out. You look like the definition of the word
defeat
when you do that. You're the quarterback. You're the guy they follow into battle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The whole
Be a leader
bit was getting old, fast. “Look, it's different for me. I'm a sub. I'm temporary. I'm nothing to worry about. I don't get the pressure.”

Trey opened his mouth, then shut it again and settled back in his chair. “Why don't you come to dinner tonight?”

The abrupt change of topic threw him for a minute. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, people sit down, they talk and eat . . . food and company. Come over to our place and . . . Our place.” He froze for a second, then a big grin spread over the quarterback's face. “Ours. Feels so much more permanent now that she's leg shackled to me.”

“Sounds medieval.”

“Sounds good,” Trey said simply. “You dating anyone? I just realized I don't know much about you. I'm an asshole.”

“It's fine,” Josh rushed to assure him. “You already had friends when I got here and—”

“No, that's on me. I should have made a bigger effort to get to know you when you first joined the team. Some captain.” Trey shook his head. “If you've got someone you're with, bring them, too. Cassie loves having people over.”

Dinner with all-star quarterback Trey Owens and his wife, who also happened to be Coach Jordan's daughter. Just a typical weeknight. Yeah, sure. Josh smiled weakly. “Sounds great.”

***

Carri stood by the door, ready to make her escape the second she saw Josh's car pull into the driveway.

“Carrington?” Maeve walked by, blinking. “What are you doing?”

“You said you had Dad tonight. I thought I'd go out.” She clutched at her leather bag, silently begging her mother not to ask anything else.

Of course, she did anyway.

“With who? Are you driving? Do you need my car?” Her mother started patting her pockets, as if looking for the keys that were routinely hung on the hook by the door to the garage, like they always had been since Carri was born.

“I'm not driving, but thank you for offering.” She saw the glint of metal turning into the driveway and opened the front door. “I'll be home early, but call if you need me.”

“Well, okay, but . . .” Maeve approached and peeked out the side window. “Oh, that's Joshua! Why wouldn't he come in?”

“We're running late,” Carri tried, but Maeve already stuck her head out the door.

“Yoo-hoo! Joshua! Come on in!”

Carri shut her eyes briefly, counted to three, and let her breath out slowly. “Mom, really, we're in a hurry.”

“No, we're not.” Josh walked up the sidewalk and grinned at them. “Hey, Mrs. Gray. You're looking good.”

“Joshua,” Maeve greeted him, turning her cheek for a kiss. “I didn't know you two were going out tonight. Carri, you should have said.”

“I didn't think it mattered who I went out with,” she said through her teeth, but nobody was listening.

“Is that Josh I hear?” her father called from the living room.

“Yes, sir,” he said, walking past Carri, even as she tried to grab his elbow. “Hey.” He stopped, held her shoulders and squeezed gently. “We've got time. It's fine.”

Her arms still tingled from his touch after he let go and headed into the living room to say hello to her father.

“That young man,” Maeve said with something of a dreamy sigh. “I'm so glad you two are reconnecting. It's wonderful to watch.”

This had to stop now. She couldn't lead her mother on. Not like that. “Mom, we're just spending time together. Nothing more. Don't get your hopes up.”

“Mmm,” was her mother's reply, humming softly as she walked back into the kitchen. “Go see if they want a drink, Carrington.”