Fair Game: A Football Romance (39 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Violet

Major
problems

I’m trembling like a leaf on a tree in a spring thunderstorm, and I look like one of those crazy chicks from a horror movie with wide, frightened eyes and freaked out hair. I think I’m going to throw up, and I can’t even blame it on my pregnancy.

I turn my palms outward and grip the vanity in the bathroom of Gerard’s Deli and step back, dropping my chin to my chest, looking down at the polished cement floor. Sometimes, if I take deep breaths, the nausea subsides, but not often. It seems to be working today, though. Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . I have to calm down and get back to Marie. She doesn’t like sitting alone in public.

I’ve been planning on driving down to see Major since I found out I was pregnant. I was hospitalized for a week with pneumonia, and I spent the following week recovering at home. When I finally got the guts up to make a move, I happened to speak to Kimber one afternoon and she told me that Major had gone on vacation. He wasn’t due back until sometime this week. I guess that’s today.

Now he’s here and he wants to talk to me. What the hell could he possibly have to say? He’s just touched down from his vacation, probably with his girlfriend, and he shows up outside my office asking to meet with me privately. What could he want?

It doesn’t matter. By the grace of God, he’s been conveniently dropped into my lap so that I can tell him he’s going to be a daddy. It’s time to stop hiding and tell him what’s going on so he can decide how much he wants to be involved in our baby’s life—if at all. I don’t know which will be worse, having him eager to be involved, knowing he’s with another woman, or the pain of rejection when he says he wants nothing to do with our child. I wipe the smudges of mascara from under my eyes and straighten my ponytail before going back to the table.

“Seriously, Violet, you are one lucky woman. I thought you were dating that hot doctor. How do you know Major Steele?

“I met him when I went down to Oceanside for a wedding a few months ago, when the earthquake hit, remember?”

“Yes, now I know where the epicenter of that thing was. The way he looked at you . . . he’s definitely smitten.

“And I’m not seeing Dr. Kumar. We just had lunch.” I don’t know why I felt I had to throw that information out there. I haven’t told anyone at work that I’m pregnant. They all think I’m still recovering from pneumonia, so nobody questions my woozy moments or quick escapes to the bathroom during meetings.

Dr. Kumar has been a perfect gentleman. He didn’t call to ask me out until I was discharged and technically no longer his patient. We went to lunch last week a couple of times, and he’s asked me to dinner, but I’m not interested in anything other than friendship. I’m not over Major. I don’t think I’ll ever be over Major, and now that he’s here, I see weeks and weeks of recovery time in my future. After seeing him for fewer than five minutes today, there’s not a molecule in my body that isn’t craving him. And it’s not just physical. I genuinely like him. We got along well, he was easy to talk to, and we had things in common. I saw the possibility of a future with him—until that phone call, that is. I shouldn’t put so much importance on one phone call, but the way he told that person he loved them pierced my skittish heart.

“It didn’t look like he was only interested in a friendly lunch. That doctor likes you, Violet. A lot.”

Shit, if a quiet, introverted Marie is picking up the vibe that Dr. Kumar has a thing for me, then he probably does. I continue to deny it because I’m mildly attracted to him too. It’s nothing close to what I feel for Major, but if I wanted more, Dr. Kumar would give it to me. He took care of me. He helped me through a tough time and made me feel special when I really needed it. Not to mention, he’s kind and generous and a total head turner.

Major ruined me. He hollowed out my heart and left it desolate. Dr. Kumar is as close to perfect as I’ll ever get, but I’ll never let him get close to me, and I don’t want perfect. I want Major.

“I’ve got a lot of things going on right now. I’m not looking to start a relationship, no matter how great the guy,” I say. What a lie.

“My grandmother always said that’s when the best ones come along. She always told me to relax and I’d find a man. Hardly.” She snorts. “I’m fifty-five years old, and I can’t even decide if I like men or women better. You’re crazy. You have two gorgeous guys interested in you, and you don’t want either of them. All the men my age are either married or divorced assholes. Oh, and don’t forget the ones who never married because they’re assholes. Consider yourself lucky.” She fusses with her napkin again, spreading it out on her lap.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Marie. You’re beautiful and smart and kind. Your grandma was right. I think you don’t put yourself out there enough. Go out with friends for drinks, go to parties or barbeques, whatever. Just surround yourself with good people. It’ll happen.” I reach out and touch her shoulder. It has to suck, being an introvert searching for love in your fifties. “Let’s eat lunch and stop worrying about men. Since when are they more important than a triple-decker turkey club with bacon anyway?”

“Since never,” she says, lifting one corner of her mouth in a mischievous smile. Marie’s cool. I’m going to help her find a man. All middle aged men can’t be married or assholes . . . can they?

I don’t know, but I have bigger problems to deal with today.
Major
ones.

Chapter Nineteen

Major

Second chances

I don’t have time to drive all the way home for my meeting at sixteen thirty and back by eighteen hundred hours tonight. My meeting is very important—mandatory, in fact—but Violet is more important, so I cancel. I’ll catch hell tomorrow, but if I can find out what happened between Violet and me, it’ll be worth it. And if I don’t, well fuck it. At least I tried, and I got to see her one last time.

Now what the hell am I going to do for six hours? I could use a nap, but I don’t know any hotel owners in San Diego and I’m not staying in just any hotel. I have been a regular customer at the Campton Inn in Oceanside for years. They have one room that they keep clean to my standards on permanent hold. It’s expensive to continuously rent room 311, but when I was sleeping with a different woman every week, it was worth it. I should call and tell them to start renting it out, because I’m through with the brief trysts I used to have there. I’m not interested in anyone but Violet, and if she’s willing, I’ll be taking her home to my own bed.

There’s a mall coming up ahead. Maybe I’ll just pull into the parking lot and lay my seat back. It’s not the most comfortable place to nap, but at least I’m sure it’s clean. I park, and right before I lay my seat down, I see a sign advertising a gourmet cupcake store in the mall. Violet mentioned that she loves cupcakes during our one-morning stand. I get out of the car and go inside the shop. She may have told me she likes cupcakes, but she never designated what kind, so I choose six of their most popular ones and wander back out into the mall.

I don’t roam around in malls, but it’s early afternoon in the middle of the week and the place is virtually empty, making it less likely that someone will cough on me. I have hours to fill and nothing to fill them with, so I may as well.

I pass a toy store and a health food shop before stopping to window shop in front of a store that sells Cartier eyewear. Violet was squinting in the sun today. She may have sunglasses, but I want to do something nice for her. I go inside and ask the saleswoman to pick out her favorite pair. She has a similarly shaped face, and the pair she chooses is perfect for Violet.

I take the bag from Charlotte, the saleswoman and she brushes her hand against mine on purpose. She’s been flirting with me since I crossed the threshold of the store. I’m used to strangers being forward, but this woman is over the top. Doesn’t she realize she’s selling me women’s sunglasses? I wouldn’t be surprised if she slipped her business card in the bag with her personal number on it.

Back in my car, I nap for over an hour, and with three hours to go, I can’t wait any longer. I text Violet.

Me -
Can you get away early?

She responds immediately.

Maybe, how early?

Me –
Now.

Violet -
I’ll make it work. Where are you?

Me -
I’ll be out front in ten.

Violet –
Okay.

Ten minutes later, she’s exiting the building and I’m holding the door to the Lexus open for her. She’s carrying two computer bags and a duffle.

“I’ll take those for you,” I say.

“Thanks,” she says, handing me the bags. Her voice is laced with nerves, and I wonder what she’s feeling. I help her in and put her things in the back. When I’m in the driver’s seat, I ask, “Where to?”

“It’s too early for dinner. I guess we could go to my place and talk, if that’s okay.”

“Perfect, show me the way,” I say.

“Just go to the end of this road and take a left.”

She shields her eyes from the sun, and I remember my gift.

“I picked these up today. I noticed you were squinting outside earlier. Thought you could use them.”

I hand her the bag, and she holds it out in front of her to read the logo. Her mouth pops open as she turns her body in her seat to face me.

“A gift?” she asks.

“Yes, is that all right?”

“I don’t know. Why are you buying me gifts?”

“Why shouldn’t I buy you gifts?”

“Well, first of all, this is expensive—like really expensive. And second, won’t your girlfriend be pissed if she finds out you’re spending the afternoon with another woman and buying her presents?”

Her words spill from her lips like an avalanche, gaining bitterness and momentum as she speaks, but I have no fucking idea what she’s talking about.

“Violet, what makes you think I have a girlfriend? I told you when we met I don’t do relationships, just one-night stands.”

“And I’m the only exception to your little rule, huh?”

She’s angry. I’ve never seen her angry. Her eye twitches when she’s pissed. It’s very distracting.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. What’s this all about?”

She throws the Cartier bag in the back seat and her bottom lip quivers. I reach out to cup her cheek, but she bats my hand away and a big, fat tear slips down her cheek onto my wrist.

“You know, I cared about you a lot, but I don’t like being lied to, and I won’t be the other woman to anyone. I can’t believe I ever fell for that
I’ve never taken a woman to my house before you
shit. I’ve seen
Fifty Shades of Grey
. I should have known you were stealing ridiculous plot lines. I don’t like being played for a fool, Major. It’s insulting.”

Okay, why the hell is she talking about
Fifty Shades of Grey
? And how the hell am I playing her for a fool? I pull up my knee in my seat and mirror her position.

“You’re going to have to be more clear, Violet. I don’t know where you got the idea that I have a girlfriend or that I lied about you being the first woman in my bed, but I suggest you get really specific right now so I can set you straight.” My blood is pounding so hard I could easily take my own pulse without touching a finger to my wrist, and my vision is blurring with my anger. I can’t wait to find out who the hell told her these things so I can break their fucking neck.

She looks out the front window, and I reach out and hold her chin between my thumb and forefinger to turn her face back to mine.

“Please, just tell me who’s been feeding you lies, baby.”

Her expression is cold, and her voice steady when she answers me.

“You.”

I shut my eyes and shake my head back and forth, confused.

“Me? How so?”

“I heard you on the phone with her. I heard you tell her you love her.”

She holds my gaze, never blinking, waiting for me to confess, but there’s nothing to confess to.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Vio—”

She doesn’t let me finish. She twists in her seat and yanks open the door to leave, but I grab her wrist before she can escape.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not running away from me again. Something is fucked up here, Violet, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it right now. I’m not letting you go again.”

She stops struggling, half in, half out of the car, with one foot down on the pavement and her back toward me.

“Get back in the car and tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

It takes her a minute to relent, but I don’t release her arm until the door is shut. I press the automatic lock button and activate the child lock function that I’ve never used before to make sure she doesn’t run again.

Her eyes are trained on her hands in her lap, and a rush of emotion crashes over me. I need her in my arms. I need to make this better, whatever
this
is. I pull her into my lap, and she’s so startled she doesn’t fight me. I take her face in my hands and come as close to begging as I ever have. “Tell me what phone call you’re talking about, please. Violet, I can assure you I do not have a girlfriend. If you just tell me what you’re talking about, I promise you I can prove my innocence.” I kiss her lips, and then I kiss them again. I want nothing more than to cover her mouth with mine and ravish her, but we have to work out this misunderstanding first. I pull her against my chest and rest my chin on the top of her head.

“You put me in the shower. You were going to come back, but you never did.”

I search through my memories for the exact moment she’s talking about three months ago, and it hits me. The phone call. She heard me talking to Sabrina. Holy fucking shit, no wonder she thinks I’m a bastard.

“I heard you apologize for being too busy to see her that weekend. You told her you’d be free to see her soon. You told her you loved her and invited her to din—”

“Stop, stop. You have this all twisted up in that pretty head of yours. Shit, you should have said something to me. We’ve wasted three months because of a single phone call.”

“Who is she?”

I rub her arm up and down like I’m warming her up on a cold winter night.

“Her name is Sabrina, she is my best friend, and yes, I
do
love her. I love her very much, but not the way you’ve assumed. She’s very important to me. She did something for me that I can never repay her for. We spend time together and she knows things about me that no one else does, but I swear to you, I’ve never slept with her, she’s never been inside my house, and there is nothing remotely romantic going on between us.”

She sits frozen in my arms for the longest time. Long enough that I have time to sort through what’s happened. She’s still better off without me. I should still let her go and free her from what’s bound to be the most difficult relationship she’ll ever be a part of, but I can’t. I can’t live without this beauty curled up in my lap another day.

“Violet?” I say, kissing the top of her head. “You okay?”

She doesn’t speak, but instead nods her head up and down. Her body begins to shake. I hear her whimper against my shirt, and she begins to sob. Oh God, there’s nothing worse than a crying woman. I can’t take it. I have to fix this and make her understand that I’m not angry. I just want to start over.

“Shush, everything’s going to be okay now. It was a misunderstanding, that’s all, just a story to tell our grandkids someday, you know?”

She stops crying and sits up, eyes wide and white as two golf balls.

“I’m kidding, sorry. No grandkids, no kids, whatever. I was just joking.”

Her bottom lip trembles and she starts to cry again, harder than before this time. Note to self: no kid jokes or references.

She burrows into my chest, and I continue to console her until her sobs turn to sniffles.

“Why didn’t you come after me? Why didn’t you contact me?”

“Because I’m not good for you. I have so much baggage, I didn’t want to burden you. I thought . . . no, I
think
you’re better off without me.”

“Then why are you contacting me now?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m making everyone around me miserable because I want to be with you. I’m a selfish pig. Take your pick.”

She shifts in my lap. Oh, the things that those small movements are doing to me. Lord, we need to make up so we can kiss, although I’d prefer to kiss and make up instead.

“I choose selfish pig, but only because it’s not true.”

I smooth my hand down her thigh. “You may want to wait and see before you dismiss that admission.”

“I’ll take my chances. I think you might be worth it. Will you take me home now, please?”

“Okay, do you need a Kleenex?”

She sits up, revealing her puffy face, and I twist my lips to one side. “Or maybe two or three?”

“I think I need a whole box.” I help her back into the passenger seat. I hand her a box of Kleenex from my center console, and when she’s finished blowing her nose and dabbing her eyes, she holds the wad of tissue up.

“Where can I put this?”

I point outside to a trashcan. “Out there.”

She rolls her eyes and tries to pull the door handle.

“Would you take the child lock off, please?”

“Only if you promise not to run away.”

“I won’t run away.”

“Promise,” I say.

“I promise,” she says.

I press the button to free her and watch her take a few steps to the trashcan and back. When she’s inside with her seatbelt fastened, I take her hand and kiss her knuckles while I pull out into traffic.

“How far away are we?” I ask.

“Only a couple of miles. Turn right up here.”

We ride in silence, and ten minutes later, I pull up in front of her apartment building. It’s a high-rise and she’s on the tenth floor. She directs me into the underground parking garage, and I help her into the elevator with her bags. At the last minute, I remember the cupcakes and her sunglasses. I grab those bags as well.

“What’s with all the stuff?” I ask.

“We’ve been working on a big project. Sometimes, I sleep in my office to save time going back and forth.”

“Your friend mentioned you weren’t allowed to work past six. Why is that?”

She rolls her eyes, “I was sick a couple of weeks ago and they’re worried about me. It’s nothing. They’re totally overreacting.”