Field of Pleasure (2 page)

Man, he was out of practice. He didn't know any new pickup lines, and something told him the ones he'd used back in college wouldn't go over so well.

“Excuse me,” Gray Eyes said as she reached for the second jug.

Jared stepped out of her way. “Looks like you girls are practicing pretty hard over there,” he tried.

“This isn't a practice. It's an audition for potential new members for the squad.”

“Oh, tryouts. Cool.” When she didn't offer anything further, Jared continued. “I'm sorry I don't know your name. I'm not familiar with all the girls on the squad.”

She swung that gorgeous mane of hair over her shoulder as she straightened from her crouch at the table, twisting the cap on the second bottle of pilfered Gatorade. “Actually, I'm not on the squad,” she answered. She stretched a hand out. “I'm Chyna, with a
Y
not an
I
. I was brought in to choreograph some new routines for the Saberrettes.”

“Nice to meet you, Chyna with a
Y,
” he said, capturing the hand she'd offered. Her skin was baby-smooth. Even after she'd released his grip, a warm tingle remained imprinted on his palm.

“So, you're a professional choreographer?” Jared asked.

“Professional enough,” she said. “I'm a good friend of Liani Dixon, who
is
a member of the Saberrettes. She recommended me.” She glanced over at the group of dancers. “I really should get back.” Grasping the handles of both jugs, she turned to leave.

“Hold up,” Jared said, reaching for her arm.

She stopped, peered at his hand, then leveled him with a stare that clearly said he'd crossed a line. Jared dropped his hand, but not his campaign to keep up their conversation.

“At least let me help you carry these,” he said, reaching for the jugs.

“I can manage,” she replied and turned once again in the direction of the dance squad.

“Is there a reason you're blowing me off?” Jared called after her.

“Well, I
am
working, and to be honest, I'm just not interested,” she said. “Try not to take it personally,” she called over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

As he watched her perfectly shaped rear end saunter away, Jared couldn't help but take it personally. He'd thought the hardest part about deciding to take the plunge would be in summoning the motivation to actually ask a woman out. He had never considered getting shot down. And there was no mistaking what had just happened here: he'd been shot down, but good.

It confused him. And intrigued him.

A smile hitched up the corner of his mouth as he watched her strut across the field.

Wait. He was smiling?

It had been so long since he'd had anything to smile about, Jared was surprised his facial muscles even remembered the mechanics. But there was no mistaking the tug he felt pulling at the corners of his mouth. Maybe there was something to this diversion thing after all.

C
hyna McCrea tried to concentrate on the nineteen-year-old blonde who had incorporated every trick she'd learned from high school cheerleading camp into the routine she was performing. But after enduring the endless parade of girls who'd
kicked-stepped-kicked
their way across the field today, Chyna had a hard time staying focused.

And if she could convince herself to believe that, she had a nice island in the Bahamas for sale.

Her focus had been just fine up until the moment she went on a Gatorade run and encountered Jared Dawson. The man was drool-worthy; there was no denying that. There was not an ounce of flab anywhere. Like many of his teammates, his physique had been honed by countless practices and conditioning, much like what he was doing today. He wasn't bulked up with steroid-enhanced muscles. His were leaner; well-defined, but not overstated.

Oh, yeah, drool-worthy definitely fit the bill.

And he'd just tried hitting on her.

Oh. My.
God.

Her heart started that boom, boom, pow thing again, and Chyna had to grip the edge of the folding table where she and the Saberrettes' cocaptains sat.

Her best friend, Liani Dixon, who at three years on the squad was considered a senior member, had shared the scoop regarding the drama that had happened at an away game last season, when Jared had caught his ex-girlfriend with another Sabers player. Chyna had felt sorry for him then, but after meeting the man face-to-face she now felt sorry for his ex-girlfriend. The woman was obviously a few twirls short of a double pirouette to cheat on a guy like Jared Dawson.

“Helloooo. Earth to Chyna.”

Startled out of her dream lust, Chyna turned to Kenya Simmons, one of the squad's cocaptains. “What do you think?” Kenya asked.

“Sorry about that,” Chyna said. “I had something else on my mind.” Six feet four inches of football-playing yumminess, to be exact.

“What did you think about the last group of girls?” Kenya asked again with a subtle bite to her tone.

Chyna's first impulse was to bite back, but she knew she was wrong here. She'd been hired to assist the Saberrettes, not daydream about one of the Sabers. Chyna sifted through the applications and attached score sheets, trying to find something positive to point out. It wasn't easy.

“The last girl was okay—at least she had
some
athletic ability—but no one really impressed me in the one-on-one interviews. These girls seem to want all of the glamour, but none of the work.” She tossed the stack
of papers onto the table. “I've watched Liani as she's cheered with the squad these past three years and I know that being a Saberrette is more than just a great body and a pretty smile. You all pride yourselves on being a squad with substance, and I can't see the majority of those girls giving up a Saturday morning to conduct a dance camp at the YMCA.”

“Not unless they were paid to do it,” Kenya said. She grinned. “I still love the shock on their faces when they hear this job only pays seventy-five dollars a game.”

“And not a penny for practices,” Liani griped from the other end of the table. It was her friend's biggest bone of contention with being a Saberrette. Though Liani wasn't necessarily hard up for cash. Not only was she the daughter of a wealthy lawyer, but she also took full advantage of the many paid appearances the dance squad was asked to do throughout the year.

“Maybe this next group will be better.” Kenya nodded toward the six girls coming their way.

Chyna's attention quickly moved from the girls to the group of players just beyond them. And one player in particular—who was staring directly at her.

Oh, Lord.
Her heart quivered with a flurry of excitement.

Was this some kind of joke; maybe something Liani had set up? She was the only person who knew that in their private game of If-You-Could-Score-with-a-Saber-Who-Would-You-Choose, Chyna always, always,
always
chose Jared Dawson.

She glanced at her best friend, searching for even a hint of a grin. But Liani was completely clueless, her focus on the six Saberrette hopefuls ready to give it their best shot.

With a shaky breath, Chyna's eyes once again wandered
to the left side of the field house. Jared was high-stepping through a row of evenly spaced rubber tires, his powerful body moving at lightning speed through the obstacle.

Maybe she had read too much into their earlier exchange. Maybe he was just being a nice guy. Just because he'd asked her name and offered to carry a couple of jugs of Gatorade didn't mean he was interested in her.

She chanced another quick glance over there and found him staring again, directly at her. His mouth widened in a huge smile.

Oh,
Lord.

 

Jared pressed the rewind button on the remote control, scrolling back to the previous play in which he'd missed an easy interception in last season's playoff game. On the next play, the Detroit Lions scored a touchdown and took the lead.

He hit the button again, studying the screen. He knew what he'd done wrong. He had taken his eyes off the ball, his mind already jumping to the route he would run after the interception. Just one problem with that; he didn't make the catch.

“You do love self-torture, don't you?”

The lights in the film room snapped on and Torrian came strolling in. Jared blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the bright halogen bulbs.

Torrian snatched the remote and scrolled back to the play Jared had watched at least two dozen times. Leaning a hip against the table, his ex-teammate pointed at the screen. “You know what you did wrong, don't you? You took your eyes off the ball…”

“Off the ball,” Jared said along with him.

“Maybe you should start practicing with the wide re
ceivers. I teach my guys how to keep their concentration on the ball.”

“I play defense and special teams. I'm not going over to the dark side,” Jared said.

The jawing between the Sabers cornerbacks and wide receivers was legendary. Wide receivers claimed the cornerback position was for guys who didn't have the hands to succeed at wide receiver. The cornerbacks' response was usually not suitable for delicate ears. It made for some spirited trash talk in the Sabers locker room.

“Your loss.” Torrian tossed the remote on the table. “Hey, you up for dominoes tonight? Cedric and Payton are still floating around the Caribbean, but Theo will be in town. You game?”

“Why not?” Jared shrugged. “Not as if I've got anything better to do.”

Torrian's brow creased with concern. “Maybe playing dominoes with the guys isn't the best thing for you this weekend. Why don't you go to a club or something? Try to meet somebody, man. It's been six months.”

Jared winced at the reminder. “I don't do clubs, and I'm not up to meeting anybody,” he said. “You guys are worse than a bunch of high school girls with this matchmaking crap.”

“Who else is matchmaking?”

“Robinson,” Jared groused.

“Who said my name?” Randall asked, strolling into the room. He slapped palms with Torrian and took the seat next to Jared. “Don't tell me you're studying that missed interception
again
. Dude, it was one play. Let it go.”

“It led to our biggest loss of the year,” Jared reminded him.

Randall expelled a disparaging sigh. “So, you got a date or what?”

“Doesn't look like it,” Jared answered. “I got knocked down worse than you did.” He pointed at the screen, where Randall had just taken a punishing blow from one of the Lions' defenders.

“You struck out with a Saberrette? That's a new low.” Randall chuckled.

“Wait. You asked out one of the cheerleaders?” Torrian's eyes widened in amused surprise. His cell phone started chiming and he looked at the screen. “I need to take this call.” He pointed at Jared as he backed out of the film room. “I want to hear about this tonight.”

Jared's lips thinned with irritation. How had he become the butt of jokes about dating troubles?

Ah, right. Lying, cheating ex-girlfriend humping a fellow teammate in his hotel bed. No one was likely to forget
that
anytime soon.

“What went wrong?” Randall asked. “That should have been the easiest hookup ever.”

“First, it's not as if I was prepared to duck into the equipment room and ‘hook up' on the spot,” Jared drawled. “And secondly, I didn't ask one of the cheerleaders. It was the choreographer they just hired.”

“There's a new girl?” One of Randall's brows spiked with interest.

“Yes, and don't even think about it,” Jared said.

“Why not? You already struck out. Maybe I'd have better luck. We both know I'm better at this stuff than you are.”

Jared rolled his eyes.

“So, which one are you going after next?” Randall asked.

“Would you stop talking about these girls as if they're interchangeable?”

“I didn't say they were interchangeable,” Randall argued. He twisted around in his seat to face Jared head-on. “I don't think you understand the point of this experiment. You shouldn't try to jump right back into a potential ten-year relationship. Have some fun, man. Burn off some energy.” Randall held two fingers up as if he were conducting an orchestra. “Say it with me—this is a diversion,” he finished in a sing-songy voice, dragging out the last word. “You should try again,” his teammate encouraged.

Jared's mouth dipped in an annoyed frown. “I'll have to think about it.” He picked up the remote and hit the fast-forward button. “If you'd seen the way she turned those gray eyes on me, you probably would change your tune.”

“Gray eyes?” Randall slapped both hands flat on the table “Hold on. Is her name Chyna?”

Jared's head snapped back in surprise. “Yeah, you know her?”

“She's friends with one of the other girls on the squad. I've seen her at the sports bar where the team hangs out after home games. Of course, you wouldn't know because you and the rest of the Four Musketeers have your own thing after home games,” Randall grunted.

Jared knew the other guys on the team were jealous of the bond between him, Torrian, Cedric and Theo.

Too bad, bro. Not everyone can belong.

“Tell me what you know about her,” Jared prodded.

Randall shrugged. “She's hot and all, but she seems kind of boring. I think her nickname is Brainiac or The Brain, or something like that. Definitely not fling material.”

“The Brain?” Jared's brow raised a fraction. “What's that about?”

“She's, you know, smart and stuff. And she's way too serious. I doubt she even knows the meaning of fun,” Randall continued, picking up the remote and fast-forwarding through more tape. “Forget about Chyna. She's not going to give you any.” He leaned in and shot a quick glance toward the door. In a conspiratory whisper, he said, “From what I hear, Haley and Tamika know how to have a good time. Ask one of them out. I promise you'll get laid before the end of the night.”

Jared shot his teammate a wary look. “Do me a favor. When it's time to explain the birds and bees to little Christopher, call me. You're just going to corrupt your son's mind.”

Two hours later, as he was making his way out of the Sabers practice compound, Jared faltered as he spotted “The Brain” waiting just inside the double glass doors. She'd pulled a pair of purple sweats over those super-short cutoffs she'd been wearing earlier. And wasn't that a damn shame.

She'd spotted him. Jared could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened and how she immediately found something fascinating to look at outside the door. She probably thought he would try to strike up a conversation again.

She was right.

Something about the way she blew him off without giving him a second glance intrigued the heck out of him. Maybe that was the appeal: her playing-hard-to-get attitude made it unlikely he'd get anywhere with her. He could convince himself that he'd tried to move on from Samantha; it wasn't his fault it hadn't worked.

But as he approached Chyna, Jared's mind, for once,
wasn't on his ex-girlfriend. Something Randall said had bothered him. He'd described her as not knowing the meaning of fun. She worked with cheerleaders, for goodness sake. Fun was in the job description, wasn't it?

Jared wasn't sure why, but the thought of her being so serious to the point that it was part of her reputation got to him. Someone that young, that downright gorgeous, should know how to kick back and enjoy herself.

“Hi again,” Jared greeted.

She turned her attention from outside, offering him an indifferent smile that still managed to snatch the air from his lungs.

“Hi,” she answered.

When she hefted the nylon duffel bag more securely over her shoulder and averted her attention again, Jared nearly gave up. But, damn, he didn't want to. He needed to know why she dismissed him out of hand. What was he doing wrong?

“Any luck with the tryouts?” he tried.

“A little,” she answered, then said nothing else.

Okay, clearly he needed to brush up on his flirting skills, but he didn't have time for that now. Jared had a feeling she was ready to bolt at any second. He decided to cut to the chase.

“What is it about me that you don't like?” he asked, and even as he said it he realized how arrogant he sounded. As if she had to have a reason for not liking him. Maybe she just didn't. Reason unnecessary.

She surprised him when she said, “Nothing.”

“Wait, so do you mean there is nothing that you
like
about me, or there's nothing you
don't
like about me?”

And now he had confused himself.

“There's nothing I don't like about you,” she answered, that smile becoming a little more genuine. Why
that made him feel so good, he didn't know, but he liked the fact that he'd put a smile on her face. “I told you earlier not to take it personally. The Saberrettes have a rule against consorting with the ball players. Since I'm working alongside them, I should abide by the same rules they do.”