Making the Play (7 page)

Grant saw her heading toward her older model sedan in the school parking lot, juggling an armload of books, papers and teaching supplies. James wore a small backpack with a cartoon character he didn't recognize on his little shoulders but Bethany carried an overfilled tote bag that had to weigh more than she did.

“Hey! Here, let me get that for you.” He hurried to her side, sliding the bag from her shoulder. Apprehension colored her hazel eyes and, for a moment, he wondered if she wasn't going to tell him to leave again. Instead, she unlocked her car.

Grant wasn't sure if he should ask but knew it would look far more suspicious if he didn't now. “What are you guys up to? I thought maybe I could convince you to get that ice cream today.”

James' face brightened and he looked up at his mother. “Can we?”

Bethany bit her lower lip. “We can't.”

Grant tried not to take the second rejection to heart and nodded in understanding.

“Our downstairs toilet broke this morning and I had to turn it off. Now I've got to run to the store for the part and figure out how to fix it,” she explained.

Relief he hadn't expected coursed through him. Maybe she wasn't shooting him down after all. He let the corner of his mouth tip up playfully. “Ms. Mills, that sort of sounds like a load of C-­R-­A-­P,” he spelled, laughing at his bad pun.

Her eyes widened but she smiled at his audacity. “Mr. McQuaid,” she scolded.

James giggled beside her and Grant immediately realized his mistake. “Mom, he spelled a bad word.”

“How did he . . . never mind. I should have known this genius could spell that,” Grant said, trying not to laugh. “How about if I help you fix your toilet?”

She popped open the truck, indicating that he should set her bag inside. “You want to fix my toilet?” Bethany crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the side of the car as she closed the trunk. “Really? That's the line you want to go with?”

Grant shrugged but the smile never left his lips. What was it about this woman and her kid that made him feel so comfortably at ease? He hadn't felt this relaxed in a long time. She made it easy for him to forget about his injury, the pressure of his upcoming training camp and his possible job loss.

“What do you say, little man? You think between the two of us men, we can fix the toilet for your mom?”

“Yes!” he yelled cheerfully. James climbed into the back seat of the car and buckled himself into his booster seat.

“I'll meet you at the hardware store.” Grant turned to walk back to his car.

“I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?”

Grant paused and looked back over his shoulder at her. “Why would you want to?” he asked with a wink and jogged the rest of the way back to his car.

T
HE THR
EE OF
them stood in front of the plumbing display in the hardware store as Bethany's gaze slid over the rows of pipes, valves and fittings that might as well be car parts as far as she could figure out what to do with them. She had no idea what part to get, what size or where any of it would go, let alone how to install any of it. She'd hoped it would be far less complicated than this and that she could fix it herself. Spending several hundred dollars on a plumber was the last thing she could afford when her car was already making some strange grinding noise that she needed to get checked out.

“So what do you need?”

Bethany bit the corner of her lip and turned embarrassed eyes toward Grant and shrugged. “I literally have no clue.”

His laughter was the last reaction she expected. Irritation for wasting his time, maybe. Annoyance for being a helpless female, likely. Probably even some frustration for her lack of plumbing knowledge. But instead, his rich laughter carried across the nearly empty aisle, surround her in warmth and making parts of her body tingle in ways she'd forgotten they could.

“So what you're saying is you've got a broken toilet and no idea why it's broken?”

Bethany looked down at James as if he were going to offer her some assistance, but he only laughed along with Grant. She wouldn't have thought her boy would turn on her quite so easily. She smiled down at James. “Other than the fact that I managed to turn off the water, yes, I guess that about sums up the situation.”

“Why don't we start with how you know it's broken,” Grant suggested.

“There was water everywhere, spraying from the back,” James said, his little hands moving quickly as he signed while he spoke. “My shoes got all wet and I had to find my other ones. And Mom got sprayed in the face.” He tried unsuccessfully to hide his giggle as he looked up at her. “Mom said there wasn't pee in it but—­”

“Okay, that's enough James.” She arched a brow at him but Grant didn't even bother to control his laughter and she found herself giggling with them at the recollection. “It was just water coming from the wall.”

Grant nodded, trying to hide his grin and appear solemn, before grabbing a ­couple of items from the brackets on the wall. “Was it leaking
in
the wall or outside of it?”

“Outside, where it goes into the back of the toilet,” she clarified.

Grant nodded. “That's a pretty simple fix. And, for the record, there's no pee in the water that got on your mom, buddy.”

James frowned and Bethany shook her head, poking her fingers into his ribs, making him squeal. “Don't look so disappointed that your mom just had regular water spray her, you stinker.”

James laughed, wiggling and squirming until he hid behind Grant, peeking at her from behind his legs. Bethany tried not to notice how muscular Grant's thighs were when James arms wrapped around them or the jealousy that crept in when James reached his hand up and tucked it into Grant's much larger one as the pair headed for the cash register at the front of the store. As she reached the clerk, she saw Grant already paying for her purchases.

She tugged her wallet from her purse. “I've got it.”

“It's fine,” he said, barely looking up at her.

“No,” she argued. “You're already fixing it for me. You have to let me pay.”

“Too late.” He accepted the receipt from the clerk and glanced back at her. The glare she shot him didn't seem to faze him in the slightest as his lips curled up in that charming boyish grin that deepened the dimple in his cheek. His gaze swept over her. “You'll learn pretty quickly that I tend to get my way most of the time.”

“I've noticed,” she muttered, following him and James as they led the way out to the parking lot, wondering why his comment didn't have her running for the hills the way it would have with anyone else.

 

Chapter Seven

B
ETHANY WATCHED FROM
the doorway as Grant McQuaid, star running back, lay on her bathroom floor repairing the seal on her toilet. Thank goodness she'd cleaned the tile after the water had soaked it.

“That should do it,” he announced, standing up and handing James the wrench he'd purchased. “Go put that in a safe place so your mom has it when she needs it next time.”

His shirt had several wet spots on it from his less-­than-­stellar handyman skills, plastering it to him in several places and making it difficult for Bethany to keep from staring at the way the muscles of his upper body shifted, flexing with his every movement. Her fingers itched to run down the lines of his rib cage where the shirt clung to him like a second skin.

“Ice cream time,” James announced, running past her into the hallway.

“Put it into the drawer by the phone, baby,” she called after him.

Grant washed his hands at the sink and wiped them on the towel sitting on the counter before he turned toward her. “Ice cream time,” he repeated, his voice low and husky.

It didn't sound like a fun outing when he said it. It sounded like a dark promise of sweet, sinfully dangerous things to come. He took a step toward her, eliminating any distance between them and looked down at her, his dampened chest only inches from her face. Her fingers twitched, desperate to reach out and touch his skin, to see if it was indeed as hot and hard as it looked.

“Are you ready?”

Bethany glanced up at him, the heat from his skin warming her without a touch, setting every nerve ending in her body on high alert. She felt his breath wash over the top of her head. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to.”

The smile that spread over his lips was warm. And slightly wicked. “Bethany, there is nothing I'd rather do right now.”

His eyes met hers and he lifted a finger under her chin. His hand was cool and still slightly damp from washing up but his gaze was hot. Bethany felt the sizzle of electricity from his touch as it stole her breath. She licked her lips, wondering what she could say, if she could even form words to speak.

His gaze fell to her lips and she felt her knees weaken, her breaths coming in shallow pants. “I take that back. I
can
think of a few other things I'd rather do with you.”

Grant took another step toward the doorway and she moved backward, molding her back into the door frame even as his chest pressed against her. She inhaled the scent of him, earthy and all male. Not cologne but simply soap and the heady, heavenly scent of his skin. Every part of her tingled, a raging inferno sparked in the long-­dry tinder she'd forced her body to become. She felt the coarse hair of his forearms under her fingertips as she clung to him for balance. Grant's head tipped to one side and he leaned closer.

He was going to kiss her and, heaven help her, she'd never wanted anything as desperately as she did his kiss at this moment.

“Grant.” She had no idea what she wanted to say, whether it was to ask him to stop, or beg him not to. Her voice was barely a whisper of sound but she saw his eyes darken as her fingers dug into the muscle of his arm.

“Come on,” James appeared at her side in the hall.
We are going to be late
, he signed.

Grant laughed quietly before signing
okay.
He plucked his t-­shirt from his skin. “I'd ask to borrow your dryer but I think it'd be better if we don't keep James waiting.”

Bethany glanced down and saw several damp spots on her own shirt where their bodies had been pressed together. Goodness, if he took off his t-­shirt, she'd faint on the spot.

T
HE EXTRA ATTE
NTION
they received while waiting in line at the small ice cream parlor didn't pass Grant's notice. There had been several ­people slowing as they walked past the front window, a few daring to point at them. Luckily, Bethany seemed oblivious but it wouldn't take long before she caught on to what was happening. After their failed dinner last night, he didn't want anything to add any more pressure to today.

“What do you say to taking these cones back to the house so I can throw the ball around with James for a bit?” he suggested.

It wasn't a complete lie. He'd much rather play football with James than sit in a booth with ­people staring at them, speculating about who she was and why he was with her and her son. Bethany hesitated and he could almost see the excuses running through her mind.

“What if I promise you that this is not me making a play for you? I'm just really enjoying the time I've been able to spend with you guys and being treated like a normal person. Plus, I get the feeling you could use a friend around here.”

“Friend, huh?” She arched a slim brow dubiously.

He gave her a lopsided grin and raised two fingers into the air. “Scout's honor.”

She laughed and shook her head, lifting his ring finger and pressing them all together. “It's obvious you've never been a Scout or you'd know how to do it right.” She shook her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “How am I supposed to trust someone who impersonates a Boy Scout? And poorly?”

“You're right, I was never a Scout.” Grant tucked his hand into his pocket as they headed toward the door, shaking his head. “I was too busy playing ball. But my Dad did raise me to always keep my promises.”

She paused with the spoon lifted partway to her mouth and tried to read him with those beautifully expressive hazel eyes. He could see the questions swirling in the depths of them, curiosity waging a war with her vulnerability.

After what seemed like hours, she agreed. Grant held open the door as Bethany and James went through, escorting them back to his car. He'd wondered at the frivolity of taking it for such a short distance when they'd left her house, but now he was grateful for the tinted windows that would hide her and James from prying eyes. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure if he was protecting her privacy for her sake or his own.

“
M
OM, WATCH!
”

James turned his back on Grant and ran across the backyard. Just when he stopped and turned to face Grant again, the man she'd already seen easily pass a football forty yards to his brother, acted as if his ten foot pass to James was a tremendous effort. She clapped as the ball landed squarely in James' hands and he spiked it with zeal, performing his version of a wobbly-­kneed touchdown dance. Grant danced around as well, copying James with every step, before falling onto his back on the grass as Bethany cheered for them.

“That was amazing.” She directed the words at her son but her eyes were taking in the man lying supine on her back lawn. James ran up to him and threw one leg over Grant's stomach, plopping down and making Grant grunt loudly. “Be careful, James,” she scolded.

She watched him sign an apology to Grant before being scooped up and swung over Grant's shoulder as he stood up. “What do you say, Mom? Didn't you tell me you were going to buy a sack of potatoes?” He tickled James, laughing along with the boy's squeals of delight.

“Okay, you two.” She slid James from Grant's arms and put him back onto his feet. “You need to go get cleaned up for dinner.”

“We had dinner,” James argued.
Ice cream
, he signed.

She tipped her head disapprovingly. “That wasn't dinner and you know it. Go wash up.” She swatted his bottom lightly as he hurried into the house and up the stairs. Grant chuckled as he held open the back door for her.

“I'll say it again, Bethany. You're a great mom.”

She looked back at him as she moved past, trying not to notice the way he was watching her, like he wanted to finish what had almost happened in the bathroom. She cleared her throat. “He's a pretty great kid. I wish I could take all the credit.”

He gave her an odd look.

“What?”

“Well, you said that his father was gone. You've been the only one raising him. So who else would you give credit to? Learn to take a well-­deserved compliment, woman.” He followed her into the kitchen, leaning a hip against the island as he watched her move to the refrigerator.

Bethany hadn't meant to open this can of worms. She pulled a head of lettuce and two tomatoes from inside the crisper, trying to figure out what she could say without revealing too much.

“Well, my parents for one. My Mom watched James during the day so I could finish school and, when I started working, she took care of him and made sure he got to the therapy appointments I couldn't get to.”

“Need help?” he offered as he moved closer.

She pointed at the drawer beside his hip. “Knives are inside but it has a child lock.” She showed him how to open it. “And then there was always my Dad. He's been the only father figure James has ever known, but I couldn't have asked for a better one.”

Bethany pulled several chicken breasts from the freezer to thaw. She should ask him to stay for dinner, especially when he was helping her fix it, but she was worried he might get the wrong idea. She'd made it clear that she wasn't interested in dating but if that were true, why was her body humming from his nearness, every nerve ending on edge? Asking him to stay would be like lighting the fuse on a stick of dynamite, but she could already hear her mother's voice scolding her about how rude it would be not to ask. Not to mention that she couldn't deny that it felt good to have him look at her the way he had all day, like she was more than just a mom, more than someone to pity. He treated her like a woman he respected, and made her feel desirable. Paired with the raw sex appeal this man had, it was a dangerous combination. She spit out the words before she could second-­guess herself.

“Did you want to stay for dinner?” Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his answer.

Grant turned back toward her, his eyes dark with a yearning her body instantly recognized. Her heart slammed in her chest, pounding furiously. “I do.”

Her stomach did a backflip.

“But I can't.”

“Oh.” She hoped she didn't actually sound as disappointed as she felt. She shouldn't be feeling this way. She needed to rein in her fantasies and regain control of her wayward libido. “Maybe another time.”

She set the chicken onto a plate and washed her hands, avoiding looking at him. She reached for the towel on the counter before grabbing a bowl for the salad from the cupboard beside him. “Here,” she said, passing it his way.

Grant's hands covered hers on the side of the bowl and she could feel the jolt of electricity shoot up her arm, striking her square in the chest and coiling into a molten desire low in her belly. She caught her breath in a quick gasp and her gaze lifted to meet his.

Bethany could read the heated, primal desire in his eyes, was sure he could see it in hers as well, and wondered why she didn't just lean forward a ­couple of inches and make the first move. Her gaze fell to his mouth, his lips so full, perfect for kissing. With her lower back against the edge of the counter, she should have felt trapped, pinned between the granite countertop and wall of muscle that would likely burn her if she touched it. His fingers moved over the back of her hand, sending shivers of anticipation through her.

“Grant, I—­” Her voice was barely a whisper of sound. She rocked forward on her toes, leaning into him, giving in to the need she'd forgotten existed between a man and woman. And, goodness, was he all man.

His head tilted, dipping toward hers, but his gaze never left hers. She could stop his kiss at any moment but there wasn't one part of her that wanted to.

Footsteps pounded on the staircase, breaking the spell he'd woven over her, making her jump backward against the counter.

What was she thinking? She couldn't have James see her with him, not like this. Bethany quickly slid away from the counter, setting the bowl aside and hurrying to the sink. Bracing her hands on the counter, she tried to regain her bearings and her self-­control. She bit her lower lip, wondering where she'd lost her sense of self-­preservation.

“Are you staying for dinner?” James asked as he trotted into the kitchen and pulled one of the chairs toward the sink to watch his mother ready the chicken.

Bethany felt her stomach clench and cursed her reaction. How could she feel this strongly attracted to a man she barely knew? “Mr. McQuaid can't stay tonight, baby.”

Grant moved to the other side of James and she was grateful for her son between them. It was a great reminder of her priorities and who she needed to put first.

“I don't know. I guess maybe I can stay.”

Her eyes lifted to his, questioning, but he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was focused on James and she could see the worship reflected in her son's blue eyes as he stared up at his hero. James wasn't looking at him like a sports star now—­he was looking at Grant the way he looked at his Grandfather. Bethany couldn't help but wonder how that had happened so quickly.

How had Grant scaled the skyscraper of a wall she'd kept around her and James for the last six years in only a few days? And why couldn't she seem to convince herself to do more to stop it?

She took another chicken breast from the freezer, running it under hot water to defrost it before placing it with the others.

“Mom, can me and Mr. McQuaid watch T.V.?”

“Mr. McQuaid and I,” she corrected as she signed
yes
to him.

“Come on,” he said, jumping down from the chair and reaching for Grant's hand.

“Well, now, buddy, I think we should probably help your mother in here. Why don't you show me where to find the plates and silverware and we'll set the table for her.” He leaned down to James' level. “And, you can call me Grant.”

James looked to his mother for permission and she couldn't help but smile at his glee. She didn't usually let James call adults by their first names but, she also didn't usually have strange men setting her dinner table. Grant was proving to be an exception to many of her rules. She nodded slightly and turned back to ready the chicken while the pair set the table, signing in between their chatter about football.