One Night with a Quarterback (10 page)

“It's one of the better ones,” she said cheerfully, then hooked an arm through his and pulled him along behind Trey. “Just wait until we start discussing the intrinsic differences between the film and book versions of The Lord of the Rings.”

“Sweet mother of God,” he groaned, and ahead of them, Trey laughed.

* * *

It wasn't so different than being at home, Cassie realized. True, there was less nerd humor and more sports analogies than she could keep up with. One minute they were on baseball, then they would rotate to basketball, circle around football, and back to—she thought—baseball again. But they were easy-going, and included her in their conversations.

She grabbed a chip and scooped some guac. “How did you two meet?”

They shared a glance. “We work together,” Trey said.

“You know, I don't think you ever told me what you do. What job do you have that you can be off at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday?”

“Odd hours,” Stephen said before Trey could answer. “We're at the whim of our boss. Some weeks we barely work, others we practically live there.”

“Oh, yeah. Mine seems that way too, sometimes. Ebb and flow of projects coming in.” She settled back in the old lawn chair that had seen better days. Trey really needed new patio furniture. “But what do you do?”

“I'm in securities,” Stephen said, though she thought for a second there was a pause.

“Project management and implementation,” Trey answered.

“Interesting.” So
not
interesting. They'd skip that part. She knew most people didn't want to hear about her work, either. “It's nice to have friends at work. Makes the day run smoother.”

“Your friend from the club, she work with you?”

“Anya?” Cassie opened one eye and turned her head slightly to look at Stephen on her left.

“Yeah, the hot blonde.”

She laughed at that. Anya would hate the label. “No, Anya and I don't work together. She's a wardrobe consultant at a department store for regular high-value shoppers. You know, those rich old ladies who spend all day wasting their husbands' cash? They call ahead and book an appointment and she pulls together looks for them to try on so they don't waste their precious time actually shopping for themselves. She works as a private fashion consultant, too, but that's part time.”

“Basically, she shops for a living.”

“Yup.”

Trey snorted. “It's, like, a female's dream job.”

“Bite me,” she drawled. “Anya's been trying to get me to throw away my tees for years. Nothing doing.”

“I'm gonna hit the john.” Stephen stood and walked to the door. “Need anything on my way back?”

Cassie waved him off, and Trey said no. The door opened, then closed behind them quietly.

Trey picked up her hand and played with her fingers. The intimate gesture made her smile just a little. He hadn't pushed, hadn't kissed her yet. Though with the looks he gave her, she knew he was just biding his time. But his respect for her to not embarrass her in front of his friend only added another point in his favor.

“Thanks for coming over. Especially since I wasn't alone.”

“It's not a problem. I called last minute. Don't worry about it.”

Trey glanced toward the glass door, then back at her. “I just can't leave him today.”

She wanted to ask, but focused on their fingers instead. “I needed to get out and do something. Take my mine off the family drama.”

He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly. “How goes things with your dad?”

“Long story,” she muttered. But he just looked at her with patient eyes, then tugged gently on her arm. She stood, then let him pull her into his lap. Snuggled against his chest, her head leaning on his shoulder, she felt safer admitting the truth. “I don't think he wants me here.”

“Not possible.” His lips brushed her temple.

“Oh, it is,” she said a little bitterly, then stopped herself. That was childish attitude, at best. Sighing, she snuggled further into his embrace. “He cancelled lunch on me . . . again. He barely sees me, and when he does see me, he just asks a ton of questions and never lets me ask him any. It's like he's grilling me or something. Waiting on me to slip up and answer something wrong.”

“Or maybe he's trying to get to know you, and that's the best way he knows how.” He rubbed a hand down her back. “He missed out on a hell of a lot. He's playing catch up. Plus,” he added, squeezing her hip, “it's a scientific fact guys suck at talking about emotions and feelings and junk.”

“And junk,” she echoed with amusement.

“Yup.”

They sat quietly for a moment, then she kissed the underside of his jaw. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She squinted at her watch. “Is Stephen okay? It's been awhile.”

“Ignore him.” After a moment, Trey cursed, then stood abruptly. Luckily, he'd already scooped an arm under her legs so he could stand her up with him. He waited until she was steady on her feet, then squeezed her shoulders. “Be right back.” He hustled through the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

Should she follow? No, that would be intrusive. Whatever was going on with Stephen, Trey could handle it. But maybe she could help in some way. If he was sick, she could go grab some meds, or maybe sit with him while Trey ran out for whatever.

Or . . . okay. So she was nosy. Cassie followed quietly, listening for voices. She heard them back in the family room.

“One.” Stephen's voice. “One goddamn beer and suddenly I'm an alcoholic. I'm not even drunk.”

“No, you're not. Just give it over.” Trey sounded resigned, tired.

“Fuck off.”

“That's not gonna work. Hand over the beer.”

Cassie could easily guess what the problem was now, and she felt for both men as they battled it out over the beer. She backed up a few steps, then called, “Hey, Trey?”

They instantly quieted, then Trey's voice called back, “Yeah, Cass?”

“Could you send Stephen in here? I wanted to send Anya a quick video and I thought he could do a cameo with me.”

More shuffling, the creak of furniture, and then Stephen appeared around the side wall, his charming smile in place. “I never turn down a pretty lady for the chance at a video cameo.”

“Good.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him back on the porch. As she pushed Stephen through the door ahead of her, she glanced back over her shoulder. Trey stood, his friend's abandoned bottle of beer in hand, watching. With one hand behind her back, she shooed him away. He nodded, then disappeared into the kitchen to, she hoped, dump the beer and remove the rest of the temptation from the fridge.

She was quick, smart, and he wanted her more than anything he'd wanted before. At this point, Trey was pretty positive he'd give up a shot at MVP status to get Cassie in his bed. Hell, he'd hand over his left nut to keep her there for a week without interruptions.

Though she seemed to take the interruption in stride. He had no doubt she'd been listening, at least a few moments, during his argument with Stephen. And she'd done what she could to distract him, picking the perfect motivation to put down the bottle and go be his usual charming self.

And now she was making a late lunch. And by lunch, he meant she'd browned a pound of meat and poured jarred pasta sauce over it. But it was more than he usually did, so he let her work her pre-packaged magic while he and Stephen sat at the counter, watching.

“Don't overcook the noodles,” was Stephen's helpful hint.

“You'll eat the noodles, and you'll like them,” was her feisty reply. She didn't turn around from the stove, just kept stirring.

“She's bossy,” Stephen said to him. “I like it.”

“Don't like it too much. Dibs.”

Cassie gave him a skeptical,
I don't think so, bub
look over her shoulder that had Stephen chuckling.

He watched while she checked the garlic bread in the oven—a carb-loading meal if ever he'd seen—and admired the way her dark jeans pulled over her ass. An ass he wouldn't mind seeing bare and facing up while he slid into her from behind. And once they were both panting and riding close to the edge, he'd pull out, rotate her to her back, then—

“Dude.” Stephen's elbow knocked his arm out from under him so he nearly face-planted on the counter. “You're drooling a little.”

“Lunch's almost done,” Cassie said easily.

“Oh, yeah. You're hungry, all right.”

Trey punched his arm.

Stephen lunged for him, then froze when a thin string of wet spaghetti splatted on his face. “Jesus H., what the hell?”

“Knock it off, you two. Plates?”

Trey pointed to the right cabinet while biting the inside off his cheek to keep from grinning. She was a dream come true.

Stephen wiped the noodle off his face. “You sure you want her here? I could remove her. We'll just call it ‘extra training.'”

“Nah, I'll keep her.” He blinked when a noodle hit him on the side of the face.

Stephen cracked up laughing.

* * *

Cassie walked out the front door and waited for Trey. “You honestly didn't have to walk me to my car. I can make it the fifteen yards.”

“Indulge me.” Trey took her hand in a sweet gesture, lacing fingers with hers. His hands were so large, his fingers so long, they all but overlapped around hers. “Besides, saying good-bye out here means I don't have to say good-bye inside, where my dumbass friend can overhear.”

She smiled. Clearly, Trey loved Stephen like a brother. Otherwise, he wouldn't have given up a good portion of his day to stay with him and keep him from drinking. Or he would have kicked him out once the better offer—aka her—showed up. But instead, he'd made room for them both.

“Thanks for lunch.”

She squeezed. “I just used whatever was around your kitchen. Sorry I'm not a better cook. I do a lot of takeout and pizza, or just eat my mom's cooking.”

He waited for her to unlock her car, then pressed her against it from behind. The warm metal against her stomach and breasts was nothing compared to the feel of his hard body and stiff erection pushing against her back.

His mouth cruised down around her pulse point, just below her ear, to the back of her neck. “I want you in my bed.”

She hummed something that should have been an agreement. If she were able to use words, that is.

“I want you on my couch, on my back porch, on the kitchen counter. I want to christen every room with you until I can't walk through a doorway without remembering you naked and panting for me in every corner of my home.”

Her head rolled back, unable to support its own weight, and landed against his chest.

His hands cupped her breasts, kneading and pulling at the nipples. “Come back later tonight.”

“Yes,” she started to breathe, then reality set in. “Can't.”

“Won't.”

“Can't,” she argued, then sighed when his body lifted from her. He spun her around until her back settled against her car door. “I have family crap to do. I left pissed off this afternoon. I've got to go home and smooth any ruffled feathers.” If there were any. For all she knew, they didn't even know she'd disappeared.

He smoothed a hand over her hair, straight down her ponytail. “Fine. But I have your number now.”

Oh. Ooooh.
That hadn't occurred to her. “Listen, I still have a lot going on. Family crap and . . .” How exactly to explain her life was about to become much more screwed up than it already was?
Hi, I'm going public as the secret love child of the NFL's most conservative coach. No big.

“I won't abuse it. But believe me, I'm not waiting another week to hear from you. At least text and let me know things are going okay.”

She nodded, then because she couldn't resist, rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. He kept it light as well, not pushing back. But she started to laugh when she heard the immature sounds of Stephen singing from the front door.

“Cassie and Trey, sittin' in a tree . . .”

“Ignore him,” Trey muttered, and kissed her again quickly.

“K-I-S-S-”

“I was thinking of having him murdered. I know people,” Trey said offhand, and Cassie laughed and squeezed his shoulders.

“Go. Be a good friend.”

He started to step away, then leaned down for one more hard, fast kiss. “I mean it. Call me, or I'll call you.”

It wasn't a threat, but a promise. One she knew he'd hold onto.

* * *

“Project management and implementation?”

Trey shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Then, repeatedly beat his head on the thick oak door. “Securities?” he asked Stephen in the same mocking tone.

“I keep your ass safe enough in the pocket,” his friend pointed out. “Let me call off work one day and see how secure you feel.”

“Shut up,” Trey mumbled, then rolled slowly off the door.

“What happens when she finds out you lied?”

“It was a technicality, not a lie.”

“Sure. Tell yourself that. You know how reasonable women are when us men say stuff like that.”

He looked around for something to throw at Stephen, but nothing immediately leapt out as a good contender. Instead he went back to put the leftovers in the fridge.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I can't keep seeing her without telling her. Our schedule is going to get crazier the closer to opening weekend we get. Add to that, eventually living in Santa Fe, she's going to see my face attached to something, or on the evening news in a recap. I can't just not tell her forever.” Though a small part of him wanted just that. For him to be some white collar guy who sat in front of a computer in a cubical and did . . . whatever white collar guys in cubicles did all day. The ease, the utter simplicity of his relationship with Cassie made him want a different life.

Except then he wouldn't have the current love of his life . . . football.

“Who said she was going to live here? She kept talking about Atlanta like it was home,” Stephen pointed out, snatching the last piece of garlic bread. Around a crunchy bite, he added, “She isn't here forever, my friend.”

Another hurdle, but this one less intense. He knew she was in town for family reasons, and those family issues weren't going so well. As long as things weren't going so hot, she would be around. So he just had to make sure by the time she was free to leave, she didn't actually want to go.

And make sure she didn't feel like murdering him for the
technicality
he was holding out on.

* * *

Cassie walked into the pool house and immediately realized she wasn't alone. The sound of hangers clattering from her bedroom stopped her short. Had someone broken in? Was this a robbery? And why were they going through her clothes? Surely the stuff in her office was more a burglar's speed.

“Oh, my God!”

She rolled her eyes at herself. Not burglars. Teenagers. She tossed her bag on the sofa and walked back to her bedroom. Mellie—at least, Mellie from the waist down—was sticking out from her closet. Several shirts and a few skirts were scattered on the ground, still on the hangers, as if they'd been casualties of the scavenge.

Irene sat on her bed, legs crossed, flipping through what appeared to be an US Weekly. Since Cassie didn't read gossip or celebrity magazines, obviously Irene brought it with her. And she looked far more relaxed than she'd seen the girl before.

Leaning against the doorway, Cassie watched her half sisters interact.

“Mom would blow a gasket if I tried to wear half of this stuff out of the house.” Mellie's body seemed to disappear even more into the closet, as if it were suddenly the wardrobe from Narnia.

“That's because none of it looks like a school uniform.” Irene flipped the page, then rolled to her side. “Especially not those nerdy T-shirts. And most of it wouldn't fit you, anyway.”

“That one top did.” Mellie's smug voice reverberated. “And Chad said I looked good.”

Cassie bit back a grin. Someone had been foraging for clothes before, it seemed. It might have been annoying, if she hadn't understood completely where the younger girl was coming from.

“That's because he never saw you in anything besides a polo shirt and plaid skirt before,” Irene said with an eye roll. “And that tank top made you look skanky.”

Skanky? Cassie blinked. She didn't own anything skanky. Anya would never let her.

“It did not,” came Mellie's muffled indignant reply. “I just don't have the boobs to fill it out yet.”

Cassie's snort gave her away. Irene sat up, knocking her magazine off the bed. Mellie stepped one foot out of the closet, then stumbled and fell back on her butt with a grunt.

“Hey, ladies,” Cassie said casually, like it was no big shock to find them in her room uninvited. “What's up?”

Mellie had the good grace to blush, but Irene personified
indignant teenager
. “You could have knocked.”

“I live here.” Cassie pointed. “My bed, my things.” When Mellie scrambled up, she added, “I don't mind sharing. But I don't have to knock.”

Mellie grabbed a handful of clothes from the floor, her arms overflowing. “We'll pick up and get out of here.”

“No, it's okay. Did you want to borrow something?”

“Something else, you mean?” Irene asked. When Mellie glared at her, she shrugged. “Might as well tell her.” To Cassie, “She's been borrowing your clothes for a week. She slips in here before school, but after you've gone to the offices or when you're with mom at some meeting.”

“Shut up,” Mellie growled, but Cassie put a hand on her shoulder.

“It's fine. You only had to ask.” This was part of having sisters she'd missed out on. It seemed natural to let them come and go in her little house as they pleased, borrowing tops and sprawling on her bed without worry. “But this place is small. Do you want to grab some things and take them to your room in the main house?”

“No,” both girls said together, then glanced at each other.

She wasn't used to siblings yet, but she was catching on quick. “Let me guess, you two aren't supposed to be here.”

Mellie looked guilty. Irene just stared.

“So, what . . . your mom . . . banned you from hanging out with me?”

“No,” Mellie said quickly, then started picking up clothes and hanging them back. Completely out of order, but Cassie said nothing. “It's just . . . we like being over here.”

“Before you got here,” Irene said in a slightly accusing tone, “we used to come over here to relax.”

Ah. The pool house had become the little rich girl version of a tree house in some neighbor kid's backyard. A place without parents or rules or judging eyes.

“You guys are welcome anytime. I promise.” She picked up a spaghetti-strapped tank top by the straps. “Maybe we should go through my clothes together, though, and put together something good.” So she could make sure Mellie didn't head to the mall looking like a street walker. Poor girl had no clue how to wear regular clothes.

“Yeah!” The young girl bounced in her pristine white sneakers, the ends of her long skirt flipping up around the knees.

Irene remained silent, watching, but trying to look like she wasn't.

“Cassandra?”

Cassie blinked and whirled around. “Tabitha?”

Irene sighed and stood, walking toward the front door with her magazine in hand. “It's mother, on the intercom. She's going to ask if you've seen us.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added with dignity too mature for her sixteen years, “It would be nice if you could pretend you hadn't. We'll slip in through a side door.”

“Oh. Okay.” When Mellie reluctantly placed the armful of clothes on the bed, she added, “You can come back later, if you want.”

“We have the Eyes on the Family dinner tonight. You're coming too, Mom said.” Mellie gave one more longing glance at the pile of clothes. “Don't make fun of my dress, okay?”

She swung an arm around her youngest sister's shoulders. “Why would I do that?”

“Because Mom still dresses me like I'm seven, and from the fifties?” Mellie grimaced. “I bet you'll look nice.”

Her heart ached for the sheltered teen. No chance to run free, no chance to make mistakes and learn from them. “You never know. I could be a hot mess tonight.”

Mellie started to laugh, then swallowed it when her mother's voice came through once more.