One Night with a Quarterback (18 page)

“Game.”

“—game of the season. What are you going to do now?”

“Watch game footage.”

She groaned and let her head drop. “So many ways to answer that, and you pick the least fun one of all.”

“Just doing my job, babe.” He tugged her hair gently. “But I've got time for one more kiss.”

“Oh, do you,” she murmured, a secret smile on her lips. But just as they reached for each other, his phone rang.

“Damn it. I have to—”

“It's fine.” She rolled with the sheet covering her breast. He leaned to the nightstand and picked up the phone, answering with a short, “Yeah,” just as he tugged the sheet away. She gasped, then covered her mouth as she realized he was already on the phone.

“You haven't told anyone about you and Cassie, have you?” Stephen's voice, oddly restrained, had Trey on immediate alert.

“No. And you haven't either, right?”

“Hell, no. I was just checking the blogs, you know, to see what they said about the defense. Because personally, I think we sagged a little in the third, right about when Atlanta pulled that—”

“Stephen,” he growled in warning.

“Right. Anyway, there was a lot of chatter about the coach's new daughter, a few pictures of her standing in the box with the coach's wife and daughters. Uh, other daughters. Typical stuff, mostly rehashing the situation. But then one commenter—”

“Sweet Jesus, you read the comments?” They were a cesspool. “
Never
read the comments.”

“Only sometimes,” his friend defended. Which likely meant, always. “And be glad I did, because from those two or three simple shots of her watching the game—all of which were pretty simple—a few commenters started wondering if she was going to hook up with a player. I thought it was just immature pre-teen trash talk. Right?”

“Probably.” But his gut started to roll a little.

“But then I clicked onto a second blog, and it actually outright makes the claim. It's sort of tongue-in-cheek, how it would be funny if Coach played matchmaker for his single, older daughter. There's some Fiddler on the Roof joke in here. Like maybe that's why he brought her out here. It doesn't name any names but . . .”

“Yeah. But.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Thanks for that.” He clicked off and looked at Cassie, whose face had bled of any color. “It's not bad.”

“That sigh was anything but ‘not bad.'” She crawled across the bed and reached for her clothes.

“Just some speculation on whether you're going to start dating a player. Any player, it sounds like. It's nonsense, really. They pull this crap all the time, making up random scenarios. When you aren't seen with anyone outside of games, that will die down. Or some other schmuck in the NFL will start using drugs or doping up and it'll be old news.”

“So we just have to hope someone starts using drugs.”

“Yeah, I mean no.” He caught the smile on her face and relaxed a little. “Minx.”

“I can be a minx.” She shimmied her pants up over the simple lacy thong she'd worn. The suit, so conservative in cut and color, hid some sinful unmentionables. He loved that about her. “I hate sneaking around.”

“I know, babe.” He opened his arms and waited for her to walk in, closing them around her. “Not long now. We'll just start gradually. It'll be easier than we think. Hell, we're probably overthinking it as it is.”

“For you, maybe. I don't care what some commenter on an obscure blog says about me. Or at least, I don't want to care,” she added darkly. He laughed and kissed her temple. “But I do care about how it affects my time with my sisters. With Ken.”

“Soon,” he promised. Then he kissed her once more and dressed to walk her to her car.

At the fundraiser for a charity benefitting underprivileged children—one that funded summer sports camps to keep the kids active and out of trouble—Cassie twisted the sparkly cuff on her wrist. The bracelet, much like the rest of the jewelry, was on loan from Tabitha. She smoothed down the sexy but simple white gown Anya had sent over. Thank God for her friend, who managed to find discount dresses, or used her store discount, to get a supply of evening wear to her. She'd have gone broke by now, buying formal and semi-formal outfits for every week. It was exhausting, and financially depleting, to keep up with every charity, cause, and group the Jordans were sponsors of.

And this time, she didn't have Mellie to make faces at for entertainment.

Ken settled down next to her at the table. “Not hungry?”

She motioned at her gown. “White. If I step closer than five feet to the buffet table, cocktail sauce will jump up and splatter me.”

He smiled in sympathy, then bit into another shrimp. “I'll just keep all my edibles over this way.” And nudged the plate a few inches to the right.

“See that you do.”

His smile faded a little. “Look, just so you know, I had nothing to do with this . . .”

She blinked. “That sounds ominous.”

“It's just . . .” He sighed. “Tabitha has it in her mind—”

“I have it in my mind for what?”

Speak of the devil.

Tabitha flowed over to stand at Ken's shoulder. “Cassandra, sweetheart, have you mingled at all?”

“Yes, of course.” She put on her most bland smile. One she'd been crafting and perfecting since she first realized you weren't supposed to real-smile at these things. “I was just taking a small break before getting back to it.”

“Good. Because I've signed you up for the auction later.”

“The . . . auction?” Mentally she started tallying up her bank account, and what kind of a hit it could take. “What are the items available?”

Tabitha laughed, sharp and high, like crystal tinkling. “We are, sweetheart. It's the auction for the first dance. Ladies are bid on for the first dance of the evening.”

That sounded barbaric. “Sounds fun. How can I help?”

“You're item number seven,” her father's wife said with triumph. As if daring her to say no.

“But . . . okay.” She forced calm into her voice. “So, Ken will bid on me. Right?”

In surprise, Tabitha's eyes widened. “No, he'll be bidding on me. Won't you, dear?” She squeezed his shoulder, and even through the padding of his suit, Cassie could tell it was more than a playful pinch.

“Yes, of course.” Smoothly, he removed her hand from his shoulder and kissed the back of it. “There are several men here who will love the opportunity to dance with you, Cassie. You won't be standing up there waiting, if that's your worry.”

“My worry is someone willing to pay money to ask me questions when I can't escape for five minutes. Already I've had to stand there and smile while these people stare at me or ask me the most ridiculous questions.” Her voice was low, and she knew it wouldn't carry. But that didn't help keep the panic away.

“Oh, I see Killian Reeves now.” Tabitha waved across the ballroom. “I believe a few more were supposed to come. Maybe one of the players will bid for you. It would be cute.” With another fake laugh, she glided away from the table.

Players bidding. Right. Because that wouldn't fuel the fires of bloggers everywhere. She took a deep, calming breath. When that didn't work, she balled her fists under the table until her nails bit into her palms. The sting removed a little tension and focused her energy elsewhere.

“I thought it would be fun.” Her father spoke low. “If you want me to fix it, I—”

“No.” One more breath. “No, it's done. I can handle it. Just . . . ask me next time. Okay?” She put on a smile. He smiled in return, though it didn't reach his eyes. If he realized the mistake that was made, he wasn't done feeling guilty about it. Fine with her. “I'm going to go mingle, see if there isn't something up there I could eat without threat to my dress.”

She tried to emulate how graceful Tabitha moved in the long evening gown, and almost tripped. So okay, she'd tromp if necessary. Maybe she'd talk up a few people, see if she could find a likely candidate for the first dance auction and beg them to have mercy on her.

Mercy didn't seem to be hanging around much these days.

* * *

“Stop pulling on the tie. You look like a jackass.”

Stephen punched Trey on the shoulder. “You're the reason we're running late, jackass.”

“We missed cocktails. That's hardly being late. Cocktails are optional.” And Trey had deliberately timed their arrival to make sure Stephen wasn't around alcohol any more than necessary. Once they were sitting down to dinner, Stephen would stick to soda or water. Coach Jordan could easily wander over to their table, and neither of them wanted the lecture that came with drinking during season.

He wondered briefly if Cassie would be at the fundraiser, then shook his head. No, she would have mentioned it. Would have bitched about it, he corrected. Rightly so. For those who weren't naturally inclined to like these types of functions, they were pure torture.

Case in point, the tie currently choking him.

Handing the valet his keys and a tip, they walked in, immediately running into a few other guys from the team. They talked for a few minutes, then Stephen nudged him.

“Stop scanning the room,” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

His friend rolled his eyes. “You're looking for her. Knock it off. It looks like you're evaluating the quality of ass in the room.”

Horrified, he glared at Stephen. “It does not.”

“Whatever gets you to stop looking like a desperate puppy in the window.” Slinging an arm around his neck, Stephen walked him a few steps away before they were stopped by a local news anchor. Some friendly chat, a few ribbings about the tight game coming up, and they were able to extract themselves just as the emcee stepped to the mic in the front.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you take your seats, we'll begin serving dinner. And while you're dining, we have a delightful bit of entertainment for you.”

They headed over to find their seat assignments, found it was two tables back from Coach Jordan and his wife. And . . . Cassie.

She sat with them, her spine straight, the elegant column of her neck highlighted by the little bun thing high on her head, with just a few tendrils of hair escaping. She looked stiff, as if she were sitting on a bed of nails. He wanted to grab her, pull her to his table, settle her on his lap, and finish the evening with his arms around her.

Even as a server placed a plate of what he assumed would be undercooked vegetables and overcooked beef in front of him, the emcee stepped up again. “In front of you, you'll notice your place cards. These double as your paddles for the evening. We are auctioning off some of our most beautiful ladies in the room for the first dance of the evening!”

Some amused laughs and a scattering of applause met the announcement. Trey's eyes went straight to Cassie, but she hadn't budged. Hadn't even touched her food, it looked like.

She wouldn't. There was no way she'd sign herself up for something like that.

“We will begin the auction now. Gentlemen, you may claim your dance after dinner is finished. And remember, bid high, bid often. This is for a wonderful cause.” As the audience laughed, the emcee called the first woman to the stage. Trey guessed her age to be in the sixties, and she was delighted with the attention.

Stephen speared one of Trey's asparagus and moved it to his own plate. “You're not eating those, are you?”

“Have at it.”

By woman number four, Trey had easily caught on to the game. The women being auctioned were all married, or in relationships. Their significant others were the intended winner from the start, though other patrons would bid good-naturedly to drive up the price and make the husband or boyfriend work for it. With a sigh, he relaxed. Not the meat market he'd imagined. Definitely not something Cassie would willingly participate in.

“Contestant number six,” the announcer said, “is none other than one of our favorite patronesses, Mrs. Tabitha Jordan.”

She stood gracefully, making her way through the tables like she were skating on ice. He'd always thought Coach's wife was a beautiful woman, and she was. But knowing how hard she made Cassie's transition to the family, some of the beauty dulled for him.

Predictably, Coach opened the bidding with a respectable offer. Several of the players also bid on her, which had the coach turning around with mock reproof and promises of punishment later. But it was all in good fun, and eventually they backed off so he could win his wife's first dance.

Trey applauded with the rest of them, a few whistling for the coach as he walked up to the stage to escort his wife back.

And then, the ball dropped.

The emcee, looking positively gleeful, announced, “Contestant number seven, Cassandra Wainwright.”

A fork clattered to the table. Whispers hummed. But otherwise, silence claimed the room.

“Oh, shit,” Stephen muttered. A few other players turned around the table, looking at Coach.

But Trey watched Cassie only. She stood, her spine rigid, and walked to the stage. She turned to face the crowd, hands clasped, face calm. But he watched her fingers spin the ring on her right hand, and he knew she would have killed to be off the stage and back home. Safe. Away from people looking at her.

“Cassandra Wainwright,” the emcee began, “is the first daughter of Coach Ken Jordan of the Santa Fe Bobcats.”

“Five hundred,” an eager beaver from the other side of the room bid. Respectable.

Didn't keep Trey from imagining ripping his throat out with his bare hands.

“Seven fifty,” another bid. Trey recognized him as a sports writer for a major online sports news site.

“One thousand,” bid the local news anchor from earlier.

Fucking. Vultures.

Trey's palms began to sweat. What did she want him to do? She wasn't looking his way, though he thought she wasn't actually
seeing
anything at all. It was like her eyes had gone blank the moment she'd stepped up.

Oh, fuck this. He grabbed his paddle, about to make a bid, when Stephen stood next to him.

“Two thousand for the beautiful Cassie,” he said, his voice sounding like something out of a Shakespearean play. It brought a few laughs and some sighs from nearby ladies.

Her eyes widened. It was more than most had opened with, though not an outrageous sum considering where other women's final tallies had landed.

Someone from a table across the room bid higher, causing Stephen to leap up and outbid him. Trey raised his own paddle, more casually than Stephen's bids, and threw his own hat into the ring. A few other players joined in, raising the price higher than anyone else had reached yet.

Did she want him to win? He would, and he'd pay any price to keep her all to himself. But when he reached for his paddle once more, Stephen's hand stalled him.

“Five thousand,” his voice said clearly, trumping the last bid by a good five hundred dollars.

“Going once . . .” the emcee warned. “Going twice . . .”

“Don't,” his friend muttered under his breath.

“Sold, to Stephen Harrison from our own Bobcats!”

Applause rang out, and Cassie hurried off the stage before Stephen could escort her back to her table. The moment she sat down, Tabitha leaned across Ken to speak to her. Cassie seemed to ignore the comments or questions, whichever they were. But she didn't look back at Trey's table. She knew he was there now, had looked right at him when he'd bid for her. But she didn't acknowledge him now.

The whole thing sucked.

* * *

By the time dinner was over, the ball of tension and anger in Cassie's gut had eased from hurricane status to more of a summer shower. She would absolutely not cause a scene and leave early. Stephen had paid good money—a great deal of it—for his dance, and he would get it. It was for a good cause, and she was committed. Her time to back out was before the auction.

But God, the humiliation . . .

She recognized one of the men who had bid on her as a local news anchor who did the sports for the local NBC station. The others, she hadn't recognized, though a few she knew were Bobcats.

As a waiter removed her plate, she felt a hand touch the top of her shoulder.

“Hey, Cassie.” Stephen reached out and shook hands with Ken. “Good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise.” He shook, keeping an eagle eye on his player. “You take good care of her now.”

The embarrassment continues.
“It's one dance.”
And I'm twenty-eight.

“Exactly. And I won fair and square.” Stephen offered her his elbow, and she followed to the floor. A few other couples had already taken their place, waiting for the music. Ken and Tabitha followed behind. Stephen chose a spot in a corner, where they were still visible, but more secluded.

“He wanted to.” Stephen's voice was low. “He was dying to, Cassie.”

“I know.” From her peripheral vision, he'd seen the way he'd jolted with every bid that wasn't his. Like he'd been cattle prodded. “Thank you, anyway. I'm sorry it cost you.”

“Worth it.” He did a little spin, taking her off guard. The guy had moves she wouldn't have expected a teddy bear of his size to possess. “I had some making up to do in the friend department, anyway. I've been sort of an ass, and he's taking the brunt of it.”

She thought of Anya, and how over the years they'd had their turns as
the ass
. “The best friends do that. Take the brunt, I mean. And know when they're being an ass, you'll do the same.”