Playing for Keeps (26 page)

When Decker pulled his car into the circular driveway in front of Johnny’s house, the quarterback was right there. Waiting. But not passive. Just the opposite, in fact. He was in charge, even from a distance. And Decker, despite still having custody of Erica, seemed ready to pay liege on the spot.

And she was weakening too. Not just because the QB looked hunky, but because he looked focused. On
her
. Like she was the only person in the world, even though they all knew differently.

He walked up to the car and opened her door, handing her out. “Hey, Erica. Thanks for coming.”

Decker got out and circled the car. Then he said awkwardly, “Hey, John.”

The QB glared. “You called Bannerman? Not me?”

“I begged her to let me. But she had all these rules. And she was so cute about it—and so scary—we didn’t have a choice.”

Johnny nodded. “It was my fuck-up. Not yours. So just get lost.”

“I’m gone,” Decker promised, backing away.

“Hey, where’s my kiss good-bye?” Erica asked him mischievously.

Decker surprised her by laughing. “Once again, I’m doomed either way. So yeah, I’ll take the kiss.” He planted a gentle one on her cheek, then grinned at Johnny. “She’s all yours.”

“Thanks.”

She waved until the Mercedes disappeared around the bend, then stepped closer to the QB. “What a weekend, right? And it’s only Friday.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, but seemed to read her signals and pulled her into a warm hug. “Damn, Erica. You had me worried. You know I’m sorry, right?”

“Everything’s good,” she agreed. “So let’s just pretend it never happened. At least for now.”

He cupped his hand around her chin and raised her face to his. “I feel like crap about it.”

“I know. It was awkward. I hate cell phones.”

“Me too.” He brushed his lips across hers. “I’m just glad you’re still speaking to me.”

“I overreacted. And in a perverse way, things worked out for the best.”

“How can you say that?” he growled. “It was a nightmare. For you, I mean. Thinking I hooked you up with Deck? For sex?”

“I never really thought that. More just like you wanted me to comfort him.”

“With your
body
? You must have thought I was the biggest scumbag ever. My own girlfriend? It’s nuts.”

“I overreacted,” she repeated with a nervous smile. His hand had dropped from her chin, but his other arm was still wrapped around her. And his handsome face—those gorgeous eyes, that strong jaw—still beckoned to her.

Maybe it was all the testosterone that had assaulted her during the last twenty-four hours. Or the way Johnny’s chest felt when he hugged her. So steely, so powerful. Whatever erotic stimulation had gotten to her, she was ready to call a time-out and have some mindless fun before they tackled their issues. Her body was already surrendering, molding itself against him and grinding a little just for emphasis. And while she knew it was just superficial, it might just be the best they could hope for.

But Johnny had other ideas, fending off her advances gently. “We need to deal with this first.”

“That’s exactly what we don’t need.”

“Huh?”

“You want to solve problems. Even unsolvable ones.”

He gave her a confident smile. “There’s no such thing. You proved that yourself when you got Deck and Bannerman talking again. I didn’t think it could be done. But you did it.”

“Our problems are different.”

“You mean worse?” He stared in dismay. “I get it, you know. I was an asshole. A QB barking orders at his own girlfriend. It was shitty of me, and I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She drew away reluctantly. “I’m talking about the other stuff. Our careers. Mine especially. It’s one conflict after another. But it doesn’t have to be. We just need to get back to basics, right? The three Fs. Except in our case, it’s two Fs and an L for Lager Storm.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered. “He actually told you that stupid joke?”

“It was funny. And he was sweet about it. And let’s face it, it’s true. We’re better when we play to our strengths.”

He stared at her. “And we’re all about sex, football, and beer? That’s what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying it worked better when we knew what mattered.
Your
career,
my
career, and sex.” She moistened her lips. “Remember that first day in the bar? And then in Murf’s suite? And at the shoot? It was amazing because we weren’t trying to make more of it than it was. We just went with it. Then it took a serious turn and all the fun went out of it. I blame myself.”

She could see he wanted to interrupt, but she flashed her palm in warning, then continued. “I had these crazy, pie-in-the-sky plans for this weekend. And so, when you canceled it, I fell apart. And I’m guessing that’s how
you
felt when I canceled our plans for the wildcard game. You remember that, don’t you?”

When he nodded, she sighed in relief. “Don’t you see? It’s unsolvable. Because I will
always
choose my career over you unless you’re bleeding to death. And you will always choose football over me. Unless I’m bleeding to death.”

“Okay.” He held her hands gently. “I remember saying that. About bleeding to death. You might be taking it out of context, but that’s fine. We’re just feeling our way through this, so it’s all good.”

“That’s why we need to get back to fundamentals.”

“Don’t say that anymore,” he warned. “I’m not kidding. Or I’ll effing flatten him.”

“Sean said it too.”

“What? No way.”

“He said whenever things get out of whack with the team, you give them a lecture about the basics. Kicking, running, blocking. All the rest are just frills.”

“That’s football, Erica. Not life. Not love.”

“How is this love?” she demanded. “It’s not even life. Not really. It’s just a game. Like football. Perfect unless we take it too seriously.”

He stared again, not just stunned but visibly hurt.

But she knew she was right. “The attraction is strong but the commitment is weak. We knew that going in. And that didn’t make it wrong. It just is what it is.”

“You’re not in love with me?” he asked quietly

“I guess I don’t know what that means anymore. I just know I liked how we used to be. And . . .” She took a deep breath, then admitted, “I
don’t
like how we are now.”

• • •

Johnny balked at the quicksand of Erica’s pseudo logic. This
was
love, wasn’t it? Why else would he feel this way? Unless of course he was the only one in love, and she actually wanted to go back to those early days when sex against Murf’s door defined their relationship.

“Come on, Erica.
Fight
with me. I was an asshole. Give me hell. Don’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t. For one thing,” he said firmly, “I want to hear that message. And don’t tell me you erased it because I know you didn’t. And while we’re at it—” He exhaled sharply. “Tell me what that Frank guy did. And tell me why you wouldn’t come to my house for so long. Tell me where you were with Deck and Bannerman.
Talk
to me. About
us
. That’s what’s been missing, isn’t it? So let’s do it.”

She sighed. “Shouldn’t we make love first? Just in case?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

She seemed startled, and not in a good way. But all she said was, “Okay, Johnny. Let’s talk.”

• • •

He brought her bags into the house and grabbed a couple of Lager Storms from the fridge while she settled at the dining table with her laptop and her phone.

And then she gave him his choice. The voice mail message where he pimped her out? The incident with Frank Garr? The location of her all-nighter with his teammates? The reason she avoided his house? Anything but the details of Decker’s cure, which she insisted weren’t hers to reveal.

“Okay.” He exhaled sharply. “Tell me how Frank harassed you.”

He could see she was surprised. So was he. Every selfish instinct he possessed told him to ask for the voice mail message. To clear up his own reputation first. Be the guy she loved again.

But this was about her, not him. And about them as a couple. His self-image could wait a few minutes.

As she powered up the laptop, he almost let her off the hook because she seemed so miserable. But that made no sense. Did she honestly think he would judge
her
? Not the asshole who’d done it?

And how the heck did she have a video of it? What kind of freak
was
this guy?

“Just double-click here,” she explained, directing the pointer at an icon marked
Training Session
. “You can see for yourself. But don’t feel like you need to say anything. It’s subjective. And frankly, I’ve put it behind me. So just watch it and forget it. I’ll be on the deck.” She hesitated, then gave him an apologetic smile. “I don’t expect anything from you, Johnny. So please don’t feel like it matters anymore.”

He shook his head as she walked over to the sliding doors and onto the redwood deck, where she stood at the rail, staring over the landscape but surely not seeing it. He was torturing her with this and he knew it. But if he didn’t do it, he’d never let it go.

So he sat down, squared his shoulders, and double-clicked the icon.

To his surprise, it actually was a training session that had apparently been under way for a while since it was heavy into its Q and A. The setting was nondescript. Some kind of cafeteria? About forty participants, and a disproportionate amount of audio-visual equipment. The speaker was at a podium, and the most eager attendees were sitting right up close.

Apparently, Erica wasn’t that eager. He almost didn’t spot her, in fact. Then he realized she was the figure in the far corner, sitting in a metal chair with her laptop on her lap, only paying half attention to the session.

And as the video zoomed in on her, he had to smile. She looked so good. Was this how she dressed for work? A skirt and blouse and nice shoes—sexy, but mostly because her legs made them so. Her hair, which usually drove him crazy, wasn’t even loose. She had gathered it into a braid that hung over one shoulder, and he had to admit, it still drove him crazy.

Then Frank Garr joined her, pulling a chair over so that he was sitting a few feet in front of her. Johnny could see her tense up, and his fists did likewise. The guy was just a little too close. A little too familiar.

How had she said it that day in Murf’s suite? That her boss had believed her because there was “something weird” about it?

Silently congratulating Caldwell for being a good guy, he watched as the scene unfolded. Frank was complimenting Erica on an observation she had made at some other meeting. And she was smiling, but there was no doubt about it. Her fight-or-flight reflex had been activated.

And since this guy was one of her bosses, fight probably wasn’t an option.

As for flight? Every path was blocked. Not even Bannerman could have found a hole there. And like a cagey defensive strategist, Frank Garr knew it.

And she can’t punch him because he hasn’t done anything,
he realized, remembering her litany of justifiable offenses. As long as Frank didn’t slap her ass, proposition her, comment on her appearance, or threaten to fire her, she just had to sit there and take it.

His pulse pounded as he turned up the volume, and Frank’s smooth voice came through the speakers, telling her she had been correct about females who watch sports.

“Which makes sense,” Frank insisted, “since you’re one of them. They have sex more often, masturbate more often, climax more often and more easily than their non-sports counterparts—”

Johnny hit the pause button with his index finger so hard he almost broke the keyboard. He just intended to take a quick break—to let his heartbeat slow, and maybe entertain himself with thoughts of dismembering the disgusting slimeball—but the image that froze on the screen brought him sharply back to reality. And it wasn’t the look on Erica’s face, although that alone made him want to tear out his own eyeballs.

No, it wasn’t just that. It was the look on the slimeball’s face. Not just a bully. Not just a power-hungry boss with a pretty employee at his mercy. It was predatory. It was perverted. It was sick.

And it was happening to Erica.

And even though Johnny almost couldn’t stand it, he knew he had to watch the rest before he joined her on the deck.

• • •

Erica leaned against the railing, watching as the waters of two rivers flowed majestically before her eyes. No wonder Johnny loved it here. It had a raw kind of power that could be tapped like maple syrup. And so much beauty. If she were half the artist she claimed to be, she’d set up camp on this platform and paint until her hand was numb.

“Hey,” said a husky voice from behind her.

She felt a wave of relief. He was done with the video. Now all they had to do was listen to the pimp-me-out message and they could put all this conflict behind them.

But when she turned to him, she gasped at the look on his face. “What’s wrong? Is it your father? Did he have another attack?”

“Come here, Erica,” he told her, his tone strained as he opened his arms to her.

She went to him willingly, anxiously, wondering how this bizarre weekend could get any worse.

Then he whispered in her hair, “Tell me what to say.”

“What?” She pulled back and was touched by the look in his eyes. Like he wanted to slay a dragon for her, but this particular dragon wore a suit and tie and didn’t breathe anything as identifiable as fire.

“You could see it?” she murmured, honestly surprised. “I know it was subtle—”

“It wasn’t subtle, baby. That’s how these dirtbags get away with it. By making you think it’s
your
fault if you don’t stand up to them. I’ve seen them in action, but this fucker takes the cake. He was practically jacking off in front of you.”

“Oh, my God. That’s exactly how it felt.” She threw herself against his chest. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Don’t thank me.” He gathered her close again. “This is what you were trying to tell me that day at Murf’s. Why you couldn’t afford to screw up Lager Storm. Because Lager Storm is how you’re dealing with it. The way you’re pushing back at him. It’s cool. I’d rather just beat the shit out of him, but it’s cool. We’ll do it your way.”