Playing For Keeps (2 page)

But that was Samantha, a problem to solve because there was something about her that didn’t add up. Why ask him about the earring and hair?

He was surprised she even noticed. And while his appearance had changed from his col ege days, Samantha’s hair was the same shade of golden auburn, which reminded him of autumn leaves. He longed to dive into the glorious mane like a kid diving into a pile of freshly raked leaves.

His noted her clothing and the way they hung loosely on her body. Her brother, Patrick, said she’d lost weight. Ryan had the sudden idea to ask her out to dinner.

“Man, you’ve got it bad,” said Jake. “Not that I blame you. She is-”

“A lesbian.” Maybe if they believed it the guys would leave her alone.

“Wel , it looks like Burner over there is trying to convert her.”

Ryan clenched his fist. Bil y Burner, the rookie tight-end, was eyeing Samantha up and down while she interviewed him. What kind of name was that anyway? “Lesbian or not, her brother is a NYPD detective. Spread it around, wil you?”

Jake eyed him a moment, then shook his head. “Sure thing.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” Ryan asked again.

“Never seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“A puppy begging for a bone.”

Ryan gawked at his teammate and friend of eight years. “Man, I think you hit your head out there, because you’re seeing things.” He quickly stuffed his gym bag.

Jake cleared his throat and Ryan looked up. Samantha sashayed toward him. Alight with amusement, the gold flecks in her light brown eyes reminded him of sparkling apple cider.

“Ryan, Burner reminds me of you ten years ago.”

“He can’t shut up, can he?”

“Nope. Thank God.”

“Take it easy on him, he’s a rookie.” Ryan didn’t know why he was defending the jerk, probably because Samantha was right; Burner was a lot like Ryan.

“Easy? Like you guys were on me today?” Samantha shook her head no as she waved goodbye.

“See you,” Ryan said lamely as she walked away again.

Jake belted out a laugh. “That was pathetic.” Then added a whimpering bark.

Ryan grabbed the bag and headed for his car. He pul ed out of the stadium parking lot, driving with the skil that a Porsche required. He came to a red light and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Jake didn’t know what he was talking about. He’d never begged for a woman’s attention. If Samantha didn’t want it there were plenty of women who did and the women who already had wouldn’t describe him as a puppy. More like his team’s namesake, the Cougars.

But Ryan didn’t want other women. At least not right now. Samantha had him in heat and he needed to bury himself in hers. He had talked himself into believing he could treat her like his best friend’s little sister. That was clearly not going to work, not with his imagination already kicking into gear with sex scenarios – the fifty-yard line, the end zone, up against the wal in the tunnel leading out onto the field, the--

A horn blasted and he looked up. Damn, the light had turned green. He checked the rearview mirror again and roughly shifted gears. Behind him he saw Jake laughing and waving like he knew what Ryan had been daydreaming about.

Couldn’t a guy fantasize in peace?

What was he even doing thinking about her in that way anyway? The poor girl had been through enough. He shouldn’t mess around with her especial y when he wasn’t the settling kind.

But a woman like Samantha could make a guy re-think his position on the state of matrimony.

During those three days when she went missing in Iraq, al he did was worry. He sat in vigil with the family as they awaited news and selfishly thought he missed his chance on making Samantha his.

Details trickled out slowly. Samantha went rogue without the protection of the Marines she was embedded with. A car bombing was reported. A later cal informed them she wasn’t among the wreckage, but taken hostage by insurgents. An excruciating twenty-four hours dragged by before they learned of her rescue by the very Marines she abandoned. Stupid girl.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel. The thought of her, so smal and helpless, going to hel and back, ate at his gut. He’d never felt so powerless in his life. Not even when he was a boy and dragged to yet another foster home.

Ryan would never forget the cal . While her family celebrated in joy, he only remembered the feeling of relief washing over him. Another emotion fol owed in its wake. Hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Samantha had blocked al his moves in the past. It was time to write a new chapter in his playbook.

With her hands ful of packages, Samantha waited impatiently as her roommate unlocked the door. Hannah Hahn, the super-model and super-friend, had taken her in without a word when everyone else bombarded her with questions.

“Wait a minute, the lock is stuck.”

She shifted the bags of groceries and leaned against the door. The lock came free and she stumbled forward. Hannah caught the eggs in mid-air. “Oh sure, save the eggs.”

“When you’re only al owed protein…”

Hannah, bless her heart, worked at being model thin. She was the poster girl for a high-protein diet. Hannah also obsessively worked out seven days a week unlike Samantha whose only fitness came periodical y from what the Marines came to cal as her demon-runs.

After putting away the groceries and hiding a box of Captain Crunch cereal she’d snuck in, she plopped down on the overstuffed sofa in relief. It was good to be back in the States. Hot water, burgers and fries, speaking English on a regular basis and not being kidnapped by terrorists topped the long list. But despite the relief at her homecoming, she was having trouble adjusting to a normal life. She’d been gone so long she felt like a foreigner in her own country.

Hannah came into the living room and started picking up after herself. “So, how’s the new job?”

“Okay.”

“That’s al you have to say? You went in the locker room, didn’t you?”

Samantha knew what she wanted to hear but decided to tease her a little longer. She shrugged. “It’s a room with lockers and showers.”

Hannah jumped next to her on the couch in an un-super model-like fashion. “And naked men! What was Jake Mil er wearing? Or better yet, not wearing! Details, girl, I need details.” She held her breath waiting for Samantha’s answer.

“Geez, Hannah, I’m only there to interview the players, not scout for Playgirl magazine.”

“Oh, now that’s a job I’d sign up for.”

“Hannah!”

“What?” Hannah gave her best innocent look, which wasn’t very innocent at al . “So you didn’t sneak a peek at al ? Not once?”

Samantha shook her head. “Al you look for are the whites of their eyes and not the whites of their tan lines.”

“Not even Ryan, your col ege sweetheart?” Hannah made a kissing sound.

Samantha hit her with one of the couch pil ows. “He was not my col ege sweetheart.”

“Don’t think he got the memo -- he cal ed.”

Pushing down the giddy rush quel ing up inside her, she calmly asked, “What did he want?” Now it was her turn to hold her breath.

“Not until you tel me what happened.”

Samantha relayed the day’s event, feeling like a sixteen year-old again when she dished about Ryan whipping off his towel. Hannah whistled. A couple of days of living together had them acting like teenagers on an extended sleepover. Like nothing had changed, but everything had. She finished the story with, “He’s different from the guy I knew back in Notre Dame.”

“What did you expect, Samantha? He’s a man now, not a col ege boy.”

“True.” She mul ed over Hannah’s reasoning. Could ten years change a man? Not that he was ever a bad guy, just a frustratingly arrogant playboy; and who could blame him? As a handsome, smart, and sure to be rich footbal star, the girls on campus had literal y thrown themselves at him. Not her, though. Samantha never wanted to be one of his girls. “So, what did he want?” she asked again.

“He didn’t say. He left his number on the answering machine.”

“Hannah!”

“What? As a journalist you should appreciate my skil in getting you to talk.”

“I’ve taught you wel . Too wel .” Samantha got up and went into the kitchen to listen to the message. What could he possibly want? She’d just seen him three hours ago. Hitting the play button didn’t prepare her for the deep timber of his voice tel ing her it was nice to see her and to cal him.

Butterflies took flight in her bel y. Samantha replayed it three times, wanting to read something more into his cal . He probably wanted to talk about the game.. She bit her lip.
What did you expect? An invite to dinner? To bed?

“Are you going to cal him?”

Startled, Samantha put her hand to her heart.

“Sorry,” Hannah said.

Samantha took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Then why do you need his number?”

“In case I need a last minute quote or something.”

“Mmm…something.” Hannah arched her eyebrow the way only she and Mr. Spock could.

“Let’s go watch T.V.”

As they walked backed to the living room Hannah said, “If you’re not interested in him, maybe I can give him a cal ?”

“What about Jake Mil er?” Samantha felt a momentarily flutter of panic. It wouldn’t be her roommate’s first time dating a pro footbal player and her super model body was made to order for Ryan’s bed.

Hannah curled up on the couch with a satisfied cat-like smile. “See? You are interested.”

“Look, I’l concede the man is hot. Okay? But Hannah, I can’t date anyone from the team. People wil think I’m trading sex for the inside scoop. I’d lose my creditability and that’s not worth a lay even if it would be a good one.”

Hannah flipped her hair back. “True, but it’s a shame you have to limit your dating pool.”

“You have no idea how shitty a woman sportswriter can be treated if she’s known as a jock-hunter.”

“Then, I don’t want your job.” Hannah grabbed the remote and flipped on a reality show.

Samantha’s eyes glazed over. She dealt with way too much real life on a regular basis, and when she wanted to unwind, comedies seemed to do the trick. She’d played her own game of Survivor, but without the mil ion bucks at the end. Instead, she was rewarded with nightmares. As the showed droned on, her thoughts turned back to Ryan.

She could sure talk big about not dating anyone on the team, however Ryan wasn’t just anyone. He was her col ege crush, her brother’s best buddy, and a family friend - the reason why she was back. So why the reversal? Was she scared? Or had reality set in?

Her mother loved Ryan. What mother wouldn’t love the charming rich guy who racked up the brownie points by opening doors, pul ing chairs out, and offering to help with the dishes when he knew ful wel her mother would refuse? But if her mother ever discovered he’d tried to seduce her daughter, she’d …wel …actual y she’d probably be glad. But her mother didn’t realize that Ryan wasn’t the marrying kind. Samantha did and so did her father, but that stil didn’t stop her from the fantasy that was so dangerous. Where Ryan wasn’t the playboy footbal player. Physical y he looked the same - nothing to improve on there - but he would be the type of guy who liked to cuddle on the couch, cook for her, and rub her feet. In his spare time he’d rescue puppies and write poetry. Emotional y, he was loyal and dedicated only to her and not the whole female population.

Hopeful y, Ryan would do something stupid or say something outrageous the next time they met. Then she could start to rebuild the wal around her heart, which had crumbled over time without her even knowing it. But hadn’t she fought for this plum assignment using al the pul she had in this town so she could be in his world again? Perhaps, she wasn’t scared of him, but the outside world. She let out an involuntary sigh.

“Everything okay?” Hannah asked.

“It’s been a long day, I’m heading off to bed.”

“Sami…you can talk to me…you know that, don’t you?”

In the past, Samantha confided in Hannah, but this wasn’t high school where they could talk about anything, because that anything was stuff like boy trouble or how her math teacher was real y an evil robot to keep her in high school forever with a D-minus.

She couldn’t tel Hannah what truly happened in Iraq. Samantha couldn’t tel anybody. Even in her last article, filed while she waited for a flight home, she sugarcoated the ordeal. A reporter shouldn’t become the story. Her job was about other people’s experiences, not her own. Other journalists would’ve sucked the life out it, maybe vie for a Pulitzer, but not Samantha. Not now, anyway. She learned her lesson. No one would ever know the whole story, nor the guilt or shame she carried away from it.

“I appreciate that, but it’s al down for posterity in black and white. There’s nothing more to tel .”

Trying to lighten the mood, Hannah said, “Do you think they real y have scouts at Playgirl?”

Samantha laughed. “Goodnight, Hannah.”

***

Hannah hated to see her friend this way. Samantha seemed lost and distant unlike the carefree teenager she remembered. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. Okay, so she’d given up her spare bedroom - big deal
.
It wasn’t like she was using it for any great purpose other than to store a hundred pairs of shoes to go along with the other hundred in her walk-in closet.

She needed to do more. Samantha needed a man - a sexy, big, hulking, and capable of protecting her sort of man. Ryan Terel .

She could definitely see why Samantha liked him, and she did like him. Hannah knew it. Al the excuses were a typical Samantha roadblock used to keep people at a distance. Ryan was the opposite, using a string of women to keep his heart safe. She knew the type wel . In fact, Hannah could be a female Ryan when it came to love.

But the latest news from the gossip pages had been quiet in regards to his dating habits. Hannah remembered him from a couple of parties and bars. He was quite the playboy in his day, but she had a feeling those days were over. She’d have to ask around to be sure.