Authors: Liz Matis
Playing For Keeps (8 page)
“Yeah, Jameson, did my man bore you to death with his old footbal stories?” asked Jake.
Ryan almost sighed in relief as Jake tried to down play the situation.
“I was spared by a couple of games of Go Fish,” replied Samantha.
“Go Fish!” The guys started laughing.
“Terel , man, you used to be my hero,” said Burner.
“Doesn’t it count that I won?” Ryan needed to save face somehow. He turned to Samantha and waited for her to contradict him.
“Only if you were playing Strip Poker. Get it? Poke Her,” joked Todd.
Samantha, who quickly walked away, didn’t think it was funny and neither did Ryan but he stood his ground and threaten the quarterback, “What if I played Slap Jack al over your face?”
“Whoa, don’t take it out on me because you ain’t getting any.”
Inexperienced with handling jealous emotions, Ryan strode away before he did something stupid. For the first time, he realized the cost to Samantha’s reputation if they were caught. The comments, the innuendos, and the harassment. Because he’d take exception to it, he’d end up alienating the whole team. That was not the way to a championship.
He was having the best season of his career, but he wouldn’t be satisfied unless the team won the Super Bowl. Then he could retire in one piece and concentrate on the next stage of his life. Maybe, he’d get married. Maybe even foster some kids.
A wife. Samantha’s smiling face easily came to mind. Who was he kidding? It took him ten years to get to first base. At this rate he’d need Viagra by the time she gave him the sign to slide into home.
Besides, he didn’t think he was ready for marriage. He was tired of the life, but a wife?
That’s huge
.
But if al Ryan was out for was a piece of her ass, her brother would try to kick his, and he real y didn’t want to burn bridges. He’d already broken his word to her father and the disappointment he felt in himself for doing so dogged him. By pursuing her he risked her career, the team’s season, and his own relationship with her family.
He had to stay away from her, for her own sake and for his. But after that kiss, how could
he
pretend it never happened? His hands burned from touching her, his lips scorched from her hot cinnamon taste, and he ached al over from her soft body pressing into his. Her moan of pleasure had nearly undone him.
Al this time he thought Samantha was a good girl and while she wasn’t the type to get reeled into flashing for a Girls Gone Wild Video, she had a streak of wildness in her. He knew it. He tasted it.
Ryan kept replaying the kiss in his mind over and over like a highlight film. Film? He didn’t notice any security cameras in the elevator. Then again, Samantha commanded his ful attention. What if they were captured on tape? What if some underpaid employee sold it to the press? The career so important to her might be ripped away. Then she’d real y hate him. He couldn’t let that happen.
He made his way back to the elevator, taking the ride up and down, searching for any cameras, but found none. When the doors slid open, Jake stood by the reception desk watching.
“Getting rid of evidence?” Jake asked as Ryan walked over.
“Of what?”
“Look, it’s gal ant of you to protect her, but come on, you can tel me.”
Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “There’s nothing to tel .”
“You didn’t even make a move on her?”
“Shot down.” Ryan hoped his forlorn expression would earn him a break from Jake’s digs.
“Must be a blue moon.” Jake slapped him on the back.
Ryan laughed. “Must be.”
“Let’s get some grub. The team held up dinner for you. We’re starving.”
“Yeah me, too.”
But not for food
***
It was unfair since nothing would be said if Bradley bought a player dinner or even chugged down a beer with the whole team. If a female, especial y a newbie like her, acted the same way her integrity would be cal ed into question. Her father lectured her on the unwritten rules of the road. She recal ed his stern voice, ‘Number one, no fraternizing with the players, including Ryan. People wil get the wrong idea.’
His teammates reactions outside the elevator were proof of that. Though their suspicions weren’t far off track, Ryan had derailed them from that path.
Coaches and trainers were off limits as wel , and having dinner with a male sportswriter would have the other reporters talking. And after the Yorker article, female sportswriters steered clear of her like a player who avoids deviating from his game day routine. Maybe after a year or two, after she’d proven herself, she could mingle a bit more. But for now, she sat alone.
Samantha stared down at her plate. The Thai chicken looked as unappealing as it tasted. Of course, after kissing Ryan she wasn’t sure she’d ever savor food again. If what happened in the elevator was the appetizer, it wetted her hunger for the buffet. Freaking damn rules. If she had a dinner companion she wouldn’t be sitting here thinking about feeding on Ryan’s tongue or his other interesting body parts.
She jumped in her seat when her cel phone rang. Checking the screen first before answering, she felt a twinge of guilt as she flipped open the phone. “Hi, Mom!” She tried to sound upbeat.
“Thank God, I’ve been trying to reach you. You didn’t cal when you landed.”
“Sorry, I forgot.”
Too distracted thinking about Ryan.
“After what happened to you, I was so afraid.”
The twinge became a stab. Used to be no news is good news, but since the kidnapping her Mom insisted on talking to her at least once a day, twice when she was out on the road. Samantha didn’t want to tel her mom what happened - it would worry her - but she needed to talk to someone and she didn’t want to go back to eating alone. “I got trapped in an elevator,” she blurted.
“Oh, honey, how awful. I mean after…after that place.”
“I’m fine. Ryan was with me.”
“What a relief.”
Samantha thought while her mother continued to speak. It had been a relief – that is, after she had gotten over the fact she was up close and personal with Ryan. If she’d been trapped alone with time to think, the guilt and recriminations would’ve consumed her until she started beating down the door. Or climbing out Bruce Wil is style. Not only did Ryan artful y distract her from the worries plaguing her, she’d felt physical y protected for the first time since Iraq and it wasn’t because he resembled a gladiator. Despite his teasing, the warmth in his eyes settled her soul.
Settled her soul?
What was she thinking? Conflicting emotions churned within her. She could easily fal in love with Ryan but would he safeguard her heart? Did he know how?
“What did you two do?” her mother’s voice broke through.
Samantha almost laughed.. She couldn’t exactly say ‘Ryan kissed me into the next dimension.’ If she did, the wedding plans would commence.
“We played cards.”
“What a good boy.”
Samantha rol ed her eyes. If her mom only knew how much of a bad boy he was, she’d be praying for him instead of trying to pawn him off on her youngest daughter.
“I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”
“Mother, he has lots of girlfriends.”
“Those aren’t girlfriends.”
“Mom!” Her mother was apparently aware of his reputation, yet she stil hoped to bring her and Ryan to the altar. She must be beyond desperate to marry her off.
“Samantha, I wasn’t born yesterday. But Ryan isn’t the type to roam once corral ed.”
“He’s not a horse.”
“No, he’s not. He’s a handsome and dare I say, sexy man who’s in love with you. You two belong together. There, I said it.”
“Saying it doesn’t make it so.” Samantha took her fork and twirled her food into the shape of a footbal . “Besides Dad said--”
“Never mind what your father says. If he had his way, you’d say your vows to God instead of a man. Never seen him so happy as the day your sister, Col een, entered the convent.”
Samantha laughed remembering her father’s Irish jig. “I know, Mom, and he stil insists that Erin’s kids were conceived immaculately. I’l cal you tomorrow when I get to the airport. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, but we’l continue this conversation later.”
Samantha put the cel phone in her purse and took out a credit card. The waiter waltzed over, and before taking her plate, asked, “Madam, if your dinner wasn’t to your liking I could bring you something else.”
“Thanks, but I guess I’m not that hungry.”
***
She awakens in a dark…, what? Cel ? Tomb? Her swol en lip aches, but not as bad as the rest of her body. Her clothes are damp with sweat and blood. Beads of perspiration drip from her forehead, mingling with her silent tears. She tries to stand, but col apses from the effort. So sleepy. Did they drug her? Her eyes begin to close.
The door crashes open. The stream of sudden light hurts her eyes and she flinches. Two men are shouting at her in Arabic. Kicking her. Spitting on her. What did they want? If they would talk slower she might be able to understand. Her hair is pul ed and she is lifted off the ground. She makes out the word kil , then whore.
Oh God, this is it.
A whimper escapes from her mouth.
Time unbearably slows, as the cold hard metal of a gun presses at her temple.
“Please.” A click of a gun. Just a click. The men laugh as they roughly shove her to the dirt floor.
Samantha shot up in bed, her breaths coming in short gasps. Moments passed before she could take a deep calming one. She can stil taste the metal ic bitterness of blood in her mouth. She looked around, the light from the bathroom confirming she was safe, far away from the hut where she was held captive. The same nightmare. Only it real y happened.
She eased out of bed, and staggered to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Avoiding a look in the mirror, she grabbed a towel, and dried her face with trembling hands. From experience, she knew sleep would elude her for the rest of the night.
Samantha walked back into the room and reached for the remote on the nightstand. She turned on the television to drown out the echo of the men’s laughter stil fresh in her mind.
Nothing on. She opened the door to the hotel refrigerator. The words of the veteran reporter sounded in her mind as she stared at the little bottles of liquor. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of water and guzzled it like she hadn’t drunk for days. Like those two days in the stifling hut.
Restless, she paced the room. Maybe the gym was opened 24/7. A nice demon-run on the treadmil might help take the edge off. She threw on her shorts, running bra, and then added her tracksuit. Grabbing another water and her gym bag she headed out.
Before opening the door to the gym, Samantha heard the clank of weights hitting steel and the blaring of a television. Seemed she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. She pul ed the door open and almost turned right back around at the sight of Ryan’s inviting backside as he changed weights. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or glad for the company. She decided on annoyed, it was far less dangerous.
“Don’t you have a curfew?”
He stood up and turned towards her, smiling like the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood. “Couldn’t fal asleep. That kiss got me al riled up. You?”
“Can’t stay asleep.”
Please don’t ask why.
Ryan’s hand swept the room and he nodded at the equipment. “What’s your pleasure?”
Samantha laughed. “More like torture. Dim the lights and we’re on the set of a Vincent Price movie.”
“Yeah, but instead we self inflict the pain.”
“I think that makes us crazier than him.” She walked over to the treadmil and put her water bottle in its assigned place. She looked up at the television, where CNN’s Anderson Cooper was reporting from Iraq. Two Marines dead. Looking away, she said a silent prayer and wished none were from the outfit she’d been embedded with. Tears wel ed. She couldn’t escape the pain anywhere. Not in her apartment. Not on the road. Not in the gym, and certainly not in her sleep.
The flipping of channels sounded before she heard Letterman’s Top Ten List.
How could he know how much the newscast upset her? Did he see her tears?
“Thanks.”
“Want to talk?” Ryan sat down on the weight machine across from her.
Did he want to talk about Iraq? The kiss? Both were off limits. “No,” she stated firmly.
After dropping her bag on the floor, she stripped off her tracksuit. Ryan returned to form and gave a long drawn out whistle. Samantha shook her head. She entered her information into the treadmil ’s computer system, vainly shaving ten pounds off her actual weight.
She began slow and then picked up the pace to five miles per hour. She tried to ignore him by pretending to be riveted on the Late Show playing on the television hanging from the wal , but she couldn’t help sneaking peeks at Ryan. As if he knew, he peeled off his shirt and continued the work out. Samantha held back a whistle of her own.
She sucked in her breath at the sight of the beads of sweat forming on his chest. Glistening, his muscles appeared even bigger. She fel under a trance as he intently worked on his body. Pumping fluid motions. Man and machine becoming one. Would he be that way with a woman? Would he and his lover become one?
She’d seen him countless times without a shirt. Heck, she’d seen him wet from the shower. Tonight was different. They were alone. No players, coaches, or reporters. Alone. Just the two them and exercise equipment they could get freaky on.
