Playing for Kicks (Play Makers Book 5) (3 page)

“You’re still tending bar?”

“Not for long,” Tess assured her. “It’s too
much of a grind, since my shifts last until midnight and I’m not
much of a morning person, so I never have time to write. Plus,” she
said with a rueful laugh, “it’ll make my father happy since he
thinks I’m surrounded by rape-y drunks day and night.”

“That was
my
first reaction, too,”
Erica admitted. “You’re so pretty, you must get tons of unwanted
attention. Doesn’t it scare you?”

“It’s nothing like that,” Tess murmured,
discouraged that everyone saw her as such a victim. “For one thing,
our bouncer is the best. Not only can he throttle any guy on the
planet with one hand behind his back, but he’s got ESP. All a perv
has to do is
think
about touching me and he’s out on his
ass.” Dropping the playful tone, she insisted, “Sports bars are
different than the hard-core kind. My customers are nice guys who
would never take advantage. And they’d protect me if some random
creep tried anything. It’s why I
love
sports fans. They’re
the reason I’m branching out into sports writing. To sing
their
praises.”

“Wait until you meet Sean Decker,” Erica said
breathlessly. “He’s that guy for sure. And so is Johnny, obviously.
They’re gonna love you, Tess.”

“Great.” She stood and smiled. “Friday night?
Thanks again, Erica. You’re awesome. And I promise I’ll wear
something better than this. In other words, no ruffles.”

“You look adorable,” Erica assured her as she
got up and walked around the desk. “But we’re casual at our house,
so wear shorts and a T-shirt, okay? Or better still, I’ll supply a
Lancers jersey for you. Subliminal advertising, right?”

Tess nodded happily.

“I’ll text you the directions. Just call from
the gate and I’ll buzz you in. Let’s say six thirty. So we can have
drinks first.”

“I can’t wait to meet your husband. I’m such
a fan.”

“And you’ll love Sean too. He’s private, so
he doesn’t get as much publicity, but he’s darling. Gorgeous green
eyes, a smile that could melt your heart, and a laid-back attitude
that puts you right at ease.”

“Oh, no.” Tess stared in dismay. “Is this a
fix-up?”

“Is that how it sounded?” Erica laughed.
“Sorry, I just love him so much I guess it shows. But he already
has a girlfriend if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Whew!” Tess flashed an apologetic smile. “I
see so many blind dates at the bar, and they
always
go
wrong. So I’m gun shy.”

“I’m not a fan of them either,” Erica assured
her. “Even though I’m sure there are exceptions.”

“I’m sure there are, but
blech
. Not
for me.” Extending her hand to shake Erica’s, she was pleased when
the ad exec gave her a loose hug instead and then walked her to the
door, where a harried secretary was lying in wait with a list of
urgent messages.

“See you Friday,” Erica said briskly. “If you
need anything in the meantime, just call. Promise?”

“I promise,” Tess assured her. “See you
Friday.”

• • •

When Erica McCall-Spurling returned to her
desk, she tucked the list of messages from her secretary into her
pencil drawer, then sat back, surprised by her own audacity.
Setting up a blind date for Sean? He was practically engaged!
Spoken for. Completely off the market.

But Tess Colby was perfect for him. Like the
proverbial breath of fresh air. Charming, non-threatening,
subversively sexy. Sweet but not too sweet with her honey-colored
hair and huge blue eyes. She would make him laugh, draw him out of
his funk, remind him how much fun he used to have with normal
females. How much fun he could have again.

“You’re going to hell,” she warned herself.
“He has a
fiancée
. What on earth is your plan? That he’ll
dump Kerrie? He’d
never
do that. He’s too loyal.”

But Tess was unbelievably cute. Didn’t that
create a cosmic loophole?

Despite her cringing, Erica couldn’t feel too
guilty. She had tried to accept Kerrie. To include her in their
group. She actually
liked
the woman. Felt sorry for her.
Hoped she’d find the right guy someday. But Sean wasn’t that guy
and the relationship was destroying him before their eyes. Gutting
him. Ruining the best years of his life.

Still, Johnny would be shocked. Not that he
approved of Kerrie either—far from it—but he believed in staying
out of other people’s business. Except, of course, this wasn’t
“other people,” it was Sean. Wasn’t that another loophole?

You can deal with Johnny,
she decided.
He’ll give you a lecture, but halfway through
. . .

The prospect made her flush. Even when he
tried to take a stand on something, he got distracted by their
chemistry. And since she was just as susceptible, she sympathized,
and almost never took advantage of it.

Except for a good cause.

The bigger danger was that Sean himself would
catch on and get defensive on Kerrie’s behalf. But Erica would be
subtle, so with any luck, he would just be
reminded—subconsciously—that he didn’t thrive on melodrama like
Kerrie did. He needed someone calmer. Mellower. Playful but not
manically so. Someone who wanted to wander through a winter
landscape of dazzling icicles with him.

But if he
does
realize it’s a
set-up, he’ll be furious,
she warned herself.
Then he’ll
never
break up with her and it’ll all be your fault.

That would be terrible, but the
alternative—sitting by silently while he ruined his life—was worse.
And it wasn’t like she expected him to
marry
Tess Colby.
Just to see the possibilities he would be throwing away if he
married Kerrie. He had painted himself into a corner with her, but
it wasn’t over yet, was it?

It’s a Hail Mary pass,
she decided
with grim determination.
Two seconds left in the game, fourth
down, we’re on the fifty yard line, losing by five, but damn if we
won’t at least
try
to make one last play.

• • •

Thanks to sports agent Patrick Murphy, a man
she had never met but whom she definitely wanted to marry, Tess had
the use of a fancy hotel suite in downtown Portland for the entire
week. Rushing back there after interviewing Erica, she buried
herself in more and better research, not just about the Spurlings
but about Sean Decker, super kicker.

As much as she loved her original idea for an
article, she would have ditched it in favor of writing about
superstitious athletes if she hadn’t made a commitment to Ed the
editor, who was sure he could market the advertising piece based on
the success of her previous stories about tending bar in sports
establishments. Not that she had made much money on those, or
caused a ripple in the literary world, but the anecdotes had earned
some hilarious feedback from other bartenders, some of whom in turn
recommended them to die-hard customers.

To Tess, that made sense since her shtick was
based almost completely on observing sports fans in their natural
habitat. Sure, she knew how to mix a great drink, but she earned
outrageous tips because of her knowledge of televised games and the
guys who watched them. She had even been invited to lecture
prospective bartenders on the difference between regular bars and
the ones that catered to sporting events, and had gotten some
laughs when she explained it was less about the perfect martini and
more about what total and complete
bums
the officials
were.

Now as she drove her RAV4 up to the private
gate of the Spurling residence on Friday evening, she shivered at
the prospect of meeting two Super Bowl champions—Johnny Spurling
with his broad shoulders, gorgeous face and commanding attitude;
and the kicker, a nice-looking guy with the best boot in the NFL.
It was nearly impossible to find photos of Decker
sans
helmet, telling her he was either as private as Erica thought, or
despite his game-saving field goals and reputation for eating
pancakes, he just couldn’t attract the kind of press that made
Johnny a household face.

“Maybe that will change if he decides to do
commercials,” Tess murmured to herself as Erica buzzed her in.
While she didn’t actually have a good fix on Decker’s face, she had
zoomed in on some championship footage and knew he had a lean,
athletic build. According to the Internet he was an inch over six
feet, which was Tess’s favorite height in a guy, although she was
willing to make an exception for taller, broader, hotter dudes like
Johnny Spurling any time.

Laughing as she navigated the circular
driveway to an imposing lodge-style home, she reminded herself to
settle down. Sure, she had met a fair number of professional
athletes in her time, but always with a thirty-inch slab of oaken
bar between them. Plus, it was
Colbee
who had met them,
wasn’t it?

It would be a bit different as professional
journalist Tess Colby.

In other words, don’t flirt,
she
advised herself as she climbed the steps to the front door. At
least she wasn’t nervous, and for that she gave Erica credit. They
had hit it off so well, they might have become friends one day if
they both lived in Portland.

Then she could introduce Tess to
all
the Lancer hunks
.

And then what?
she challenged herself.
Are you looking for a new boyfriend or a new career?

The answer was simple, and so, at Erica’s
suggestion, she had kept her outfit casual. She had even considered
a ponytail but feared the Colbee vibe, so she had left it loose,
scrunching it into waves with gel-coated fingers. Her T-shirt was
one of her favorites from the University of Hawaii, not that it
mattered since her hostess had promised a Lancers jersey for the
occasion. And if Erica didn’t come through? This faded pink tee
always gave Tess confidence.

But a Lancers shirt would be fun, especially
if Johnny Spurling and the kicker would autograph it. Just thinking
about it gave her a rush.

At that moment, Erica yanked open the door
and exclaimed, “Tess!” like they were long-lost sisters. Then
without waiting for a response, she grabbed her by the hand, pulled
her into the entry hall, stood back and smiled happily. “You look
so cute!”

“So do you,” Tess said with a laugh, noting
that her hostess’s tank top, shorts and bare feet
were
adorable. “I didn’t realize we were going for ‘cute,’ but I’m glad
we succeeded.”

Erica laughed too. “You thought this was just
an interview? But it’s so much more. We’re going to be friends. All
four of us. I can just feel it. Anyway . . .” She seemed to
shake off the excess energy and said more calmly, “Thanks for
coming. They should be here any minute, so let’s sit on the deck
and chat while we wait, okay?”

“That sounds nice.” Tess glanced around at
the Spurling residence, which, while huge, seemed more like a
sports chalet than a mansion. Lots of cozy places to curl up and
read. Or just gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The living
area appeared to be mostly on one floor, although there was a
spacious loft above them and a second staircase leading to a lower
level. And best of all, a sumptuous multi-level deck that was
visible through wide French doors.

“Would you like some wine, Tess? Something
stronger? Weaker?”

“I’m good for the moment.”

“You should change into your new top. Then
we’ll visit. Oh, and remember how I mentioned Sean’s girlfriend? We
don’t really talk about her for a variety of reasons, so unless he
brings her up, I wouldn’t. Okay?”

“Pardon?”

“It’s fine,” Erica said brightly. “Just a
touchy subject. I’m sure you don’t want to mess with that. So
anyway . . .” She picked up a small package from a nearby
table. “Here’s the jersey. For you to keep, obviously. We’re about
the same size so it should fit.”

Tess was still trying to parse out the “we
don’t talk about his girlfriend” remark so she accepted the package
without comment and followed the hostess’s directions to a guest
room down the hall. All she could think was that the poor kicker’s
girlfriend was dying of some piteous disease, the mere mention of
which would unleash the floodgates.

But if that were true, would he really
volunteer for overnight trips and dinners with journalists? So
maybe he and the girlfriend were fighting. Or maybe she was
traveling a lot and it annoyed the heck out of him.

As she slipped out of her pink tee in front
of a full-length mirror, she felt vaguely annoyed that she didn’t
know the whole story, but glad for the warning so she didn’t
accidentally touch a nerve. And in the meantime, it was cool having
an official Lancers jersey. Her regulars loved bringing her shirts
and bobble heads and giant foam fingers, usually Seahawks or
Mariners, but from other parts of the country as well.

Until now, though, no Lancers
memorabilia.

The shirt was blue, gray and white, and was
made of extremely stretchy fabric with a V-neck. Not the
traditional look of a jersey. And the moment Tess tugged it into
place she knew she was in trouble.

“Subliminal advertising?” she mused aloud.
“Unless we’re advertising my
cleavage,
I don’t think
so.”

Maybe it was her ever-so-slightly padded bra
causing the trouble, but she didn’t think so. Her breasts, while
always perky, had never popped like this. If she were a guy, she
would
totally
do herself.

“Tess?” Erica called from the hallway.

Still unnerved, she walked over and opened
the door, then said sheepishly, “Ta da.”

“Oh! It’s perfect.”

“Are you serious? I’m spilling out.
Literally
. It’s just not me.”

“Trust me, Tess. This is how advertising
works.”