The Game of Love (15 page)

He paused in the doorway to survey the room. The place was a mess. One bedside lamp was completely knocked over, the other’s lampshade tilted to one side. The bed was stripped of all pillows and covers. But there was no sign of Chris. He took another step into the room and something heavy smashed between his shoulders.

“Fuck!” He threw up his arms and spun around to ward off another beating. “Chris, Christ it’s me!”

What he saw broke his heart.

Chris stood holding a bedsheet to her chest with one arm, her hair in a ponytail that listed to one side, her eyes wide, pupils dilated. Clutched in her other hand was his alarm clock, presumably the object she’d whacked him with.

“Baby. It’s me. Christina, put the clock down.” He stayed on his toes, ready to dodge and weave in case she launched it at him. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It was my brother. He didn’t know anyone was in here. Just my brother. Chance.”

As he talked he shut the bedroom door and locked it. The tension began to seep from her body and her eyes come into focus. Her arms dropped to her sides like limp noodles and the clock fell from her lax fingertips, making a dull thud as it hit the carpet. The sheet rustled to the floor, leaving her naked.

“Come here, sweetie.” He edged toward her, using a soothing voice. “Come on.” When she didn’t show signs of fight-or-flight any longer, he folded her in his arms and pressed her head to his shoulder.

She didn’t cry, she didn’t faint or break into hysterics. Just wrapped her arms around his midsection, squeezing until he thought a rib might bust. But he stayed silent, waiting for whatever storm she was fighting to pass, murmuring worthless nonsense and making calming noises.

Finally, he felt her take a deep breath, then push off and balance on her own two feet. Her eyes were dry, alert.

“I’m so sorry.”

“So…your brother, huh?” She gave a humorless laugh.

“Yes, the man with a death wish was my brother, Chance. My whole family has keys for emergency purposes…which they are all about to lose the rights to. Indefinitely.” His hands rubbed up and down her arms. He couldn’t stop touching her, reassuring her—and him—she was all right. “What happened?”

“I was asleep, and suddenly the bed bounced, someone was yelling, and then the covers flew off.” She glanced over his shoulder toward the bed, as if reminding herself. Then she looked up at him. “Obviously he thought I was you, since you were missing and he couldn’t see who was in the bed.” She paused. “Where exactly were you?”

“I grabbed a shower in the hall bathroom so I wouldn’t wake you up.” When her face scrunched up, he asked, “What?”

“That was sweet. Don’t be sweet right now. I want to be annoyed.”

“Oh. Um, I used up all the hot water?” Total lie, but hey, he could play the game if it made her smile.

And it did. She gave him a girly punch on the arm—not that he’d say so out loud because then she really would punch him—and moved around him to pick up the comforter where it had landed.

“You know,” she said almost absently as she started making his bed and he grabbed a pair of clean shorts, “if this is the way you like your wakeup calls, I think the next sleepover is at my place.”

He watched her fingers smooth away a dent in his pillow while her words sunk in.
Next sleepover.
She wanted more. The shocking relief that swamped his system told him he felt the same way, even if he hadn’t realized it until then.

Almost as if she’d just figured out what she had said, her cheeks flushed and she stammered out, “I mean, I just, I mean, you know. Sleepover, like a joke. Um…” She turned around in a tight circle a few times, head down, looking like a dog chasing its tail. “Where’d the other pillow go?” she mumbled.

God, she was adorable.

He walked up behind her, pulling her back against his chest. “I didn’t get my good-morning kiss,” he murmured into her neck.

“And you’re not going to get one, either. Not right now, anyway.”

What the hell…Had his brother really spooked her that much? “Just a quick one,” he cajoled as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the underside of her jaw. Her body relaxed into his and he smiled. Then she shot out of his arms.

“Nope. Morning breath.” She headed toward the bathroom.

“Morning breath? Seriously? You won’t give me a kiss because of morning breath? Last night you let me eat pizza toppings off your—”

“Hey.” Her glare could’ve stopped the Cowboys’ defensive line. “Deal with it,” she commanded and closed the bathroom door.

A few rattling sounds—drawers being opened and rummaged through—and then she called out through the door, “I’m using this second toothbrush from the two-pack that’s already opened. Bonus points to you for actually having one in here. Ooo, floss!”

The high-pitched tone of her voice made it sound like the floss container was encrusted with diamonds. He almost laughed at how pleased and excited she was about his oral hygiene. She was having an oralgasm.

Which, of course, made him think of the real thing. And since he was pretty sure all hopes of morning nookie had flown out the window when Chance let himself in, he called, “I’ll bring up your clothes from the dryer, then I’m going to talk to the shit-for-brains downstairs. Come on down when you’re dressed.”

“M’kay.”

He heard the faucet being turned on high.

Much like his frustration level.

Chris wished she had something to slap on her face. Mascara, eye shadow, something. Anything besides the plain tube of ChapStick that managed to stay in her hoodie pocket during the race for her life through the tree line yesterday. She wasn’t a big makeup fanatic, but every woman wanted to put her best face forward when meeting the family of the guy she was sleeping with.

Even if that family member turned out to be a B-and-E, bed-jumping weirdo.

Sighing heavily as she pulled her clothes from yesterday on, she trudged down the stairs to face the Rude Awakening, also known as Chance. She found them sitting in the living room, Brett’s mouth set in a grim line and Chance’s head hanging in his hands. They turned to look, and Chance shot out of his armchair like someone lit a firecracker under his butt.

“Ms. St. James, I am so sorry. I didn’t see anyone’s car but my brother’s, and so when Brett didn’t answer the door I thought he was just being a lazy as—butt and decided he needed to wake up.”

The flush creeping up his neck told her he was genuinely sorry, and extremely embarrassed. All thoughts of making him suffer through several jokes were forgotten. “It’s all right. I can see the confusion. Unidentified mass huddled under blankets.” She smiled at him and he seemed to relax a bit. “Call me Chris, please.”

Hoping to ease the tension more—given Brett still looked like he wanted to bend steel with his bare hands and Chance was just one “Boo” shy of making a break for it—she toed her shoes off, plopped down on the couch across from Brett and to the right of Chance, tucking her feet under her legs, hoping she managed to look casual.

“So what’s going on?”

“He shouldn’t be here at all,” Brett grumbled. “Nobody in this family knocks. I’m still twelve years old to you people.”

She shot him a look.
Shut your trap.

“Trust me, Chris let me know I was uninvited.” Chance grimaced and shifted in his seat a bit. “I think my wife should feel lucky we’re done having kids.”

At that, Brett’s face lit up like a four-year-old on Christmas morning. “Got you in the gonads, did she?”

“You think I ran out of there like a bat out of hell doubled over for fun?”

“Sorry,” Chris muttered.

“Spill, Chance.” Brett propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“Mission from Mom, actually. Brett was MIA last week for brunch and so she wanted to make sure that he…” Chance looked to Brett and back to her again, then shrugged.

“Well. If you have family stuff to do, Brett, then go ahead and get ready and you can drop me off at home on the way.”

“No.”

His quiet insistence caught her off guard. “Um, well. I could call Katie. She’s the reason I’m here without a car anyway.”

“No.” He was standing firm, but apparently wasn’t willing to give up an explanation…God, were they seriously back to the domineering, overbearing—

“I want you to come with me.”

Oh. Well. The air left her lungs and she forced herself to sit still until she could breathe again. He wanted her to go to a family event. Seriously? Or was he just asking out of guilt? Maybe he expected her to say no, to make an excu—

“Chance, take off.” Brett’s gaze was piercing her, not making the breathing thing any easier. When she tried to look away, to track Chance’s departure, she couldn’t.

The door clicked shut before Brett spoke again. “I want you to come with me,” he repeated, in that same level, even tone that gave no hint of his sincerity.

The sincerity was appreciated. Whether or not she wanted him to be so invested was another question. She hated her own uncertainty most of all.

She’d be generous and give him an out. “I think that’d be a little presumptuous to bring a last-minute guest to your mother’s house. She probably wouldn’t have enough—”

“If you’re going to say food, you are clearly repressing the memory of the size of our picnic yesterday.” All right, at least he was grinning. Much improved from the bland “I have no opinion” man from two minutes ago. Even so…

“I’m a mess. I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes, and they’re not even cute. No makeup, nothing. This is not how you show up uninvited to someone’s house.”

His grin grew wider. “Do you want me to throw on some workout clothes too? Matchy-matchy?”

Oh. Oh, that just figured. Serious situation involving a
meet the parents
moment and he chose to make fun. Fine. Two could play that game.

“You know, that might not be a bad idea. The whole matchy-matchy thing.” She kept her voice sticky-sweet. “Actually, do you have any white undershirts?”

“Yeah…” He looked as if he suddenly regretted the playful offer.

“Oh, this is great. You’re a genius! We’ll take some of your white undershirts, use markers—you have permanent markers somewhere, right?—and we’ll write We Both Got Laid Last Night! on them.”

His eyes widened with shock, then to her disgruntlement he threw his head back and burst out laughing. “God, you’re ridiculous. My sisters-in-law are gonna try to adopt you.”

“Do they cook as well as your mother?” she asked, mostly to be contrary since her joke had only lasted point two seconds.

“No, not even close.” He stood, reached under her arms and lifted her in one swing, planting her on his lap with her feet on the couch next to him. His fingers drew light, calming patterns on her back. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t resist melting against the hard planes of his chest, fitting her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

“Do you really want me to go?” Oh God, was she being needy? When was the last time she cared what a ma—

“Yes. I want you to go. What’s more, it’ll absolve Chance of a little guilt from his one-man alarm clock act this morning if he knows you at least got a superb meal out of the deal.”

Yes!
“I guess I can go if you want me to.” She sighed heavily, as if he’d just asked her to pick up his dry cleaning.

“Yes. I want you to go. But first…” His hand worked its way up her neck and into her hair, fingers wrapping around her skull. Tilting her head back, he gave her the good-morning kiss she’d denied him earlier.

Wanting him to suffer just a little more, she wiggled her butt, feeling his growing erection beneath her seat. “Well, if we’re gonna make it to Wallace brunch, we should go.” She leaned forward as if she were getting up, making a break for it.

“Oh, no. No you don’t.” He clamped his arm around her waist, snuggling her back onto his lap. “You played, now you pay. You can’t leave a man like this,” he said.

“Can’t leave a man like this? Did you learn that one from your players?”

“Nope. Just thought it up myself. Wanna know what else I’m thinking?” When she didn’t say no, he whispered deliciously naughty things in her ear and cupped her breast through the stretchy fabric of her tank.

All right, so they’d have some breakfast before brunch.

“Fair warning, you will leave here feeling like you have to throw up.”

The horrified look on her face had him laughing so hard he almost ran off the road. “No. No, I meant because my family—mostly my mother—will force-feed you until you’re about ready to explode.”

“Oh.” Though the shock left her face, she still looked a bit pale, and definitely more quiet than usual.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” A short pause, then, “Okay, that was such a girl thing to do. Saying no when clearly there is something bothering me, I mean.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “So, are you gonna share?”

More silence, and he glanced over to see if she had jumped out the window while he wasn’t looking. Still there, but she looked…nervous? Chris. Christina St. James, Ball-buster Extraordinaire, was nervous about meeting his family.

He was gonna be tasting blood soon if he kept biting his tongue.

She was silent another minute. “Families are just…not my thing. I don’t get along with my own family and it’s just, I mean…” She raised her hands in a
What more can I say?
gesture, then let them fall back in her lap. “I look horrible, your brother will have probably already told them how he found me in your bed, and we’ve only been on one pseudo-date. This isn’t exactly the most ideal ‘Meet The Mom’ situation.”

He absorbed that, understood her hesitation. And he could definitely see where she was coming from. But he knew his family. “Well, I’ll be honest. My brothers will give me shit about it, that’s for damn sure. Because that’s what brothers do. They take the smallest thing and blow it out of proportion. But I guarantee, even if Chance has already told them, they’re not going to say a word to you, Chris. I promise you that. My brothers can be dickwads with me…but they’re good guys.”

She snorted. “Good guy dickwads? Are you listening to yourself?”

Okay, put like that…“It’s a guy thing. Look. I’m serious. If you don’t want to go, I’ll take you home. Just like yesterday. No pressure.”

“No pressure, he says, like his brother didn’t already know about me coming.” She spoke under her breath.

He stopped trying to hide the smile. “Nobody will embarrass you, nobody will make fun of you. And let me just say…the odds are my sisters will love you to pieces and invite you to their No-Boys-Allowed Club within minutes. Oh. Tell my mom that thing about the pasta sauce. She’ll love that. Plus, let’s face it. Looking at you is a hell of a lot more appealing than looking at just my ugly mug.”

That surprised a chuckle out of her. “I am prettier, you’re right about that, anyway.” A pause, then a soft, “Thanks.”

He reached over and grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers between hers, resting them on his leg as he drove. The move stunned him. But he liked it. More than he wanted to think about at that moment.
Later.
He thought he heard a sniffle, but a quick glance at Chris showed her looking at the scenery, seemingly without any sign of allergies.

She should call a cab.

She should call Katie.

She should hitchhike home.

It didn’t matter how, but she should get herself out of this mess. She’d never even met Dax’s family and they’d dated for years. Meeting the family was a huge deal, something people did when they were in serious relationships that were heading toward marriage.

The only thing she and Brett were headed for was a future of marathon sex. Right?

Yet here she was, stuck in the SUV on the way to brunch with his entire family because of an impulsive need to see more, know more of him.

Trouble. That’s what she was asking for. She barely bit back a groan at her stupidness as they turned into a nice, well-established neighborhood.

If someone was doing a word-association project and said “suburbs” she would have pictured it just like this. Modest brick homes, two-car garages, nice, well-kept lawns with neat hedges. Four-door sedans parked in the driveway, some kids running around in the front yards, supervised by mothers grouped together gossiping or sharing hair-raising stories about their kids.

Normal. Welcoming.

Everything she’d wanted growing up.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out where they were headed. One house down the street was crowded with cars, filling the driveway and spilling into the street. Brett parked his ozone-killer on the curb and got out, waiting for her to hop down herself. As they approached he took her hand and walked with the ease of someone coming home and knowing he is welcome.

Neighborhood sounds surrounded them as she followed him up the driveway. Light breeze in the leaves, the good-natured shrieks of children a few houses down, a bird in the tree from the backyard. But the moment Brett opened the front door, a new sound came roaring out.

Family.

It was an assault on the senses, in the best possible way. Impossible to miss—even from the entryway—the thumps and screams of boys roughhousing, mothers yelling for them to be careful, fathers calling to the mothers to leave them be. The house was warm, cozy and colorful. A cheery yellow splashed the walls and she stood on brown carpet that looked stain-proof. Instead of the sterile art that hung in Brett’s home, family photos graced every available surface, along with some framed drawings, clearly rendered by a child’s hand. The aromas of different baked goods mingled in the air, and she felt instantly relaxed.

It wasn’t a house. This was a family home.

Trailing behind Brett, she took in the photographs. Many were obviously newer, ones of the grandsons. School photos with their hair slicked back and their torturous ties on crooked. Action shots in various sports arenas. Christmas mornings surrounded by wrapping paper.

But a few of Brett and his brothers jumped out at her, as well. A large portrait of the four boys hung in the center of the hallway. The oldest looked to be in his early twenties, and the youngest was…Brett. Around age seven or eight? She hadn’t realized there was such a large gap in ages between…

Chris threw her head back and roared with laughter. Mr. Lady Killer, the Pro Stud Muffin, Hometown Hero…started out as the most homely child!

Thick Coke-bottle glasses distorted his face, making him appear bug-eyed with a tiny nose. He wore a neon-green and shocking-yellow vest and his lopsided grin showed off a gap between two teeth. And his hair… Oh God, his hair… Chris doubled over, struggling to breathe between hiccupping gasps for air.

Brett “The Wall” Wallace was rocking the mother of all mullets.

“What’s going on, I thought you were right be…oh, shit.”

She looked up from her hunched-over position and wiped some tears from her eyes. “I have to ask. Which part did you like better? The business in the front, or the party in the back?”

“I hate that picture,” he grumbled as he wrapped a big hand around her upper arm and pulled her straight. “Come on, wipe your tears. Time to meet the family.”

She turned around, wanting one more peek. “Can I just—”

“No.” He gave her a small jerk to face her forward again. “I swear to God I’m burning that thing when my mom isn’t looking.”

“Don’t. It’s like a hidden national treasure.”