The Game of Love (3 page)

It was nice, just having a relaxing lunch with Katie. No work, no pressure, no misogynistic assholes to ruin the day. When her best friend had invited her over for lunch, though, she hadn’t realized what Katie meant was, “Come over and do all the work for me.”

“He’s nice, right?”

Chris turned around from the salad she was putting together to stare at her best friend, wondering if being pregnant had also given Katie a free ticket to Crazy Town. “No, he’s not
nice.
”

“Really?” Her friend crunched off a bite of celery, pointed the leftover stalk at her. “I think you’re being too quick to judge. Give him a chance and you might like him. Last night he clearly wasn’t at his best.”

Chris turned back to the counter and brought the knife down a bit too hard on the tomato she was slicing. If she kept this up, she’d lose a thumb. Putting the utensil aside, she wiped off her hands on a dish towel. “Katie, seriously. He’s a jock with entitlement issues. What about that could I possibly like?”

“Well…” Her friend trailed off and Chris could hear Katie’s fingers drumming a pattern on the table. “You guys have a lot in common.”

Chris snorted and started mixing the salad with two large forks. “What, we both convert oxygen into carbon dioxide?”

Katie ignored her. “For starters, you were both once pro athletes.”

The forks clattered onto the counter, competing with the buzzing noise overpowering her mind. She tried to lick her lips, but her mouth was dry as dust. “What?”

“Yeah. Brett played for the New York Liberties for about ten years. He left the League a few years ago and moved back here. I thought you’d have heard by now. He’s like a legend in this town.” Looking up, Katie met her wide eyes and scowled. “Chris, come on. You can’t possibly assume every athlete, pro or otherwise, is like Dax.”

At the mention of her ex’s name, she tasted metal and her lips went numb. “We’re not talking about that.” Forcing her hand to unclench from the fork she’d picked back up, she brought the bowl over to the table, set it down with a thunk. “That’s ancient history.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Which is why every time his name comes up in conversation or on the news, you stiffen up like a board and adopt the
deer in the headlights
look. Or why you automatically assume most jocks and anybody who made their living playing pro sports is an asshole. Yeah, so over that.”

Bull’s-eye. Katie never failed to see straight through any BS she put out. So she said nothing.

“He’s disgustingly attractive though, isn’t he?” Her friend forked up some veggies.

“You got the disgusting part right.”

“Tall, dark, handsome without being pretty.”

“Too tall.” Because being contrary was fun.

“Says the five-ten woman. Plus, he’s got that, oh…” Katie waved her fork around as if she wanted to pluck the right words out of the air. “He just looks like he could pick you up and carry you to bed if he wanted to.”

She snorted her disbelief. “Like he’d have to drag many women to bed. I’m sure they just jump right in at the first sign of promise.”

“Actually, since he’s moved here, I haven’t heard of him dating a single woman.”

“That’s probably because he takes them two at a time.”

Katie chuckled. “No, but really, I don’t think he’s even dated anyone. I mean, he could see someone not in the area, but I don’t think so. Maybe he’s not quite the womanizer you want him to be.”

Chris paused at that. “I don’t want him to be anything but out of my way.”

“He’s yummy. Just admit it.”

“He’s not worth admitting anything.”

Her friend sighed. She said in a sing-song voice, “I think the lady doth protesteth too much.”

Katie was right. Even in the rational, objective corner of her mind, Chris realized the man was Grade A prime beefcake. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring it upon herself to say that out loud. So instead of delving further into her “protesteth-ing,” she went to plan B. Deflection.

She scooped up a forkful of food like she had nothing else on her mind. “Have you and Jared thought of names?”

Just the mention of their bouncing baby zygote had Katie’s critical gaze softening. Her hand crept over her belly. “It was so surreal before, you know? Just a plus sign on a pregnancy test and some weird whooshing sound on a monitor at the doctor’s office. But now that I’m showing, it’s feeling real.” Katie looked back at her. “You can tell I’m showing, right? I mean, it’s obvious I’m pregnant now, isn’t it?”

Her gaze dropped to her friend’s slim torso and the barely there swelling beneath her hand. In truth, it just looked like she was still digesting a big breakfast and that the bump would be gone in another hour. But she knew better than to say it. “Oh, yeah. Definitely pregnant. You’re getting huge.”

Katie’s wide grin told her she’d said exactly the right thing.

His fingers thumped the beat as classic Jay-Z blared on the steering wheel. At a stoplight, he leaned forward to unstick his back from the leather seat. No matter how much cold air his AC blasted, his back was still plastered to the seat within seconds.

The long stretch of empty road that led away from the school gave him the chance to think about his meeting with Jared. He’d stopped by to drop off a copy of the same proposal for the scoreboard that he’d turned in the year before. The needs were the same, the money was the same, no need to draft a new one.

He’d spent an hour with his best friend, shooting the shit and eating the lunch Katie had packed. God bless the woman for always assuming Jared could eat enough for five men. Nothing out of the usual, until Jared came out of nowhere with his bullshit request.

“Give Chris a chance, my ass.” He made a left turn. Why did it matter if they got along? He wasn’t the one who came into the meeting two nights ago with her fists cocked, ready to start swinging. The Amazon had somehow made up her mind that he was personally responsible for every injustice made against women in the last fifty years.

Impressive, really, given he was only thirty-four.

He rolled shoulders tense from lack of sleep. But really, how he was supposed to sleep when every time he closed his eyes that same fantasy-football-turned-wet-dream scenario popped into his mind?

Jared had asked him to play nice and make her feel welcome. He’d pointed out she was probably nervous and didn’t mean to come off like she was attacking him personally.

Brett had rolled his eyes behind his sandwich.

He would do his part on the Welcome-To-Northeastern-High committee. Not that she’d appreciate it. His last attempt at a helpful hint had ended with him flat on his ass in the parking lot.

She did have spunk, he had to give it to her. And a fine pair of legs. And perky breasts that filled out her sports bra to perfection.

Wait. What?

As if he’d summoned her, there was the subject of his thoughts—and dreams.

The heels of her running shoes kicked up in practiced rhythm, leaving a little cloud of dust in their wake. She wore baggy sweatpants, the cuffs pushed up over her calves and the waistband rolled a few times, and a dark sports bra. Her midriff was bare, and as he pulled closer he could see the sheen of sweat on her skin. Her hair was pulled back again in a ponytail and some stretchy elastic band wrapped around the crown of her head. As he passed her by, he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for checking out her lightly bouncing breasts in his rearview mirror.

But Jared’s words had him slowing down. A quick glance showed no cars coming either direction. He edged to the side, rolled down his passenger window and waited.

“Hey! How’s it going?”

She glanced at him, her eyes growing wide. Then they narrowed, and she kept jogging like he hadn’t said a word.

Apparently he wasn’t forgiven for whatever heinous crime he’d committed…like having a penis. “So, do you come this way often?”

The look she shot him before turning her eyes back to the road said,
You are one small step above roadkill.

All right, fine. Time to drive off. He’d done his best, she wasn’t receptive. He’d tried to play nice, she wasn’t having it. He could speed away with a clean conscience.

So why was he still trailing after her like a puppy? Damned if he knew, but if his foot wanted to hover over the brake, he’d better come up with something useful to say or he was going to look like a stalker.

“Do you need a ride?”

She stopped without warning, and he slammed on the brakes. Her body was folded in half, hands on her knees, while her back arched with every breath. When she looked up, her face was flushed. Just like in those X-rated fantasies she’d been starring in. Her whole body would heat as they rolled around on top of the—

“What did you say?”

Shit. Thank God she couldn’t see the woody growing in his lap. “I asked if you needed a ride somewhere.”

With her breathing more under control she looked down at her body, glanced at the road ahead of her, then back at him. She cocked her head to one side, studying him like he was a fly on a corkboard. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

“Of course I’m serious.” She stood motionless, her head still cocked to the side like an inquisitive border collie. “I’ve got the AC full blast. Feels good in here.” Flashing her his best
Trust me, I’m a good guy
smile, he hoped that would be enough to convince her he didn’t do this all the time.

When she arched one brow, he realized she must have misinterpreted his grin. Maybe she thought it meant
I eat small children for breakfast.

“I’m running.” She gestured toward the open road in front of them.

Wow, she really did think he was an idiot. “I noticed that. And I’m offering to take you where you’re going.”

She shook her head, then spoke very slowly, like he was a kid who ate paste. “I’m running for exercise. Having someone drive me would defeat the purpose.”

Oh. Shit. Maybe he was an idiot. He glanced at the steering wheel, trying to figure out what to say next. When he was sure he had come up with a fail-proof conversation starter, he looked back, and only saw landscape.

She’d taken off again and was almost fifty yards ahead.

Just go. She’s kicked your self-esteem enough to last a year. Move on, she’s not interested in making friends.

And yet, his subconscious thought significant damage hadn’t been done yet. He found himself rolling up to try once more.

“I’m sorry we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot somehow,” he called as he kept pace. “Maybe you’d want to meet up for coffee sometime?” Yeah, chicks liked coffee. Simple cup, apologize again, maybe offer a few tidbits about the town…wait. Would she think it was a date? Oh, fuck.

Before he could figure out how to politely retract his invitation, she stopped once more, and his brake pads got a workout. Her hands went to her hips and she chuckled. “Does that work? Seriously?”

“Does what work?” The open window was sucking all the cool air from his car. That must be why he was feeling a choking sensation. Yup, that was it.

“That pathetic excuse for a pick-up line? Meeting up for
coffee?
” She used little air quotes when she said the word
coffee,
as if
coffee
was really code for “all night fuck-fest.” Which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t a horrible idea…

He caught the stare she was giving him.

Oh, boy. Yeah, horrible idea. If looks could castrate, he’d be neutered.

“Let me get this out in the open.” She used what he assumed was her teacher voice. “I see no need for the two of us to deal with each other any more than necessary. Let’s aim for being civil, and that’s it.”

Having said her piece, she took off. It wasn’t a hardship to watch her tight bottom swing as she turned into a neighborhood of new townhouses. But, with her in an outfit that left so little to the imagination, he had to wonder where she stored the pitchfork.

“They’re going to kill me.” Jared rolled his stiff shoulders.

“It’ll be good for them.” His wife sat on the floor in front of him while he massaged the kinks out of her shoulders. She leaned to the left and he followed her silent cue, working down the right side of her neck.

“Bloodshed isn’t good for anybody.” He rubbed between her shoulder blades. “Brett thinks she’s some Joan of Arc feminist stuck in an Amazon’s body. He thinks she hates him.”

“She thinks she hates him, too.” Katie moaned.

His body tightened in response. “Thinks? Not following, babe.” All the blood rushing below his belt didn’t aid his thought process.

Katie sighed and let her head droop as his hands kneaded muscles down her back. When she spoke, her voice was muffled. “Chris wants to hate him because he’s a jock, a hard-core athlete. The fact that he used to play pro is icing on the ‘I Hate You’ cake.”

His hands paused. “Care to run that theory by me? ’Cause usually, when women hear about Brett’s former pro status, their eyes get all big and you can almost hear cash registers
cha-chinging
in their minds.”

“Ha.” She rolled up to her feet, bringing her teeny belly bump to his eye level. “Chris doesn’t need cash, that’s for sure.”

“Let me guess. She’s the next Paris Hilton.” He rubbed the bump.

She plopped down on the sofa next to him and draped her legs over his lap. “Nope. She earned her money respectfully. And that’s her business to share, not mine. But I will say this,” she added, winding her arms around his neck. “She does have a very good reason to be wary of professional athletes.”

“That’s all you’ll tell—” She cut off his words with her mouth, teasing him with a sensual kiss. Then she took his glasses off, tossing them on the coffee table.

“Now. Let’s go upstairs and indulge in some marital bliss while my belly’s still at a manageable size.”

Might as well, he thought as she led him up the stairs. When he gave those two his decision in the morning, he was a dead man anyway.

So for tonight, he would binge.

“Is this some kind of sick joke, Jared?”

For once, Chris agreed with Coach Wallace. Unfortunately, their merging of the minds was over the complete lunacy of their AD. And mental madness in an athletic director was never a good thing for a coach.

“It’s not a joke.” He glanced up quickly, then back down at the papers he was signing. His pen scratched across the paper and he pushed it to the side before signing another.

Chris shook the disbelief from her mind like dust from a rug. “So, to be clear, the football team and the girls’ tennis team are in a two-way tie for the money.”

Scratch, scratch, scratch.
“That’s correct,” Jared confirmed, not bothering to look up.

“And we have to decide between ourselves—” she waved her hands in the space separating her and Brett for emphasis, “—who gets the money.”

“Yup.”

“And if we can’t decide within a week, nobody gets it.”

“It goes to the winter sports teams instead,” Jared said, leaning back in his chair. Her hands itched for her racket. What she wouldn’t give to backhand the smug look off his face…Of course, then Katie would come after her and there’d be hell to pay.

“And our decision has to be unanimous.” He was whining like a kid would after being told no playing outside until his room was clean.

Scratch, scratch.
“I think that’s fair.”

“I think that’s crap,” Brett muttered. Subtlety obviously wasn’t his strong suit.

Again, she agreed with him but kept her mouth shut. No need to inflate his ego any larger than it already was.

“Think what you want, Brett.” Jared shrugged. “This is the way it is.” He looked down at his desk, shuffled a few papers in obvious dismissal. He looked up to see both of them still sitting there, staring. “Need something else?”

Brett rose, dwarfing her. She jumped up, then felt childish. Why did she always feel like they were competing? He left without a word, and she turned to follow.

“Chris, just a second, please.”

She stopped in her tracks and looked back. The smug smile was gone and Jared’s eyes were full of concern. “I’m not going to slash his tires or anything.”

“I should hope not.” He motioned for her to sit.

She plopped in the seat and crossed her arms. “What?”

Jared glanced out the door, but Brett’s footsteps had long ago faded. “He’s a good guy. I know you two have been butting heads. I won’t pretend to know what started it. But he’s a good guy.”

Chris opened her mouth, sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue, but snapped it shut again. He was just concerned. She took a deep breath. “How long have you two been friends?”

His lips curved. “Kindergarten. We got into a fight on the playground. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“The male species and its thought process is completely lost on me.” But she couldn’t deny the obvious—Jared cared about Brett. And knowing Jared to be a decent example of the aforementioned male species, she had to conclude that maybe Brett just wasn’t showing himself to advantage. Maybe he was a good guy who kept sticking his foot in his mouth.

She gave Jared what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll play nice.”
As long as he does.

She headed toward the school’s main doors, her head full of a million thoughts all running into each other like bumper cars. She needed an aspirin and some quiet time to let them all settle down so she could start putting the mental puzzle together.

Apparently the world was conspiring against her. Brett stood in front of the last row of lockers, his shoulder propped against the metal. His arms were crossed, and he wore a neutral expression on his face. Not pissed, but not exactly happy either.

He pushed away from the lockers with a grace most wouldn’t associate with a man his size and walked beside her. “Kinda crazy, huh?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he checked his gait to match hers. Something small, but it seemed natural, as if he would do it for any woman without a second thought.

She took a deep breath.
Play nice, Chris.
“Yeah. You’ve known Jared awhile. Did his parents drop him on his head a lot when he was a kid?” Looking at him from the corner of her eyes, she smiled. “Or maybe he’s suffered long-term brain damage from your kindergarten brawl.”

Stopping in his tracks, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. The sound was so deep she almost felt it vibrate through her own body. She took a good look at the long line of his throat. His skin was bronzed from the sun and his jaw was covered in dark stubble just a little shorter than his hair. If she reached up, would it feel like sandpaper against her palm? Did he have a farmer’s tan, or was his whole body that golden-brown?

Wait, sandpaper? Golden skin? She was going crazy.