The Name of the Game (5 page)

Gracie's head snapped back and she scowled. “I am not!”

She wasn't. He bothered her. Everything about him irritated her. She scowled at Cecilia. “Don't confuse tension with attraction. It's not like you and Shane.”

“But it is
something
. Come on, admit it. You don't think he's the least bit sexy?”

Gracie could only stare at her, openmouthed. “Of course not.”

Yes, she conceded that he was quite good-looking, and he looked pretty hot tonight, but he wasn't her type at all. And he was
not
sexy.

Cecilia shrugged. “I think you're lying to yourself. You like him, Gracie. You're just too stubborn to admit it.”

“How could you possibly think that? Can you even imagine?”

“Let me ask you this: How long after meeting James did you break things off with Charlie?”

Gracie couldn't believe this. She shook her head. “They have nothing to do with each other. I broke things off with Charlie because I was tired of coasting. Things had gotten routine and comfortable. It's just coincidence the events coincided.”

“Hmm . . .” Cecilia's voice trailed off, and she tucked her long legs underneath her.

“What?” Gracie asked, cringing at the defensiveness in her tone.

Cecilia smoothed down her tank top. “When's the last time you went on a date?”

Gracie blinked, then blinked again. “I went out with the new football coach.”

“But you turned down a second date.”

“So?”

“I'm just saying, you haven't gone out with anyone since you met James, and that seems a bit odd.”

“I live in Revival, where I've known everyone since birth. New people are hard to come by, but I've dated plenty. I just haven't met anyone who interests me. Simple as that.” Gracie watched the lights blinking on the top of the John Hancock building. There was no relationship between her dry spell and James. None at all. She'd never been great at commitment. Unfortunately, she was like her father that way.

“What about sex?” Cecilia continued her probing, looking for meanings where there weren't any.

“What's that?” Gracie laughed, meaning to sound breezy, but instead the sound came out a bit choked.

“You know Charlie would take care of any itch you have, and you've told me often enough he's great in bed, so what's stopping you?”

“Not James.” Gracie frowned, blowing out a deep breath. “I don't want to fall into that pattern again. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Nope, not at all.” Cecilia looked at her, her face soft in the lights of the window. So different from all the hardness she used to carry around with her. “I guess I'm wrong.”

“You are.” She was.

Gracie did not have the hots for the professor. She thought of the flare of awareness she'd experienced in the closet when he'd stood so close to her. The way she'd dug her nails into her palm when he'd smiled at his ex-girlfriend. The idea that kept slipping into her mind of them in bed together, maybe even right now.

No. She refused to even think about that. Absolutely refused.

Chapter Four

Gracie pulled up to the Donovan family's brick bungalow and turned off the ignition. The modest house was located in a tight-knit neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago and looked nearly identical to all the other bungalows lining the street, except for the brightly colored balloons next to the door.

She got out of the car and walked up the steps. Today's event was at Shannon Donovan's house. The mother of the groom had wanted a close-family-and-friends celebration before the official engagement party tonight. Gracie blew out a deep breath. Another day with the Donovan clan, and a new opportunity to change her ways with the professor.

As she'd been here before, she knocked on the door and then walked in.

An explosion was followed by a sound of rapid machine-gun fire, so loud it had to shake the plaster off the walls of the small foyer. Gracie peered into the small living room to find James playing a video game with a chubby, angel-faced boy around twelve or thirteen.

Neither of them glanced in her direction.

Controller in hand, James's attention was riveted on the flat-screen television. The line of his jaw was hard, his cheekbones defined, as he concentrated on the game.

“Flank him. Go. Go. Go,” James yelled, gesturing wildly with his controller.

Gracie had never seen him so animated before. The sight was riveting.

The boy's arms flailed as his thumbs frantically worked across the controller. “To your left.”

One of the guys in military garb on the screen moved and James said, “You've got it, take the shot.”

The other animated soldier dropped to one knee and shot, filling the screen with the splatter of blood and brains flying through the air before the screen cut to another scene.

“Yes!” The boy whooped, his face alight with the thrill of virtual victory.

“Did you see his head explode?” James grinned, leaning back on the floral brocade couch. The feminine fabric highlighted the masculinity of his face, the broadness of his shoulders in a black waffle-knit shirt.

Gracie couldn't help but be charmed at the excited expression the professor wore. She'd never seen him look so carefree or unreserved.

The boy looked at James with complete adoration, a sweet smile on his round face. “That was awesome.”

Gracie stepped into the room and leaned against the doorframe, finally making her presence known so she wouldn't be caught gawking. “That was some impressive splatter.”

They looked at her.

James's gaze flickered over her body. “Gracie.”

She fought the urge to stiffen at his cool tone. It was a casual brunch, so she wore jeans and a black scoop-neck knit top that highlighted her blond hair and curves. She'd made damn sure she looked good, covering the shadows under her eyes with concealer.

“Professor,” she returned before beaming at the boy. His mouth hung open as he gaped at her. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”

James's mouth quirked as he noticed the boy's stunned expression. Gracie thought she detected an eye roll but she couldn't be sure.

James jostled the kid out of his daze and said, “Gracie Roberts, this is my cousin, Declan.”

Gracie walked over and stuck out her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Declan.”

The boy turned scarlet as his sweaty palm slid into hers. “Thank you, ma'am.”

Gracie waved. “Ha,
ma'am
makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old. Call me Gracie.” She jutted her chin toward the television. “Nice shooting. Maybe later you can show me how it's done.”

Declan flushed an even deeper shade of red, jerking his gaze toward the professor. “James did all the hard stuff.”

Gracie shrugged. “From what I saw you delivered the kill shot.”

James smiled at her, a real smile, one that flashed the mysterious dimple, and Gracie's heart gave a hard lurch. In a split second, like the sudden strike of lightning, she saw it. The sun streamed through the window, highlighting the gold in his hair, and she saw the man she'd been refusing to acknowledge since she'd met him. The one everyone else saw. The man Lindsey Lord looked at like a god and Cecilia thought sexy.

The man who called to some deep, secret place inside her. The attraction that pulled at her while she focused instead on all the things about him that irritated her.

The world swung and she blinked, taking a step back.

Oh no.

The smile transformed into concern and he stood, walking toward her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded even as a swell of heat washed through her.

No. No. No.
Not him. Anyone but him. He was all wrong for her. He was her best friend's brother. He was secure and stable.

He was coming closer. Too close. Awareness flared, impossible to ignore.

He was going to touch her. A second later he gripped her arm and she gasped. “You're as white as a sheet.”

A jolt of electricity shot up her arm. He was one of those solid-relationship guys who mowed the lawn and had five-year plans. She straightened and squared her shoulders. “I'm fine.”

He didn't eat carbs! Or sugar! Flour was a part of her life. She was a
baker.

His forehead creased. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice too breathless. He needed to stop touching her. She needed space to get a handle on this. She blurted the first thing that popped into her head. “I have the cake in my truck.”

His hand dropped away and she could finally breathe. “I can go get it.”

James's black shirt stretched over his broad chest. Her fingers twitched as a startling visual of tracing her hands over the lines of all those muscles filled her mind.

Oh no. Where was his geek-wear? She needed a pair of chinos, stat. She cleared her throat. “It's a two-man job; you'll need help.”

He nodded. “Are you sure you're okay? You look a little shaky.”

“I'm great. Just tired.” Her gaze snagged on his mouth, his full mouth, but instead of focusing on what a horrible kisser he'd be, she could see it. Feel his mouth moving over hers. She sucked in a breath. “I'm used to sleeping in my own bed.”

Expression filled with disbelief, he was clearly perplexed by her behavior. He started to say something, but Evan came in and his mouth snapped shut.

He stepped away.

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw James's face smooth over into the cool remoteness he always seemed to wear whenever she was around.

“There she is.” Evan bounded over to her and swept her up in his powerful arms, giving her a big smacking kiss on the lips. “How's my favorite girl?”

Thankful for the distraction from her troubling thoughts, she laughed and swatted the pro football player and resident wild-child away, relaxing into the easy flirtation. “Ah, if only I could believe you, but after last week's game you told that pretty reporter with the red hair the same thing.”

“But with you I mean it.” Evan grinned down at her. At six-five he was built like a Greek god crossed with, well, a pro football player. With the Donovan family's green eyes and dark brown hair, he was about as gorgeous as a man could be. Considered one of the best wide receivers in the game, he was a media favorite, with all his crazy antics and a new supermodel every week.

He loved to flirt, and she flirted right back. “You're a liar, but I still love you.”

Since they'd met he'd made it plenty clear he'd take her to bed without even the slightest encouragement. He'd whispered outrageous things in her ear. Hugged her. Teased her. They'd gotten drunk together on more than one occasion, and yet she'd never given him the opportunity to make a move. Why?

He was a hot-as-hell, wild, testosterone-soaked, NFL Pro Bowl-er. Women lined up for a chance to be in his bed. So what the hell was wrong with her? Sure, it would be a fling, because there's no way Evan was a settling-down kind of guy, but he'd be the best kind of fling. They'd have fantastic, sweaty sex and still be friends the next morning. So why hadn't she jumped at the chance to get between the sheets with the notorious Evan Donovan?

She turned and her gaze collided with James's. His arms were crossed, his expression had turned stormy, and his jaw was firmed into a hard line.

Heat spiked across her skin and her belly jumped. Cecilia was right.

It was because of
him
.

 

 

It was one of those crisp, sunny, early fall days and they'd been able to sit outside instead of being piled into his family's bungalow. James sat on the back stoop with his thirteen-year-old cousin Declan and watched the intense game of half-court basketball going on in the alley.

Shane passed the ball to their cousin Pat, teenage superstar and Declan's older brother. Pat swung around one of his cousins and slam-dunked the ball, hanging on to the rim attached to the two-car garage, in exaggerated showmanship. The two brothers couldn't be more opposite. James had declined playing in favor of sitting with Declan. Out of all his family members, this barely teenage cousin was the most like him, and James understood all too well how it felt not to be athletic in a family full of sports fanatics.

Even now, with all his exercise and training, James wasn't actually
athletic
; he was merely in excellent shape. There was a difference. He could play a decent game of basketball but only because he'd been forced to play with his brothers growing up. He wasn't good, merely passable.

Of course, now he could outrun both Shane and Evan. But that was just putting one foot in front of the other; it took practice, not skill.

Declan shifted on the step and James looked at him, realizing he wasn't watching the game. His cousin stared wistfully at Gracie, who sat with a group of the girls at a round picnic table. A small smile lifted the corners of James's mouth. Gorgeous blondes were apparently another thing they had in common. James nudged him and tilted his head toward Gracie. “She's probably a little too old for you.”

The boy turned a particularly bright shade of crimson and he scuffed the toe of his black Converse on the step. “Is she your girlfriend?”

James had been taking a sip of his iced tea, and the question was so startling the liquid went down the wrong pipe, and he started to choke. He coughed, shaking his head as a strangled laugh clogged his throat. When he was finally able to speak, he asked, “Where would you get that idea?”

Declan shrugged. “She's always looking at you.”

James frowned. While Gracie had acted strangely today, he was sure it didn't relate to him. “I think you're mistaken.”

“Dude, she looks at you, like, all the time,” Declan said.

James glanced over at her, but her attention was on the table, not on him.

He didn't see the point in arguing when the obvious sat right in front of them. “Well, she's not my girlfriend. She lives next door to Mitch and Maddie down in Revival.”

“You should go for her,” Declan said, his voice ringing with all the wisdom of a teenager. “If a girl like her looked at me that way, I'd go for her.”

James squinted back at the table of women. This time Gracie was looking his way.

Their gazes met.

Locked.

Held.

She jerked her attention away.

James rubbed his jaw. What in the hell was going on? Since she'd gotten here she'd been acting strange, almost jittery, but he couldn't imagine what that had to do with him. Before he could contemplate the situation further, Peter, Declan's father, came over and pointed toward the basketball court. “Why don't you go out there and play?”

Beside James, Declan stiffened. “I don't like basketball.”

Peter shook his head, frowning. “Come on, it will do you some good. Get you away from those video games.”

James's hand tightened on his iced tea glass. This was a common occurrence, and unfortunately it prompted a flashback to his own childhood. He remembered the awkwardness and embarrassment too well to be remotely objective.

“Dad,” Declan said, his tone taking on a whine, “I don't like sports. I'm not good at them.”

“How are you going to get good if you sit on your butt all the time playing video games?” his father asked, exasperated.

James understood his uncle's good intentions. Declan was overweight, didn't get enough exercise, and probably ate nothing but junk food. He also had the pasty look of the die-hard gamer. In Declan's dad's mind, playing sports was a way to get his son to exercise. A tactic James had been subjected to a thousand times growing up. What Uncle Peter didn't understand, considering he'd been captain of the football team in high school, was that those comments only increased the kid's awkwardness and insecurity. The more he pushed Declan, the less inclined he'd be to play anything. And worse, it plummeted his self-esteem into the toilet.

Unable to keep his mouth shut, James jostled his younger cousin. “I'd rather be dead than play basketball. Never saw the point of all that running around just to throw a ball into a tiny hoop.”

Declan's expression flashed with gratitude and relief, only to cloud a moment later when his dad said, “Yeah, but look at James. He used to be just like you. Take a lesson from him.”

“He's fine,” James said, his tone flat. Embarrassing the hell out of the kid wouldn't help matters. If Peter was smart, he'd do what James did. At least once a month, he took Declan out and made sure he got active in things James knew he enjoyed. He didn't force him to play the sports he hated, and Declan never once complained about having to use his muscles.