Winner Takes All (28 page)

Hadn't he already, though?

Wasn't his life here, in Blanco Valley, coaching the Bobcats, supposed to be the new chapter? How was it he'd failed to realize he'd moved on to a new phase in life?

Was it because he was so stuck on his past mistakes, worried about what people saw when they looked at him?

A sharp pain crept up the back of his skull as the game footage on the television faded and returned to the anchors in the newsroom.

Blake flipped the channel, but not before catching the guy say, “Blake Carpenter will forever have an asterisk next to his name because of his steroid scandal.”

At the end of the day, he'd been responsible for his own actions. If the world forever saw him as tainted, it was his own fault. But the thing was, he no longer cared. Maybe that meant he'd matured. Maybe it also meant he was just too damn old to care.

Either way, it was way past time to stop acting like such a pussy. And that would include making sure Annabelle knew just how much she meant to him.

Watching the Bobcats play the final game of their season, basically a do-or-die situation against the Grand Junction Central Warriors, was like watching game seven of the World Series. In the bottom of the ninth and one out left. Annabelle stood in the bleachers next to Stella, because everyone else was standing and waving their signs and black and orange pom-poms in the air. The kids in front of her and Stella kept whacking them in the face, and the only reason she forgave the girls was because they were so damn cute with the face paint.

The team came back from halftime with a three-point lead, but the Warriors had controlled the ball for most of the second half so far. Finally the Bobcats exploited a bad pass and intercepted.

Annabelle kept one eye on Blake as he stood on the sidelines, looking tall and stoic with his headset, and the other on Cody Richardson, who was sacked before he could get rid of the ball. He went down hard, prompting raucous cheers from the visiting spectators along with collective groans from the Bobcats fans.

The kid in front of her hollered out a screeching, “Come on!” before tossing her pom on the bench in front of her. When she threw it down, the thing whacked Virginia McAllister in the back of her stiff beehive, which had been painted orange. The Beehive Mafia had arranged themselves on the bench so their colored hives were alternating black and orange. As nosy as they were, Annabelle had to hand it to them for their creativity.

Stella threw her hands up in the air. “These guys are killing me,” she commented as Cody got back to his feet.

“At least they retained possession of the ball,” Annabelle said, sparing a glance at Blake, who'd removed his headset to converse with Cameron. The two men had their heads bent over a clipboard, before Blake replaced his headphones and drew his attention back to the game.

This time, when Cody received the snap, he took two steps to the right and fake pumped to the wide receiver.

“Come on, Bobcats,” Stella muttered when Cody took off running, weaving his way through defensive blockers, dodging one player after another and narrowly missing attempts at taking him down.

The kid made it for thirty yards before he was tackled. Feet stomped on the metal bleachers and Annabelle and Stella were jumping up and down with the rest of the fans. The two of them slapped each other a high five when the Bobcats scored a touchdown two plays later.

The clock ran out on the third quarter, and the Bobcats moved to the final twelve minutes of the game, leading their opponent by ten points. Everyone remained on their feet, energy pulsing through them like a live wire. It was damn stressful, watching them come closer to the play-offs than they had in years.

She could only imagine how those kids felt, after a long season of trying to obtain what had previously been out of their reach.

“Give it to 'em good, Bobcats!” Lois shouted from below them, with as much bravado as her elderly voice would allow. “Stick those kids where they belong!” Next to Lois, Beverly sniggered and waved her orange foam finger in the air. She was waving the darn thing so hard, she whacked her own beehive.

Virginia yanked the thing off Beverly's hand. “What do you think you're doing?” Beverly demanded.

“You've smacked me in the head about five times,” Virginia scolded. “You're only allowed to have this if you know how to use it.”

Stella gripped Annabelle's forearm, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. “I don't know how much more of this I can take.”

“Do you mean the game or the Beehive Mafia?”

Stella snorted. “Both.”

“Tell me about it,” Annabelle muttered.

In the first play of the quarter, the Warriors forced a fumble, scooped the ball up, and took off running until the opposing player was finally tackled at the Bobcats' twenty-yard line. The two teams repositioned their lines for the next play. Their QB received the snap from the center, then sent the ball flying to their wide receiver. But the ball was picked off by Evan Christiansen, the Bobcats' safety, who spun around and ran, dancing left then right, executing a beautiful play of footwork. Annabelle glanced at Blake to see him yank off his headset and holler something as the safety sprinted into the end zone.

The Bobcats' fans, including the two girls in front of Annabelle and Stella and the Beehive Mafia, foam fingers included, went crazy as their kicker effortlessly added the extra point.

And with four minutes and forty-three seconds left on the clock, the Bobcats were
this
close to closing out a winning season and making their first play-off game in eighteen years. “Oh my Lord, I think I'm going to pee my pants,” Stella panted as the kids resumed their positions and moved into the next play. Cody called out the play, received the snap, and handed the ball off to their running back.

Annabelle sneaked a peek at Blake, who had his hands jammed on his lean hips, moving up and down the sidelines as he followed the actions of his players.

Forty-five seconds left and the Bobcats scored another touchdown. The stands were in an uproar, screaming and stomping and cheering, and the band played a school song, which the kids sang along to and made the appropriate hand gestures in the air.

Annabelle and Stella joined in because the energy was infectious and thrummed in the air like a synchronized heartbeat. The Bobcats put another point on the board when they made the field goal.

The clock ran out without the Warriors able to make another score.

The Bobcats rushed the field as soon as the buzzer sounded, jumping all over each other and mixing with students and parents and cheerleaders. The band played a traditional fight song, but the crowd was more interested in celebrating than singing along. Annabelle and Stella tried to stay out of the way, or risk death by trampling on the metal bleachers. But there really was no place to go, so they made their way down the aisle, holding on to each other's hands so they didn't get separated in the throng of people.

Annabelle had lost sight of Blake, not long after someone had dumped the Gatorade dispenser over his head, sending liquid and ice all over the place. She knew there'd be no hope of finding him, since the field had turned into a mass of people, jerseys mixing with plainclothes and cheerleader outfits. Annabelle and Stella made it to the bottom of the bleachers and pushed their way through the people.

It wasn't easy going against the flow and continually bumping into girls who were crying over the victory and little kids with painted faces or Bobcats T-shirts.

Stella glanced over her shoulder as she pulled Annabelle along. “If you want to stay, you'll have to ditch me,” she called out. “Because I can't stand all these people. It's making my anxiety go haywire.”

Annabelle shook her head, warring with needing to get away from the madness and congratulate Blake. “It's all right. We can go grab a bite to eat.”

“Are you crazy?” Stella shouted. “We'll never get a table anywhere in town.”

That was true. The Cat would be a madhouse tonight.

“Besides,” Stella continued. Then she stopped and leaned closer to Annabelle, whispering in her ear. “You need to call Blake so you can have some congratulatory sex.”

Call Blake? Would he want to hear from her tonight? After all the hype from the game and preparing for the play-offs, a goal that he'd been working for all season, he'd likely not want the distraction. Because she knew where they'd end up. He had a job to focus on and he didn't need her nosing around where she wasn't needed.

N
ovember in Colorado was crisp and cool with brightly colored trees, snowy peaks, and Thanksgiving turkeys on people's minds. But this year the meal planning had taken second place to the play-off game happening in just a few days.

When Annabelle had arrived that morning for weight training with the players, she'd seen Blake right away, hands perched on his hips as he'd answered questions for all the reporters clamoring for attention. His baseball cap had been pulled low over his eyes, and his black Bobcats hooded sweatshirt was stretched over his wide chest. He'd looked good. Because the man always looked good and she'd been thinking about him nonstop over the past week and a half since they'd won their last regular season game.

That night she'd texted him congratulations. Thirty minutes had gone by before he'd responded and she'd thought maybe he was trying to avoid her. The dynamic between them had been a bit awkward since their conversation in her garden. When he'd basically called her a distraction. She'd be lying to herself if she said his words hadn't hurt, that it didn't matter whether he wanted to give a relationship between them a chance. He obviously didn't and what happened in her bedroom, when he'd been so gentle yet passionate, had been a one-time thing.

She'd succumbed to the very thing she'd been trying to avoid with him. Becoming nothing more than a fling. The harsh reality afterward had been impossible to ignore. He'd been trying to get into her pants since the first day they met, and she'd given him the invitation, opening her door, as well as her heart, to him.

He'd taken it and moved on without looking back.

Although, Annabelle thought as she stood over Matt for some more neck stretches, Blake had been hinting at something more. There had been something in his eyes when he'd looked at her, an emotion she hadn't seen before. But after days, then weeks had gone by without him mentioning it anymore, she'd been forced to admit she'd misread him. That maybe it had been her own wishful thinking more than anything else.

Because she'd wanted something substantial with Blake. Something beyond flirtations and fiery kisses and incredible lovemaking. While she knew the connection between them wasn't in her head, for some reason they'd hit the pause button.

Annabelle suppressed a sigh as she let go of Matt's head and motioned for him to get off the table.

“How's that feel?” she asked him.

Matt moved his head from side to side. “It's good,” he told her. “I think the stretches have been helping.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” she told him with a smile. “Are you ready for Friday's game?” she asked, trying to distract herself because she could hear Blake talking in the other room. Why did his voice always have to give her chills? Maybe because it reminded her of how he'd whispered in her ear when he'd been inside her. She held back another shudder.

“More ready than I've ever been for anything else,” he answered.

She was just about to tell him good luck when Blake appeared in the doorway.

“West,” he said to the kid.

Matt turned around.

“How's the neck?” Blake asked.

“It's good, Coach,” Matt answered.

Blake eyed him for a moment, then nodded once. “Good, because you're starting on Friday.”

“Really?” Matt asked, a grin lighting up his face. He glanced at Annabelle, then back to his coach. “You're going to start me?”

“Don't look so surprised, son. You've earned it.”

Matt took a few steps forward. “I promise I won't let you down.”

“Now, don't start crying on me, Matt. It's just a football game.”

Annabelle knew it was more than that, but she kept her mouth shut.

Matt nodded. “Yes, sir.” Then he left the room and Annabelle and Blake were alone.

She stayed in her spot, hands folded in front of her when all she wanted to do was thread them through his hair. And kiss him. Because he looked so good that her body practically hummed with the tension of wanting to feel him against her. It had been too long since they'd touched; being away from him was like going through withdrawal from an addictive drug.

“I think you just made his entire year,” she commented, trying to keep the conversation on neutral ground.

“Matt's a good kid,” Blake said. “He has the potential to be a great player. He just needs to find himself.”

Annabelle took a few steps toward him, slowly, because the urge to launch herself in his arms was overwhelming. “So, you think you're ready for Friday's game?” she asked. Damn, who knew trying to make idle conversation would be so hard? And awkward?

Was she the only one who noticed it?

The casual set of his shoulders, hands slid in his pants, mouth relaxed, indicated Blake didn't have a care in the world. That he was just as at ease with himself, and being around her, as he was before they'd been intimate. Had he put the whole thing behind him? Had she become just another conquest to him?

“The team looked really together yesterday at practice,” she added when he didn't answer her question. “I noticed—”

“I don't want to talk about football, Annabelle.”

His gruff words stopped her short and a shiver of awareness slithered down her spine. “Oh?” The word came out as more of a sigh. “Then what would you like to talk about?”

He stepped all the way into the room and closed the door behind him. “I don't want to talk at all,” he told her.

Before she could do anything, or prepare herself in any way, Blake grabbed her, winding one strong arm around her waist and splaying his palm over the small of her back. The contact sent a rush of heat up her spine and had her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes drifted shut when his other palm, so warm and big and rough, cradled her face, cupping her jaw and dipping his fingers into the hollow spot just behind her ear.

Out of pure instinct, her hands came up and braced on his chest. His heart beat strong and sure beneath her fingertips, which matched the thumping of her own heart against her rib cage. He was nothing but solid muscle beneath the soft sweatshirt, contrasting her feminine curves, plush breasts, and flare of her hips.

He dipped his head and nuzzled her nose with his. “I've missed you,” he whispered.

She brought her mouth closer to his, urging him to kiss her already. “Could've fooled me,” she joked, only she wasn't really joking.

He stilled, holding his lips a whisper away from hers. “I know I upset you before when I said I didn't need any distractions.”

Annabelle shook her head, not needing the knife to be dug any deeper than it already was. “Blake, you don't have to explain—”

“I meant what I said about you not being a distraction. At least not in the way you're thinking.”

She pulled back, keeping her hands on his chest but allowing herself to run her gaze over his features. “Maybe you'd better explain it again.”

He blew out a soft breath and skimmed his thumb over her jawline. “Okay, yeah, you distract me. But the thing you have to understand about me, Annabelle, is when I see something I want, I go no holds barred. I jump in headfirst and you would be no different. There's no way I would be able to split my attention between you and everything else. I can't give everything I have to a relationship right now. Not with these play-offs coming up.”

She nodded as warmth curled in her belly. “I understand that.”

He dipped his head and looked her in the eye. “See, I wasn't sure you did.”

“Okay, I didn't,” she admitted. “I didn't completely understand how you could decide between one and the other, especially since I wasn't the one you chose.”

Blake shook his head. “It's not about deciding between one and the other. It's about focusing on what needs to get done right now. If we jumped into something, I'd want to drown myself in everything
you
. I wouldn't be able to do that without taking away from the team.”

In other words, he was committed heart and soul to those kids and he planned on seeing it through. Yeah, she'd been hurt and upset when she thought he'd chosen football over giving them a chance. But holding himself back so he could give all of his energy and attention to a bunch of high school kids was beyond heroic. The guy was selfless and strong and just about the sweetest thing ever.

“What?” Blake asked her when she hadn't been able to hold back her grin.

She traced the tip of her index finger over the
Bobcats
stitched across his pec. “I'm kind of crushing on you, Blake Carpenter.”

One side of his mouth kicked up in a devilish grin. The same one that had captured her attention the first time he'd flashed it. “Tell me something I don't know,” he teased.

Was it possible for a man to be just as sexy when he teased as when he was surly? Blake practically turned it into an art.

“I'm pretty sure you didn't know that. You're just amazingly sure of yourself.” Never mind the fact that he had every right to be.

“Really?” he wanted to know, moving his hand to cradle the back of her head. “So you're telling me I've misread all the looks you've given me?” His mouth hovered just above hers. “Every time you bite your lip. When the pulse right here”—he accentuated his point by brushing the pad of his thumb near her collarbone—“flutters into high gear. Or maybe”—he pressed a featherlight kiss on the corner of her mouth—“I've misread those sharp breaths you take when I touch you just the right way.”

Okay, so the guy was good at reading body language. “Maybe I'm just a really good actress.” Her eyes dropped closed when his lips explored hers, feeling the texture without prodding for them to open.

His chuckle was deep and sexy. “Sweetheart, no one acts that good. No one can make their eyes dilate when they come.”

The words were whispered along her lips and that was when she opened for him. Because she couldn't take any more of his teasing. He'd touched and teased and tested and now she wanted.

Her lips opened just barely, hinting for him to take the plunge because she was done with all the teasing. Playful seduction was nice and all. Heck, better than nice when a man like Blake Carpenter was the one giving it. But sometimes a woman just needed to be taken. Ravished. And every other corny cliché she'd read in those old romance novels. The burning in her system wouldn't subside until he took it all the way.

So when he stepped away from her, removing his mouth without so much as a hint of tongue, the burning increased and she wanted to scream.

Did the man know what he was doing to her? Did he know that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else until he gave her the same pleasure he'd given her before?

“You're a tease, Blake Carpenter,” she accused while taking a deep breath to slow her heartbeat.

“Just returning the favor,” he said, and with a gentle squeeze of her chin, was out the door. Leaving her alone, aching and burning and ready to explode.

Annabelle gripped the steering wheel as she drove toward her mother's house. It was still early, only about eight a.m., and she had some time before her first appointment. So she decided to go see her mom and her sister, since she'd been so busy and hadn't had much time to spend with either one of them.

The neighborhood was alive with lawn mowers, dogs on leashes, and joggers. Annabelle just barely dodged a man with a beagle as she got out of her car and walked toward the front door of her mom's house.

The morning was cool with a breeze that sent the remaining leaves in the trees rustling, signaling that winter wasn't far away. Annabelle rubbed her hands up and down her arms, wishing that she'd put on a thicker coat.

She let herself in the front door when she found it unlocked and walked into a quiet home. No television and no smells from the kitchen.

“Hello?” she called out. No answer. “Mom?”

Even King Charlie was absent. What a nice thing to be able to walk through the door without the overgrown rat trying to tear through her jeans with his pathetic claws.

The place was spotless, with bright flowers on the coffee table and her mom's favorite blanket folded neatly on the back of the couch. It also smelled good, like fresh laundry and cool morning air.

Annabelle dropped her keys and purse on the floor next to the television and was about to head toward the bedrooms when she heard voices from outside. The sliding glass door was open and the slight breeze billowed the sheer curtains that were pulled back. There, on the wooden deck, beneath the overhang, were her sister and mother, seated at the patio table. Steam unfurled from the mugs cupped in their hands and they were engaged in quiet conversation. Annabelle stood back and observed them, noting the easy smile that curved the corners of Ruth's mouth and the relaxed set of her shoulders.

When was the last time her mom had enjoyed a quiet, cool morning like this one? More importantly, when was the last time Annabelle had sat down and encouraged her to do so? She thought back over the past few months and couldn't remember ever sitting on the patio together and sipping a cup of coffee. Did that mean she was too consumed with structure? Too worried about doing things a certain way and making sure everything was in order to think about something as simple as having a cup of coffee with her own mom?

Naomi thought about things like that. She was good at the carefree stuff, always had been. Annabelle was the organized, responsible sister. Naomi was the fun, happy go-lucky one. The roles had always suited them, and Annabelle had been content at filling hers. And good at it. She'd plugged along, making her lists and handling her responsibilities, going from one task to the next seamlessly. And that had been enough for her. Or had it?

Nowadays she wasn't so sure. Her feelings for Blake and seeing the dynamic between Naomi and Ruth had made her reevaluate the person she always thought she'd wanted to be. Maybe having that serious relationship wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Maybe constantly worrying about how her mom was going to cook a meal or wash her own sheets didn't need to be the priority she'd always made it.