Completing the Pass (12 page)

When he finally sat down again and picked up his slice of now-cold pizza, both Tony and Derrick were staring at him with strange looks on their faces.

“What?” he asked, taking a bite of his slice.

“You . . . were enjoying that.” Tony looked surprised and shook his head in wonder. “I can't believe it, but you were actually enjoying that.”

“No, I wasn't,” Josh denied on autopilot, but caught Derrick's short nod of agreement with Tony. “I . . . okay, so I didn't hate it. They were nice people. So?”

Tony lifted one shoulder and took another breadstick. “Never thought I'd see the day when you enjoyed hanging out with fans and being fawned over.”

“I wasn't being fawned over.” He waited a second, then looked at Derrick, who had stayed quiet. “Was I?”

Derrick shrugged, but kept eating.

Josh let the pizza fall back to his plate. “Damn pizza's cold,” he muttered, reaching for his glass with a not-so-steady hand.

***

Carri looked up from the page she was coloring beside Herb at the kitchen table at the sound of the doorbell. “We weren't expecting someone, were we, Dad?”

“Hmm,” he said, picking out another colored pencil and working meticulously on the vine of the flower she'd colored in.

The activity was perfect for his motor skills, and it was a nice mental break for her. Coloring had turned into bonding-slash-therapy for them, on multiple levels.

Setting down her pencil, she rubbed gently on his forearm, watching him for another moment. Herb was fully engrossed in the activity, not paying her a bit of attention. Which was fine, as it kept him calm and happy. She sighed and squeezed softly as he kept shading in the vine. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Hmm,” he hummed again.

She went to the door, surprised to find Josh's mother, Gail, waving happily through the stained-glass window of the front door. Opening it, Carri gave her a short hug before asking, “Were we expecting you?”

“No, no.” Gail laughed and pulled back, cupping Carri's face in a maternal way. “Sweetie, forgive me, but . . . you look done in.”

Carri felt a small smile curve one corner of her mouth. “I could use some downtime.”

“Good.” Clapping her on the shoulders, Gail propelled her toward the door. “Go. Out. With Joshua.”

“Hold on, what?” Putting the brakes on, Carri halted in front of the open door. “Go out with Josh? I can't. I'm with Dad right now. Mom doesn't come home for another two hours. It's her—”

“Night to work late, I know. That's what I'm here for.” Gail made a
shoo shoo
gesture with her hands. “Joshua is in the driveway, waiting. I'm making dinner and us three old farts are going to hang out when Maeve comes home. You'll be in our way. So go be young with my son.”

“I . . .” Carri looked around the foyer, then down at herself. “I'm not really dressed to leave the house. Let me—”

“You're hopping in the car with Joshua, so it doesn't matter what you look like.” Gail picked Carri's purse from the hook by the door and pushed it into her hands. “I'm going to mother you right out this door, so there's no point in arguing with me.”

“I just . . . I . . .”

Just then, Herb called out, “Maeve? Maeve, are you coming back in?”

“Go,” Gail whispered, patting her cheek gently.

Carri paused long enough to toss her comfortable-but-ugly flip-flops off and slip her feet into some sandals before taking off.

Josh breathed a sigh of relief the second he saw her leave the house and close the door behind her. She clutched her purse in front of her and kept looking back at the house as if she felt guilty for leaving . . . or maybe that she was afraid someone would run after her to pull her back in.

When she opened the car door and slid in, she sighed and leaned her head back. “Do I want to know why you are coming to the rescue?”

“Not yet.”

“Then just drive. Let's get out of here.”

That, he could do. He took off, watching her face as she closed her eyes and relaxed. He could visibly see each muscle smooth out and lose its tension with each passing minute. Because he couldn't resist, he reached over and pulled her hand to lace fingers with his, resting them on his thigh. When she didn't pull away, he rubbed his thumb over and over the soft skin he found there.

She sighed at one point as he made the final turn into his parking garage, and he realized she'd fallen asleep. As he parked, she shifted, but didn't wake up. So he simply turned the car off and watched her.

Carri had always been pretty. Well, except for that awkward phase she'd gone through from fourth to seventh grades. He smirked to remember those days. But then again, what kid didn't hit an awkward phase? He had, too. But in his eyes, she'd really hit her stride in high school.

Unfortunately, by then, their mutual distrust and dislike had been firmly cemented. Not a chance in hell they'd ever have considered each other date worthy. Even friend worthy, most days. Well, not that they would have admitted to each other . . .

The moms had wanted so badly for them to be an item. It had been their big joke growing up.
“Oh, look at these two together. Forever! It's fate! Joshua, is Carrington your girlfriend? Carrington, do you love your Joshy? Do you want to marry Josh? She nodded! She does love Josh! Josh, can you give Carrington a kiss on the cheek? Aw! Look how adorable!”

No wonder the second they'd been able to think for themselves, they'd developed an almost Pavlovian dislike of each other.

Carri moaned and rolled, then whipped her arm out and smacked her hand against the hard plastic of the inside door. “Son of a biscuit!” she shouted, sitting straight up and nailing her head on the visor. Her arms and legs flailed a little, looking for purchase. “Oh my God, what the hell?”

He couldn't help it . . . he laughed. She just looked so damn bewildered and caught in a trap. When Carri turned to glare at him in the dim light of the parking garage's emergency lights, he fought back the laughs and sobered. “Sorry. It was just . . . You had to see it from my side of the car.”

“I'd love to run you
over
with a car. Is that the same thing?”

With a roll of his eyes, Josh stepped out of the car and walked around to her side. She sat, stubborn as a mule, with her arms crossed in the passenger seat. When he opened the door, she sniffed.

“C'mon, Carrington. Just come up with me.”

She didn't look at him. Choosing another tack, he squatted down in the open doorway and lowered his voice.

“I'm sorry I laughed. Will you please come upstairs for a little bit?”

“Fine,” she said primly, then waited for him to move out of the way before climbing out herself. “But only because I need the excuse to stay out of my own house for a bit.”

Technically, it wasn't her house any longer, but Josh wasn't a stupid man. He knew when to pick his battles. “Fair enough.”

***

Carri looked around the lobby as she walked beside Josh into the apartment building. “Not very fancy, is it?” she asked.

“What were you expecting?” He guided her past what looked like the reception desk of a hotel, complete with a suit-jacketed employee who gave a polite wave to Josh before going back to his computer. They hit the elevator bay and Josh pressed the Up button. “Gilded ceilings? Roman columns?”

“I don't know. Just . . . more. You and your mom have both said a lot of Bobcats live here.”

“They do.” The elevator dinged, and he held her back with one arm in front of her. “Hold on. You never know what's gonna pop out of the car.”

“What's gonna pop out of—Oh, my.”

It was sort of like watching a tin of sardines be ejected from their can, she supposed. Four huge men, with shoulders as wide as Carri was tall, wriggled and side-stepped their way out of the elevator. One gave Josh a wave, another gave him a fist bump. A third stopped to stare blatantly at her, until Josh growled in warning.

“Just checking,” the man said in a supremely deep voice, one gold tooth gleaming in his otherwise pearly white smile. “Nice to see you with some company, Leeman.”

“Fuck off,” Josh said mildly, pushing Carri into the elevator and pressing the button for the ninth floor.

“What, no penthouse?”

“I doubt the building has a penthouse. These are basically economy apartments, with the bonus of added security. They don't run to million-dollar views and full-time butlers.”

“Huh. You'd think with those multi-million-dollar contracts we always hear about, you guys could afford better.”

He spared her a glance, then looked back up at the changing numbers. “Most people don't get multi-million-dollar contracts. Guys get cut constantly, traded to a team across the country at the drop of a hat, re-upped, or tossed out like garbage. The average lifespan of a guy in this sport is less than three years. The smart ones take every dime they make and spend it wisely, or better yet, invest it for the future when football isn't there for them anymore. The smart ones don't waste it on buying a mansion when they might not even be playing in the same city next season.”

“Oh.” Stupid thing to say, but he'd set her in her place so simply, so efficiently, what more was there? “Well, it seems nice.”

He smiled slightly. “It works. It's a roof over our heads.”

The elevator dinged, and he took her hand and led her to the left, down a hallway. She wasn't going to get lost, so there was no reason for him to hold on to her like a potential runaway. But something about how he held her hand, caressing her index finger with his thumb almost absently, made her want to leave it there.

“Here we go. Try not to make too much fun,” he warned as he used a key and opened the door.

“Make fun of what?” she asked, walking inside. It was pretty . . . meh. Simple kitchen table, gray couch, gray armchair, and white walls with very minimal art hanging on them. “Oh, is that one of those watercolor prints you see at hotels?”

“It came with the place. The whole enchilada did. Half of this entire apartment building comes furnished. Easier to deal with when you might get traded any second and have to pack up and leave in under a week.”

“Your lives are so much different from what I thought,” Carri admitted, sinking down onto the gray couch. It was comfortable, though not take-a-nap comfy. “The uncertainty has to suck.”

“Life is uncertain.” Josh sat down beside her, and reached his arm over the back to play with her hair a little. “Why'd you really cut it?”

“Gets in my way during construction. I was constantly having to pull my gloves off and retie the ponytail. Now I just wear a bandana over it and I'm good.” At his surprised look, she smirked. “What, didn't think I could get my hands dirty? I told you I wield power tools. You just didn't believe me.”

“No . . . well, maybe,” he amended, pulling her tighter toward him. “I'm just painting this mental picture, and it's pretty amusing.”

“Efficient,” she corrected. “Any work I do is work I don't have to pay someone else to do. I'm a master painter.”

“Hmm.” He pulled her even closer, so they were plastered side by side.

“Josh?”

“Hmm?” he said again, looking at her hair as he ran his fingers through it. The slight pull against her scalp felt so good, nearly mesmerizing.

“What are we doing here?” she whispered.

“You wanted a break from your house, and I needed someone to ground me.”

“Ground you, like, go to your room?” She laughed at that. “Wrong person.”

“No.” Josh kissed her shoulder, then her neck. Despite herself, Carri arched a little so he could reach more skin. “Ground me, like keep me grounded. You're never impressed with me, or anything I do. You've never asked me for an autograph, or treated me any different from the way you did when we were teens. You've never asked me for a selfie while I was just trying to eat a slice of pizza.”

“You're not different,” she said, her voice a little breathless. He was doing something very wrong—or very right—with his tongue and her earlobe. “You're just as . . . mmm. Just as annoying now as you w-were back then.”

“I can tell how much I annoy you.” His voice was hot, and close, as he worked his way over her temple, her cheek, her nose before closing his mouth hard on hers.

Fingers speared through her hair, holding her steady for the onslaught of his drugging kisses.

Carri reached up to grip his wrists, but surprised herself by holding on tightly instead of pushing him away. And when he teased the opening of her mouth with his tongue, she readily opened, letting him inside to taste. To touch. To make her squirm with want.

Their breathing grew more labored until Carri had to finally break off, gasping. “Josh . . . Josh, what are we doing?”

His face was so close to hers, she nearly had to cross her eyes to see him. And his scowl was dark. “I'm kissing you. What the hell did you think we were doing?”

“We hate each other.”

“That's . . . no. Carri.” He cupped her chin, his touch soft. His thumb smoothed a path between the corner of her mouth and her cheek. Carri's eyes grew heavy from the contact. “Carri, I don't hate you. I've never
hated
you.”

“Well, I . . .” Her voice trailed off, because if she were being honest with herself—damn self-reflection—she knew she'd never truly hated him, either. Annoyed by, unimpressed with, sure. General childhood dislike and teenage distrust had carried over into an adult-enemy situation that neither of them really needed to carry on any longer.

He kissed her forehead. “I need you to keep me sane. And I want you, because . . . I don't know why. But I do. God, I want you, Carrington.”

“I . . .” Why wouldn't her voice work?

“You want to escape. Run away. Be free of the shit that's going on at home. I see that. I get it. I want to give you that. Can we just do that? Ignore all the bickering and fighting and forced friendship from when we were kids and give something real to each other now?”

“I'm not staying,” she breathed out. Her voice still wasn't strong enough.

“Yeah, I know.” His face said he wasn't so sure he liked knowing it. Or maybe she was reading him wrong. “But you're here now, and there's no reason we can't give each other what we want. What we need.”

Carri closed her eyes for a moment. There was no way to think with his face sitting there, so earnest, so stupidly good-looking. She had to
think
.

***

Why won't you answer me?

Josh watched as Carri's eyelids danced over her eyes. She'd shut them—shut him out—to think. Or maybe meditate. At this point, he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't sleeping.

“Give each other something real,” she whispered, opening her eyes slightly. “Just . . . give.”

“Give. The take comes naturally. Giving requires work, but it's worth it.”

That made her smile a little, then she shocked him by leaning forward and kissing him. “Okay. Let's be adults and give.”

His heart thumped heavily in his chest, and he had to check the urge to grab her, throw her over his shoulder, and run to the bedroom before she could change her mind. Instead, to give himself a moment, he stood and held out a hand. It seemed symbolic, maybe, that she put her own in his and let him pull her up. It's what he wanted to do for her. Pull her up and out from the sadness her daily life had become as she watched her father deteriorate daily.

He led her the short distance to his master bedroom, which was just as plainly furnished as the rest of the apartment.

“You don't waste money on decor, do you?” she remarked, stopping in the middle of the room to do a quick three-sixty of the area. “Please tell me the sheets are at least yours.”

“Yes, smartass.” He kissed her nose when she rotated back toward him. “And the mattress. I have some limits.”

“Good.” She took him off balance by pushing at his shoulders. The backs of his knees hit the frame of the bed and he fell back on the mattress, bouncing once. She crawled over him and then let her body rest over his.

More symbolism. He wanted to pull her up . . . he needed her to push him down. Keep his ego from overinflating and carrying him three counties over.

With her short dark hair feathering around her face, a mischievous smile on her lips, and her dark eyes sparkling—all framed by the lights overhead—it was like an imp, or fairy, had come to play.

He cupped her face and sat up to kiss her again, because he couldn't stop himself. This was Carrington Gray. His Carrington. And they were about to do something he'd thought about more than once since sex had first blipped his radar, but he had never imagined it happening.

And now she was on top of him, in his bed. Jesus Christ, life worked in funny ways.

“You're doing that thing . . .” She paused, then used one fingertip to draw a line between his eyebrows. “That thing where you're thinking a lot and you have that line here.”

He kissed her palm as it passed by his lips. With both hands, he clutched her ass so she wouldn't pop off, then settled her on his lap. “You're right. Time to stop thinking.” Cruising his hands slowly up her waist, he caught her shirt on his thumbs and lifted. With her help, he pulled it up and over her head, letting it drop behind her on the floor. He smiled when he saw the practical, slightly worn bra. A change from cute matching lingerie sets women he'd dated before had worn, likely ones they'd cut the tags off five minutes before meeting him at the door.