Completing the Pass (18 page)

“Jess is . . .” He searched quickly through his mental files. “Your friend from Utah.”

“My friend and property manager. The one who keeps track of tenants and issues with the properties,” she explained when he lifted his brows.

“Thanks.” When she started eying the upper cabinets, he took his cue and went to the right one to bring down two wineglasses. He handed her one, then used the other to pour himself vegetable juice. “What?” he said when she gave him a sickened face. “It's healthy. And look, the glass makes it fancy.”

“You make me sad.” But she said it with a smile, and a healthy gulp of wine. Then she topped her glass off. “If you're drinking veggie juice, you definitely deserve a cookie. Let's take this to the couch.” Seemingly at home in his apartment, she walked that direction with her glass of wine perched in one hand, the box of baked goods in the other, and the bottle cradled against her side with her elbow. Josh waited until she chose a seat on the sofa, then purposefully chose to sit on the arm chair instead. She needed to get this off her chest, and he needed to let her. Touching while sitting on the couch they'd had sex on wouldn't help either of those goals come to fruition.

“She's quitting, basically.” Carri opened the box, took a cookie, then slid it across the table to him. With her legs tucked up under her on his sofa, a cookie in each hand, and a glass of white wine she looked at home. She looked perfect. Like he could see spending evenings with her like this every night.

Shake it off, Leeman. Focus on her words.

“She's taking one of the investors I use, which is sort of a dick move,” she cut into his thoughts, “but not unethical . . . exactly. And she'll use all the knowledge she gained from working for me . . . which I can't really complain about.” Another gulp of wine. “It's not like I trademarked the idea of investment real estate. It's aggravating, though. I know she's been handling things back home by herself, but my rentals and tenants are pretty low maintenance. And she's paid well.”

“Sounds like it might be best for all involved if she heads out,” Josh put in, then zipped his lips when he caught her freezing glare while she topped her glass off . . . again. “Sorry.”

“Don't fix,” she warned. “There's no real way to fix it, so there's your warning. The only way to make it better is to get back to Utah.”

“And you can't,” he guessed.

“How do I leave my dad? Mom just told me today there was no home health worker coming in. They weren't great with money, ever. Why would I think they had long-term-care insurance? Why would I think that was even possible? She's been stringing me along.” Carri blew out a breath, shifting the baby-fine hairs that caressed her cheek. “As usual. She's a pro. My mother should be in business. Maeve's Manipulations: First Panic Attack Free.”

“She could have a punch card, like the frozen yogurt place. Buy ten manipulations, get your eleventh free.” He chuckled, then laughed when Carri snorted.

She took a big gulp of wine, then another cookie. “Your call couldn't have come at a better time. Between Jess giving me at least a month of notice—which I do appreciate, because that's more than required—and my mom basically telling me that no, there's no home-aid worker coming . . . I'm stuck.”

“And I provided a Maeve-approved escape hatch. Hey, I won't complain,” Josh said, toasting her with his juice when she looked guilty. “If it gets you over here faster, I'm all for it.”

“Well, it did.” And that seemed to annoy her even more. Enough that she sipped her wine without even looking at it. Was that her third glass, or fourth? He'd lost count with her topping off half-full rounds between sentences.

Time to change tacks. “Come over here.”

“Hmm?” She was still staring at her wineglass, swirling the last few drops around the bottom of the bowl.

“Come over.” He patted his thigh in invitation. When she gave him a skeptical look, he shrugged. “Or not.”

Contrary soul that she was, that enticed her all the more. “Fine. But no funny business.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he said innocently as she set her wineglass beside his juice and perched on his lap. “No, like this.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her back, arranged her legs over his, and waited for her to rest her head on his shoulder. “There. Better.”

“Mmm,” was all she said. Then she breathed deeply.

“What?”

“Just creating a memory.”

“Of what my shirt smells like?” he asked wryly.

“Of what you smell like. This moment, really. Cookies, and wine, and you and . . .” She started to drift, and he felt her relax against him. “I'm supposed to be over here lifting you up, not the other way around.”

And just like that, he realized it didn't matter who was lifting whom up. It mattered that they were both together, working their way out of the dark.

Lips against her hair, he said, “Doesn't matter. This is working for me.”

She snuggled closer to him and sighed. “Wanna tell me about your reason for wanting me over here?”

“I'm nervous about tomorrow.”

“Of course you are.”

That made him huff. “Nobody else seems to think I should be. Apparently if I'm nervous, I'm screwing the entire team up.”

“Then they're idiots. Or they're trying to give you something you don't need. Which is a pep talk. You don't need a pep talk. You need to do the talking. You always thought better after talking.”

He considered that a moment. “How do you even know that?”

“Do you know how many times I was recruited for you to
talk through
your essay problems for English? How often my presence was about as useful as a cardboard cutout?”

He thought back to the cutout of Josiah Walker and his media training and grinned. “Sometimes, just watching someone's facial expressions is enough. Or knowing they'll stop you if you say something dumb.” She certainly would have.

“I would have totally stopped you for saying something dumb,” she agreed. “Any chance to mock the great Josh Leeman.”

Unlike prior times, she said it so softly this time, so without that typical Carri bite, it almost sounded loving. Like a long-used inside joke between two people who had no problem bagging on each other and ending the insults with a kiss.

“I wish I could take you into the locker room with me.” He pulled her tighter against him.

“Sounds like a whole lotta junk I don't need to see,” she mumbled, and he snorted.

“The sidelines, then. Or you could sit in the skybox and call me. That would be good. Kick me back down when I'm getting too greedy, pull me back up when someone's making me feel like shit.”

“Nobody gets to make you feel like shit except me.” Her voice was a little hazy now, almost as if sleep were dragging her down whether she liked it or not.

Well, he had no problem helping that along. He rubbed her back with one hand and lowered his voice. “And after we win—because this is my dream so of course we win—I'd come find you and claim my prize.”

“I'm no prize,” she whispered.

“I was talking about another cookie, but you'll do.” He felt her lips curve against his neck. “I'd steal my kiss from you quickly. Then you'd sit beside me during the inevitable, unavoidable media circus afterward, and then get in my car and ride off with me somewhere quiet where you wait on me hand and foot for being the football god that I am.”

When she didn't even blink at that, he knew she was out like a light. Josh checked his watch. Not quite seven. He'd wake her in an hour or two for dinner. But for now, he considered the warm, comforting weight of her in his arms to be the closest thing to heaven he'd experienced. He wasn't giving it up so soon.

And he wasn't just talking about tonight.

Carri woke up to Josh's lightly chanting voice, followed by a mild earthquake. “Wha . . . Huh?”

She tried to move, but her face was glued to something. Oh, God, what the hell had happened to her?

“Carri. I hate to do this but I'm starving. And you probably need some food in you.”

“Marphft,” was all she could manage when her cheek wouldn't move.

“Something to soak up the wine. Cookies aren't enough. Up we go.”

The earth tilted again, and she realized the mild earthquake had been Josh shaking her. She was still on his lap, and her cheek had become stuck to his neck in a sweaty mess.

Oh, sweet God . . . that was embarrassing.

Finally able to pry herself away, she tapped his shoulder as he walked with her still in his arms to the kitchen. “Down, please.”

“In a minute. Let me be heroic for a second, would ya?” He grinned as he deposited her on the counter beside the kitchen sink. “There. Perfect. What do you want for dinner?”

Dinner. She probably had to get home. She used the back of her wrist to wipe at her mouth, in case there was any lingering drool.

Reading her thoughts before she could vocalize them, Josh shook his head and caged her with his hands on the counter. “You're not going anywhere tonight. You're mine, all night, end of story.”

“But my parents—”

“Will accept that their daughter is grown and can make her own decisions. Send your mom a text saying you'll be home tomorrow, and let it go. Turn the phone off. That's all she needs to know.”

“Maybe I don't want to stay all night,” she countered, for some stupid reason.

“Yes, you do.”

“It's annoying when you know things you shouldn't.” She pushed at his shoulder. “Now make me a sandwich.”

“That's usually the guy's line, but I'm up for some gender-bending.” He pulled out a loaf of bread from the pantry and a few plates from a cabinet. “Tell me something I don't already know about you.”

She watched with her feet dangling in front of the cabinets as he began pulling condiments and lunch meat from the fridge. When he reached in for the sliced cheese, she said, “I don't like cheese on my sandwiches.”

“I already knew that.” He held up his hand. “Which is why I only have one slice.”

Damn. “Apparently finding something you don't know about me is going to be difficult.”

“Don't shove that,
We've known each other since diapers
crap at me. Think about it.”

“I don't know . . . Oh! Okay.” She grinned. “I used to have a crush on Derrick.”

That stopped him short. He squirted a little mustard on the countertop as he turned to stare at her like a hooked trout. “Derrick?
My
Derrick?”

“Well, I used to imagine he would be
my
Derrick, not yours.” Carri smirked. “I was fifteen, he was a big, tall guy already, and strong. Kicked ass at football—”

“I kicked ass at football, too,” Josh muttered, turning around to give the sandwiches his full attention. And squeezed the mustard bottle just a little harder than necessary before setting it down forcefully on the counter.

He was jealous. Or maybe annoyed. Probably both. The thought made Carri smile. “Yeah, but you weren't a mystery to me. Derrick was.”

“He's married,” Josh snapped. He slapped the top pieces of bread on the sandwiches and cut through one with vengeance, as if the sandwich had personally wronged him.

“He's married
now
. I don't have a crush on him now, either. He's still a good guy though, isn't he?”

Josh hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. He is. His wife's pregnant. They're sloppy-happy about it.”

“Aw.” Carri went a little mushy for the big guy. “He looks good with a beard, even if some of the weight has redistributed. He always reminded me of a big teddy bear. But anyway, there. You asked, I answered. Tell me something I don't know about you.”

He took his time loading the plates with the sandwiches, as if the placement of each half were paramount to how it tasted. Then he poked his head back inside the fridge and came out with a bag of carrots. “I had a crush on you in high school,” he said quietly, pouring baby carrots onto each plate.

Carri snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Senior year, I sure did, for one very aggravating month.” He slid one plate beside her, put the other up on a ledge and leaned in for a kiss and a quick nuzzle at her temple. “But since you acted like I was one step up from dog crap—”

“Not
that
bad!” she protested.

He gave her the
You sure about that?
look.

“Well,” she amended, “I was still hurting from your disinterest in me before.”

“What?” Josh pulled back and stared at her. “You said you had a crush on
Derrick
.”

“A girl can have multiple crushes in her teenage years. There was a very short time during my sophomore year—your junior—that my hormones went wonky and I wanted you.” Face hot, Carri reached around for her wineglass, only to realize it wasn't there. So she picked up the sandwich and took a big bite. Josh gave her a speaking glare, but she shrugged and said, “Goo san-ish.”

“Gross,” was all he said, and took a bite of his own. “So you're saying . . .” he said, managing to chew and talk much better than her—probably thanks to his big mouth—“You're saying that we missed simultaneously crushing on each other by one year.”

“Probably for the best,” she said after swallowing. “We never would have worked out back then.”

Josh nodded, his chin bumping her shoulder slightly. “What's that saying, how sometimes ships pass in the night because they're not ready to meet yet?”

“But we'd met,” she reminded him.

“Since we were in diapers,” they both added in unison, quoting the moms. Then they grinned.

More seriously, Josh added, “So, maybe back then we weren't ready to meet like we are now. How we are with each other now. We just weren't prepared for it.”

“Oh, and you're prepared to handle me now?” she joked.

And he rocked something inside her when he answered, “Yeah, I am.”

***

Josh tore his T-shirt over his head before dumping it at the bottom of his locker. He'd done the pregame media circus with little hesitation, earning Simon Poehler's look of gratitude—not that he wanted it—and Trey's look of admiration. There had been questions, comments, and a few concerns from people wondering how he would fill in for Trey. But the starting quarterback had nipped those in the bud early, and Josh had done his level best to not make an ass out of himself.

Hopefully, he'd succeeded.

By now, he'd normally turned his phone off, but he couldn't resist checking one more time before he slipped his uniform on. Something about putting on those Bobcat blues felt too close to suiting up for battle to him. Too final. Like he couldn't go back.

When he found a text from Carri, he grinned and opened it.

Don't fuck up, or no veggie juice and cookies for you tonight.

He snorted and turned his phone off. She just got him in a way nobody else ever had.

“That's a loose smile. Glad to see it.”

Trey sat down beside Josh on their folding chairs and stretched out his legs. For a man whose career was currently on hiatus, he looked shockingly calm.

“Feeling okay?”

Josh rolled his shoulders, then nodded. “Yeah, feeling fine. Good. Great. I'm doing great.”

“You should have ended with fine.” Trey analyzed him for a second while Josh pulled on his socks. “Watch your left side. The Bills always—”

“Come hard from the left. I've heard.” Josh gave him a wry smile. “From you, from Barnes, from Jordan, from the guy who stands out on Fifth and Lexington and hands out pamphlets on the next coming apocalypse. Believe me, I've heard.”

“So you're prepared. Better to be too prepared than caught with your pants around your ankles.” Trey sat up a little straighter. “You look more solid than yesterday, so that's good. Yesterday you were a bit scary.”

“I scared myself,” Josh admitted. “Then I found that thing I needed. So I'm more level.”

“Hope so.” Trey lifted his right leg, indicating his ankle. “You've got backup for the field . . . but it's not me. But just remember, if you need something . . .”

“Ask. I've got it.” Josh started to brush that off, then thought better. “Actually, I do have a favor.”

“Let me hear it,” Trey said without hesitation.

After lacing his fingers together and stretching his biceps, Josh started to pick up his pads. “Grab your phone. We're about to send Cassie on an errand.”

***

“The game is still almost three hours away, and you're already in the kitchen.” Carri watched with amusement as her mother checked a pot on the stove and simultaneously peeked in on the dough in the oven. “It's just Gail, Mom. She wouldn't care if you served her Lunchables.”

“First off, that's terrible. I raised you better. I hope you never actually serve guests Lunchables.”

“That would mean I had houseguests, which I don't. Because I'm a hermit,” Carri said.

Maeve swatted at her with a dish towel. “And secondly, it's a tradition. Gail and I have gone back and forth hosting each other for Josh's games since he started playing.”

“She doesn't go to the home games?” That came as a bit of a shock, given it was her one and only son playing. “I would have thought she'd be a season-ticket holder.”

“Oh, she was, the first couple of seasons. But eventually it got to be a bit too much. She says she can watch better from home, and more comfortably, too.” Maeve began washing vegetables that would go on the platter for the coffee table. “And since your father and I already watch the games, it was just a natural progression for her to join us.”

“Hmm,” was all she said. “Okay, I'll bite. Let me help.”

Maeve shot her a look of such happiness and gratitude, Carri almost felt guilty for not having offered before now. But she also hadn't known her mother was going to throw such a fuss together for a single family friend to come over. The kind of family friend they normally didn't even straighten up for, because she'd seen the house looking at its worst and didn't care.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You can wash the rest of these while I start making the dip. It needs to chill for a few hours after I've mixed it.”

“Sure thing.” After scrubbing her hands, Carri took over the job of peeling and washing the veggies.

“I'm so glad you're here for this,” Maeve continued, getting things out of the refrigerator. “With Gail coming over, and you here . . . it feels like this is where we're all supposed to be. Together as a family, watching Josh.”

“Mom.” With a sigh, Carri set the celery stalk aside and turned the water off. “This isn't going to happen forever. I don't live here anymore. Josh and I aren't going to ride off into the sunset and get married.”

Maeve's lip quivered a little—a trick Carri recognized from her childhood—and Carri turned the water back on. She'd been honest, but not rude. There was nothing more her mother could ask.

The doorbell rang, and Carri thanked the blessed Saint of Game Day that Gail's early arrival had saved her from an uncomfortable conversation. Much as Maeve loved to harp on her daughter, she'd never do it in front of an audience.

But a few seconds later, her mother's confused voice pierced through the gratitude.

“Carri, you've got a visitor.”

She turned around and found herself looking straight at Cassie Owens.

“H-hey,” she stuttered. When she stepped forward, she realized she was still holding a cucumber. “Oh, God. Here, uh . . .” She set it down and walked toward a smiling Cassie. “What . . . I mean, how did you know where I lived?”

“A little birdie told Trey, who told me.”

Of course. “Mom, this is Cassandra Owens. Cassie, this is my mom, Maeve Gray.”

Cassie hooked her left arm through Carri's and tugged gently. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gray.”

“Maeve, please.” In her element now, Maeve smiled and held out a hand, which Cassie shook easily. “Carri's mother. Family friend of Josh's. He's practically a surrogate son.”

“Mom,” Cassi interrupted, hoping to end the inevitable word vomit. “I'm just going to sit with Cassie in the living room for a little bit, okay?”

“Of course it's okay.” Looking totally unruffled, Maeve nodded. “Let me know if you want refreshments. Cassandra? Drink? Chips and salsa? Mints?”

At this rate, her mother would start offering up the fine china. “We're good, Mom. I think Dad wanted a glass of juice, though.” That had her mother taking a step back. “I'll be back to help in a minute,” Carri added. “Thanks.”

“I don't know about that,” Cassie said slowly as they walked into the living room. “I'm on a mission.”

“From God?” Carri asked, then shook her head when Cassie lifted her brows in question. “Sorry. Blues Brothers quote. Couldn't help myself. What can I do for you?” They sat on the couch.

“I'm here to abduct you. But since my kidnapping skills are a little rusty, I'm just going to appeal to your basic goodness and ask you to come with me instead.” Cassie grinned. “Josh wants you at the game, and he thought you would come if you had some in-person social pressure. So that's me. The heavy social pressure. Look at me doing all the lifting.” Cassie flexed her biceps in a mock pro-wrestler pose.

“He sent you to do his dirty work?” Carri let that sink in and tried to tamp down the feeling of joy that Josh had gone through so much trouble to get her to the stadium.

“He sent me to do something that mattered. He's a good teammate. Trey really likes him. So, here I am.” Cassie laughed. “And you, Cinderella, need to get to the ball.”