Impulsive (26 page)

Jess groaned. "I did, but not thoroughly enough, I guess.
Mainly, I just wanted to do this for Alan, and to help out the team."

"Which you are," he conceded. "You've also put the
Knights in the spotlight along with your own sweet self. Nothing like a little
notoriety to stir up team spirit."

"For which Tommy will no doubt be eternally ungrateful,"
Jess grumbled. "Lord, what a glorious mess I've gotten myself into this
time. You'd think, at some point or age, I'd learn not to be so blasted
impulsive. But no, not me. I just leap in with both feet, regardless of the
consequences."

After much debate, Jess finally agreed—with certain rigid
stipulations. There would be no questions about her love life, past or present.
She would not answer any queries she considered too personal. She would discuss
her career as an investigative journalist, and her accomplishments while on the
OSU women's soccer team. Additionally, she okayed CNN's request for brief
related interviews with her mother, some of the other Knights, and with a few
select friends and former professors. Jess also insisted that the interview
take place at the stadium, rather than her own home, and that she remain seated
throughout, to distract attention from her height.

It took her three hours to select an outfit both she and Ty deemed
attractive and feminine enough without looking frilly. She took extra pains
with her makeup, had Ty do her hair and help with her manicure—something she
almost never bothered to do—hooked her favorite earrings through her ears, and
left the rest to Providence.

The piece, limited in length at Jess's request, ran on CNN
Wednesday and was replayed on Thursday. Her succinctly worded press release
also hit the newspapers in mid-week. In accordance with her present luck, it
hit the UP wires and was printed nationwide. The phone and fax kept ringing,
until both she and Ty were forced to have their numbers changed.

"I'm so sorry about all this hassle," she apologized for
the tenth time in as many minutes.

Ty looked up from his personal phone directory, from which he was
pulling names of those people to whom he had yet to relay his new number.
"Don't sweat it, babe. Like I said, my number was out to too many people
who shouldn't have it, anyway. I just don't want to forget to notify anybody
who actually needs to know it. Like Barb. Unfortunately, I can't just skip her
and give the number to Josh, as much as I'd like to."

The messages had continued to come in from across the country, and
not just from the news media. How the average citizen had obtained her number,
and her home address, Jess would have liked to know. Her best assumption was
that they had tapped into some computer file somewhere. A mailing list, maybe.
Heaven knew, once you subscribed to that first lousy magazine, everyone in the
world was sending you junk mail, having bought your address from the original
company.

At any rate, on top of all the E-mail, et cetera, she was also
receiving cards and letters in abundance. Her mailman was about to have a
hernia—or go into a maniacal rage and buy a gun! Not all of the missives were
complimentary or encouraging, either. A woman from Iowa, obviously big on
religion, wrote that Jess should be ashamed of herself. She should stop trying
to be a man, get married, raise a family, and fulfill her God-ordained role as
a woman. That was only one of a number of disparaging comments from both
genders sprinkled among the good.

The messages that surprised Jess most, however, were from men—male
admirers who sent more than casual greetings— encompassing everything from lewd
offers to marriage proposals. Most were gushing, others graphic in the extreme.
Some even went so far as to have flowers and candy delivered to her at the
stadium. One fellow actually mailed her a pair of red satin thong panties,
included his phone number, and asked her to wear the gift when she called him.

"When polar bears vacation in Tahiti!" was Jess's
flabbergasted reaction. "Good grief, Ty! This is asinine! These guys don't
actually think I'm going to respond to them, do they?"

He replied with an agitated frown, "I imagine they're hoping
you will. Damn! This is getting out of hand. I never suspected you'd be collecting
your own weirdos and groupies, like—"

"Like you and the rest of the hot-shot jocks?" she
interrupted with a wry grin.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Next, someone will want to
start a Jess Myers fan club!"

All in all, Jess was glad to accompany Ty to Indianapolis on
Friday and escape the deluge of attention. They were finally going to get to
watch Josh play in a soccer match.

"I hope his coach doesn't stick him on the bench the whole
while," Jess fretted.

Ty chuckled. "You're worse than I am, Jess. Anyone would
swear you were the kid's mom, the way you fuss over him."

"Does that bother you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Heck no. Especially since I know that with you it's sincere,
not just some act you're putting on to impress me. You'd be surprised at the
number of women who've resorted to such underhanded maneuvers in the past.
Nothing ticks me off faster."

"I suppose, being a football star, you have had more than
your share of women who would employ any kind of trickery to get into your
bed," she mused sourly.

"You don't know the half of it, but you might by the time all
is said and done. Wait until you find one of these guys who are mooning over
you lurking outside your apartment, or sitting in your car after a game, or
knocking on your hotel door and claiming to be someone from room service. You
can't imagine how devious and persistent they can be, or how utterly
annoying."

"Maybe this will all blow over soon. Anyway, it's nice to get
away from it for a while, at least. Josh is going to be thrilled that you've
been able to make it to a match at last."

"Just don't be shocked if he's happier to see you than he is
to see me," he told her with a droll look. "You're the soccer champ,
and now you're even kicking for the Knights, which ranks you right up there
with the Mighty Power Rangers in his book."

"Don't worry. You'll always be his hero, Ty. After all,
you're his superstar daddy."

"Speaking of which, you started your period this morning,
didn't you?"

"Yes. No more PMS on top of all the other stress, thank God.
Sorry. I know I've been something of a bitch the last few days."

"You've been great, considering. I was just a little afraid
you—that you might be pregnant."

"What!" Jess stared at him in utter disbelief. "Ty,
we've been going through condoms at a ridiculous rate. In fact, I've been
considering buying stock in the darned company!"

"We skipped a couple of times, though, and I thought maybe
we'd flubbed up."

"When?" she prodded. "When did we not use one?"

"That night in Phoenix, when you got plastered and all but
attacked me," he related. "You had me so fired up, I completely
forgot, and that's not the kind of mistake I'd like to make often."

"Oh, so it's all my fault?"

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it," she insisted. "It takes two to tango,
Tyler James, and I wasn't the only one dancing."

Ty gave a harried sigh. "I know. Listen, I didn't intend for
this to escalate into a fight, Jess. I just said I'm glad you're not pregnant.
I was railroaded into one marriage that way, and I wouldn't want a repeat
performance, that's all."

"Well," she sniffed, "thank you so much for your
high opinion of me. May I echo that sentiment and inform you that you are one
of the most distrusting, exasperating jackasses I've ever had the pleasure to
bed down with? And here's another news flash, buster. If I ever do find myself
pregnant with your child, you can rest assured I will not coerce you into
marriage. I am perfectly capable of raising a child by myself, with or without
your help."

"Fine," he snapped back, his eyes flashing angrily.
"Now let me tell you something, sweet pea. If you do end up bearing my
child, you
will
marry me, Jess. I
will
be a part of his or her
life, and yours—till death do us part. Any future kid of mine is going to see
me day in and day out, not long-distance the way it is between Josh and
me."

Jess sneered at him. "You can lead a horse to water, but you
can't make him drink. I won't be hustled into marriage before I'm ready,
either. So stick that in your shorts and sit on it!"

"So, when do you think you'll be ready?" he asked,
taking her completely off guard.

She shook her head, totally confused by his swift change of
tactic. "I haven't got the foggiest notion. Why?"

"Because I think I've fallen in love with you, you
aggravating shrew!" he declared loudly, clearly peeved. "At the
moment, I'm not too thrilled about it, but there it is. I just don't want to
rush into anything. I'd rather we take our time, get to know each other better,
be absolutely certain it would work for us. Then, I suppose we could make that
fatal leap into wedded bliss."

Jess's insides were hopping around like Mexican jumping beans. Ty
loved her! Oh, sweet heaven, he really did! It was a dream come true—Cinderella
and all her favorite fairy tales and fantasies wrapped into one! It was all she
could do not to let out a wild whoop of pure joy. Instead, given his surly
demeanor, which was less than princely by anyone's estimation, she replied
huffily, "I love you, too, you arrogant toad! But wedded bliss? You and
me? Don't kid yourself, James. More like scratch and squabble."

"Probably," he agreed with a nod. "But that could
be fun, too, as long as we make up after every spat and the only scratching you
do is in the heat of passion."

"You're horny again!" she accused. "Already.
Still."

He grinned. "That's what being a toad is all about,
sweetheart."

"Well, just cool your jets, Romeo. You've got a week's wait
ahead of you," she reminded him smugly, then added smartly, "Gee, I
hope you don't go into withdrawal and start twitching or foaming at the mouth.
How would you explain that to Josh?"

At the start of the game against the Steelers on Sunday, Ty
thought to ask Jess, "Is being on your period going to affect your kicking
any?"

Jess glared at him with feminine disdain. "Try to keep up,
Tyler. We're almost into the twenty-first century. Today's women do not
glisten; we actually perspire. We do not swoon at the sight of a tiny mouse; we
go out and buy a mousetrap. Nor do we take to our beds at the first sign of a
cramp; we pop a couple of Midol and go about business as usual."

She stalked off, leaving him to digest her impromptu lecture.
Gabe, having overheard most of Jess's tirade from a few feet away, approached
his friend. "Whooeee! What did you do to tick her off, T.D.?"

"The best I can figure, she's in a snit because I told her I
think I love her. You'd think she'd be happier about it." Ty shrugged.
"Go figure."

"Don't have to," Gabe said, almost before the words were
out of Ty's mouth. "But I am trying to figure out how a guy with a college
degree and thirty-two years under his belt can still be so stupid about women.
Any idiot knows you never tell a woman you
think
you love her. You keep
your big mouth shut until you're sure. It's a wonder Jess didn't rip your head
off and present it to you on a platter."

Ty glanced toward Jess. She was standing stiffly, her back to him.
"She won't stay mad long. She never does."

Gabe was more skeptical. "I don't know, man. She might decide
your ass is grass and play lawn mower, and then head for greener pastures—and
some fellow who's more sensitive about her feelings. If I were you, I'd get a
ring on her finger before someone else steals her away—at least an engagement
ring. Unless you really don't care if she stays or leaves."

"So what do you suggest, oh wise one? Do I run out and buy
her an engagement ring and present it to her in a big slice of her favorite
chocolate cake?" Ty wisecracked.

Gabe's lips quirked. "Not unless you want to go fishing for
it a couple days after she swallows it—and that's only if you're real lucky and
she doesn't require major surgery to remove it. If you want my advice, you
either take a more traditional route—down on one knee and the whole bit—or you
come up with something more original. But whatever you do, Ty, remember that
this is a sacred moment in a woman's life. Make it romantic."

Ty sighed and gave his friend a cynical look. "You sound like
Ann Landers. What do you do in your spare time, Gabe? Scour advice columns and
marriage manuals?"