Playing for Keeps (18 page)

She was still smiling when Helmut’s son boarded the plane, but he turned out to be a first-class douche, which she found wondrously ironic. He was a Lancers fan but blistering in his assessment of Sean Decker, claiming he wanted his father to purchase the franchise just so they could fire the hapless kicker. To make matters worse, the man kept flirting with her in unctuous ways that seriously made her want to shoot a video and send it to his father.

Finally, she just had to tell him, “Sean Decker is like a brother to me. So don’t mention his name again. And the next time your hand comes near my knee, it’ll look like a red catcher’s mitt. Just like Bannerman’s did after the accident.”

She held her breath, expecting reprisals, but he folded like a cheap suit and behaved after that, leaving her to work in peace on her pitch for Sumpter.

The plan was for her to call Johnny as soon as she touched down, but when she tried, it rang through to voice mail, telling her his meeting was still under way. She wondered how bad it was getting—Johnny defending Decker against the coach’s growing lack of confidence; Decker feeling attacked on all sides, feeling guilty over letting his teammates down, and super guilty about breaking his best friend’s hand; and Bannerman still hurting.

A team in crisis. And what was the QB’s girlfriend doing? As it turned out, she spent hours making clothes for stuffed animals with her client’s wife for the entertainment of the grandchildren. And while she would have enjoyed that under other circumstances, she felt like Nero, fiddling while Rome burned. She should have gone to Portland. That was so clear now. Helmut and his wife and odious son didn’t really need hand-holding, they needed a good stiff lecture. Like the lectures she so easily gave poor Johnny, even when he was trying to say the right thing.

When she went to bed, her mind was half made up to leave in the morning. Helmut wouldn’t be happy, but Johnny was more important. She’d find a ride to the airport and hang around until she pieced together enough flights to get her to Portland. And she’d figure out some way to handle Steve and Caldwell. The important thing was to be at that game for the guy who needed her most.

She woke up knowing she couldn’t just bail on her responsibilities. She would do her job. Johnny would do his job. If they had any hope of ending up together—and she was beginning to crave that possibility—they couldn’t fall apart every time his crisis interfered with her crisis. He would always have big games—the opening game of the season, the first home game, the grudge matches, and then three playoff games, and maybe a Super Bowl. And she would have just as many key moments—important pitches, tense arguments with clients when she needed to hold their hand personally, even the annual celebration of KC Caldwell’s birthday in Atlantic City.

These worlds were bound to collide, probably several times a year. So wouldn’t this be a good test?

When her phone rang and his name flashed on the screen, she felt a moment of weakness. If he cajoled, or flirted, or worse, sounded discouraged, she might just cave.

But she didn’t really want to do that, so she forced herself to hear her mother’s voice as echoed by the HR woman at work:
Grow a backbone.

Then she answered with a soft, “Hi, Johnny.”

“Hey, babe. How’d you sleep?”

Ugh.

Why did he have to mention sleep? Or beds, or sex, or lying in each other’s arms. She apparently had no backbone after all, because her voice grew even softer. “I missed you so much.”

“Good.” He chuckled. “I’ve got to get a pilot’s license, right? So we can deal with these situations. And meanwhile, at least we’re in the same time zone. It’s worse when you’re three hours different. And doing the math for Rome and Greece was beyond me.”

“I like this too,” she murmured, wondering when she was going to make an intelligent remark. Hearing his voice made her crave more. To see. To touch. To declare undying love. But she settled for asking, “How did the team meeting go?”

He hesitated, then admitted it had been “a goat fuck.” Bad tempers, infighting, and, worst of all, each and every player now hated Coach Cosner’s guts. For Johnny and the other veterans, the ill will had been brewing for months, but it was tough, he said, to watch the rookies become jaded so early in their careers.

“The silver lining is, if we don’t win, that a-hole won’t get a ring,” he told Erica with a harsh laugh.

“Even if he gets a ring, no one will give him credit. That goes to you and the Triple Threat, and that awesome Lancers D.”

“Damn straight.”

“Did Sean have his pancakes?”

Johnny laughed again, this time with more warmth. “Every female in America wants to feed the guy. Bannerman says he’s going to put out a press release that he’s superstitious about wanting to watch girls strip the night before a game. He’s sure they’ll come out of the woodwork to dance for him.”

She smiled at the joke. “He sounds like fun. Is he getting along better with Sean? Any chance he can hold the ball for him this afternoon?”

“Coach won’t allow it. Which makes sense. We can’t afford another busted hand. But it’s moot anyway, because Deck doesn’t even
want
Bam holding it.”

She winced, knowing that if kickers loved ritual, this was a bad sign. “Is Sean afraid he’ll hurt him again?”

“No, it runs deeper.”

“I’m sure it hurt. And I’m sure Sean feels guilty about that. So maybe it’ll just take time.”

“It feels like more than that,” Johnny said, clearly confounded. “These aren’t the kind of guys to hold grudges, but damn if they don’t hate each other. Almost as much as they hate the God damned coach. And trust me, Deck’s leading that charge. Probably because he knows Coz wants to cut him.”

She sighed, hearing his mood sour again. “Just answer me one question, John Spurling. Are you going to win or not?”

“Hell, yeah, we’re gonna win. I’ve got a beautiful girl to impress.”

“Don’t forget it.” She closed her eyes again, picturing him with muscles rippling in his gunmetal gray uniform streaked with midnight blue. His hair wild. His jaw set. His smile dangerously cocky. “You should go. I’ll be watching, so please don’t get hurt.”

“Can’t happen, babe. So take it easy. I’ll call you after the game.”

• • •

When the game started, they crowded around a fifty-five-inch screen—Erica and Helmut, Helmut’s wife and grandchildren, his daughter and son-in-law, and the douche of a son. Each grandchild found a lap, with a three-year-old girl smiling up at Erica and waving a newly outfitted bear in her face, reminding her, “You made this.”

“He looks handsome,” she assured the child with a playful smile. Then her gaze shifted to the TV, where the Lancers had just won the toss. They chose to receive, and after a touchback, Johnny and his team took the field. He looked confident again, the sexy grin firmly in place. Everyone expected him to start the same way he’d done the previous game, by keeping the ball himself and sprinting for his life.

Instead, after a crisp snap, he handed it to Bannerman, then threw a bone-crushing block for him, allowing him to take off down the field. Johnny had told her Bannerman was fast—maybe the fastest guy on the team—and today he proved it, barreling through defenders, then eating up yards until he pranced, grinning, across the goal line, the ball held high above his head.

“He’s gonna get a taunting call,” the announcer worried aloud, but apparently the referees were as dazzled as the rest of them and just raised their arms to signal the first touchdown of the game.

Erica didn’t need to listen to know what the announcers would say now. It was the question of the game—would Coach Cosner let Sean Decker kick the extra point? And even if Coz wanted to take the chance, would Johnny “the Player” Spurling allow it?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter whose call it was. The bottom line: Decker didn’t step foot on the field. Instead, Johnny ran it into the end zone himself to earn two more points, making the score eight to zero. The other side clearly took it hard, as a burly defender made a late hit on the quarterback that sent him sprawling.

For five terrifying seconds Johnny didn’t move, but Vince Bannerman wasn’t about to let his QB lay there. He reached down and yanked him to his feet, and while it probably wasn’t medically sound, given the possibility of neck or head injuries, it seemed to do the trick.

Erica’s heart had virtually stopped when he was down, and even now she had to slap her chest to get it going again. What if he had been seriously hurt? They could be racing him to the hospital at this very instant.

And she wasn’t there.

As the Lancers special teams took the field for the kickoff, Erica backed into a quiet corner and called Steve Adler.

“Hey,” he said. “Did you see that hit? Good thing our guy’s okay.”

“It’s a relief,” she agreed.

“How’s it going there otherwise? I still wish you could have recuperated, but it couldn’t be helped.”

“We’re doing great here. It was the smart move. But Steve? Can I ask a favor?”

“Name it.”

She smiled at the instant affirmation. “My original plan for this weekend was to spend it in Portland. With Johnny.”

“What?
Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, his tone contrite. “I didn’t realize you were still seeing each other. I thought it ended before it started.” Before she could explain, he added firmly, “I’m sorry, Erica. If I’d known, I never would have asked.”

“Like I said, I’m glad I was here with Helmut. But I’d still like to see Johnny. Congratulate him or whatever. And so . . .” She exhaled sharply. “I know it’s an honor to pitch for Sumpter, but what if I passed on that? You were going to do it originally, so . . .”

“Say no more. I’ll handle it, then fill you in Tuesday morning. Or afternoon. But I’d like you back by then at the latest. Is that doable?” Before she could answer, he added knowingly, “You can take off again on Thursday night, as planned. I just want you to meet the client before he leaves town on Wednesday.”

“I’ll be there Tuesday afternoon, I promise. I want to meet him too. The Ink King, right?”

“Believe it or not, yes. That’s his favorite nickname.”

“Thanks, Steve.” She exhaled her relief. “I know I ask a lot of favors, but I’ll make it up to you.”

“You already have. Keeping Helmut
and
Spurling happy? Two full-time jobs, right? And now I’m dumping the Ink King on you. Remind me to give you a raise.” He chuckled and added teasingly, “Looks like your hero’s back on the field. Better go cheer for him.”

“Okay, thanks. You’re sure, right?”

“Yes, Erica, I’m sure. It was my way of thanking
you
, but we’ll have plenty of chances for that. Just take care of yourself. I worry sometimes—” He stopped himself and chuckled again. “Just have fun. And don’t listen to me. I’m old.”

She heard a voice in the background, teasing him, and knew it was Josh. After so many years together, they were still unapologetically smitten. And as Erica reminded herself smugly, even with competing careers.

“Call me after the meeting, Steve. I want to hear every detail.”

“You’ve got it. Fly safely, Erica. And thanks for taking one for the team with Helmut.”

• • •

She could barely sit still the rest of the first half, even when Johnny used his legs again, not his arm, to score the second touchdown. This time he left the field immediately, allowing Sean Decker to line up for the extra point.

Decker missed. The crowd booed. The coach’s lip curled right there on network TV. But when the camera panned to the quarterback, he just shrugged as if to say it could happen to anyone.

An announcer echoed Erica’s fears. “They’ll never let that poor guy kick again. They just can’t chance it.”

“Yeah. Maybe next year,” his co-announcer agreed.

“And maybe for another team,” the first one added, sounding honestly forlorn.

Helmut’s son chimed in. “Yeah, that’s why they call it the NFL. Not For Losers.”

Erica’s head whipped around and she glared at him. “We talked about this, Bob.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded, then glanced at his father. “Erica’s got it bad for Decker.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Helmut’s wife demanded. “He’s adorable.”

“And the best kicker in the NFL,” Erica reminded them all. She knew her tone was snippy, but didn’t care. In fact, she added coolly, “People accuse me of being oversensitive. And maybe it’s true, because no one disses Sean Decker in front of me and gets away with it.”

“He won a lot of games for the Lancers,” Helmut told her soothingly. “Him and Johnny and that Bannerman fellow. So I’m with you. No one disses the Triple Threat in
my
house.”

She gave him a grateful smile, trying not to laugh out loud as his son slunk into the kitchen for another round of Lager Storms. Then she noticed the clock winding down for the first half, so she gently slid the three-year-old off her lap and scooped up her phone. “Excuse me, everyone. I’ve got to make a call.”

Chapter 9

The chances Johnny would notice a phone call in the locker room were slim, but she decided to try, just in case. It rang four times, then his voice boomed, “Hey, Erica! You’re chatty today.”

“I know I shouldn’t call—”

“You should
always
call. And you should see these guys’ faces. They’re jealous you love me more than their wives love them.”

She laughed. “I just wanted to tell you. I’m blowing off the Sumpter meeting, so I should be in Portland by midnight.”

“Huh?” His joking tone faded. “What’s going on?”

“Steve’s covering for me. I’ll stay and watch the game with Helmut. Then I’m off to the airport to scrounge a flight.”

“Murf’ll have a car waiting outside Helmut’s by the time the game ends. Then he’ll fly you straight here. Man, you’re sure this is okay?”

“I can only stay for one day—”

“No problem. Hey, Erica? I’ve gotta go, but this is great news. Now I know we’ll win.”

“Me too.”

She started to say good-bye, but he was already gone, and she grimaced sadly, imagining that locker room. Everyone hating the coach. And poor Sean Decker. His first kick in three long games—a chip shot—and he missed it. It didn’t take a football expert to know he wouldn’t get another chance, at least not in this playoff series.