Playing for Keeps (22 page)

Instead, she needed to take charge of her own future, which now consisted solely of her career. She would confront Sean Decker with those videos of his feud with Bannerman. Then she would save the Lager Storm account by helping the Lancers get to the Super Bowl. Above all, she would keep busy. Keep moving.

Would it have been better to confront Johnny directly? Sure, but she didn’t have the backbone for that. Wasn’t that what everyone said?

Turns out they were right.

So she’d do it
her
way. And then she’d put it all behind her and start fresh. And someday, years from now, when she and Steve were polishing their awards from the Lager Storm commercial, she’d share the true irony of this moment: that Johnny “the Player” Spurling was the biggest douche of all.

• • •

At four p.m. on the dot, a knock sounded at the door to the charming, two-bedroom condo overlooking Puget Sound. It had been more than eight years since she’d been here, but thankfully, not much had changed. The sofa was the same plush polyester—pale blue like every towel and sheet in the place. There were bright white plantation shutters on the windows and on the sliding door to the balcony, and Erica had opened them all wide so she could view the lights of the ferries going back and forth to the Olympic Peninsula to the west. She had already started a fire, and while there was still a chill since the place had been closed up for weeks, she wore bare feet with her jeans and V-necked Cal jersey so she could enjoy the soft feel of the intricately patterned rug her aunt had acquired years ago in Istanbul.

She found Decker’s punctuality reassuring. He was following her instructions, and while it might just be because he didn’t want to tick her off in advance of the hot times, she didn’t think that was it. For one thing, he was a good-looking, wealthy NFL star. If he wanted casual sex, he didn’t have to cross state lines or accept handouts to get it.

Turning the spaghetti sauce down to a simmer, she wiped her hands on a blue-checked dish towel, smoothed her loose hair, and crossed to the door. Everything of importance in this home, including the entrance, was within steps of the kitchen, making it even homier. Romantic, maybe, but not in the sense of an erotic hookup. Still, she had laid out the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle on a card table in the living room.

Just for insurance, hoping her amorous dinner guest would take the hint.

Pulling the door open, she smiled wistfully. Johnny had said Decker had a baby face, but it wasn’t true. His features were as sculpted as his muscles, and his skin sported the healthy, athletic glow Erica had tried to capture for the Lager Storm campaign. But this was even better.
Hotter.
He was taller than expected, and she realized she had always seen him in the company of NFL players, some of whom, like Johnny and Bannerman, dwarfed him. But here he was, dressed in khakis, a forest-green polo shirt and a bomber jacket, looking like a total stud. A “lancer” in the tradition of Sir Galahad. Awesome of physique, noble of expression.

And even if he turned out to be a creep like his QB friend, she could enjoy this moment while it lasted.

“Hey, Sean.”

“Hey.” His green eyes gave her a discreet once-over. “John said you were pretty, but he should have been more specific.”

“Come on in.”

“I’m not gonna stay,” he assured her. “I just wanted to thank you in person. It’s cool you were willing to do this, but it’s not necessary.”

“You drove all the way here just to tell me that?”

He grinned. “It’s not like I could call. You made me turn my phone off, remember?”

“Stop being so adorable. And get in here.” She waved her hand toward the living room. “Are you hungry?”

“Something smells amazing,” he admitted.

“Good. We’ll let it simmer for an hour or so, then we can eat. In the meantime, we’ll go over the ground rules.”

Decker laughed. “More rules? He described you like a free spirit. An artist. But you’re more like a dictator. No offense.”

“For me that’s a compliment. Come and sit.”

“Can I turn my phone back on?” he asked hopefully.

“No. It’s just you and me. But not in the way you think. We’re just going to talk, Sean. No touching.”

He blanched under his perfect tan. “Geezus, Erica, I wasn’t going to try anything. John would kill me.”

“Pardon?”

“You actually thought I’d hit on you? He’s my
friend
. And you’re his girlfriend.”

She studied him warily. Was he honestly as naïve as he sounded? “What exactly did he say? About this weekend, I mean.”

“I don’t remember exactly.” He winced. “What did he say to you?”

“He said I should spend the weekend with you. Because you needed me more than he did.” The words angered her all over again. “The only reason I went along with it was because I think I really can make you feel better.”

His green eyes scanned the room, as though cataloguing available exits. “I don’t want you to make me feel better. And he doesn’t either. You’re just supposed to give me a pep talk or something.”

“For the whole weekend?” she drawled. “Didn’t that seem odd to you?”

“Listen, Erica.” He stepped closer, then seemed to think better of it and backed away again. “You completely misunderstood this. Man, I told him it was a bad idea, but he was so sure . . .”

“So sure of
what
?”

“Let’s call him.”

“No.” She arched an annoyed eyebrow. “You promised. And now that we have the ground rules straight, you need to get to work while I finish cooking dinner. Do you want a drink?”

“Actually,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle, “I want to go home.”

“Beer or wine? Or something stronger?”

“I’ll have a beer.” He cleared his throat. “Can we sit and talk for a minute?”

“Maybe later.” She smiled at his frustration. “See that puzzle?”

He sent a confused glance toward the card table. “Yeah. What about it?”

“That’s your assignment. But I’ll help.”

He hesitated, like he was going to try and get away again. But instead he told her, “This is a nice place. Cozy.”

“Don’t you love it?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Mind if I check my messages?”

“You promised not to.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, then pulled off his jacket and moved toward the card table. “I always do the edge pieces first. Is that okay with you?”

She nodded. “Get started. I’ll check the sauce. Then we’ll work on it together.”

• • •

She now had two theories. Either Sean Decker had been as fooled by his QB friend as she had been, or she had completely misconstrued the voice mail message. It was tempting to excuse herself, go to the other room, and listen to it again. But she had it memorized, didn’t she? Full-service, hot to do it, use Murf’s suite, blah, blah, blah. And then there was the brusque tone in which Johnny had delivered those words. Not like a boyfriend.

More like a disinterested go-between. But a high-class one, right? He even provided the luxury suite.

“John’s crazy about you, you know,” Decker told her when she joined him at the card table. “We knew he was seeing someone, because he was always on the phone with you. Or taking off without warning. Then finally we heard all about it.”

“Let me guess: Long hair, long legs?”

He flushed. “He said a lot of things. Like how talented you are and how good you make him feel.”

“So he wanted me to make
you
feel good too.”

“Cut it out, Erica,” he protested. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“Why just you and me then?” she demanded. “Why not the three of us?”

“That’s what I said too. But he said you could do your thing better one-on-one.”

She arched an eyebrow. “See?”

“He probably thought I’d open up better without him around. Which is obviously true, because you’ve got me spilling my guts already.”

She had to laugh. “I guess that makes sense. But couldn’t we have done that over dinner? Why spend the night together?”

He stared at her, visibly terrified. “Who said anything about
that
?”

“He told me to spend the weekend with you. At his agent’s suite.”

Decker glared. “I
live
in Portland. Why would I sleep at Murf’s? He just wanted us to talk there, I’m sure. Then at night, I’d go home and you’d stay there. You could have stayed at my house, but obviously, that would have seemed weird.”

“Like we were spending the weekend together?” She held up a hand so he wouldn’t respond. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad we’re alone. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“On the puzzle?”

“Right. The puzzle.”

“And we can’t call John? Just to clear this up?”

“Maybe later. If you do exactly what I ask.”

He laughed. “I’m having trouble breathing, just in case you’re interested.”

She laughed too. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” His smile softened. “I like you. Like a sister.”

“I like you too. So here’s what’s going to happen. We’ll have spaghetti and garlic bread. And we’ll open a nice bottle of wine. Then we’ll get down to business.”

He moved closer, using his green eyes and muscled torso for leverage. “Come on, Erica. Let’s call him. You know you want to.”

“Aren’t you having fun?”

He grimaced. “I feel like any answer will be wrong.”

Loving that response, she suggested, “Let’s just eat then. And watch the sunset. And after that, we’ll watch some videos. Okay?”

• • •

She served the main course early so he could get back on the road before it was too late, and he won her heart by praising her aunt’s spaghetti recipe. He even seemed to appreciate the condo, saying, “This place is cool. I’ve never been to Edmonds before.”

“I love it too,” she agreed, adding sharply, “Don’t tell Johnny about it.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “It’s not important.”

Decker hesitated, then told her bluntly, “You need to give him a break. He’s carrying the whole team on his shoulders. Especially me and Bam. And you too.”

“Me?”

“Some top secret beer ad, right? And your job depends on it?”

“And this is the price I pay?” She tried to laugh. “Luckily you’re adorable.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the kicker persisted. “He’s getting killed on the field every week. It’s a style of play he doesn’t even approve of. He’s all about the fundamentals. Because his dad drilled that into him from the time he was a kid. Whenever things get out of whack, that’s the lecture he gives us. All the D has to do is shut down the run and get in the opposing QB’s face. And hopefully force some turnovers. All the offense has to do is run the ball, move the chains, protect their QB. And all I have to do is kick. When it’s working, we’re unbeatable. Hail Marys and spectacular interceptions—all that stuff makes it fun. But it’s the fundamentals that win games. And we’re lacking a huge one right now, thanks to me.”

“The Lancers keep winning,” she reminded him warmly. “Which means the fundamentals are still there. For one thing, the other teams know this is just a slump. You’ll have a resurgence any minute, so they have to prepare for that, right? Which means they’re psyched out whenever you guys get in field goal range. So even when you’re on the sidelines, you’re having an effect.”

He seemed touched by the words, but wasn’t ready to give up his defense of his buddy. So he assured her, “That was true for the first few games. But I know for a fact Coach wanted to bring someone else in. He’s an asshole, but he was right. Except John wouldn’t let him. Put himself on the line for me. That’s what I’m talking about, Erica. He’s carrying the team. He’s carrying me. And then he’s got the Spurling legacy to deal with. It’s a lot.”

“We’re not here to talk about Johnny. Or football.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “This isn’t what I expected at all.”

“Sorry if you’re disappointed.”

“Cut it out,” he warned. Then he gave her a wistful smile. “I thought you’d want to talk about my feelings. My so-called guilt. Some kind of pep talk about having positive thoughts when I approach the ball. I’ve heard it all the last few weeks.”

“I’m not a psychologist, Sean. I’m an artist. And of course, a hooker.”

He grinned. “This is what I mean. We’re actually having fun. Doing the puzzle, eating great food, telling stories that have nothing to do with football. It’s a nice change, trust me.”

“I’m glad.”

He exhaled sharply. “Everyone’s been trying to get inside my head. But that’s not your technique, right?”

“I don’t have a technique.”

“Sure you do.” He gave her a knowing look. “John said it’s part of your job. Hand-holding, right? But without any actual touching. You just say the right things, put a guy at his ease, and the next thing you know, he’s doing what you want.”

“Johnny said that?” She grimaced. “It obviously didn’t work on
him
.”

“You convinced him to do a beer commercial, didn’t you?” He chuckled. “It’s unbelievable. And somehow you persuaded the league to let you use a dirty word during halftime. He wouldn’t tell us what it was though.”

“It’s not dirty,” she protested, trying not to smile. “It’s just crass.”

“Still, you’re persuasive. Just like he said. So he thought you could get me to relax. And it’s working.” He heaved a loud sigh. “I should get going, though. And we should both call him. Clear up the misunderstanding.”

“We aren’t done yet, Sean.” She stood and walked into the living room. “Come sit in front of the fire.”

When he obeyed without question, she had to laugh. Then she reminded herself why they were really there. She had already connected her laptop to her aunt’s TV, so she brought their half-filled wineglasses from the dining table and sat down beside him.

“A toast. To us,” she said teasingly.

“Cut it out. It isn’t funny anymore.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? And speaking of friendships . . .” She placed her hand over his. “Let’s talk about Vince Bannerman, okay?”

Decker’s jaw tensed. “I know that’s why we’re here. But there’s nothing to talk about.”