Playing for Kicks (Play Makers Book 5) (12 page)

Which said a lot about the guy who had slept
with
both
of them, didn’t it?

“Hey,” Johnny said as he stepped through the
doorway with two mugs of something steamy. “Are you warm enough out
here? Want some coffee?”

“Yum.” She took her serving with one hand
while gesturing with the other toward the wooded river bank. “It’s
paradise.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky.” He breathed in the fresh
air, then said with a smile, “You should stay for dinner.”

“I would, but I’m anxious to get started on
the article. I do have a final question if you don’t mind.”

“Ask away.”

“We all knew your father disapproved of
athletes doing product promo. So how did he react? And did you
agonize over the decision because you were afraid he’d
disapprove?”

“I’m a fairly decisive person,” the QB said
wryly. “Mostly from necessity. So I didn’t really hesitate. I had
to taste the product, obviously, but I wanted to get on Erica’s
good side, and I bought into her pitch—that it was good for the
game. For young guys who needed to learn how to treat women, and
for young girls, so they’d know they deserved respect.”

Tess sighed, remembering the impact the spot
had had. “So how did Coach Spurling take it?”

“I figured I’d get an earful, but Erica was
in the picture, so that helped. And he seemed to appreciate the
message too. So it went better than expected.”

“How did your brother react? Was he
shocked?”

Johnny chuckled. “Nothing shocks my little
brother. He’s the most laid-back guy you’ll ever meet.”

“Even more so than Sean Decker?”

“Good question.” He pursed his lips. “It’s a
different sort of relaxed. More like Bam Bannerman.”

“And you’re their fearless leader. Very
cool.” She gave him an efficient smile. “Back to product
promo—”

“Can I say something first?”

She nodded.

“I’m the leader on the field. Again by
necessity. But off the field? I’d like to think I’m just a good
friend. A good brother. They defer to me out of habit, but I rely
on them a lot. Deck for his advice, Bannerman for an opposing
worldview. I am where I am today because of those guys. And I have
Erica to thank for that, because she stepped in when the friendship
got rocky. Now it’s solid forever.”

“Well, you can be
my
leader any time.
On
or
off the field.”

He chuckled. “Does this mean the interview is
over?”

She laughed too. “Just one more question if
you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

“What would you do if the quality of Lager
Storm went downhill in the future? Or if one of their owners
engaged in questionable behavior?”

“If the quality went south I’d step away,” he
said firmly. “But bad behavior? I’d step away for that too, but if
it was really egregious? I might not have the luxury of a quiet
departure. I mean . . .” His temper flared. “I endorsed it.
Put the family name on it. Put
my
name on it. So yeah, I
might have to make a public statement.” Wincing, he added, “Good
question, Tess.”

“And it’s a good answer. I won’t use it
directly though. It’s just a sense I want the reader to have. That
you take it seriously. Because like you said, you put your name on
it.” She flashed a grateful smile. “I guess that’s it. I might have
some follow-up questions about your dad—”

“Do you want to talk to him? I could set that
up.”

She stared in grateful amazement. “He’s the
missing link in your story, so yes. I’d love that.”

“Consider it done. Anything else?”

She quirked a hopeful eyebrow. “Can you
explain why Patrick Murphy wants me to interview Noah Cunningham?
What good can come of it?”

“Yeah, that one’s a mystery. I can ask
Murf—”

“No, don’t do that. I’ll talk to him myself.
I just hoped you had some insight.”

He shook his head. “It feels like a mistake,
frankly. Why re-open that wound?”

“Right? But
please
don’t talk to Mr.
Murphy on my behalf. I need to figure this out on my own.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “You can always say
‘no’ to Murf. He acts like he’s the puppet master, and we all fall
for it. Even
me
after all these years. But he’s not in
charge of your article.
Or
your career.”

“Stop trying to get me into bed,” she scolded
him playfully.

“Yeah, I made a vow to Erica, right?” he said
with mock sincerity. “Who knew?”

She giggled. “I’d better go before she kicks
me out of my own book club. Thanks for the interview, big fella. I
promise I’ll make you look like a stud.”

“That’s all I ask,” he joked. Then he caught
her by the hand and insisted, “I’ll walk you to your car. As long
as you promise to come back soon.”

• • •

As Sean pulled up to the McSpurling home on
his way back from the ranch, he tried to picture how Erica’s face
would look when she heard the news. Assuming it
was
news,
since Bam wasn’t known for his impulse control and might have
spilled the beans already.

And while that would be annoying, Sean
couldn’t really blame him. After all the angst, it was a relief for
everyone.

Including the QB. Not that Sean could guess
his
reaction. Ironically, Johnny had never approved of the
relationship—had even called Kerrie a “head case” when he first
heard about it—but he had jumped on board for the sake of the
friendship, and would probably take a measured approach to the
breakup.

But Erica? Sean grinned.
She
would go
nuts.

He had called ahead with the teaser of “I’ve
got some news,” so they were both at the door when it opened.

“Hey, babe.” Sean gave Erica a quick hug.
Then he shook Johnny’s hand. “Hey, buddy.”

Erica’s silver eyes were practically
vibrating.
“Tell
us.”

He tried not to smile, since that might seem
tacky. “I broke up with Kerrie on Sunday.”

“Oh, my God!” She threw her arms around his
neck and squeezed joyfully. “Oh, my God, Sean, thank God.”
Squeezing again, she moved to her husband and hugged him even
harder. “Johnny, did you hear that?
Finally.”

“Tell him how you really feel,” Johnny
drawled.

“What? Oh . . .” She laughed—completely
unapologetic—as she turned back to Sean. “You look happier
already.” Planting one hand behind his neck, she stared into his
eyes. “I’ve missed this.”

Sean gave his QB a grin. “Sorry, dude.”

“No problem. I’ve got one of my own these
days.”

The expression on Johnny’s face made him
laugh. “Your own what?”

“A babe on the side.”

“Huh?”

Erica giggled. “Remember Tess Colby? The
journalist who came to dinner last week? You should
see
them
together.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said. “So feel free.”

“Don’t worry, he’s joking,” Erica insisted.
“Tess is just such a great sport. And so much fun. We should call
her. See if she’s free to celebrate with us.”

Her husband’s smile faded. “Celebrate what?
She doesn’t even
know
Deck.”

“I agree,” Sean said firmly. “It would be
awkward for her. It might even piss her off.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just so happy.” Her eyes
narrowed. “You said you broke it off on Sunday? Where have you been
all this time?”

“At the ranch.”

“That was smart,” the QB said. “Did your aunt
make you blueberry pancakes?”

“Breakfast
and
dinner.” He grinned.
“Gotta get ’em while I can.”

“You should describe them to me,” Erica said.
“So I can describe them to Tess. For her article,” she added with a
pointed look at her husband.

Sean bit back a laugh. Apparently that dinner
with Tess had been a fix-up after all, and the QB had given his
wife grief about it. Too bad, since she been supportive of the
relationship with Kerrie almost to the end. After that, who could
blame her for cracking?

“I like the idea of celebrating,” he told
her. “Are Bam and Rachel coming up this weekend? They already know
about this, since Rachel’s running interference for me with
Kerrie.”

“Ugh, I don’t envy her.”

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t call it a
celebration,” Johnny said quietly. “But we definitely need to get
together. The last time was the wedding, and you didn’t stay
long.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while since we really hung
out as a group.”

Johnny’s eyebrow arched. “So Bam has known
for two whole days? And he kept it secret? That’s impressive.”

“Murf knows too. He seemed pretty
stoked.”

“Yeah, it’s been rough on everyone.” The QB
hesitated, then clapped Sean on the back. “Kerrie’s a great girl,
just not for you.”

“Thanks, John. I know I put you guys through
some crap—”

“We just hated seeing you so miserable,”
Erica told him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her
cheek on his chest. “Now everything’s back to normal. What a
relief.”

“Yeah,” he said, stroking her hair. It had
been months since he could feel this way about her without also
feeling like he was somehow cheating, even though it was nothing
like that. She was just so amazing. The most important person in
his life in many ways. She had rescued their Super Bowl prospects,
saved his friendship with Bam, and taught them all what really
mattered in life. Plus, she was so much fun and smelled so
amazing.

And the QB knew the score, which was all that
mattered. Still, just to be on the safe side, he shot the husband a
look. “You and Tess, huh?”

“Yeah. And wait till Bannerman gets wind of
her. He’ll go nuts.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” His focus shifted abruptly.
“You had a close call, buddy. Take advantage of it. Get your head
straight.”

“Johnny,” Erica murmured.

Sean touched her cheek. “Rachel and Murf said
the same thing. And it’s true. Either I learn from my mistakes, or
I keep making them. History 101, right?”

When a stubborn gleam lit her eyes, he had to
laugh. Once she got something into her head, she didn’t let go
easily. Wasn’t that why Johnny Spurling made a beer commercial in
the first place?

But she needed to back off on this. Even
he
knew that. So he reminded her mischievously, “I’m a free
man. So are we celebrating or not?”

• • •

Tess had traveled light to Murf’s suite,
bringing only the bare necessities, including one dressy outfit,
some casual clothes, her trusty aloe plant and a rolling case
filled with sketchbooks, pencils, and
Zombie Renaissance
.
Her main goal? Not to break anything or make a mess.

Now she was in the
junior
suite and
couldn’t wait to make it her own, mess included. It was smaller
than her studio apartment above Ed’s garage, but without the cats
and bobble heads it seemed larger, and with the aloe plant on the
counter separating the kitchenette and the living area, and a huge
bowl of fruit on the coffee table, it already felt like the
writer’s sanctuary Murf had promised her.

All she needed now was more clothes.
Something to wear to Dallas for the other interviews, and lots of
cozy outfits for lazing around, AKA writing. So she headed back to
Seattle, which prompted a visit to Zone D to remind Ed the owner of
the need to schedule her last day of work. He had been dragging his
feet finding replacements for her, and she had been just as bad.
But if she was going to live in Portland for a month or more, they
needed to get it together.

“I keep hoping you’ll change your mind,” he
admitted when she stopped by on Wednesday afternoon.

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. “And my offer
to train new staff still stands. But I can’t take extra shifts
anymore. And I want to phase out the Sunday-Monday schedule over
the next few weeks. Even though I’ll miss it.”

“It’s always been your turf,” Ed agreed.

From the time he stole her from Hawaii three
years ago, she had worked four until midnight on Sunday and Monday
along with two other days per week, usually Thursday and Saturday.
Two other full-time bartenders, both male, covered the other
shifts, with Ed filling in as needed. Two cocktail waitresses
occasionally helped out behind the bar, and Tess wanted Ed to
recruit them as her replacements, but she knew it was a tough sell.
The crowd at Zone D could get rowdy, and being the only bartender
on duty had its challenges, especially for a female.

When she asked about that, he gave her the
bad news. “Liz said ‘no’ for sure. And Victoria’s leaning the same
way. So it’s possible I’ll end up with an all-male bartending staff
again and Zone D will sink back into oblivion.”

“What a baby,” she teased him. “Your problem
is: you’re looking for another Colbee. You need someone with her
own style. Shake things up a little. Victoria is so classy, she
could be that person.”

“She’s working tonight,” he said, quirking an
eyebrow. “Take my shift and talk her into it.”

“Okay. And if not, you’ll need to recruit an
outsider. But soon, please?”

When Ed sighed, she felt a wave of guilt. Did
he really think Zone D might deteriorate? It was absurd. His sleepy
little bar had been transformed by their joint efforts into a
completely different establishment. And yes, the novelty of a sassy
female bartender had attracted a new and livelier crowd of sports
fans, which in turn had brought some of the local professional
players, especially from the Mariners but also from the Seahawks.
But eventually they had succeeded as a place that took sports
seriously. If you wanted to watch a game without too many
distractions but with a sense of camaraderie, Zone D was the
place.

“Where will you live?” he asked suddenly.
“Here? Hawaii? Back east again?”

Surprised, she admitted, “I can write
anywhere. So that’s a good question.
You’re
here, and my
other Ed’s here, so if I’m on the mainland, this is the place.
Watching
Monday Night Football
at Zone D for the rest of my
life.” Her eyes misted, and she complained, “We’re supposed to be
scheduling my last day, not having a wake.”