Playing for Kicks (Play Makers Book 5) (22 page)

• • •

They took a blanket, some turkey sandwiches
and two bottles of water out to the lawn and settled down for a
picnic. Clouds had formed and he gave her a quick meteorology
lesson, which she enjoyed. Still, she knew he was stalling, maybe
even hoping she’d forget about the phone.

“So Bannerman has a theme song?” she asked
finally.

“Yeah, it’s hilarious.” He grinned as he
pulled his phone out, tapped BAM and activated the opening line of
“Bad to the Bone.”

B-b-b-bad to the bone . . .

When Tess giggled, Sean laughed too. “We used
to go out drinking, and after a few beers, he’d make us sing it
over and over. Totally obnoxious, but fun too.”

“Now you don’t go out drinking anymore?”

“Not really. It’s probably my fault since I
dropped out of the group for a while. But part of the fun was
scoping out women, and they obviously don’t do that anymore. We’ve
all outgrown it, to be honest.”

“I can just imagine seeing the three of you
walk into my bar,” she said dreamily. “But guys come to Zone D for
games, not women. I guess I’ve been missing out.”

“I know you don’t want me showing up while
you’re working, but maybe someday—”

“Nope. I’m a completely different person
there. In character, so to speak. I even use an alias. So seeing
you, or being called Tess would freak me out.” She could see the
question in his eyes, so she explained, “It’s Colbee. Not like my
last name, but like a girl’s nickname. It’s lame but it’s who I am,
fictionally speaking.”

“I like it.”

She smiled. “Enough stalling, Sean. I want to
hear Erica’s ring tone.”

“Yeah, okay.” He tapped her name and the
romantic sounds of James Taylor’s “Your Smiling Face” played.

Tess stared, honestly amazed. “Seriously?
That’s a love song, Sean.”

“Yeah, but it fits her. And I like her face.
So shoot me.”

“The man in the song is saying he loves her.
So when he looks at her, it turns him inside out. With
love.”

He laughed. “What’s you point? I
do
love her. Like a friend.”

She shook her head, only half teasing.
“Sometimes I forgot what a mess you are.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’ve got
this
wrong. I love her but I was never
in
love with her. Maybe a
crush,” he amended under his breath, “but not in love.”

Tess sighed.

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother
me?”
she
murmured. “It’s one of my favorite things about you, to be honest.
That you fall in love with every girl you meet.”

“That’s not true,” he protested. “Crushing,
maybe, but that’s just a recent development from meeting Erica
during the playoffs. Bannerman crushed on her too, you know.”
Chuckling, he added, “He was worse than me at one point. You should
have seen him.”

His complete lack of guile charmed her. She
even understood how the guys could fall for their best friend’s
girl, knowing she was already taken so they could flirt without
repercussions. Hadn’t Tess done the same thing with Erica’s hunky
husband?

Except Sean had taken it too far. Made a
habit of it. Erica, Rachel, Darcie. And because of that, he’d done
it with Kerrie—a married woman with sibling rivalry issues.

“Here’s what I think,” she told him gently.
“Crushing on Erica is understandable because she rocks. But it led
you down a dangerous path. Right? Which means if you’re serious
about learning from your mistakes, you need to reexamine the whole
sequence. Not just the feelings for Kerrie, but Erica too. Harmless
as it actually was. Or
is.”

“That makes sense,” he admitted.

Feeling bad about the downer advice, she
decided to change the focus. “Does Rachel have her own ring tone
too?”

He brightened. “Sure, and it fits her
perfectly.” Pulling up the contacts list again, he selected her
name, and the Beach Boys serenaded them with a line from
“California Girls
.
”

“Cool, right? You’d have to meet her, but
she’s all about the endless summer.”

“But she’s moving here to be with the Bam
Man? That’s romantic.”

“Yeah.”

“What was Kerrie’s ring tone?”

He seemed startled by the question, but
admitted sheepishly, “I haven’t deleted it yet but I should.
She
chose it, not me.”

Kicking herself, Tess wanted to tell him to
drop it but he had already pressed Kerrie’s name on the list, so
Frankie Valle warbled, “Sherry, Sherry baby.”

“Sherry?” Tess winced. “Because it rhymes
with Kerrie?”

“It’s her favorite song. Which should have
been a clue, right?”

There was something so defeated in his tone,
almost as though it had reawakened painful memories, that she
kicked herself again, then said lightly, “Stop stalling. You know I
want to hear
mine
now. It’s really the only one that
counts.”

He shook off the mood and grinned. “Don’t get
mad. It’s a stopgap until I figure out something better. But this
one has bartending connections. And tropical islands. The Caribbean
instead of Hawaii but it still makes me think of you.”

“'‘Kokomo’?” She pretended to swoon. “We’ll
get there fast then take it slow, right? I
love
that
song.”

Sean’s eyes twinkled as he played the snippet
for her. Just the part
she
would have chosen.

We must be crazy,
she decided
wistfully.

Things weren’t just getting complicated, they
were getting late, so she reminded him, “I need to hit the road.
The cats are expecting me.”

“
Now
who’s stalling?” he asked
mischievously. “You said you’d tell me which Cowboys you’re
interviewing. I have my suspicions, which is why I want to come
with you.”

“Oh, right.” She settled back down. “If you
guessed the Tsar, you win. Next to Big John, he’s the hottest
athlete in advertising, right?”

“It’s a good story,” Sean agreed. “And Murf
says he’s a nice guy. But he’ll hit on you. It’s his MO. So having
me there will keep things professional.”

“That’s
my
responsibility, not yours.
And luckily I’ve had on-the-job training since customers hit on me
all the time. You’re sweet to offer, though.”

To his credit, he backed off, saying, “Just
kick his ass if he tries anything.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You said you were interviewing a
couple
of guys. Who’s the other one?”

She paused, just to be sure Sean had moved on
from Alexi Romanov. Because she actually wanted his input on the
second guy. Finally, she said, “It’s Noah Cunningham.”

“The dude who took the free car in
college?”

The accurate assessment worried her. Wouldn’t
every football fan react the same way?

The dude who took the free car.

AKA, the dude who cheated. Broke the rules.
Tarnished the image.

“It’s a problem, right?” she asked with a
sigh.

“Yeah, I’d say so. Advertisers won’t touch
him with a ten-foot pole. No offense to him,” he added hastily.
“Murf says he’s a stand-up guy and that’s good enough for me.”

“Me too. So I don’t want to screw this up,
but honestly? The only angle I can think of is that he was just a
kid when he accepted the car. Damned with faint praise, right?”

Sean nodded. “Talk to Murf. Either he has a
better angle, or he’ll let you off the hook.” When she winced, he
added firmly, “Murf doesn’t call the shots.
You
do. So just
leave Cunningham out if it doesn’t work for you.”

“That’s what Johnny said too,” she admitted.
“Thanks, Sean.”

“Sure thing.” He cleared his throat. “So you
get back on Wednesday?”

She nodded, then stood and clarified, “I’m
flying into Seattle, so depending on how I feel, I might not drive
back until the next morning.”

He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll talk to Murf
about Cunningham—”

“Please don’t.” She touched his cheek with
her fingertips. “I appreciate the thought, but I can handle it. Or
if I can’t, I shouldn’t be a sports journalist.”

His gaze softened and he pulled her close,
said, “I’m gonna miss you,” and kissed her. She responded as
always, then pulled free and looked away from his amorous eyes,
only to be seduced by something almost as green—the rolling lawn
leading to a forest teeming with arrowheads waiting to be
re-discovered.

“Thanks for showing me your house,” she
murmured. “I wish I could stay, but real life beckons.”

“Come on then.” He led her to the RAV4, where
he reminded her, “We’ll hang out—a
lot
— when you get back.
Right?”

“We’ll play it by ear,” she corrected him,
trying not to blush, and ducking into the driver’s seat before he
could try for another kiss.

Still, he leaned in and murmured, “I’m gonna
think about everything you said. I promise.”

“I’ll think too,” she said, even though it
made no sense.

But at least it made him chuckle. “Sounds
good. No pressure though, right?”

“That’s our motto,” she agreed, even though
that too made no sense.

“Yeah, that’s our motto for sure,” he
confirmed. Then he closed her door, stepped back, and let her drive
away.

• • •

Three days later Tess finally met Patrick
Murphy in the flesh. She had seen photos and heard stories so she
knew he was attractive and competent. And since they had spoken on
the phone she thought she had a handle on him.

Except this man seemed more like a 007-type
agent than the sports kind as he lounged against his hybrid SUV at
the airport curb. He had an urbane quality. Almost dapper in his
gorgeous gray suit and fancy silk tie.

Luckily she had worn an expensive suit too,
even though it was still a bit tight at the waist since she hadn’t
bothered moving the button. Still, the navy blue color and
traditional cut made her presentable.

Then Murf caught sight of her and flashed a
grin so friendly, so normal, it reassured her as she wheeled her
carry-on bag over to him, returning the smile. “Mr. Murphy?”

He pretended confusion. “You’re Tess? I was
promised a ponytail.”

“Maybe later,” she said with a laugh as she
shook his hand. “I’m trying to look older and more professional. I
take it I failed?”

“Alexi’s twenty-four. And Noah’s twenty-six.
So you’re right in the middle. Plus, they respect rookies. Even
pretty ones.”

Once he had thrown her case into the
backseat, they headed into the city and he told her apologetically,
“I thought I’d be spending more time with you, but a client has an
emergency, so Darcie Kildare is going to fill in.”

“Oh . . .”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I can’t wait to meet her. It’s
just—well, I was hoping you and I could talk about the Noah
situation. I’m still so confused.”

“How so?”

She arched an eyebrow, knowing he knew
exactly “how so” since they had discussed it once before. Still,
she used a conciliatory tone when she explained. “I don’t want to
portray him in a bad light. So I’ll definitely interview him, but
if I feel like I can’t find a fresh angle. If I’m just piling on?
Then I don’t want to include him. I’ll still write about three of
your players, since I’m doing Sean Decker now—” She grimaced and
added quickly,
“Writing
about Sean Decker now. So unless you
can give me a hint . . .”

Murf took his eyes off the road, but only for
an instant to give her an encouraging smile. “Want some
advice?”

“Definitely.”

“Concentrate on Alexi for now, since he’s
first. After that, try not to overthink Noah. Don’t do a lot of
research, or stress out about it. Just wing it.”

“Is that what
you
do when you’re
approaching a prospective client?”

“No. But if someone I respected recommended
that approach, I’d consider it.”

After a long moment of silence, she asked
him, “Is there something there? Something to paint him in a
positive light? Other than to say he was just a kid, blah, blah,
blah. Because they’re
all
kids in college but most of them
abide by the rules anyway.”

To her surprise, Murf pulled into a deserted
parking lot, killed the engine, and looked her square in the eye.
“Yes, I believe there’s something there.”

“Then tell me.”

“If I knew, I would.”

“Oh, fine.”

His eyes twinkled. “My instincts are good.
And they tell me to look deeper. So that’s what I’ve done but I’ve
come up short.” When Tess just stared, he explained, “I
like
the guy. He’s decent, hard-working, talented, and grossly
underpaid. I want to get him a better contract. A better life. But
I can’t crack the Noah code.”

“He speaks in code?”

“We should
be
so lucky. He probably
won’t say a dozen words to you. He’ll just give you his mantra:
I screwed up, I paid for it, I put it behind me.”

“But it’s
not
behind him. Because
everyone’s still judging him.”

“Exactly. And he’s no dummy, so he knows it.
He just won’t get out of his own way.”

She shook her head slowly, feeling worse than
ever. If Noah Cunningham turned out to be noble, she couldn’t turn
her back on him even if he
was
unsalvageable.

And she had a feeling Patrick Murphy—AKA the
Puppet Master—had just manipulated her into responding that
way.

Then to her surprise, he warmed up again.
“Just do your best. If you hit a brick wall, we’ll talk. But I
predict you’ll find a positive angle.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll figure something out. Just
approach it like one of your bartending essays. Informed but
informal. That’s the tone we’re going for.” He smiled in sympathy.
“Any questions about Alexi?”

“No,” she admitted. “I feel like I could
write his part without even meeting him. International celebrity,
famous playboy, raised by Russian intellectuals and a mom who
overcame the foster care system.” She paused for a gulp of air.
“That’s
the article I’d love to write. About Alexi’s
mom.”