Romancing the Running Back (8 page)

“It’s a bit of an ego killer to see a guy in his underwear and laugh,” he said, turning the iPad back around. She was now holding her own device above her head. He could tell from the angle of her face, her hair, and the pillow behind her head. That mass of blond hair, escaping its braid, fanned out over the pillow. It had to be an unbelievable sight to see when it was fully loose, and she was watching a man with eyes heavy with seduction and passion, and not liquor.

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Thank God she couldn’t tell he had a full-on boner.

“First, you’re wearing underwear in an ad. You’re totally an underwear model. No shame in the game,” she said, and snickered again. “That’s a stupid saying. I don’t know why I said it.”

He smiled. “You’re drunk.”

“Probably. You know, I’m not the drinker. That’s Cassie. We go out, and we buy our own drinks because letting guys buy us drinks is skeevy. She’s always the wild one.” There was something almost wistful in her gaze as her eyes drifted off to the side. “She was, anyway. Married life will probably tame that.”

He doubted Cassie would be tamed. She was a force unto herself. “Second?”

She stared at him—or rather, at her phone—with a glassy-eyed expression he knew meant she hadn’t followed his question.

“You said ‘first’ earlier, when you said you I was wearing underwear. So what’s second?”

Her grin came on then, slowly, and a little lopsided. “I’m supposed to laugh. Right? That’s the point of the ad. You’re wearing those socks pulled up high, and your pose . . . it’s meant to be funny. It’s cute.”

He flushed, but doubted she’d notice. It was good she’d gotten the point of the ad—humor, not sexuality. But that she’d called it cute was almost like a compliment. Wasn’t it?

“It’s a good cause. The company donates—”

“Pfffffft,” she said quickly. “Of course it’s a good cause. You’re doing it, so it must be phllllanfropic.”

“Philanthropic,” he said with a grin.

“Yup. That.” She yawned, rolled onto her side, taking the phone with her, changing the angle again until the screen righted itself. “Don’t you ever just do something because it feels good? And not because it has some higher meaning in the universe? That’s great, don’t get me wrong. I like that. I like that you care about the planet and stuff.”

Another compliment. She must be hammered.

“’Cause, you know, most guysssss,” she slurred, “they don’t care about the planet. Or the people they’re with. Or, like, anything. But can’t you have any fun?”

“I have fun.” Defensive, he bit back. “I have fun at my job. I have fun when I hang out with friends. No ulterior motives
there.”

She waved that away, unfortunately with the hand holding the phone. He was starting to feel a bit sick himself, from all the jostling. “I mean, something really indulgent. Like, going to a spa and spending up to your credit-card limit on treatments because it feels
goooooood
.” She moaned out the last bit, closing her eyes, and he actually had to squeeze his balls to keep the erection down. “And it doesn’t benefit anyone else but you. Don’t you ever?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve never been to a spa.” He should hang up now. There was no point to this conversation. It had been funny, entertaining, even a bit insightful. Now it was becoming painful.

“Don’t you ever want to?” Her eyes slitted open. “Don’t you want to be a little selfish sometimes? Think about Jossssha first?”

He nearly had to grin at the way she bungled his name. “I think you need some sleep.”

“I think you need some fun. Fashion is fun.” She pouted now a little, though he could tell even in her inebriated state, she was doing so mockingly. “Whash wrong with fun fashion? I make people feel good about themshelves.”

That . . . was a point he hadn’t considered. In his mind, fashion had only been about matching colors and accessories. “Explain.”

“Like the client I just had.” She sighed and rolled once more onto her back. She must be a restless sleeper. Maybe with another body in the bed, she’d roll around less.

Stop that. Lock that shit down. Don’t go there, even mentally.

“The client, she lost like, a ton of weight. But she didn’t know what to do with her new body.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and the phone dropped so all he saw was her chin for a moment. Then she jerked, as if she’d pulled herself back out of the five-second nap. “She was more depressed than when she was overweight, ’cause it felt like failure. I showed her what to do to feel good about her new body.”

It was a new angle he hadn’t considered before.

“You still think I’m shallow. And dumb.”

“Never dumb,” he corrected automatically, then winced when she snorted. “And I didn’t say you were shallow. I just think there’s more there than you let people see.”

Her eyes shifted to the side, then she closed them. “Maybe.” She said, rolling once more to the side. The phone dropped over, and all he could see were her eyes, her forehead, and the headboard of the bed. A few seconds later, he heard not-so-delicate snores coming from the phone.

Time to hang up now. Except he didn’t. He watched another few moments, taking in those closed eyes with makeup smudges, and her forehead, lined with concentration even in a drunken sleep. What was she thinking about so hard? What had her so worried?

Not for you to find out. Hang up.

He hung up.

*   *   *

Anya dragged her sorry, tired, hungover ass down the stairs the next morning. “Where . . . what . . . how did that even happen?”

Cassie, fully dressed in an unbuttoned dark blazer with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, striped shirt, skinny jeans, and dark flats, turned, coffee mug in hand. “Morning, sunshine. Or should I say, strawberry?”

“If you have to talk, do so at a whisper.” Anya stuck her head in the fridge and took inventory. Her stomach rejected all options. She grabbed a bottle of water and closed it again. “Point me to the nearest aspirin.”

“Told you to take some last night. But did you listen?” With a
tsk
ing sound, Cassie walked to a far cabinet, removed a bottle, and shook out two pills. Anya’s head pounded with every rattle.

“Jesus Christ, Cassie, stop doing that. You’re louder than a construction crew.”

“No pity,” Cassie sang. “You’ve been cleaning up after me for years, making me feel guilty for getting a little wild and crazy the morning after. Your turn to feel the fire.”

“Speaking of feeling the fire . . . where’s Mags?” Anya turned in a slow circle as she swallowed the pills, looking for signs of their friend. “Still upstairs?”

“Gone, early this morning. She, unlike you, apparently knows how to wake up the morning after without feeling like hell. And she said she’d missed having cocktails since she’d been with Stephen. It was good for her.” Cassie looked worried as she stirred her coffee with a spoon. Each
clang
of the silverware against the ceramic rim made Anya want to kick something. “I’m worried about her.”

“I’m not.”

Cassie looked up, surprised. “Really? Were we at the same pity party last night? Or did you drink so many daiquiris your short-term memory is scrambled?”

“Stephen’s got this covered.” When Cassie raised a brow, she shrugged. “I just know. Don’t ask me how. I have a feeling when the team returns home, it’ll be a different story.”

“I hope so.” Looking doubtful, Cassie drained her mug and set it in the sink. “Come by the office later, if that’s okay. We can get lunch. Just check in with Kristen at the front desk and she’ll direct you.”

“Office, lunch, Kristen, direct.” Anya laid her forehead down on the cool granite. “Check.”

Cassie rubbed her back gently. It felt good, and calmed the worst of the headache at the base of her skull. “See you later.”

“Hmm.” After Cass left—closing the door gently behind her, bless her heart—Anya straightened. How had she known Stephen was going to make things right? Where the heck had that come from?

Stephen was a good guy, and she adored him. But that didn’t mean she had any idea what his plans were . . .

She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples a little. Flashes came back to her. Something about Stephen, fashion, and
Josiah . . . in underwear? She gasped, then realized no, that couldn’t be right. She’d woken up alone. The guys were in Colorado. It must have been some bizarre dream.

Four hours later, Anya walked into the main lobby of the Bobcats’ headquarters. She debated leaving her shades on, as the lights inside were almost as blinding as the sun. But she didn’t want to be weird, so she removed them and, wincing, approached the desk. “Hi, are you Kristen?”

The woman smiled at her. Extremely pretty, very professional, and totally fashionable. Her hair was swept back with a skinny braid from the temple down to her ear, and the whole thing gathered into a messy chignon at the base of her neck. Her dress, in red, boasted an asymmetrical neckline that was both edgy and demure, with its lack of cleavage. She was probably in her late thirties, or maybe early forties, but could have passed for younger.

“That’s me.” The woman smiled politely. “Can I help you?”

“Anya—I mean, Anastasia Fisher to see Cassandra Wainwright, please.” It was all so formal. From the way Cassie dressed normally, she wouldn’t have guessed there’d be such protocol to meet for lunch.

“Oh, Anya! Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you. Cassie goes on about her best friend from Georgia all the time.” The woman stood and held out a hand, giving her a more friendly smile now. “Come on back. Suze, I’ll be back in a moment. Can you page Cassie and tell her we’re on the way?”

The other woman, who sat at a desk a few feet away, gave her the
okay
sign just as she picked up a ringing phone.

“First time at the headquarters?” Kristen asked as she left her desk and started back toward a hallway. They passed through immaculate glass doors with a bobcat guarding a football frosted over them. Two men in khakis and navy polo shirts with gold stitching on the pockets stood beside them.

“First time, yes. Can I just say I love your dress?”

“Oh, thank you.” Kristen smoothed down the front, looking pleased with the compliment. “I know it’s probably foolish when I sit more than half my day, but I just have this thing about clothes.”

“I can totally relate. And the shoes are awesome.” Anya paused, taking a second look at the black peep toes. “Could I make a suggestion?”

“Fire away. You’re the expert, from what I hear.”

“Expert is pushing it. But try blue.”

“Blue . . . shoes?” That made Kristen slow down a bit. “With red?”

“Mmm-hmm. You like color. A cobalt would look great with this dress. Just a suggestion.”

“Blue,” Kristen said again, as if turning it over in her mind. “I love it. I just can’t afford it right now. I love quality, but as a single mom with a teenager of the male variety who often does an impression of an entire plague of locusts during dinner . . .” She shrugged. “What can you do?”

“His stomach before your shoe collection,” Anya surmised, laughing. “I understand. Hey, have you heard of this store
a little south of here? It’s called Cynthia’s, a resale shop with designer brands.”

“No, I haven’t. What—Cassie, there we are.” Kristen stopped. “Your lunch date is here.”

“Not as handsome as my fiancé, but I’ll work with it.” Looping an arm through Anya’s, Cassie waved to Kristen. “Thanks!”

“Not a problem. It was a pleasure to meet you, Anya.” With another friendly wave of the fingers, Kristen headed back toward the front.

“I can’t tell if that woman was a former model or if she just missed her calling,” Anya murmured as she walked with Cassie farther down the hall.

“I’d say she missed her calling, except she’s brilliant at what she does. Her real calling is at that desk, keeping everyone’s heads above water. Here we go, left here, then a right . . . sort of like a dungeon, isn’t it?” Cassie opened the door to a dark room, illuminated mostly by computer screens and a few emergency lights overhead. Computers lined the perimeter of the wall, with nothing but a conference table and a few lone chairs in the middle. “Welcome to the Nerd Herd.”

Several men sat at computers, typing or clicking or just staring. None actually looked in their direction.

Cassie sighed. “They’re hopeless, God love ’em. This is my station over here.”

“Aw, you’ve got a photo of Trey and you as your screen saver.” Anya gave her friend a tug on the arm. “Trey and Cassie, sittin’ in a tree . . .”

“Stop it. This is probably where we’ll eat lunch, if that’s okay,” she added, waving to the table in the middle of the room. “I knew what you wanted so I went ahead and got you something. Kristen places our order for us and we chow down here. The rest of the Herd tends to be pretty nonsocial,” she added in a whisper. Though why she whispered, Anya didn’t know, since none of them had moved an inch since they’d arrived. It was as if they didn’t exist.

They sat at the table and Cassie sighed. “Before the food gets here and they swarm, I wanted to say I was sorry about the whole thing of pushing you and Josiah together.”

Anya straightened in her chair. “Are you actually sorry?”

Cassie bit her bottom lip, looked to the side, then said, “No. I really thought you two would hit it off. Obviously I was wrong. So I’ll own that part. But in general, I did it because I love you.”

Anya chuckled and hugged her friend. “It’s okay. Really. Not everyone will understand my blinding good looks and piles of charm from the start. I’ve accepted it.”

That made Cassie smile a bit, then the smile dropped. “Chad called, didn’t he?”

“What, do you have radar or something? A nanny cam in my bedroom?”

Cassie merely looked at her.

With a sigh, Anya nodded. “He did. It’s one of the reasons I was ripe for daiquiris. He’s just so . . . Chad. Nothing unusual from him, just . . . same shit, different day. Now that I’m out of his life”—mostly, hopefully permanently soon enough—“suddenly he can’t stop calling and talking to me. Two years ago, this would have been great. Now, it’s just
annoying.”

“Can I help with anything? Maybe—”

“No. Stop.” With a hand slashed through the air, Anya cut that off at the knees. “I love you so much for offering help, when you don’t even know . . . never mind,” she cut herself off when Cassie looked at her blankly. Now was not the time. “I’ll handle it. I have to figure this out in my own way, unfortunately.”

“I don’t like that he still calls you, and you still feel compelled to answer. It leaves you vulnerable,” Cassie said sadly. “I hate that.”

“It’s a painful lesson. One I needed to learn. I’m learning. That’s all.” When the knock on the door came, Anya turned. Cassie went to open it, then flung it open as several young guys and one lady walked in, carrying the food. They wore gold polos with navy stitching and jeans or khakis. And if they were all old enough to legally drink, she’d eat her favorite pair of heels.

Interns
, Cassie mouthed. That answered that. “Thank you, everyone. We appreciate it.” She hustled them back out the door, then motioned for Anya to stand back from the table. “Trust me, you’re not going to want to be in the line of fire when they realize there’s food. We’ll sit down afterward.”

As the first member of the Nerd Herd scented the food, Anya watched as he swiveled in his chair, locked his radar on the table, and lunged for it.

“They get so caught up in what they’re doing, they forget to come up for air, or nourishment,” Cassie said under her breath. “I can get like that, too . . . it’s just that usually Dad or Trey stops in and makes me remember the outside world. Speaking of Dad,” she added, as another, and then a third man went at the table like a starving man on a loaf of bread, “I talked to my dad last night on the phone. He gave me the okay to let you take over the pool house. I still have the keys. I forgot to hand those over. It’s a little more bare than before, since Tabitha took almost literally half of whatever was in there, but there’s still a bed, a couch and a TV.”

“Sold,” Anya said quickly. “Rent?”

Cassie named a price that was less than the apartment she’d left behind in Georgia, but wasn’t so low that it was an obvious pity lease. “Month to month, so if you want to find somewhere with more space, you’re not locked in. He’s having his attorney draft up a very simple document, just to keep things clean, legally speaking. I hope that’s okay.”

A lease protected them both, so she wasn’t offended. “No problem. It’s really nice of him to let me stay there.”

“He won’t go near it, and he’s gone so much anyway. The girls might come sniffing around, especially Irene.” Cassie rolled her eyes at that. “When she hears you’ve got better clothes than I do, she’ll try to steal something. Don’t let her.”

“As if I’d part with my clothing so easily,” Anya scoffed. “Is it safe to sit?”

“Yup.” Cassie sat and pulled the bag containing what was left their way.

“Good.” Anya pulled out her hummingbird notebook, tracing the corner a moment, smiling as she remembered how aghast Josiah had looked when she’d spent five deliberate, insipidity-filled minutes cooing over it. “We’ve got a wedding
to plan.”

*   *   *

Josiah pulled up to Trey’s house on Monday next to a small two-door car he didn’t recognize, ready for another day full of drooling over cumberbunds or whatever ridiculous business Anya had in store for him. He hadn’t actually spoken to her since that drunken FaceTime call, but she had said Monday would be their shopping day. She’d be expecting him.

What he didn’t expect was to see Anya hauling her heavy-ass suitcase from the garage. She struggled to get it over the transition from house to garage. He hopped out of his SUV and jogged over to help. “Problem?”

“What?” Out of breath, she put her fists on her hips and glared at the suitcase. “No problem. Just the stupid wheels aren’t working.”

“It’s caught on the transition. Hold on.” He picked it up and set it back down again on the concrete of the garage floor. “There we go.”

“Oh. Right.” She took the handle and started wheeling it toward the bright yellow car. “Thank you. Trey’s not here, by the way.”

Josiah stuck his hands in his pockets and watched as she fumbled with the keys and popped the trunk. “Whose car is this?”

“Mine.”

It was an older model, he could tell, but well maintained. “You bought a car?”

“Yup.” She grabbed the second handle and hefted, but the bag didn’t budge. She grunted, trying again, but no dice. He grinned and propped one hip against the front of his SUV, wondering how long it would take her to ask for help.

After another moment, she just glared at the bag, then shifted her narrow-eyed gaze at him. “Are you just going to stand there watching me struggle?”

“It’s amusing.”

“Thanks.” She muttered something else, and he thought it sounded a lot like “ass” but he wasn’t sure.

He pushed off and headed for her. “Move aside.”

“I’ve got it.”

“No, I do.” With one hand, he lifted the bag into the trunk. She scowled at him. “Where’s this going?”

“With the rest of my suitcases.”

He felt a sudden shift in his gut. “Rest of your suitcases . . . as in you’re leaving?”

“I don’t live here. Cassie and Trey have been great about letting me stay, but it’s time to move on.”

“Oh.” Why did the idea that she was heading back to Georgia put such a clutch in his insides? “So you’re driving there?”

“Of course I am.” She went back into the garage, saying nothing when he followed her into the house. There were
several more suitcases sitting at the bottom of the staircase. Silently, he grabbed the two largest while she took the smaller two. “How else would I get there?”

“Fly, which was how I thought you got here,” he said testily.

“Fly?” Her voice was disbelieving. “It’s not that far.”

“That’s how you . . . wait.” He set the suitcases down in the hallway and turned. “Where exactly are you going?”

“To my new place.” When he just kept staring, she made a face. “What? I can’t stay here with them forever. I’m not their kid. I need my own space.”

“That’s not . . . I mean . . . so this is permanent?”

“If by
this
you mean my being in New Mexico, then yes. As permanent as anything else.” She wriggled by him with her two bags and went out to the garage. He followed behind. “Nobody knows what tomorrow brings, you know. Maybe someone working for Tom Ford will swoop by next week and decide to take me away from it all, to Paris where I can become the next big designer and roll around in the lap of fashion.”

“You want to design?”

“Not in the least. But the point is, it’s all up in the air, when it comes down to it. You could be traded tomorrow. Our roots are only as deep as the universe will let them grow.”

“That was . . . insightful.”

“Thanks.” She grinned at him. “I’m thinking of starting a side business writing greeting cards for Hallmark.”

“Smartass,” he retorted. He wrestled with the front seats, finding the lever to get them to fold down so he could heft the bags into the back. It was a tight fit, but he managed to barely make it work.

“You know, I’m coming to like that you see me that way. I’ve never really been considered a smartass before. It’s fun.”

God save him from women in transition. He looked up at the sky. “Why are Trey and Cassie not here helping you move, since you can’t lift these suitcases yourself?”

“They’re off doing wedding stuff. They’ve got a list I gave them, and they’re not allowed to come home until it’s complete. I want to get a move on and give them their privacy, as well as get a little privacy of my own. So I’m heading out.” She tossed her keys in her hand. “Thanks for the help.”

The basic way she’d said it—no sarcasm at all—surprised him a little. “You’re welcome.”

She waited another moment. “Are you going to move your SUV? I don’t think I can get out with you so close. And they’re not here, as I said.”

Right. Basically, it meant he had the day free to do whatever. He should be jumping for joy. No wedding errands. No driving her around the city, eating up gas, and wasting brain cells on which table setting was shinier, or do bows on the chairs look ostentatious or just right? But . . .

“Who is going to help you get those suitcases back out of the car?”

She looked at her backseat and grimaced. “I’ll figure something out.”

After another few moments, he sighed and walked around to his own driver’s door. The woman was truly infuriating. “Lead the way.”