Page 21 of Playing for Love

“You keep telling yourself that.” He moved on with that kind of look like he was thinking, like he was adding two plus two and it wasn’t coming out right. No matter. He was happy with Mia and that’s what counted. I had an interest that wasn’t strictly altruistic, but that didn’t mean I would interfere if they got a good thing going—on the contrary. I was praying they would stick, that Tate would remove Mia from my periphery where she hovered like a wild rabbit distracting a race horse. I needed to win my race.

By the time I finished showering and throwing on gym shorts and a T-shirt, my mind was back where it should be, running through the plays and the personnel and determining who I needed to sit with for lunch. The social times between the on-field reps were almost as important with new players. Piling the steak and salad on my plate, I took a seat with our top wide receiver prospect and a walk-on with promise. I kind of knew who’d make it in this game and had picked the walk-on early. There’d been a familiar spark of determination in his eyes. He was a spitfire full of menace.

I sat down and nodded. “Men. Don’t you love sweating like we’re practicing in the bowels of hell?” Top Pick laughed like I was joking. The walk-on menace smiled and nodded. He actually loved it. Not as much as I did. No one loved this damn game more than me. Every last drop of sweat, smear of dirt, ache, and bruise made me feel alive.

* * *

After meetingsand films in the afternoon, the evening practice drills felt good, drained every last ounce of energy from me. Pulling into my driveway I looked forward to collapsing into bed. As I climbed the stairs to the second floor I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate, telling me I had a text message. It could wait. The kitchen was semi dark, lit only by the light under the microwave shining on the spotless surface of the stove. I hadn’t cooked anything in a long time.

Not stopping until I got to my bedroom, I stripped down to my boxers in a few efficient moves. When Denise lived with me I used to cook for her regularly. Then when Hunter had moved in, I cooked on occasion, but not as often. He’d had his own life and preoccupations. Now I ate out far too often or made do with the food at the stadium. It was okay during training camp, but as we moved into the season, team meals would be less of a regular thing.

I sat on the edge of the bed and took out my cell phone. The text was from Denise. It said Good night. Translated, it meant she didn’t want me calling this late. I’d missed my window of opportunity. Lying down, I got comfortable and turned on the late news with the sound way down.

Maybe I could cook dinner for Mia and Tate. Have Hunter and Cat over too. I’d be a fifth wheel, but after rolling the idea around in my head, I couldn’t work up any angst over that fact and came away with a mental shrug. So what? A night cooking for friends, eating healthy foods, would be a great idea.

My phone buzzed again. Grabbing it up, I wondered if Denise had changed her mind about a late-night call. I was tired, but I could get up for it if I had the chance. Reading the message doused my hope, but I didn’t care. Denise texted me back because she’d forgotten to tell me Mia’s birthday was tomorrow and she suggested I do something for her.

Before I thought about it, before the smile on my mouth faded, I tapped in Mia’s number and texted her Happy Birthday. She responded before I had a chance to put my phone back on the nightstand.

Thank you! You’re up late. Don’t you need your beauty sleep?

While I mulled over my response, wondering if I should ignore her tease, not wanting to, but knowing I shouldn’t flirt, I tapped on the phone icon to call her. Talking was better than texting, less room for misinterpretation. The last thing I wanted was have her misinterpret me.

Her phone rang twice before she answered, before I had a chance to swear at myself for not texting a banal reply.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said playfully.

“You in bed?” I asked. Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say even if I hadn’t meant anything by it.

“What if I am?”

Resisting the pull to ask what she was wearing, resisting the need to amuse her, flirt a smile I couldn’t see from her, I closed my eyes. With gritted teeth, I forced myself to give a gentlemanly answer.

“Just asking. Didn’t want to keep you up.” Fuck.

“I’m not surprised that you’re a lousy liar.”

I held my breath, not sure what to say next, not sure why she didn’t hang up on me. Though I had my suspicions. There was a flirty note in her voice. Maybe she had the same kind of fantasies about me that I had about her. Maybe she wasn’t over her college crush.

“I’m sorry. It’s . . . been a while.” Lame excuse and not even close to the truth. Sure, my abstinence contributed to my constant fantasizing about Mia, but only a small part, if I was honest. If abstinence was the only factor I would have called Denise tonight whether she wanted me to or not, wouldn’t I?

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should apologize. For teasing you. In truth, I’m still in my work scrubs and sitting on my couch. I worked late today. Still getting to know people, the EMTs.”

“Tell me more,” I said. I got comfortable on my pillows and didn’t want her to hang up.

“Did you know that EMTs from my hospital go to the games and are there for emergencies in addition to the team’s medical staff?”

“I didn’t realize they were from your hospital. The ones you’re in charge of?” Everything in my tired body seemed to perk up at this—a spark of interest about Mia was a powerful thing.

“Don’s been coming to games with the emergency crew for years,” I said. “Since before I was there. All the way back to when Trent Lockheed was on the team the year of the big HGH research controversy, the last year we won the Super Bowl.”

“Long before our time,” she said. “Don is far more experienced than I am, knows so much. I’m lucky he’s a nice man and doesn’t mind helping me out, sharing his knowledge, especially about the people.”

“Good to have seasoned folks around to help out,” I said. “I wish Lockheed was still on the team when I started.”

“I think my Mom had a crush on Trent Lockheed, though he’s younger than her. I heard all about him, was fascinated by the HGH research, how he was a guinea pig. My father knew his wife, said she was brilliant.”

“Lockheed comes to games on occasion. With his wife. I could introduce you if you want?”