Sway (Keeping Score Book 6)

by Tawdra Kandle

  "Want to get out of here?"

  I knew that I should say no. I knew that I should look at her as if she were crazy, tell her to go back to the party and find some other guy who’d be up for whatever it was she had in mind for the rest of the evening. I knew I should just turn around, rescue my jacket from wherever it had been hidden, and get the hell out of here. I should go back home and forget all about Sarah Jenkins.

  But I didn't do any of those things.

  Instead, I found myself nodding my head. "Yeah, I kinda do."

  She smiled, and dimples appeared on either side of that perfect mouth. "Great. Come on, let's grab our coats from that guy who stole them when we walked in the door. We can go have a drink. There's a great bar in the lobby of my hotel."

  Before I could figure out a way to put on the brakes, I found myself following this intriguing, infuriating woman toward the door.

  “I think you should understand one thing right now.” Sarah picked up her glass of Sauvignon and sipped it, her eyes never leaving my face.

  “Okay. And what’s that? Are you going to confess to being a serial killer? Did you invite me here to do me in?” I leaned back, regarding her with amusement.

  “Why would you suspect that I’m a serial killer? That’s crazy.” She cast her eyes upward and shook her head.

  “Well, maybe because you lured me to your hotel? And it’s not so crazy. History is filled with the stories of people who ended up dead because they didn’t listen to their gut.” I picked up my beer, enjoying the cool of the glass bottle as I took a drink before returning it to the bar.

  “I didn’t lure you. I invited you. And I did it to be nice, lame brain, not because I plan to smash in your skull and then chop you up into little pieces.” She set down her glass and crossed her arms, inadvertently thrusting her chest into prominence. I made a point of not looking there.

  “That’s an oddly specific denial,” I observed with a smirk.

  “I read a lot of crime fiction. It’s my favorite leisure reading.” She raised one eyebrow in challenge.

  “Which doesn’t make me exactly trust your serial killer denial.” This was fun, this banter, the light-hearted give-and-take between us. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation that wasn’t about football in some way, shape or form.

  “You know, the more I think about it, convincing someone that you’re not a serial killer would be a long-term exercise in trust. It’s easy enough to prove that a person is a killer, but the reverse would be tough. I might not have committed one murder, but maybe I did do another one.”

  I rested my chin in one hand, leaning my elbow on the edge of the bar. “This took a sharp turn into the macabre, didn’t it?”

  Sarah grinned. “Yep. And I promise, what I meant to say wasn’t that dark and disturbing whatsoever.”

  “Okay, then. Lay it on me. What’s the one thing I need to understand?” I picked up my beer again and took a fortifying swig.

  “I don’t date athletes.”

  I experienced an odd mix of relief and disappointment, feelings I didn’t want to examine too closely. “All right. Duly noted.”

  “I just thought you should know.” She smoothed her dress over her thighs. I’d already noticed that this seemed to be Sarah’s go-to move when she didn’t know what else to do with her hands.

  “Well, that’s fine with me. I don’t date at all, so we’re both on the same page here.” I offered her a half-smile and lifted my bottle of beer in a lame-ass toast. “It’s good to know where we stand.”

  “Exactly.” Sarah picked up her glass of wine, holding the stem in her fingers. “I don’t mean to sound as though I thought you wanted to date me. It’s not that at all. But I’ve learned the hard way that a lot of guys will assume, when a girl asks him back to her hotel for a drink, it's an automatic bootie call—or that she has ulterior motives to reel him in."

  I chuckled. "I didn't think that at all. If I had, I wouldn't have come. Like I said, I don't date. If I thought that was what this was, I’d have gone home. By myself.”

  "Okay, then." Sarah lifted her wine glass to her lips this time, but before she could take a sip, she set it down again. “Now, out of curiosity, because we’ve already established that I’m a curious person, when you say you don't date, does that mean, like, ever? And does it mean that you don't . . .” She caught the corner of her lip between her teeth, and I sensed that she was trying to think of how to word what she wanted to say. "Does that mean you don't see women at all?"

  I decided that pretending to be obtuse might be kind of fun. "Oh, I see women all the time,” I assured her, maintaining an air of innocence. "I mean, yeah, I work in a male-dominated sport, but it doesn't mean that there aren't women around."

  "You really are a doofus." This time, Sarah did take a drink of her wine. “All right, smart guy, if you're going to make me spell it out, what I mean is, do you have, like, random hookups? One-night stands? Do you go into a new town during an away game, find a willing partner and screw the night away?"

  I regarded her steadily. "I think I'm going to go back to my ‘no comment, and it's none of your damn business’ response."

  "Fine." She shrugged. “That’s valid. Like I said, it was just curiosity. I myself have perfected the art of the casual relationship, because, believe it or not, women have needs that need to be fulfilled, too. And I don't have the time or attention right now for anything messy or long-term."

  "Why would you assume I might think women don't have needs?" I asked. "I'm a relatively enlightened guy. And I don't have a different set of standards for men and women. I say, if you’ve found something that works for you, go for it. As for me—” I wasn't sure why I felt compelled to go down this road, but there was something about this woman that made me want to open up, even a little bit. "I guess you could say, if an opportunity comes along, and it's the right thing, and there won't be unrealistic expectations on either side, then I suppose I might take it. But to answer your previous question, no, I don't go around hooking up with random women when we’re at away games, and I don't have anyone here in town who I'd called a regular—what was the phrase you used before? Booty call?"

  Sarah leaned forward and rested both of her elbows on the bar, ducking her head and lowering her voice so that her words were only between the two of us. "Now I'm gonna get really nosy,” she murmured. "From what you say, or at least from what I understand that you said, it sounds like you don't indulge frequently in sex. So, does that mean you don't have those kinds of urges? Is that something medical? Or is it an athlete thing, like you're channeling all those urges into the sport, and that's why you're so damn intense all the time?"

  Both of my eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, I'd say that question goes beyond mild curiosity." Still, I considered what she'd asked. "I guess I do channel some of that energy into the sport. It's important to me that football is number one in my life now. It's what I can depend on. It's what isn't going to –" I realize what I been about to say and shut my mouth firmly. "Football is my life,” I said instead. "I'm not going to let anything get in the way of it, and my experience has been that all too often, a woman can be a distraction." I tapped my finger against my thigh restlessly, anxious not to be misunderstood. For some stupid reason, it was important to me that Sarah got what I was trying to articulate. "I know there are guys who do the whole wife and family and football thing, and they do it well. I have tremendous respect for them. But I see it as a mark of maturity when a person knows his boundaries. When he understands his limits. And I know that for myself, it would rip me up to try to balance a relationship and the game, let alone marriage and kids and the game. That’s why I've made a decision that I'm not going to worry about that part of my life until I finish playing football."

  Sarah reacted much as Ellie had earlier in the evening. Her eyes went wide, and she leaned back a little, as if she didn't believe what I’d just said. "You're saying you're not going to date or look for anyone until after you ret
ire? That's kind of…" She snapped her mouth shut. "Well, I guess that's your decision, but it seems a little extreme to me."

  I shrugged. "You’re right. It is my decision. My goal is to be the best quarterback of my generation before I leave the game. I mean, that's where I want to be. I think having a goal and understanding what it takes to get there is key. It wouldn't be fair to a woman, even if she understood she was going to be coming in second all the time. And let's not even talk about kids."

  Sarah nodded. "That's fair,” she said slowly. "I can understand your reasoning. But what are you going to do if the right person for you comes along before you retire? Are you going to ask her to just stand on the sidelines, as it were, and wait until you decide that you're ready to give up the game? Or will that be the signal that it's time to retire, when you meet her?"

  "I haven't really given it that much thought," I admitted. “I guess if I got to be, say, in my late thirties or early forties, and I met someone, yeah, then I guess that would be my signal that it's time to throw in the towel. To go out on top, if I can. But if I met that same someone today? No, that's not an option. I would just have to assume that either she's not really for me, or I'd have to accept the fact that I'm giving up the chance with that one woman in order to give the game my all." I finished my beer and set down the bottle. "All of this is assuming that I believe there is just one person out there for each of us. I'm not sure that I do. Maybe there are just people who happen to match up with other people, and whether or not we find them is a crapshoot. Maybe some of us are just settling for a little bit of peace and contentment. Maybe we’re not looking for that wild ride."

  "Please don't be so romantic. You're going to make me swoon." Sarah rolled her eyes.

  "I can't help it if I'm a realist." I lifted one shoulder. "But now it's your turn, Ms. Curiosity. Why don't you date athletes? Was it a bad experience? I’ve got to assume it was, because you're so adamant about it."

  "Not really," Sarah answered slowly, her eyes unfocused as she stared over my shoulder. "I mean, yeah, I dated some guys who played sports when I was in high school—a couple of football players, a baseball pitcher and a guy who was into cross country. None of them were exactly bad experiences. It was more a growing realization that men who are committed to sports are not the kind of person who I want to spend my time with. It wasn't necessarily that I was treated badly, or that I think they're all alike. It was simply a decision I made before I left for college. And actually, in the last few years, it hasn't even been an issue. Most of the people who I interact with through my work in the senator’s office, and in my day-to-day life in DC, are politicians or lawyers or lobbyists. Not a lot of athletes among that bunch. Even though Leo and Quinn try to set me up with single guys they know, I’ve resisted. So far, at least."

  A thought occurred to me now. "You said you dated some athletes in high school. Was Leo one of those athletes?"

  A tinge of pink spread over her cheekbones, giving me my answer. "It's not really a secret,” she said, turning her wine glass in a circle on her napkin. "Leo was the first person I met when I moved to South Jersey, back when we were in junior high. We went out for a little while back then, but when you're that young, I’m not sure I would even call it dating. It was more that we went to the movies a few times and held hands, before it just fizzled out. And then we did actually date for a while when we were in high school."

  "Did he dump you?" It didn't seem like Taylor’s style to be cruel or capricious, but then again, I didn't know him when he was seventeen years old.

  "Not really." Sarah was now running the tip of her forefinger up and down the stem of her wine glass, studiously not meeting my eyes. "It was more that I saw the writing on the wall. I'd hoped that maybe we could actually be a couple, that we could make it work, but it was pretty obvious that his heart lay elsewhere. And when I finally admitted that to myself, I ended things. It was all on good terms, and we never stopped being friends. Leo Taylor is a good guy."

  "I get it." I nodded. “It was Quinn for him even back then, huh?"

  "I think it always has been.” Sarah’s smile was wry. “And that makes me happy now. I saw them go through a lot of bumpy times, and times when it was hard to be a friend to both of them without being frustrated as hell by their choices. But I guess it's always easier to see the mistakes that others are making when you're looking in from the outside, isn't it?"

  I thought about Lilly, and I remembered my sister's canny observations during our conversation before Christmas. “I guess it is."

  The bartender stopped in front of us, deftly removing my bottle of beer and pointing to Sarah's nearly empty glass of wine.

  “Another round?" she inquired.

  I quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Sarah. “Well?”

  She lifted up both of her hands. "Hey, that's up to you. I only have to get as far as my hotel room upstairs. I just have to navigate some elevator buttons. You're the one who has to work your way back to wherever you live."

  Sarah had just tossed the ball into my court, leaving what happened next up to me. I didn’t have to go far—my condo was only a few blocks from her hotel—but staying longer probably wasn’t a great idea. What was the point? I began to take a breath to ask for the check, but somehow, the words that came out of my mouth were different.

  "Yeah, go ahead. We’ll take another round."

  The bartender nodded and disappeared to make our drinks.

  “Oh, Gideon.” Sarah batted her eyelashes at me. "You’re not trying to get me tipsy and then take advantage of me, are you?" She giggled, making it clear that she was only teasing.

  "Hey, in this age of consent and awareness, I would never even joke about something like that." I waited a beat. "Plus, my parents would kill me if I thought about taking advantage of anyone.”

  "Are you close to your family?” She tilted her head, inquiring.

  "Well…" I was always cautious when I spoke about my family. I had been taught to be reticent about the Maynards from a young age. "Yes, I guess I am. I mean, they live in New York, so I don't see them all the time, but my parents are awesome about coming down to my games. My sister sometimes, too."

  “Okay, I'm going to make a confession.” Sarah folded her hands and put them on top of the bar, glancing at me sideways. "Quinn had referred to you as football royalty when I came down for a game a couple months ago. I asked her what that meant, and she said that your family has been involved in the sport for generations. That intrigued me. But I didn't Google you or anything like that."

  I laughed. "You could go ahead and Google me," I encouraged. “Part of being . . . what did you call it? Football royalty? It means that all of the information that's out there about my family is pretty strictly controlled. We don't have a lot of loose lips around our ship."

  "I get that." Sarah nodded. "But what exactly does it mean? Did your father play? Your grandfather? An older brother?"

  The bartender reappeared with our drinks, and I thanked her, not answering Sarah until the server had walked away.

  "Football royalty is not the kind of phrase that we use about ourselves, first of all," I explained. "People used to say that I was a legacy player. My great-grandfather was one of the first owners, way back in the day. My grandfather was both an owner and a league commissioner. My dad played college ball, and he won the Heisman. All of the guys in my family, in every generation, have played the sport or been involved in it in one way or the other, usually both.” I winked at her. “I don't have an older brother, though. I'm the only football playing Maynard in this generation of the family."

  Sarah sipped some of her wine. "So, you're the family's greatest hope, huh?"

  I smirked. "I don't know that I'd say that. Makes it sound as though there's a lot of pressure on me." I hesitated. "And I guess in some ways, there is a lot of pressure on me. But it's mostly what I put on myself. My parents are incredibly supportive and loyal, and they never made me feel that I had to play the game. There just w
asn't any choice in my head, though. Football has always been my greatest passion. It's really what I've always wanted to do."

  "Your only passion, huh?” She was teasing

  I offered Sarah a half-smile. “I thought we’d already determined that.”

  "I'm not talking about sex.” Her expression belied her words; she all but winked at me. “I meant, don't you have any hobbies? Anything that you love? What do you intend to do after you finish playing football?”

  "I don't know." I sounded defensive, guarded even to my own ears. As much as I'd opened up to Sarah tonight about things I usually didn't discuss, what she was asking now was something I didn't even share with my family. It was the innermost me, the part that had never seen the light of day, beyond my own thoughts. “I take each year—each day—as it comes.”

  “Bullshit.” She gave her head a quick shake. “You’re not a seat-of-your-pants kind of man, Gideon. You totally have a plan, and it’s probably already laid out down to the minute.”

  I shrugged. “Even if I do, I’m not ready to share it with anyone. Right now, football is what it’s all about. What comes next . . . time will tell.”

  “Cryptic much?” she teased. “All right. I understand that you have boundaries—things you might not want to spill to someone you just met. But that puts a serious crimp in our conversation.” She was quiet for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. “Hey, I have an idea. I'll tell you something about me, and you tell me something about you.” Sarah shifted on her bar stool. “I mean, I’ll tell you something I don't usually tell anybody else. One of my deepest, darkest secrets.” She gave me a wicked little grin. “It’ll cement our new friendship."

  "Are we going to be friends?” I asked her, flippant even though I was serious about her answer.

  "I hope so.” She sounded thoughtful. “The truth of the matter is I don't have that many friends. I have people I talk to. I have acquaintances. I have people I work with. Especially with Leo and Quinn getting married now—they're very wrapped up in their own lives. I'm not complaining, but I wouldn't mind having someone to talk to now and then. Someone I could vent to and bounce off ideas.”