I’d been avoiding the bar all evening, because I didn’t want Gideon to think I was looking for an excuse to talk to him. But now, I decided, this was ridiculous. I was just as much a guest at this wedding as he was, and I had just as much right to be at the bar. A little bit of righteous indignation fueled me as I moved with purpose to the far corner of the huge tent.
The bartender greeted me with a smile. “What can I get for you?”
I dazzled him with what I hoped was a carefree, sexy grin in return. “Corona, please, with lime. In the bottle.”
“Coming right up.” He bent to retrieve my drink, and after he’d handed it to me along with a napkin (emblazoned with Leo and Quinn’s names, naturally) and I’d dropped a respectable tip in his jar, I meandered toward the shadows.
He was watching me. Gideon was pretending to look at everything and nothing at all, but I could feel his eyes on me as I approached. He’d gotten to his feet earlier and was standing behind a chair, nursing a glass of amber liquor.
I had a million different plans scrambling for attention in my head. I could simply stand in front of the man, say hello, ask how he’d been and force him to be civil—or not. But then the ball would be in his court. He’d have to decide how to react to me.
Or I could play it cool, stand next to him, and wait for him to say something. Dare him to ignore me.
But dammit, I wasn’t that woman, the one who played games and lived or died by how a man responded. I never had been, and I didn’t plan to change who I was for anyone. Certainly not for Gideon Maynard.
So when a small, wicked gremlin whispered an idea into my ear, I didn’t stop to think it over. I just went with it.
“Gideon.” I stopped in front of him, the side of my leg brushing against the skirt of the chair upon which he was leaning. “I’m so glad to see you here tonight. I wanted to talk to you.”
His eyes met mine, that vivid blue slicing through me, traveling down the length of my body and then returning to my face.
“Hey, Sarah.”
His voice was a rumble, low and intimate, and I nearly lost my nerve. But . . . in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I needed to see you tonight . . . to tell you that I’m carrying your child.” I pressed the hand not holding my beer to my flat abdomen. “You’re going to be a daddy in a few months.”
It had been a gamble, using this preposterous lie to shock Gideon into relaxing a little and chatting with me, and for a terrifying moment, I was afraid I’d overplayed my hand. His face went as white as his dress shirt, and his eyes were blank with shock. Those full, sensuous lips that had brought me so much pleasure parted as he gaped at me.
I couldn’t torture him any longer. Doubling over, I snorted in laughter before I raised my beer bottle to my lips and took a long swig.
“Breathe, QB.” I lowered the bottle and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Oh, my sweet Jesus, you should’ve seen your face.”
Color was returning to his cheeks, and along with it, a flare of anger in his eyes. “That wasn’t funny, Sarah. Not one damn bit.”
“Oh, it was just a little funny.” I held up my finger and my thumb about half an inch apart. “If you had stopped to think one minute before you reacted, you would have realized that, for one, we practiced safe sex, and two, here I am, drinking a beer. Not exactly expectant mommy behavior.” I poked his ribs. “Besides which, what kind of woman would do that? I would hope you’d think better of me than that, Gideon, even if we’ve only known each other a little while.”
“You have no idea.” Gideon tilted back his head and drained his glass. “That kind of thing . . . it’s the subject of too many cautionary tales to make it a joke. From the time I was in high school, my parents have been warning me about safe sex and not putting myself into a position where a woman could claim I was the father of her child. That’s why hook ups and one-night stands are so dangerous. No wonder they were so happy when I was with—” He broke off abruptly. “Anyway, safe sex or not, accidents happen. So no, that wasn’t at all a funny joke, Sarah.”
I rolled my eyes. “Point taken, but honestly, you deserved it.”
“Oh?” He quirked one eyebrow in that way that made him look like the lord of the manner. “How so, exactly? What have I done to you to earn that kind of treatment?”
I set one hand on my hip and tilted my head, giving him my best scolding stare. “You totally ignored me from the minute you got here today. You cut me dead earlier, before the ceremony. You didn’t even bother to stop by my table and say hello during the cocktail hour. Which, okay, well, that’s your prerogative, if you’re going to insist on being anti-social. But I finally walk right up to you, and all you can say is, ‘Hey, Sarah’? Seriously?”
Gideon flushed and rubbed one hand over his jaw. “What did you want from me? Was I supposed to sweep you into a kiss or some shit like that?” He shook his head. “This is why women make me crazy. You say one thing, but really, you have a completely different agenda in mind. A whole other set of expectations.”
“Oh, pul-ease.” I pretended to gag. “That’s utter bullshit—and you’re spouting it off because you know I’m right. If I was a guy who you spent the night with four months ago—”
“Never would’ve happened, princess. I don’t swing that way.”
I ignored his snarky interruption. “—a guy you hung out with at a party and then had a drink with at a bar after, then you would’ve waved the first time you saw me today, and you would’ve made sure to say hello at some point this evening. We would’ve tossed back some beers and caught up.”
A tick in his cheek twitched. “Maybe. You could be right. But we’ll never know, because you’re not a guy, and we did a hell of a lot more than hang out.” He shifted, and I sensed how uneasy he seemed, how uncomfortable he was—and that wasn’t just because of me.
Of course—he hated parties, and here he was, stuck at this one, forced to give the appearance of socializing . . . and too far from home to sneak away to his own space. I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, considering my options here.
“Hey.” I reached down and picked up his hand, holding it loosely in mine. It was just a friendly gesture, nothing seductive or romantic, but Gideon stared at our touching fingers as though we held a ticking bomb between us.
Still, I didn’t let go or move away. I couldn’t articulate, even to myself, why this mattered to me—but it did. Gideon Maynard, football legacy, sizzling hot and gifted quarterback with a bright and shiny future ahead of him, was the most alone man I’d ever met. It wasn’t my job to care, but I found myself in that place anyway.
“Hey,” I repeated. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it? I was thinking that I’d like to get out of the tent and maybe walk on the beach a little.” I pointed to the opening that led into the velvety darkness. “But I probably shouldn’t go by myself. The boogey man might snatch me.”
Gideon’s lip curled. “I have a feeling he wouldn’t keep you long.”
Pretending I didn’t hear him, I tugged his hand. “C’mon. Keep me safe. I promise that I won’t compromise you out there.”
Still he hesitated, until I blew out a long breath of exasperation. “Gideon. Listen to me. I don’t have designs on you. I don’t want a reprise of our night in Richmond. But you promised to be my friend of convenience at stuff like this, and I’m holding you to that. Friends of convenience go for walks on the beach when the other friend needs it.”
“And you really need to go on a walk, out there in the sand?” Gideon wore an expression of long-suffering tolerance.
“No, QB, you need to go for a walk out there in the sand.” I pulled him again. “Come on. Trust me.”
He muttered something under his breath about stubborn women, but I didn’t pause to listen. We slipped outside, following the wooden walkway that led through the wide doorway and continued several feet out over the sand.
Gideon came to a halt at the same point that the walkway did. “Here we are . . . out
side.”
I laughed and lifted up my foot, holding onto his arm and balancing on one leg as I undid my shoe. “This is barely outside. We’re going to walk on the sand. Deal with it.” I managed to take off both of my high-heeled sandals and hooked the straps over one finger. “Do you want to take off your shoes, too?”
He looked at me as though I’d suggested streaking the reception. “No, no, I do not. I’m good, thanks.”
Biting the side of my mouth to keep from laughing, I inquired, “Don’t you like sand, Gideon?”
He offered me his arm, more out of chivalrous habit than actual desire, I thought. But still, it was a sweet gesture. “No, I don’t like the sand. I mean, it’s fine, when you’re in a bathing suit, during the day, sitting in a beach chair. But it’s not where I want to be when I’m in a suit and dress shoes.”
I grinned. “So, take off the shoes and socks. You can leave them right here by the little boardwalk thing. And then you can roll up your pant legs, and we can put our feet in the water.”
“You’ve got to be out of your mind.” Gideon began walking, doubtless trying to get me away from the tent entrance so that no one else heard my crazy talk. “Once my feet are wet—and then coated with sand after we walk back to the reception—you don’t seriously expect me to put my shoes back on again, do you? So, what, I’m going to spend the right of the night with bare, sandy feet?”
I was laughing so hard at Gideon’s outrage that I could hardly walk in a straight line, despite the steadying influence of his arm. “Oh, I would so love to see that. Gideon Maynard, doing the Electric Slide with naked piggy toes.”
“As if I’d ever be caught dead doing the Electric Slide.” He glowered at me. “Just accept it, princess. This isn’t happening.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s change the subject. What’s new with you since January?”
I slowed a little, raising my eyes to stare up at the starry sky. “I got a new job. Well, more than that—I found my new career. I think. I hope.”
“You did?” Gideon sounded both surprised and pleased. “Well, that’s great, Sarah. What’re you going to be doing?”
“Remember back in Richmond, I said there was a possible opportunity, but I didn’t want to jinx it? Apparently, I didn’t—jinx it, that is. I interviewed with Kara and Allan Crocker, who own the Gunner’s restaurant chain. They have a non-profit organization, and I’m going to work for them, handling PR for the charity.”
“That sounds like it would be rewarding.”
“I hope so.” I was quiet for a moment, and then gave a small shriek when I stepped on the sharp edge of a broken shell. “Shit, that hurt.”
“Whoa there.” Gideon caught my elbow, holding my arm so that I didn’t stumble and fall. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a shell or something.” I paused to rub my poor, injured foot. “Anyway, I’m excited about the job, and about getting out of Washington altogether. The company is based in San Francisco, so I’m moving to the West Coast in a couple of weeks.”
Gideon whistled softly. “When you make a change, you don’t mess around, do you?”
I chuckled. “I try my best.”
“Are you excited about the new setting?” He sounded curious. “You told me before that you moved around a lot when you were a kid, right? Did you ever live in California before?”
“Once, when I was in elementary school, but not in the north. We lived near San Diego.” I shook my head. “Totally different beast.”
“Have you been out there already to check it out?” Gideon stopped walking, pivoting to face the ocean, which made me turn, too. I could just see the white-foam tipped waves in the moonlight.
“Yes, I flew out last month. Kara wanted to make sure we would work well together, and I wanted to check out the city.” I smiled, letting my eyes drift close. “I love it. I actually can’t wait to live there. It’s beautiful . . . and like nothing I’ve ever seen in this country.”
“It’s a pretty place.” Gideon’s observation was typically lowkey and non-committal. “I’ve been in San Francisco a few times—when I was growing up, and then for games more recently.”
“Well, the next time you play there, give me a call, and I’ll show you around the city.” I ventured a sidelong glance at him. “I’ll know my way around by then. I hope.”
He straightened up, his body stiffening just enough that if I hadn’t been holding onto his arm, I might not have noticed. His voice changed, too, as he answered me.
“When I’m in town for a game, I focus on the game. I don’t socialize or mess around. That’s my job. It’s not a vacation or a pleasure cruise.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get all squiffy on me, QB. I’m not saying that I’d kidnap you into my den of iniquity or bring you home for a quick tumble. I promise, I wouldn’t even suggest anything that might be construed as, oh, I don’t know . . . fun.” I elbowed him in the ribs. “We could make sure we stay completely serious the whole time. I wouldn’t even crack a smile.” I angled my body to face him more fully, tipping my face upwards and making sure my expression was sober. “No messing around here. No, sirree.”
For a long moment, Gideon stared down at me, his eyes hard and the rest of him motionless. I held his gaze, challenging him, daring him to be the one who broke first. A soft breeze blew around us, and nearby, waves crashed against the sand.
Finally, one side of his lips twitched, and in his eyes, I recognized surrender before he cracked a smile.
“You’re crazy.” He gave his head a quick shake. “What I meant was . . . I don’t want to say to you, sure, I’ll give you a call the next time I’m in San Francisco, and then not do it. It’s not like I can sneak into town. You’ll know when the Rebels are in town, and when I don’t call, you’ll be . . .” His jaw set. “Disappointed.”
“Will I?” I blinked up at him. “Gideon, when it comes to you, I have zero expectations. You, on the other hand, seem to have a lot when it comes to me.”
He took a step back, dropping my arm. In the bright moonlight, I clearly made out the scowl on his face. “The hell I do.”
“Oh, you so do.” I wrapped my arms around my ribs, hugging myself. “You have from the first minute we were introduced. Maybe even before that—maybe it started when you saw me the first time. You expect me to want more from you. You expect me to get upset when you shoot me down, which you do on a regular basis. You expect me to . . .” I threw up my hands. “I don’t know, to fall madly in love with you. You expect me to act like women typically have in your experience.” I pointed to myself, tapping a finger on my breast bone. “I’m not that woman, QB. In our brief acquaintance, I’ve never pressured you to do anything.”
Gideon watched me, his face still hard, and I sensed that he was digesting everything I’d said. I stayed quiet, waiting to see if he’d get real with me and be honest or if he’d take offense and stalk away. I figured it was about even odds as to which way he’d go.
“You’re right.” When he spoke, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I have assumed that you’d act like just about every other woman I’ve known, and that’s not fair, when you’ve been a total surprise at every turn. So, I apologize. My bad.”
I swallowed. “Apology accepted. I’m glad to hear that I’m not falling into stereotypes.” I ventured to take a step closer to Gideon. “You don’t have to call me if you’re in San Francisco—when you’re in San Francisco. I promise that I won’t throw myself off the Golden Gate Bridge when you don’t.”
He exhaled a long sigh. “Good to know. Thanks for that assurance.” He rubbed his chin. “It won’t be because I don’t want to call you, Sarah. It won’t be because I’m not thinking of you, or that I don’t want to see you. It’s just how I operate.” His eyes met mine. “You’d be a distraction, and I can’t afford even one of those.”
“I’d never want that.” I kept my voice light and held out my hand, palm up. “But still . . . just in case, give me your phone.”
>
His brows knit together. “Why?” One of his hands went to his back pocket, where I assumed his phone was stored.
“So I can send you nudie pics. Duh.” I shot him a sweet smile. “Just kidding. You haven’t earned the right to any of my nudie pics. Not yet.” I wiggled my fingers. “I’m going to put my number in your contacts. That way, on the off chance that . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t know. You get stuck somewhere near me in California and want some company, or one day, you just have a yen to call someone you know will bust your balls, you have the option at your fingertips.”
Still, he hesitated. “I never give anyone access to my phone. Players have gotten burned badly doing that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Gideon.” I stomped my foot, which had a disappointing result on the sand. “I’m not going to run off with it. You can stand here and watch me enter the digits. Or I can read them to you.”
With suspicion still etched on his face, Gideon slowly withdrew his cell. He touched the fingerprint ID screen and then handed the phone to me, eyeing me warily. “I’m not going to call you. You know that, right? Even if your number is listed in my phone. I’m not going to hit you up for a booty call or a midnight heart-to-heart.”
“There go my plans to wait around every night, sighing and wishing and hoping.” I punched in my phone number and added my name, resisting the temptation to choose a silly, sexy title. Handing it back to him with a flourish, I murmured, “There you go. Now you can forget it’s even there . . . until you might need it someday.”
When he opened his mouth, I lifted my hand. “Not that you will. I know. I get it. But it makes me feel good to know you have it, so let’s leave it at that.”
Still, Gideon frowned at me until I heaved another heavy sigh. “What?”
“You’re not going to ask for my number, are you?” He wasn’t pissed off, I realized, just maybe a little confused.
“No, I’m not,” I responded simply. I could have unpacked the reasons why, but instead, I decided to let Gideon digest it for a while, to figure it all out on his own. To give him that space, I changed the subject.
Sway (Keeping Score Book 6) Page 10