If you want.
What the coach was too kind to say was: if your vision doesn’t stabilize enough to allow you to read a teleprompter and pursue the second career you’d trained for. Heath hadn’t taken being forced off the playing field too badly. He was pushing thirty-two and his body was beginning to wear down. But when it was time to audition for the television gigs he’d been working toward, the glare of the lights and the speed of the teleprompter caused his recovering brain to nearly shut down. His dream of becoming an NFL color commentator on television had apparently taken as brutal a hit as his head.
“I appreciate the opportunity. I’ll do whatever it takes to justify your faith in me,” Heath promised the coach.
“Hell, Heath, you’re earning bonus points just for pulling on a tuxedo and forking out the cash to come to this event tonight.” The coach tapped his beer bottle against Heath’s. “This charity is my wife’s passion, but I certainly don’t expect my staff and players to feel obligated to attend.”
Heath glanced around the crowded ballroom. Blaze players and personnel made up at least half the guests milling about, all of them seemingly enjoying themselves. “Then it’s a tribute to your wife that so many in the organization came out tonight. Either that or we all had nothing better to do,” he joked.
Of course, in Heath’s case that statement was true. After promising a neighbor two tickets to the Blaze home opener in exchange for calling a locksmith to open his damn door, he’d spent the entire day studying the offense’s playbook while keeping one eye trained out the window, watching for a silver Sebring convertible to reappear in front of the condo next door. But Merrit had never returned. The overwhelming feelings of shame and excitement at seeing her again after all these years had kept him edgy, until he finally convinced himself she’d just been an illusion, a nasty trick his messed-up brain decided to play on him.
“Uh oh, my wife is flagging me down,” the coach said, trying to sound as if it was an inconvenience when his face clearly marked him as a man who’d do anything for her. “Mingle a little bit. Better yet, follow Brody around. He always leaves behind a bevy of female castoffs who’ll likely need some cheering up.” With a sly grin, the coach was off.
Heath studied the crowd around him, searching for an unobtrusive spot to hang out until the dinner. No way was he going after Brody Janik’s rejects. It had been eighteen months since his divorce and Heath definitely needed to dip his toe back into the dating pool, but not tonight. His temples were already beginning to throb from the dull murmur and low lighting within the cavernous room. Not only that, but he was still tense from his encounter with an either real or imaginary Merrit Callahan this morning.
As he made his way to a quiet corner of the room, a voice caught his attention, his gut clenching at the familiar sound. A woman wearing a dress with a daringly low back chatted with the wife of Shane Devlin, the Blaze’s quarterback. She had her back to Heath. Her long black hair was piled high into an intricate knot at the top of her head, giving him a spectacular view of the pearly skin on her graceful neck and shoulders. Without conscious thought, Heath’s feet started toward the two women and he prayed his mind wasn’t punking him again.
Carly Devlin’s face lit up as he approached. “Heath!” She reached for his arm to pull him into her conversation and he was again face-to-face with the one that got away: Merrit Callahan. A soft pink blush crept up her cheeks, halting at the fringe of the heavy bangs that framed her eyes. Heath had always been able to read her emotions within those light blue irises, and his chest squeezed when he saw panic briefly flicker within them. He watched as she quickly surveyed the room, looking for an escape route before jutting up her pert chin in what he knew was defiance rather than defeat.
“Merrit, you have to meet the newest addition to the Blaze coaching staff, Heath Gibson. He just arrived in Baltimore this week,” Carly said, apparently ignorant of the surging undercurrent swirling around them. “Heath, this is Merrit Callahan. She’s leading the audit for the transfer of ownership from Mr. Tyson to his godson, Jay McManus. You’ll both be neighbors for the next few weeks or so.”
An awkward silence stretched out before Heath spoke. “We’ve met.”
Carly laughed. “Oh my gosh, were you the one who rescued Heath this morning when he was locked out?” she asked Merrit.
Merrit’s lips trembled, but no words came out. He watched as she tried to draw in a breath and guilt washed over him. “No,” he said, his gaze never leaving Merrit’s face. Her eyes darted around the room, landing anywhere but on him. “We met in college. Merrit was one of the academic tutors for the football team.”
“Wow. Small world,” Carly said. A brittle smile formed on Merrit’s lips, but she remained silent.
“Um, well, I think everyone is headed into dinner. Heath, did you find your place card?” Carly’s question contained a hint of confusion, as if she’d begun to pick up on the uncomfortable vibe he and Merrit were giving out.
Heath pulled his place card out of his pocket, on the one hand dreading that he and Merrit might be at the same table, but on the other wishing to be close to her again. “Table six,” he said. A look of relief settled on Merrit’s face, telling him all he needed to know: she was sitting elsewhere.
“If you’ll both excuse me then, I’m going to freshen up before dinner,” Merrit said. A moment ago, her voice had been like a siren’s song, calling him from across the room. Now, it sounded as if she’d swallowed gravel. He wasn’t letting her escape this time, though. It was her nature to run from a fight, he knew that well, but he’d lived with the guilt for too long now. They needed to put it behind them and they couldn’t do that without clearing the air.
“I’m headed that way myself. I’ll walk with you,” he said.
She bristled at the suggestion, but her innate politeness kept her silent. With a brief nod to Carly, she made a beeline for the hotel foyer. Heath kept a steady pace behind her. Once she reached the open area, her stride lengthened and she practically trotted toward the restrooms.
“Merrit,” he said, his tone insistent while he matched her steps. He could have easily overtaken her, but he didn’t want her that way. He had enough remorse for what he’d done to her a decade ago.
Giving in to the inevitable, she stopped in a small alcove that afforded them some privacy. Her shoulders slumped in resignation, but she didn’t turn to face him. A breathy sigh escaped her and Heath was surprised when the sound slid through his body, settling right in his groin.
“Merrit,” he said again, more softly this time, as he brought his fingers to her bare shoulder and turned her to face him. He wasn’t prepared for his body’s reaction to the feel of her skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips. She trembled beneath his touch. At least he thought she was the one trembling.
He told himself resolving their past was as much for her as it was for him. Heath wanted her to go on with her life, to be happy in her upcoming marriage. Happier than he’d been in his. For that to happen, he needed to apologize, to explain.
“Heath . . .” His name came out of her mouth on a breathless whisper and the sound was doing crazy things to his body. “I can’t do this here. This isn’t the time or place,” she said.
“It’s never the right time or place. You’ve spent ten years running from this conversation. Avoiding me.”
She stiffened at his words, her eyes shiny with unshed tears and anger. “I should have run away the first night I met you.” She turned on her heel, no doubt to hide in the ladies room until he left, but Heath reached for her wrist, forcing her to face him again. Her pulse was hammering beneath his fingers, but he didn’t let go. Instead he trailed his fingers over her hand to clasp it gently, when he made a staggering realization—her left hand was bare; she wasn’t wearing a ring of any kind.
“I thought you were engaged,” he blurted out.
Merrit ripped her hand from hi
s grasp, crossing her arms against her middle defensively. “My God, are you stalking me now, Heath? Haven’t you done enough to me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
Because he couldn’t leave her alone. Even with his mushy brain, he knew she’d been his weakness then and she was still. Heath stood his ground, hope starting to flutter in his gut as he realized she might not be engaged any longer; he might have a shot at reclaiming what he’d lost, what he’d nearly destroyed. He kept his game face firmly in place, unwilling to apologize for keeping tabs on her. The silence stretched and Merrit shifted on the stilts she used for shoes.
“It didn’t work out,” she said, finally.
Heath’s body was suddenly overcome with need and hard as stone. She wasn’t some other guy’s anymore. He wanted to gather her against his chest, to absorb the fresh scent of her hair, to feel her soft skin against his lips, to taste her quivering body with his tongue. He pushed out a heavy breath to keep from reaching for her again. Hell, he didn’t want to dip his toe into the dating pool; he wanted to drown in Merrit Callahan.
“You’re one to talk, anyway,” she continued. “It’s not like your marriage lasted all that long.”
Heath quirked a brow at her. “Now who’s stalking?”
Merrit rolled her eyes. “Please, you married a reality TV star. Everyone who’s ever stood in a grocery store checkout lane has been bombarded with the not-so-intimate details.”
He wasn’t sure whether to smile with the knowledge she’d been keeping tabs on him or grimace at her true statement. His short-lived marriage was another relationship he’d been ashamed of, but that time, the ending was not Heath’s fault.
He mimicked her earlier words. “It didn’t work out.”
“What happened? Was she just a dare, too? Did you marry her to prove to your friends—your teammates—you could get anyone to fall in love with you?”
She couldn’t have wounded him more if she’d stuck a knife in his gut. “No!” He didn’t bother telling Merrit that he’d been the one duped by his bride. She would have thought it poetic justice, for sure.
“So you only lead on boring, shy math tutors.” Her arms pulled tighter around her midsection.
Heath’s temple was throbbing now and he rubbed his fingers against his head as much to alleviate the ache as to keep from taking Merrit in his arms. The pain in her voice and on her face was palpable and he hated that he was the cause. All because of a stupid, macho dating game his teammates had invented.
“It’s like I said, Merrit, if we could just spend a few minutes talking about this, if you’d let me explain everything—”
“Merrit. I’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time to go in for dinner.”
Blake Callahan materialized from somewhere behind them, leveling a suspicious glance at Heath before wrapping a protective arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Am I interrupting?”
Heath was trying to formulate an answer that would maintain the privacy of their past, when Merrit surprised him. “Heath and I were just catching up. We met when I worked tutoring athletes while I was at Notre Dame.” Fortunately, she left out the part about Heath being the one to take her virginity. He didn’t relish a dustup with the ad exec whose hobby was competing in extreme sports.
“Huh,” her brother said, eyeing Heath a little more carefully. “You were only there a year. I didn’t realize you’d tutored. You didn’t when you transferred to Northwestern.”
“No,” she said, her voice firm. “I didn’t.”
“I can head into dinner alone, if you guys want a few more minutes.”
Merrit snuggled deeper under her brother’s arm. “It’s okay. We’re done.”
Heath let one corner of his mouth turn up. She may think they were done, but he was sick and tired of Merrit avoiding him. He’d let her get away once, but he’d be damned if he’d let her do it again. And he wanted more from her now than just for her to hear his apology. “We have plenty of time to catch up later.” He took great pleasure in watching her ever expressive eyes grow wide. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Her brother cast one more look over his shoulder as he led his sister away. Heath rubbed his hands through his hair, squeezing his throbbing temples as he tried to come up with a plan to get Merrit alone again.
“Heath.” There was that siren’s song again. He turned to face her, surprised she hadn’t finished her escape. Her getaway ten years ago had been immediate and unexplained.
“It was great to seeing you again. Maybe we can catch up some more after dinner?”
He wanted to slap his head. Her abrupt role reversal made him think his brain was playing tricks on him again. But she was standing there, three yards from him, her brother waiting at the ballroom door. Heath searched her face for some indication of why she’d suddenly changed tactics. Merrit had been the most genuine girl he’d known. Until he’d ruined her. Her eyes gave nothing away and Heath decided he might not get another chance.
“That sounds great. How about we meet back home?”
A slight tremor passed through her body. Someone who didn’t know her intimately wouldn’t have picked up on it, but Heath knew her—and her body—too well. She jerked her chin up and gave him a nod before retreating into the ballroom on the arm of her brother.
Three
The root canal Merrit had endured last year was less painful than the dinner that followed her confrontation with Heath Gibson. She’d been on pins and needles since early that morning when she saw him standing on the lawn. It had been ten years since she’d last laid eyes on Heath in the flesh. From what she’d seen, his flesh hadn’t suffered too much wear and tear over the past decade, despite spending it in the NFL. He was leaner than he’d been as a college student, his muscles defined but not bulky. Gone also was his youthful face. Maturity had hardened his jawline, tightening his mouth, while the laugh lines fanning out from his eyes were more pronounced. One look at him and she was the vulnerable college girl again, the one who led with her whole heart.
And then he’d touched her . . . Merrit squirmed in the chair as she remembered the feel of his fingers on her skin, practically searing her, the reaction was so intense. Just the thought of his body and what it could do to her stirred up feelings in parts of her that had been dormant for years—parts not even Grant had been able to reach. And that made her angry. She’d always been susceptible to Heath’s charm—and his body. She had to remind herself that he preyed on that weakness. Still, her own nerves thrummed at the notion of him touching her again, and the idea tied her stomach up in knots.
Blake paused in his conversation with the Blaze’s future owner, Jay McManus—his best friend from their days at the University of Chicago—to give her hand a reassuring pat. Her brother sensed that something was up, but she’d been able to convince him it was the photo of Grant in this morning’s Trib that was upsetting her. Blake—her whole family—would be disappointed that she’d been duped by another man the same way Grant had conned them all.
“You haven’t touched your dinner,” Blake whispered. “Eat something or I’ll tell Mom.”
Her brother was teasing, she knew, but the concern in his voice made her chest ache. She was tired of being the odd woman out in her family of Teflon extroverts. Merrit was sick of men stomping all over her heart. It was time for her to find her backbone and stand up for herself, and she’d made up her mind: she was going to start tonight.
As Blake had led her out of the lobby earlier, Heath’s words crackled through her mind: You’ve spent ten years running from this conversation. Avoiding me. Sure, she’d run ten years ago. Away from Heath. Away from South Bend. He’d humiliated her by dating her, and then bedding her, all because of a dare from his teammates. She’d given him all she had, her youthful heart included, and it had all been a lie. Worst of all, she wasn’t sure if she was more angry at Heath for the deception or ashamed of herself for succumb
ing to it.
This evening, before she’d even thought about what she was doing, she’d turned back to Heath, agreeing to meet with him later tonight. She was well aware that he wanted to clear the air, to absolve himself of guilt. To say he was sorry and walk away. It didn’t matter what his motive was, though. Merrit wanted a different type of closure. The heat in his eyes when he touched her earlier had been unmistakable—he still wanted her, and that knowledge had awakened a need in her she’d thought had shriveled up long ago. Sex with Heath had always been practically a religious experience, one she didn’t want to deny herself. She wasn’t that immature co-ed any longer, though, mistaking lust for love. Tonight, she would take a page from Heath’s own playbook, using him to settle a score—silencing the doubts Grant had planted in her head. And when she walked away in the morning, she’d do so sedately—not at a run—proving to Heath that an encounter with him could no longer touch her heart.
Her plan seemed a lot more doable when she was sitting in a crowded ballroom with her knight-in-shining-armor brother at her side. Two hours later, as she walked up the sidewalk to the condo, she felt her confidence evaporate into the muggy June night. Heath had left the gala early; she’d surreptitiously kept an eye on table six throughout dinner, but he never took his seat. Now she knew why. He was camped out on her front step, a bottle of beer cradled in his long fingers. His tuxedo had been replaced with a pair of cargo shorts and a faded REM T-shirt. Heath’s coffee eyes were resolute and the soft glow of the porch light bouncing off his unruly hair did nothing to tame his appearance. Merrit nearly tripped over her heels, he looked so . . . dogged sitting there. Not to mention sexy as hell.
You have to do this, she chastised herself. You NEED do this.
“Lock yourself out again?” Thankfully, her voice held a little bravado.
A Numbers Game Page 2