A Numbers Game

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A Numbers Game Page 7

by Tracy Solheim


  “No.”

  Merrit met his eyes, expecting to see pity reflected in them. But there was none.

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  She opened her mouth before closing it again when her brain couldn’t seem to form any words.

  One corner of his mouth lifted up as he stood up to his full height. “Heath’s plane is supposed to land any minute now, which means he’ll be here within the hour. The gutsy girl who I’d be proud to have as my little sister would stick around to hear him out.” He leaned down to kiss her on the top of the head. “All you have to do is decide to be that girl, Merrit,” he whispered. “You can handle the fallout.” He strode toward the door. “Oh, and don’t let him leave without talking to me first,” he called over his shoulder.

  As Merrit sat in the empty conference room she contemplated her choices, unsure whether or not she agreed with Jay. Fallout was messy, and the thought of handling any of it terrified her.

  • • •

  Merrit wasn’t answering her phone. Heath tried to tell himself that her unresponsiveness didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was in meetings with the team’s future owner. But Jay McManus was texting him for an audience ASAP and Heath didn’t have a good feeling about that. Damn Danny Sanduchio. If he hadn’t been a bully and a cheat in the first place, none of this would have come out. And whoever the bimbo was who was blogging this crap needed to be stopped. But first, he needed to find Merrit. They’d come a long way in the past couple of weeks, but he still didn’t trust her not to turn tail and run. This time, though, he’d go after her, just as he should have done years ago had he not been a proud jerk. Hell, if he had to face down the entire Callahan family, he would. He’d make her listen to him.

  The taxi dropped him off at the front of the training facility. Heath grabbed his bag out of the backseat as he scanned the parking lot for her car. It was nowhere to be seen.

  That doesn’t mean anything, he reassured himself. She could have parked around back.

  His phone buzzed. Jay McManus. Again. Mumbling a few expletives under his breath, he took the stairs two at a time. McManus would have to wait. Heath’s first stop would be to find Merrit. He trotted through the reception area, making a beeline for the conference room in the back she and her fellow auditors had been using. The room was empty. Their work papers and laptops were all gone. And there was no sign of Merrit.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, he raked a hand through his hair in anguished fury. She hadn’t trusted him enough to stay. Merrit didn’t believe in what they had. Damn it. He pulled out his phone and tried her number again, but it went straight to voice mail, the sound of her voice making his chest constrict. She may have given up, but he wouldn’t. First, he’d deal with McManus and then he’d head straight for Chicago.

  Heath crossed the conference room to the small office McManus was using temporarily. Not bothering to knock, he pushed the door open. The sight awaiting him there nearly knocked him off his feet. Merrit stood in the center of the otherwise empty room, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were desperate to hold herself closed. Her computer bag was neatly packed, resting on the floor beside her feet. That elfin face he loved so much was wary, but her chin never wavered.

  Relief surged through Heath’s veins and he had trouble containing the shit-eating grin threatening to burst out on his face. “You didn’t run,” he said softly.

  She gave her head a slight shake, but remained silent.

  “I’m glad, Merrit,” he said as he slowly made his way into the room and placed his bag on the floor next to hers. “It means we’re getting somewhere.”

  Heath wanted to reach out to her, to gather her in his arms, but the brittle way she held herself warned him to take things slowly.

  “I don’t know about that, Heath,” she whispered, her voice raspy with unshed tears. “I think it would be a lot easier if I just left.”

  His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. “Yeah, but would the easy way make you happy, beautiful?”

  She shook her head again and Heath breathed a sigh of relief. “Sometimes you have to confront your fears. Fight for your happiness, Merrit.” He took a step closer so that only inches separated them. Her body swayed toward his before she steadied herself. “I’m worthy of your trust. Stay and let me prove it to you,” he pleaded. “Fight for us.”

  An anguished sound came from her throat as she tentatively placed her palm over his heart. Heath covered her hand with his but he didn’t risk a breath until he saw the slow nod of her head. Releasing an explosive sigh, he pulled her into his arms, brushing his lips against her hair. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I love you too much to ever hurt you.”

  As he was going in for a kiss he desparately needed, a sound at the doorway alerted him that they had a visitor. Not bothering to release Merrit, Heath looked up and he locked eyes with Brody Janik, the Blaze’s Pro Bowl tight end.

  “Uh, whoa, sorry to interrupt, dude,” Janik said, a bemused grin on his cover-boy face. “I was summoned here by Mr. McManus. Have you seen him?”

  “He’s right behind you.” Coach Richardson’s voice came from somewhere in the conference room behind Brody. “If you’ll move out of the way, we can both join the party.”

  With Coach and McManus on his heels, the tight end stepped into the small room—a room that was shrinking by the minute, crowded with three current or former NFL players and the team’s future owner, who was built as if he could take a few hits in this league. Brody sidled up next to Merrit, the tension on her face easing at the sight of his trademark grin. The dumbass had that effect on women of all ages, and Heath wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her a little closer to his body, executing the universal gesture that shouted, She’s mine. Brody chuckled.

  “This isn’t funny, Brody,” McManus said. “You’re here so we can get to the bottom of that damn blog.”

  “Dude,” Brody said. “What makes you think I know anything about this?”

  “Both you and Coach Gibson were at Notre Dame the same time Sanduchio played there. You had to have heard something about his game,” McManus said.

  Heath squeezed Merrit’s shoulders as she stiffened beside him.

  “What is this, guilt by association?” Brody accused. “I may have been a freshman that year, but I didn’t need a stupid game to score with women.”

  Merrit let out a little groan and Coach Richardson threw Brody his patented look that made a player feel like he’d been squeezed in the balls. Brody shuffled his feet. “You’re way off base here. There’s another person on the Blaze who was at Notre Dame during those years,” he said.

  McManus and Coach Richardson exchanged glances. “You two are the only ones on our roster who were drafted from there who could have played alongside Sanduchio,” Coach said.

  Brody leveled a measuring glance at him, but Heath kept his face neutral. “Special teams,” Brody said.

  Coach Richardson scanned his tablet. “Rakowski,” he muttered. “He played soccer at Notre Dame, but he went on to kick in the Canadian league. We signed him directly from the CFL, so he wouldn’t be listed under the school he was drafted from. Damn.”

  McManus’s eyes bore into Brody’s. “Can Rakowski damage the team”—he looked directly at Merrit—“or anyone associated with the Blaze with this story.”

  Brody shrugged. “He claims to have the original scorebook that covers the game from Heath’s senior year when they introduced it, right up through my junior year. But like I said, you won’t find my name on it.” He gestured at Heath. “His either. Gibson here holds the title of being the biggest loser, never scoring a point in the game.”

  “What?” Merrit exclaimed beside Heath.

  “Sorry, dude,” Brody was saying. “I don’t mean to blow the lover boy persona you’ve got going here, but according to the game book, you were a
dud back then.”

  Heath wasn’t listening to the tight end anymore, though. Merrit had gone pale as a stunned look settled on her face, and he could have sworn McManus winked at her before he and Coach dragged Brody out of the room. He gripped her elbows as she placed both hands on his chest.

  “You weren’t playing,” she whispered as a lonely tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Not in the way they were playing,” he said. “But I will admit to using the list to score on my own. As sort of an agenda, if you will. I was so captivated by you, I couldn’t think straight, and I wanted to keep you happy.”

  The tears were flowing freely now. “I ruined it by not sticking around and talking to you about it.”

  Heath brushed the tears off her face with his thumbs. “No, you didn’t ruin anything, Merrit. I could have come after you. We were both young and confused about the intensity of our feelings, that’s all.”

  She stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He opened her mouth with his and he was rewarded with a slow, mesmerizing kiss. “Tell me again that you love me,” she whispered against the corner of his mouth.

  “I love you, Merrit,” he said before kissing her again.

  “I’ve always loved you, Heath, but if I’m being honest, I think I love you more today than I did back then.”

  “Then I’ll have to work really hard tonight to get you to love me even more tomorrow,” he teased. “I’m pretty sure I promised you a weekend at a cozy inn. There are a few things on that list that I want to try out again.”

  Merrit blushed a beautiful shade of pink. “Too bad I don’t have the list to use as a reference anymore.”

  “Mmmm,” he said as he reached for his wallet and pulled the worn piece of paper out of it.

  She threw her head back and laughed. “I suppose our first stop is going to be a tattoo parlor.”

  Heath pulled her body back into contact with his. “No way. I don’t want anything marring your gorgeous body ever again. I’ve made a few changes to the list.”

  Merrit took the piece of paper and flattened it out against his chest so she could read it.

  “Take a look at number eleven,” he said, his heart skipping a beat as he waited for her reaction.

  A slow smile spread over the face he loved and her crystalline eyes were bright with more tears. “I think I really like number eleven. Especially since it comes with jewelry.”

  And then her lips met his with a kiss so full of trust, Heath couldn’t help but kiss her back. And then some.

  Turn the page for a preview of Tracy Solheim’s next Out of Bounds novel

  RISKY GAME

  Coming from Berkley Sensation in May 2014

  Shannon “Shay” Everett had been in some compromising positions in her life, many of them even of her own doing. Growing up in a small town in Texas as the daughter of a down-and-out rodeo rider and a beauty salon owner, the rebellious tomboy had gotten into more embarrassing scrapes than she could reckon. That being said, she never envisioned herself stuffed into a cubby inside an NFL locker room late at night. A locker room that was supposed to be empty. Only it wasn’t.

  Hell’s bells.

  Shay would have kicked her own butt for this little escapade if it wouldn’t call attention to her presence. The guilt she felt over her task had already swayed her to abort the whole thing the minute she’d entered the players’ domain. Not to mention that she was risking her internship with the team and her scholarship along with it. She’d just have to keep riding her bike to work and the bus downtown to campus, because the money to replace her car’s muffler wouldn’t be coming from some mystery Internet blogger who paid handsomely for personal information on professional football players. Shay was ashamed for even attempting it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Now she just needed to quickly extricate herself from her perch huddled in a dark corner of the Baltimore Blaze’s state-of-the-art locker room. Unfortunately, her punishment was to endure painful pins and needles in her legs and feet as she waited out the room’s other two occupants, both of whom seemingly had all the time in the world. Not that any woman would complain given the view. Standing twenty feet in front of Shay was Blaze tight end and all-American heartthrob Brody Janik.

  A deliciously naked Brody Janik.

  Shay willed her stomach not to growl at the sight before her, but Brody was a spectacular example of Grade A prime athlete in all his physical glory. Her mouth watered as she took in six-foot-three inches, two-hundred-ten pounds of perfectly sculpted muscle standing beneath a single shaft of light, the scene reminiscent of a statue of a Greek god on display in a museum somewhere. All that was missing was the pedestal for him to stand on.

  Not that she hadn’t seen nearly this much of his perfect body before. The whole world had. As the spokesman for an international designer’s line of men’s underwear, pictures of Brody wearing nothing but his sparkling blue eyes and his skivvies had been plastered all over billboards and buses for months now. Except tonight, his BVDs were noticeably absent.

  She licked her lips as he scrubbed his neatly trimmed brown hair with a towel, the muscles in his broad back rippling. Her eyes drifted lower to the two fine dimples on his backside—one that saw a lot of sun based on the lack of a discernible tan line. She slammed her eyeslids shut as he turned to reach for something from his locker. Surely this was an invasion of his privacy and she ought not to be looking. Except when would she get another chance like this one?

  She blinked one eye open. Dang! He’d already pulled on a pair of skintight gray boxers, a noticeably abundant bulge hidden beneath the Egyptian cotton.

  “It’s going to be hard to keep this under wraps,” a heavily accented male voice said from the shadows a few lockers over.

  Ain’t that the truth, Shay thought. She mentally shook herself in an effort to refocus her attention from the sexy scene in front of her and tried to make sense of the conversation. The other voice in the room wasn’t hard to recognize; the distinct accent belonged to Mr. Pomegranate Smoothie with Extra Flaxseed, Brody’s personal trainer whose last name was something Scandinavian and unpronounceable. Shay only knew him by what he ordered in the Blaze commissary each time he visited.

  “It won’t be that hard, Erik.” Brody tugged on a pair of jeans over his well-defined long legs as Shay stifled a sigh. He sat down on the folding chair in front of his locker and pulled on his socks and sneakers. “The Piss Man only checks for banned substances. He’s not checking my blood sugar.”

  Pardon? She tore her eyes away from Brody’s still-nude torso to concentrate on the words coming out of his wicked mouth. She’d heard the phrase “Piss Man” before; it was the players’ nickname for the league representative who tested their urine for illegal steroid use. It was the second part of Brody’s sentence that sent Shay’s brain scrambling. Was something up with his blood sugar?

  “That’s not the point.” The fair-haired Dane moved out from the shadows to stand beside Brody’s chair. “What if you get disoriented on the field again and miss a route or a pass? It was only practice today, but it could happen during a game if you can’t keep your sugar regulated.”

  Brody stood up from the chair, his chiseled body elegant and assured as he peered down at the stocky trainer. Good looks, superior athleticism, and an affluent upbringing gave him the confidence to believe he could beat anything. Even, apparently, a problem with his blood sugar.

  “Not gonna happen.” He pulled a black Lacoste polo over his head.

  “You can’t beat it by mainlining Pop-Tarts like you did before your training camp physical,” his trainer persisted. “That ended with you nearly comatose two hours later.”

  Shay worried her bottom lip as she considered the implications of Brody’s predicament. As a PhD candidate in nutrition, she knew full well how the tight end’s fluctuating blood sugar could spell doom for his
career. She also didn’t want to contemplate the scenario of him trying to regulate it by himself.

  Brody shoved his sweaty clothes into a mesh bag. “You worry too much. I’ll take precautions before and during games. Whatever I need, I can have on the sidelines or in the locker room during halftime. My plan worked fine during the opening game last week.”

  His friend shook his head. “I’d feel better if you told the training staff. That way someone could keep an eye on you during the game. You aren’t always aware that your sugar’s dropping until it’s too late.”

  “No. Nobody knows. Not even my family.” The vehemence in Brody’s voice echoed throughout the empty locker room. “I’m in the last year of my contract and my mom is a diabetic. If the team finds out my blood sugar is a little schizophrenic, the negotiations for a new deal will spin out of control. Besides, Nate the Narcissist is a pain in the ass. The guy’s got a real Napoleon complex. He’d lord it over me and take over my life. No thank you, dude.” Brody shuddered as he tossed the bag into the equipment manager’s cage.

  Shay sucked in a breath. Nate, the team’s head trainer, was her boss and she had to agree with Brody’s assessment of him. As her mama would say, Nate was “all hat and no cattle.” It was a relief to know she wasn’t the only one who suffered under the man’s delusions of grandeur.

  When she’d accepted the internship, Shay was told she’d be working with the training staff on the day-to-day nutritional coaching for the players. The information she obtained would be useful in the compilation of her dissertation, an examination of carbohydrates used during peak athletic performance. Instead, Nate had banished her to the team’s cafeteria, telling her the team’s caterer needed extra hands during training camp. Now, the season was in its second week and he showed no intention of allowing her to move up from food service. By the time Shay realized she wouldn’t get the experience she wanted, all the other internships had been taken. She needed the credits to fulfill a requirement to receive her degree at the end of the semester. Worse still, she wasn’t even getting paid for the work she did.

 

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