"Okay," she called finally. "Let's see how you do with a moving target." She walked to him. "I’ll be the center as well as the receiver. After I snap the ball, I’ll run out, and you pass it to me, okay?"
"Got it."
She paused. "Are you going to be here on Labor Day?"
"I'd planned on it. Why?"
She shrugged, seemingly casual. "I usually have a party to celebrate the new team, and the beginning of school."
He smiled, and her insides turned to mush. "I’ll be there."
"Good." That wasn't what she meant to say at all, but his gaze washed over her like the warm tickle of summer grass, and she couldn't think rationally. She blinked and forced a chuckle. "Then this is a matter of survival."
"What do you mean?"
"Impromptu games have a tendency to break out like a rash." She peeped up at him, picturing him head-to-head with the bulls on the team. "You may not think this is so much fun after a while."
"I’ll tell you when I've had enough."
She shrugged and realized this had suddenly become important to her. But she didn't know why.
After briefly explaining the play, she placed the ball in the sand, bent into position, and waited. "J.D.? You're supposed to call."
"Call?"
His voice sounded so peculiar that she sneaked a look back under her arm. His eyes were glazed. "What's wrong?"
He cleared his throat. "I'm not sure I can do this," he said.
"Don't be nervous, you’ll do fine."
"I'm not nervous," he said faintly. "I'm . . . distracted. Don't you have any jeans that don't fit quite so tightly?"
Charly straightened, hands on hips, and swiveled her upper body toward him. "Just keep your eye on the ball, Mr. Quarterback."
"I’ll try. Ms. Center, but it won't be easy."
His teasing tone shoved all of her uncertainties aside. Bantering she could handle, even with sexual overtones. In fact, she silently admitted, a little spice added interest. "Look at it this way. When we make a good play, we get to pat each other's bottom."
He leered. "I knew I'd find some reason to like this game."
She chuckled and repositioned herself. "Set. Hut, hut!"
Charly tossed the ball between her legs. It dropped to the sand. "Uh—J.D.? You're supposed to keep your eye on the ball—and your hands in position."
He patted the object under his hands. "I happen to like the position my hands are in."
"You know what happens to quarterbacks who can't catch a football?"
"Um…”
“The centers start aiming a little higher."
"Gotcha." He grinned. "Let's try again."
This time he kept his hands off his center's strained seam, but threw the ball over her head. The next time he grounded it. But the third time it sailed lightly through the air to nestle in her arms. She ran over an imaginary goal line and spiked the ball into the sand, doing a little touchdown dance. As she tripped back to reposition for another try, his eager hand patted her bottom firmly.
"Definitely a fun game," he muttered, his eyes twinkling. "Care to score again?"
"Are we speaking of field time?" He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. "I didn't think so," she murmured against his mouth. After a breathless moment she pulled back. "It's a great motivation to succeed, Mr. Quarterback."
"You're a slave driver," he said with a groan, but went back to practice. Whether it was the incentive or true talent, Charly didn't know, but J.D. became very good with short passes. His distance throws were wobbly, but she saw definite progress.
"Now for defense." she commented briskly, wiping perspiration from her brow.
Panting, J.D. toppled backward into the sand. “She's trying to kill me," he told the seagulls.
While she showed him the moves he'd watched her teach the team all week, Charly threw in little bits about the intramural games she'd organized, the first step she had taken after the gang wars had stopped. They rotated players in those games, so from quarter to quarter the same two people were never against each other. She'd begun that, she explained, because the first year one of the players had nearly broken another's neck.
"In spite of David's excellent programs, their mentality was set in many ways. Still is, for that matter, though not as obviously. But my semester was shaky, mostly due to the gang that Hogan heads now. Their turf was up for grabs, and by the third quarter he'd figured out the other guy's weakness. He taunted him into making a mistake. I can't afford to let that happen again."
'"Don't they talk to each other?" he asked. "Swap information?"
"Sure. But when you're going head-to-head with the same person for over an hour, tension runs higher than if the scenery changes once in a while."
"What about you? You're a teacher. Aren't you a target at your parties?"
"Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Equalize, always equalize,"
"I think I see a reason behind your insults," he murmured.
She blinked, then her eyes took on a wicked glint. "I think you're ready for the real thing. You're offense. Just try and get past me."
He ran straight toward her, and she didn't move. J.D. frowned a bit—he'd seen her grin in that same taunting way at Hogan—but continued. Just before he was within arm's reach she dove to the sand and rolled. J.D. was downed like a ninepin. There was a moment of startled silence, then both burst into laughter.
"One of your tricks?"
"You ain't seen nothin' yet!"
After half an hour, most of which she spent watching J.D. pick sand out of his teeth, Charly got the ball. J.D. grabbed her, but had learned his lesson in trying to bring her down the normal way. She equalized him to pieces. He dug his fingers into her rib cage. She shrieked with laughter and dropped the ball. His tormenting hands slid around her rib cage to settle in the small of her back, gently forcing her unresisting body toward him.
"You're learning," she whispered against his mouth.
Sinking into the sand, he murmured, "I think so too.”
He kissed her with the possessive passion he'd locked inside himself all day, delving deeply into the moist recesses of her mouth. She tasted like coffee, smelled like soap, and was the most exciting woman he'd ever met. Beneath him, her vibrant body tensed, and she withdrew, breathless but with resolution in her eyes.
"You have to be careful with things like this," she said. "I have a friend from back east who moved to L.A. He and a lady friend were . . . engaged one moonlit night on the beach. At the crucial moment they were suddenly surrounded by people with flashlights and buckets." She chuckled. "The grunion were running."
"There’re no grunion here." He lowered his head, but she evaded him.
"My turn," she said, and wriggled out.
He sighed, but stood.
"I’ll call," she said. "Then you run out, count to five, and turn."
"All right, all right." He positioned the ball, bent, and waited for her call. And waited. He glanced back, amused to see her staring at his backside. "Charly?"
"I think I see your point," she said.
"This is the most important part!" she told him near the end of their session.
"I won't."
"J.D., honestly! You have to learn this."
"I thought it was illegal in pro ball."
"This isn't pro ball."
He sighed. "Why can't I just say 'Yeah'?"
"The touchdown dance is integral to the game! Now, let's try it again. Flap your legs ..."
The sun was well over its apex when they finally called a halt to the game. She peeled her damp jersy away from her skin. "I'm sticky. And I have enough sand in my hair to make another beach."
"Me too." He leaned over and ruffled his walnut locks, watching in some amusement as sand flew into the air. "I could use a shower before we go."
She froze. "Go where?"
He glanced up. "To pick up your brother from the airport."
"I don't want you to go!" She blinked and t
urned away. "I mean, thanks for the offer, but..."
"You don't want me to meet your brother?"
"J.D., he has a lot on his mind right now with Julia pregnant and his orders a mess. I just don't want to add to it."
"How would I add to it?" He took her shoulders and turned her to him. "Are you ashamed of me?"
"Of course not." She giggled. "That would be a real role reversal, wouldn't it?"
He grinned. She didn't believe any of that garbage about their backgrounds any more than he did. But his smile faded. "Then why don't you want me to go along?"
She groped for words. "Aaron's violent. If he found out you'd disgraced his sister, he'd have your head."
"Is that supposed to scare me off? C'mon, you can do better than that."
Her gaze locked with his. "I don't know," she said finally. "I guess—I guess your meeting my family would feel too . . . close."
"Because I'd find out the deep, dark truth about you?"
"Don't read any deep meaning into this, okay? I don't want you to come because I'm not sure"—her gaze dropped—"I'm not sure how I feel right now. I don't want you in my life, J.D.!"
He let the silence stretch. "Okay, what about dinner later?"
"Stop it. Don't make me laugh, it won't work." She pulled out of his hands. "I'm going to take Aaron and Julia somewhere. A family dinner."
Frustrated, J.D. could find no way to counteract her withdrawal, not without aggravating the contrary streak he was determined to erode. He left her at her house and returned to his hotel. He had watched her walk away last night, and though there was no fog this time, he felt her defenses closing around her as thoroughly as the mist had. Somehow she had won this round, and he'd never seen the feint.
She was confused, he thought as he showered, yet somehow he knew without a doubt that if he stormed their family dinner, she'd walk away forever. But if he didn't do something soon, he would lose her anyway!
Someone pounded on the door as he wrapped his towel tightly around his hips, and his spirits soared. "Charly?" he cried as he opened the door.
"Goodness, dear. Do you greet everyone like that? It's no wonder you always get better service than I do."
He stiffened and leaned against the doorjamb, a mild scowl darkening his features. "What are you doing here, Mother?" And in her society-matron armor, he thought with a wince.
She gasped, and one neatly gloved hand covered her coral-painted mouth, though amusement sparkled in her eyes. "Heavens! Have I interrupted something, dear?" she asked as she scanned his room. "Is your lady friend here? Should I disappear?"
He sighed. He could never stay angry at her, though he had tried for thirty-one years. With an exaggerated bow and a tilt of his full lips, he ushered her in. "Empty, Mother. Or would you care to examine the dust beneath the bed?"
She entered. "Thank you, but no, dear. I can't stay long, but I was in the area ..."
"So you decided to nose around."
"Of course! What are mothers for?"
J.D. gathered up his jeans and shirt, then changed quickly in the bathroom. It was never a good idea to leave Amanda alone in one's room too long, he knew. When he returned, she was eyeing a large, brightly colored object in disbelief.
"It's a kite, Mother," he said with a faint grin.
"I know what it is, dear. I'm just shocked to find it here."
He took it from her and seated himself in one of the armchairs, stretching his long legs out before him. "How did you happen to be in the area?" he asked with a trace of sarcasm.
"It's a fund-raiser, Mrs. Barrington-Smythe's." She lifted her nose and raised a lorgnette to her eyes from the chain around her neck, suddenly the picture of haughty nobility. "Of the Pacific Grove Smythes. You know how she is, darling. It's that y and e in her name. It has damaged her already overblown head. I'm meeting the General for din—" She blinked and let the glasses fall. "Good heavens, are those blue jeans?"
"Yes. Is there anything else?"
Amanda seemed to be struggling for composure and couldn't take her eyes from her son's attire. "Yes, I—you haven't checked your messages in quite some time. The board is fuming at your absence, and I didn't know what to tell them." She sank into the opposite chair, shaking her head. "Blue jeans." She brightened. "Would this have anything to do with the balloon lady?"
"Her name is Charly Czerniowski, Mother, as you well know."
"Do I?"
A tiny doubt intruded into his mind, but he shoved it away. "I'm going to marry her."
"She wants to trade something as wonderful as that name for something as mundane as Smith? When's the wedding, dear?"
"As soon as I can drag her away from her football field."
Her eyes twinkled. "And of course, she has nothing to say about it."
"Not if I can help it."
Her smile faded at the serious determination in his voice. "I thought for a moment that you might be kidding, dear. But I forgot how much of your father you have in you." She sighed. "He swept me off my feet too."
"I'm not sweeping anybody off her feet. In fact, I'm trying very hard to give her some time to sort out her feelings."
She shook her head. "You're a bulldozer, dear. You always have been."
J.D. wondered if he'd pushed Charly too hard, if that was the reason behind her withdrawal. Then he wondered if he'd pushed hard enough. "Mother? If he hadn't swept you off your feet, would you have married him anyway?"
Their gazes locked for several moments, then Amanda dropped hers to the floor. "I don't know." She sighed again and turned away. "I was a sad trial to that man, J.D. I loved him with all my heart and soul, and I did my best to be what he wanted me to be. But he wasn't willing to do the same for me, and I became more and more rebellious." She shook her head. "Maybe if I'd known that ahead of time, it would have saved us a lot of pain."
"It was a different age, Mother. Women were expected to change, to adapt to their husbands." He reached over to clasp her hand, and she glanced up with misty, startled eyes. "I understand a lot more than I did a week ago, you know. I won't ask that of Charly, or even myself. I'm discovering I'm more your son than I thought, and I'm not going to sit in judgment of you or father."
"Thank you, dear. I know that. I also know that you think I'm a bit of an odd duck, but you know what? I'm happy with my life. I like myself."
His throat tightened. "I like you, too, Mother. Duck and all."
She squeezed his hand and dropped it. her expression turning wistful. "I just wish I could have seen what he wanted for me." She sniffed. "But in those days, living in sin was hardly the norm."
J.D. considered asking Charly to live with him, but discarded the idea almost immediately. Her departure the night before suggested a distinct fear of just the kind of day-to-day intimacy that living together would entail. Each time he had helped someone, she had pulled back, as if a necessary support had been nibbled away. Her students, her brother, her lifestyle, everything had been excuses to escape him. She held up her world—and everyone in it— like a shield, and he couldn't figure out a way to attack around it.
He gasped and sat up straight. Around! Could it be that simple? She had sidestepped anything that would bring her onto his turf, parried his approaches like a pro. Was he playing the wrong game?
"Quarterback sneak," he muttered.
"What's that, dear?"
"A football term," he told her absently, wondering why this hadn't occurred to him before. "The quarterback takes the ball himself and moves up the middle. Right through the defensive line." A wolfish grin spread across his face. "I'm beginning to like football."
"I think I'd better be going."
He glanced over at Amanda, who was chuckling. "What?"
"Predatory bulldozers are off my list forever, dear. The General is much more comfortable. And he's a marvelous dancer!"
J.D. smiled slowly. Time to remove more of the linebackers. "How is he at pulling strings?"
Nine
Charly listen
ed to the droning buzz as J.D.'s phone rang for the seventeenth time. With a muffled curse she slammed the receiver into its cradle and spun into the kitchen, losing a slipper in the process. After refilling her mug so quickly the coffee slopped over the side, and she angrily gulped the hot liquid, scalding her tongue. She hissed in pain and tears rose to cloud her eyes, tears she brushed away with an impatient hand.
Damn the man, she thought. First he aggravates her, then he suddenly changes into a different person, then he loves her senseless, then he backs off . . . and then he disappears. When she'd called him the previous night, to apologize and invite him to her family dinner, she'd just assumed he'd gone out by himself. But all morning she'd gotten no answer at his hotel. Where was he? Had he met some bimbo on the beach? Lord knew, with his classic good looks he could have anyone he wanted.
She paled and gripped the edge of the counter, dizzied by the turn her wayward mind had taken. She was jealous! She was absolutely enraged at the thought of him with another woman! This had never happened to her before!
"Get a grip on yourself," she said sternly, her gaze on the dragon in front of her. "You can't be jealous. To be jealous, first you have to be in love." She nodded, gulped, and stood rigid, calming herself with her own logic. "But you aren't in love with him, because love makes you crazy. And you, my girl, are perfectly sane.”
Ignoring the fact that she was talking to a dish towel, she gained courage from her own words. "I am not in love with him!" she announced to the empty kitchen. "I am still breathing, even though he's gone. My heart is still beating! I am . . . happy, yes, happy by myself!" She took a deep breath. "I am woman, hear me roar!"
Her shoulders slumped. "Good grief. I don't believe I said that."
Giggling, feeling much more herself, she went upstairs to shower and dress. The house echoed hollowly. Her brother and sister-in-law had left early to go to the military hospital's maternity clinic for Julia's regular checkup. She was grateful for the solitude, but without Aaron's irritating presence Charly found herself thinking about J.D.—again.
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