FieldofPlay

by Frances Stockton

  “You know, crazy as it is to admit, I like you,” she replied. “At the very least, I don’t think you’re a liar.”

  “Why thank you, I like you too.”

  Grace looked over to catch him smiling. It was so charming and real that her tummy did a crazy little flip-flop. “You’re certainly not like the last guy I dated. That’s for sure.”

  “What was wrong with him?” Dallas used his mirrors to change lanes.

  “He wasn’t the right guy for me. He was a lawyer, very smart and…pleasant.”

  “Pleasant, that can’t be good.”

  “Especially when you consider there was no chemistry. He tried. I tried. For awhile it was nice to have the companionship. I just didn’t feel more and he was busy trying to make partner at a law firm. I ended up moving to Fairfax and we mutually decided to end things.”

  “Nice to know.”

  “That my love life is seriously lacking, you mean.”

  “Given the way you reacted to me when I kissed you, I doubt anything’s going to be lacking between us.” The F-150 was fully loaded. The cab of the truck was huge, yet, somehow Dallas made it cozy.

  “You’re definitely a good kisser,” she complimented.

  “That goes both ways. Almost unmanned me when you sucked on my tongue,” he confessed, the hint of his gruff, Texas drawl sending goose bumps over her skin. He shifted in his seat as if he was adjusting his cock. Grace wondered exactly how big he was. She’d felt his erection through their jeans when they’d kissed and she was pretty sure that was only the tip of the iceberg.

  He placed her hand down on his knee, rocking back a little. “What’s nice to know is that there’s no competition, right?” His voice had that sexy subtle drawl that melted her spine.

  “I’m not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean. In fact, I’ve only been on one date since moving here.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”

  “And the win tonight isn’t responsible for that constant grin on your face?” He guided the truck into the slow lane, heading toward an off-ramp.

  “No way,” he stated. “I saw you and damn near tripped over Ricky Weathers’ helmet. There you were, my teenaged fantasy come to life, and I was hooked.”

  Grace laughed again. “I’ve never been any man’s fantasy. I might have to write that down for posterity.” She reached for her briefcase to get her netbook.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I was going to check my email.”

  “Can it wait for a bit? We’re almost at the restaurant.”

  “Sure.” She re-zipped her case and sat back. Dallas shifted gears and reclaimed her hand.

  Dallas drove into the parking lot of a big bar and grill made to look like an old saloon. On one side of the building was a wooden deck with rocking chairs. Cars were packed into the lot, but he found a parking spot toward the back in what looked to be a place for the owners.

  “Do you come here often enough that you can park where the employees do?” she asked.

  “I’m good friends with the owner, Tucker Jones, and supply the place with barbeque sauce and my recipe for ribs and pit beef.”

  “Sweet,” Grace said. “I didn’t realize you had so many interests.”

  “That’s only the beginning,” he replied. “Stay there.”

  He hopped out and made his way around the truck to assist her. The cowboy hat slipped as she hopped down. Dallas caught it before it hit the ground and placed it on his head.

  “Hey, what happened to protecting me from the cold, McKay?”

  “I’ll keep you warm, baby,” he promised, living up to his word by swamping her inside his coat.

  “Looks busy here,” she observed, noting all the cars.

  “It always is. No worries though, I have a relatively quiet section inside.”

  Grace chuckled. “Of course you would. I hope I don’t have hat-hair now.”

  “Nah, you look real fine.” He wasn’t looking at her when he said that, but he sounded sincere.

  The front doors swung open saloon-style, and for a second, Grace thought they’d stepped back in time. Tucker’s Place was decorated with tables that looked more like a gambler’s paradise, with booths for privacy, and there was an upright antique piano to the left of the entry.

  The hostess stand was made out of a barrel. The bar stretched across the back of the room, and was made with old-fashioned oak and brass accents. Grace spotted the bartender sliding a mug of beer down the bar to an awaiting patron. The place smelled like a barbeque and smokehouse. She actually drooled with hunger.

  “This way,” Dallas directed, letting her out from beneath his coat.

  He nodded to the hostess and led Grace to a booth off to the right. There was a stage set up, but there wasn’t a band. All the booths and tables were taken except his. What was nice was that the customers didn’t shout, but there were dull murmurs of conversation floating about the room.

  Classic rock was piped through loud speakers, but that, too, wasn’t overpowering. Everything flowed with casual ease. It was a great place to spend a first date.

  Dallas helped her out of her coat and gloves, then removed his own. As soon as he’d hung the coats on a rack next to their booth and sat down, the bartender came over. He was about six foot, with short brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a pair of black jeans, a white shirt and had black ribbons around his biceps that were meant to make him look like a bartender from an old fashioned saloon. “Welcome to my place, sweetheart. I’m Tucker, what can I get you?” he greeted with a mischievous grin, redirecting his attention to Dallas. “Congrats on the spectacular catch.”

  “Glad you noticed I was here,” Dallas said. “And thanks for the kudos. It’s always appreciated.”

  “If I hadn’t torn out my shoulder before the Sydney Olympics, I might have given you a run for your money as athlete of the century,” Tucker cajoled.

  “Of the century?” Grace interrupted. “What sport did you go for?”

  “Taekwondo, made the U.S. National team, but the injury kept me from going.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Grace said.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Tucker grinned. “Thanks to Dallas here, I have this place and his recipes draw in the crowds.”

  “He’s a man of many talents,” she commented.

  “One of which is focusing on my date,” Dallas chimed in. “Tuck, man, could we get a pitcher of sweet tea?”

  “You bet,” Tucker said. “Anything else, appetizer?”

  Dallas looked to Grace. “Do you care for seafood? Tucker has Old Bay steamed shrimp, if you’d like.”

  “I was born and reared in Maryland. Bring on the shrimp,” she decided, her tummy growling again. “You don’t by chance have steamed crabs?”

  Tucker shook his head. “Not during the winter. Have Dallas bring you in a few months. We have a crab deck out back and live music.”

  “No band tonight, though?” she asked, diverting the conversation. She didn’t know if she’d be in Dallas’ life a few weeks from now, much less months.

  “They play every Monday, Wednesday and every other Friday.” Tucker stepped back from the booth. “There’s always the jukebox.” He gestured to the small version of a jukebox on their table. “Put in coins and music plays all over the house.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, watching him go back to the bar. “Nice guy.”

  “He is. We’re talking about a partnership for this place. Ricky might go in with us.”

  “How many interests do you have outside of playing football? I mean, I know about your endorsements and such, even the charities you sponsor. What else other than barbeque sauce and recipes?”

  “Real estate, for one,” he answered. “I have a condo in Alexandria that I’m currently renting to Ricky and a refurbished beach house in Ocean City. I rent it to vacationers most of the year. Primarily, I prefer big, open spaces. Most recently, I found an old, crumbling estate on auction in Fairfax.
It’s in a nice, out-of-the-way area with a lot of land and I had my home built there. When I retire or have a family, it’ll be the right place to raise kids.”

  “I’d guess that comes from growing up in Texas,” Grace said.

  A pretty waitress dressed in a modernized saloon girl outfit came up to put a pitcher of iced tea, water and four glasses on the table. It was already set with silverware and napkins. The girl also set an enormous bowl of steamed shrimp in the center, with a small bucket for the shells and appetizer plates.

  “Would y’all like to order anything else?” she offered.

  Without looking at the menu, Dallas gave the option to Grace. She scanned it quickly. “I’d like the pulled pork sandwich with barbeque sauce on the side and fries, please.”

  “My usual,” Dallas told the girl.

  “Rack of ribs, coleslaw and Western fries,” she said, writing.

  “Western fries?” Grace asked.

  “Fries with a little kick to them,” the waitress answered.

  “I’d prefer those,” Grace decided.

  Dallas thanked the waitress and she went off to another table. The shrimp smelled like Old Bay, a seasoning with a combination of spices, most notably red pepper, cinnamon and paprika, making Grace really hungry. She went to pour glasses of tea, but Dallas beat her to it. Taking a sip, she swallowed and then giggled a little at how delicious the sweet tea tasted.

  “That’s excellent,” she praised, taking a longer swallow.

  “Tucker’s Place uses a tried and true Southern recipe. Not sure where Tuck found it, but it works.” Dallas filled her plate with shrimp and then served himself. “He also brews his own beer and ale and has sarsaparilla for kids.”

  “Why didn’t you ask for a draft?”

  “Because I’m driving,” he said, looking up from where he shelled a gigantic shrimp. “No way am I going to put yours or anyone else’s life in danger by drinking. Once in awhile, I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner when I’m out, but I never have more than one. If I want to drink, I stay home.”

  Grace picked up a shrimp. “That’s right. A few months ago, you did an ad against drinking and driving.”

  “I did. Tucker watches the patrons here like a hawk. If he thinks anyone has too much, he takes their keys and calls them a cab. It’s important to me that the products or causes I endorse are ones I believe in.” He took a generous bite of shrimp and chewed politely. “Young people and athletes look up to me. If I don’t practice what I preach, what does that make me?”

  In the process of nibbling her shrimp, Grace was caught by how genuine Dallas McKay was. Did he have to be ungodly sexy too? He was not safe for her peace of mind, yet she didn’t see herself dissuading him from turning their evening into a real date.

  For a little while, they ate their appetizer and their conversation turned to the game. After the bucket was filled with shrimp shells Dallas refilled their glasses. Then he handed Grace a hot wet cloth from a small plate that the waitress had placed next to the bucket on a pass by their table to see if they needed anything.

  “So tell me, Gracie, what made you move from Baltimore to Fairfax?” he asked, wiping the seasoning from his fingers.

  “I needed a change,” she admitted, cleaning her hands and making use of a lemon wedge off the plate to keep her fingers from smelling like shrimp. “Things weren’t going well for me at the agency I’d been working for, so I decided to set up my own.”

  “Mind if I ask what wasn’t going well?” He put down his washcloth, not once taking his eyes off her.

  “My boss wanted things that I couldn’t give him.”

  Dallas’ frown returned. His normally warm brown eyes narrowed. “Am I going to have to hurt this guy?”

  Grace swallowed hard. It was amazing. Dallas was willing to come to her defense, and he barely knew her. “Oh, no, no, that’s not necessary. My ex-boss, Jerry Lawson, started to take advantage of the fact that I was getting more cases than he did. He suggested we become partners. It became apparent that his idea of being partners involved us sharing a bed while he’d get a greater share of the fees.”

  “It’s a damn good thing you moved,” Dallas said. “I’d like to deck the bastard.”

  “At the time, I was shocked. Up to that point, we’d gotten along. I’m not sure where or when things shifted.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told him no,” she answered. “I was still dating Matt. Even though we were primarily friends, I wasn’t going to cheat on him.”

  Dallas took a sip of his tea. “Any problems from Lawson since?” he asked after swallowing.

  “Not really. Matt warned him about a potential lawsuit. Jerry backed off. I’d saved enough over the years that I could afford to set up my own business. There, I have only a receptionist and I’m the boss.”

  “Kyran told me where your office is,” Dallas commented. “He said it’s in a professional building.”

  “That’s right,” Grace said. “The rent is more affordable than anything I’d looked at in Alexandria. There are some questionable areas in Fairfax, but it’s very safe where I am. Plus, it takes about fifteen minutes to get to my office from my apartment.”

  “No highway driving then?” he asked.

  “I use GPS and take the back roads. There are lovely homes along the way. I’m fortunate that the Blacks have such a big mansion with a barn that they converted into a garage with an apartment. It’s not huge, but it’s perfect for me.”

  The waitress returned to clear away their appetizer dishes, letting them know their dinners were about to be served. Grace looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock. The game had ended at seven thirty and they’d spent more than an hour at the stadium afterward. She couldn’t believe how fast the time had flown since they met.

  The girl stepped back so that a waiter carrying their tray could set down their food. The pulled pork sandwich looked and smelled divine. The fries were coated with some type of spice. Dallas’ rack of ribs looked to be dry-rubbed with barbeque sauce poured across the top.

  Picking up a fry, Grace took a bite. There was a little kick to them, but she liked it. They tasted like taco sauce and ranch dressing.

  “Good?” Dallas asked.

  “Very good, I’m glad I switched to the Western fries.” She picked up the pitcher of barbeque sauce, and started to pour.

  “Careful with that, baby. The sauce has more than a kick. Red pepper, jalapenos, habaneros and a few secret spices are only the beginning.”

  “Your recipe, right?”

  “I grew up on a Texas cattle ranch. If I created something that was little more than ketchup with a dash of hot sauce, I’d get branded.”

  Taking note, she dribbled a small amount on the side of her plate. The pulled pork looked wonderful, even without the sauce. She used her knife to cut the sandwich in half and then in fours so they looked like square sliders.

  She really hoped she didn’t make a mess. It would be her luck to end up with a great, big stain on her favorite green sweater.

  “Um, can I ask you something?” she asked, picking up a square.

  “Feel free.”

  “You know about my ex, Matt, and that I’m not dating anyone,” she said. “What about you? Are you involved?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” he answered, watching her. The antique lamp overhead reflected on his face. Once again, he reminded her of a Sioux warrior in her favorite movie.

  “I understand, of course you’d have a girlfriend.” Taking a quick bite to hide her disappointment, she told herself that he had the right to date anyone he wanted. When she swallowed, she sipped her tea.

  “Now see, I’m not sure she’s my girlfriend yet.” His Texas drawl returned. The enigma of him, half Native American, half cowboy, made him all the more attractive. “I sure am interested in making her mine.” Beneath the collar of his t-shirt, she saw the bulge of a necklace. Maybe it’d been handcrafted for him or was part of his culture.

  �
�Me? I, um, okay,” she stammered, not really sure what to say to that. “So that means no competition?”

  Wishing she didn’t sound desperate or too forward, she dipped her sandwich in the sauce and took a bite. The taste of sweet honeyed barbeque hit her first. The peppered heat came on second, making her sweat. Grabbing up the sweet tea, she cooled down and then reached for a fry to level out the intense kick.

  Or maybe the heat stemmed from the way Dallas was looking at her. She felt hot from head to toe, her slit was damp. His focus was so intense and hot, she blushed.

  “You okay? Warned you to be careful,” he said, his voice deeper. Was it her imagination or did he look flushed from watching her eat?

  “You did. I’ll live. You’re off the hook,” she agreed, refusing to fan her face.

  “To answer your question, there’s no competition,” he told her. “I haven’t been all that interested in anyone for a couple of months now.”

  “Really? Anna mentioned that you were considering settling down soon. I thought that was the reason you wanted to know about your biological parents. I’ve had clients that wanted to know their biological history for health or medical conditions.” Being careful to keep her voice low, she was glad that the jukebox system kept their conversation private. She’d worked on a few adoption cases for a law firm, which was how she’d met Matt originally.

  “I’d been considering it.” Dallas picked up a knife and separated the ribs. “Six months ago, I thought I had the perfect girlfriend. She was attractive, intelligent and she worked for Griffins VP Ty Kendrick. I’d thought she understood my love for football.”

  “What happened?”

  Dallas lifted one rib, his gaze on her. “I panicked.”

  Grace decided not to interrupt. She ate quietly and listened.

  “Robyn moved into my Alexandria condo,” he said after finishing his first rib. “And days later, she started leaving hints about engagement rings and wedding dresses.”

  “You weren’t ready for marriage,” she commented.

  “It wasn’t that, exactly. Hell, Grace, before Robyn, I’d broken a lot of hearts. I just couldn’t commit to long term with anyone. I dated Robyn a year before we moved in together. But then, things weren’t right for us.” He chose another rib. “My Fairfax home was finished and I decided to visit my folks to think about whether I wanted her to move there with me as my wife. There’s nothing like riding in the heart of cattle country at sunset to give a man perspective. When I came home, I found her in my bed with another man.”