Devon

by Tessa Frank

  “My dad died a few years ago.” I was sad to lose him because he pushed me to be the best. I was also grateful to be free from his demands. I never would have taken the quarterback position with the White-Tails had he lived. Dad hated the White-Tails as much as I admired their head coach.

  “I heard. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The words had the ring of being automatic. “I’ll bet you were,” I reply, pulling her a tad closer. “You liked my dad so much.”

  Claire snorts, then sighs. “What do you want, Devon?”

  “To try again.”

  Claire pushes back against my arms. I let them loosen, but not enough for her to step away. “No.”

  “Why?”

  Anger blazes to life in Claire’s eyes and face. “Why?” She may hiss the word, but I know that’s only because we’re in public. “Because you left me when I needed you. That’s why.”

  “It was ten years ago, and I was stupid,” I counter, hoping admitting guilt will help me get my way.

  “My dad up and walked out leaving my sister and me to fend for ourselves.” Claire stops dancing. Her pointer finger stabs at my chest. “I needed you and you left.”

  I see the tears form in her eyes. One escapes. I stop its progress with a finger to her cheek. I know how much Claire hates to cry.

  “Shh,” I whisper. I wrap an arm about her waist and haul her out of the reunion. To all the world, it probably looks like she’s clinging to me. Only I know I’m heading into a fire pit.

  “Let me go.” Her command is calm.

  I drop her arm, moving away. She straightens her dress. I admire her legs and wish I hadn’t ruined my only chance to hold her. “I’m sorry.”

  Claire fluffs her hair away from her shoulders. It’s all nervous energy being dissipated to keep her from yelling at me. “You’ve got more control than you used to.”

  The glare Claire sends me tells me that I stuck my foot in it again. “Thanks,” she utters, devoid of sarcasm, and starts to walk away.

  I don’t chase women. I’ve never needed to. Except Claire. Even in high school, I had to work to get her to go out with me. Claire was the top student in our class. “You once told me that you didn’t have time to date,” I blurt out.

  Claire stops, spinning slowly on one heal to face me. She arches a single brow.

  Dang. She’s become even more impressive. My palms feel damp with sweat as I pray I can pull this off. I take one step toward her. “You said you only had time to see me if I studied with you.”

  Arms fold across her chest. “Your point?”

  I stop in front of her. “What are you studying these days? Can I join you?”

  A flabbergasted look crosses her face. Then, right before I think she will turn and walk away without answering me, she turns contemplative. “You’re serious?”

  I nod. “I am.”

  Claire shakes her head. “I can’t imagine why. I’m a nobody.”

  “You’ve always been somebody to me.”

  She snorts, but the thoughtful look doesn’t completely drop away. I take that as a good sign. A hopeful sigh. “Can I see you again?”

  Her foot taps once. Twice. With a huff, she says, “Fine. I drink coffee on Wednesdays.”

  I’m brightening, knowing I’ve won this round when Claire smirks and walks away. Then it hits me. “Where?” I call after her.

  Claire turns back, continuing to walk away. “Look, you’ve messed up my reunion. You want to see me again, you figure it out.”

  Oh, I’m grinning like the utter fool that I am. “Challenge accepted.” Even if I have to hang out in every coffee shop in town. I’m grateful there are only three, but I’d lay odds I will only need one. Perk of a small town.

  5

  Claire

  Tessa’s Gossip Column

  Guess who this reporter saw dancing much too close last night! Brentwood’s favorite quarterback might be caught, dear readers.

  Sunday morning comes bright and early. My yawn tries to drag my lungs out of their still-wanting-to-be-asleep mode.

  “Rough night?” Brooklyn hands me a second cup of coffee at the nurses' station. I see her son curled up under the desk with a game. Not unusual for a Sunday shift. “What happened to you last night? I saw you with Devon. Did you?”

  “You can stop with the eyebrows,” I order, sipping the last dregs out of my first coffee. “Nothing happened.”

  Brooklyn plops into the chair beside me. “Bummer. I was hoping you’d get some action.”

  I shoot her a look. “Why?”

  Shrugging, Brooklyn clicks the mouse to bring her screen alive. “I guess because I want to live vicariously through you.”

  I laugh loudly, breaking it off into an embarrassed cough. “I think you should find someone else. My life is boring.”

  Brooklyn’s face says she does not believe me. I point at her. “This is why I don’t tell people I write romances.”

  “What?” All fake innocence in that one word.

  “People get strange ideas. I write what I want to live. Not what I actually live. It’s a fantasy.” Sighing, I turn toward the second cup and my computer screen. It may be a Sunday, but even the slowest day of the week is relatively busy in a rehab center. Patients still require their daily exercises.

  “Bummer.”

  “Definitely a bummer,” I agree with her. Then I’m busy working. One day, hopefully soon, I’ll be able to stop working as a nurse to write full time. By my calculations, I’m at least one year out. Two years if I want a big buffer against rocky months.

  It’s lunchtime in what feels like only minutes. I stand in the nurses' station, stretching, when I hear his voice.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I look over and straight into the smiling face of Devon. He’s holding a bundle of flowers. “Here to see your mother, Mr. Parker?” I am always formal and professional on the job. “She should return to her room in a moment. I’m sure she’ll love the flowers.”

  His eyes twinkle. He hands over half of the flower bundle to me. “These are for you.”

  I gasp as my fingers wrap around the paper. Inside, I can feel the vase. “Um, thank you.” It’s awkwardly said. Hardly conveys anything.

  Devon winks. “I had a lovely chat with Julia. Did you know that she’s got information on the love lives of every person in this place? Highly informative.”

  I should have realized when I made the coffee offer that Devon would come at it as a challenge. It never occurred to me that he’d seek out Julia though. The traitor.

  Brooklyn is grinning, eyes dashing between me and Devon. Thank goodness she’s not speaking. Devon does not need help.

  “How about lunch? I hear your break is,” he makes a point of checking the solid watch on his wrist, “now.”

  “Um, yes, well, uh.” Why can’t I speak like a normal person?

  “Claire was just about to leave. If you want, I’ll watch your mother’s flowers until you get back,” Brooklyn offers.

  Devon beams at her like she offered to have his baby. Or maybe I’m overreacting. Probably overreacting. “Watch these too, then,” I snap, setting my vase down on the counter.

  “Will do.” Brooklyn doesn’t even act flustered. “Have fun,” she calls as Devon walks me to the elevator, his hand against my back. “And don’t worry about hurrying back.”

  Thank goodness the elevator door closed. “I do know where I’m going.” The heat from his hand feels too good. I don’t want to feel attracted to him.

  Devon chuckles. “I’m sure you do.” His palm flattens against my back. “I plan to stick close.”

  Gah. What is he doing? Why is he here? And why does he want to torture me with… I suck in a breath. His fingers dig into my back muscles. The kneading is glorious. My muscles ache from too many hours spent typing yesterday. I arch my back. His fingers keep working their magic, gliding up to my shoulders.

  Devon moves behind me, both hands working out the tension in my shoulders
.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” I ask, all breathy. I definitely do not want him to stop. And yet I want him to stop. So confusing.

  “College football medicine guy. He was a huge fan of relaxing muscles.” Devon leans close, his voice tickling my ear. “Works wonders when I want to get close.” He kisses my neck.

  I gasp, jerking away hard. Devon wears an angelic expression. Except for his eyes. His eyes say he meant all that and more. Lots more.

  And I’m sucking wind, knowing that Devon is better equipped to pursue me now than in high school. I will have to work hard to keep from falling under his spell.

  6

  Devon

  Down, boy. Don’t move too fast. You don’t want to scare her. I keep telling myself that, but when I get close, my head goes straight to other things.

  I need to remind myself that, as far as Claire is concerned, I am the one who left. Sure I hadn’t wanted to. Not like that. But when faced with being under my dad’s thumb for the rest of my life, there was no way I could stay.

  Getting Claire to trust me again would take time. Unfortunately, time is not something I have in abundance. Training starts soon. Then I’d only have weekends to earn Claire’s trust back. I kind of feel like I’ll need every day to get her on my side.

  “Did you enjoy the rest of the reunion?” Claire’s eyes refuse to meet mine.

  I shrug. “Not really. The only person I wanted to talk to left.”

  Claire snorts. “Were you bored?”

  “Utterly.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  I blink. “Why would you think that? I don't have a lot of friends left from high school. Do you?”

  I watch as Claire gives a slight shoulder roll. “Not really. A few. It's hard to move on if you’ve never left.” She gives me a pointed look.

  Right. Not yet forgiven. Point made. “You know I didn't want to leave you.”

  “But you didn't take me with you.”

  “I couldn't. I didn't have a job and my dad said he’d cut me off if I did.”

  Claire blinks wide shocked eyes. “He said he’d cut you off if I went to college with you? Really?”

  I feel my cheeks heating.

  “What are you lying about?” Claire demands.

  “I didn't say that you were just going to college with me.”

  I can see the fire snapping in her eyes. Her lips flatten into a line. She drops her head to the side to stare at me, catching me off guard. “What exactly did you imply then?”

  As if she doesn’t care, Claire lifts the glass of water off the table and takes a slow sip.

  “That I was going to marry you.”

  The glass makes a sharp sound when she sets it on the table. I meet her eyes, tips of my ears burning with humiliation. You’d think, being a pro football player and all, that I could stop these sorts of telltale embarrassing signs. And I can, but not with Claire. With Claire, I am definitely back in high school.

  “You're making that up.”

  The accusation hits me smack in the face. If I was red a moment ago, now I'm almost white with rage. “I am not.”

  “You did not ask me to marry you. You just told me it was over.”

  “Well, I was planning to ask you.”

  Claire stands up, her chair sliding out behind her, her palms going flat on the table. “But you didn't. You left without a word.”

  This was definitely one of those don’t-poke-the-bear moments. I shifted slowly in my seat, looking up at her. “I was barely nineteen, Claire. I wasn't able to be the man you needed back then. I'm sorry.”

  A series of emotions flash across her face, some of which I can’t identify. I lean toward her. “Please don't go. Stay and have lunch with me.”

  I’m asking. Begging, really. There is no way I can demand anything of Claire. But I want her to forgive me. I want to try again. I can’t say it again yet because I know she’ll refuse.

  Claire straightens away from me, arms crossing her chest. She shakes her head.

  Hope drains out of me with that small movement.

  “Not today Devon.”

  “You're not even going to let me try, are you?” I accuse, not attempting to hide the hurt.

  “Not today. But…” My heart picks up speed. “… I work again on Wednesday.”

  “Are you asking me out to lunch?” I wiggle a brow at her, relief flashing through me when she smiles.

  “I am. If you're really interested in showing me that you’re sincere.”

  I sit up straight, every part of me at full attention.

  “I suggest you plan something other than a lunch date at the rehab center though because that’s not gonna cut.”

  With that, Claire turns on her heel and walks away. Not before I see her grin. Maybe I’m not completely in the doghouse. At least I have an opening. And I will ensure I use every second from now until Wednesday to prove I deserve this chance.

  7

  Claire

  Brooklyn throws down some major flak when I return from my pseudo lunch date with a to-go carrier. “You’re an idiot” feature prominently in her words. I blush and agree. Silently. I’m not willing to risk my heart just yet. Brooklyn doesn’t need to know how scared I am.

  Ten minutes after I came back on shift, Devon grabs the second bouquet of flowers off the nurses’ desk and heads toward his mother’s room. Not without offering me a huge, obvious wink as he walks by.

  Brooklyn smirks at me. “Better not let him see you smiling like that, he might get the wrong idea.”

  I force the smile from my face. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t.”

  Thankfully, I have rounds to do. Patients and their needs do a solid job of distracting me from thinking about Devon. Mostly.

  When my shift ends, I pass through the automatic doors before I see him sitting on a bench. Waiting for me. I can only stare. What is he doing here? Pretend this isn’t a shock.

  Too bad I ruin that goal by blurting, “We agreed on Wednesday.”

  Devon stands. His board shoulders steal my breath as he comes toward me. “We did indeed.” He shrugs and I can’t tear my eyes away. “I figured you might need to eat tonight too.”

  He stares down at me, a small smile on his lips and what looks like actual hope in his eyes. “You do plan to eat, don't you?”

  I swear it’s all I can do to not sigh and press myself against him. “Starving is overrated.”

  The grin that spreads across his face sends my heart into double time. I roll my eyes. “Fine, you can take me to Mack’s for dinner.” If I’m going to lose this battle, then I might as well be fed. Stamina.

  Devon jingles his car keys. “I’ll drive.”

  “Don't bother. It's within walking distance.” I glance up, my smile growing at his surprise. “And we're definitely walking.”

  Devon falls into step beside me without a single word of complaint — which is a nice change from anyone else I’ve dated. The moments of silence linger on as he and I exchange glances, but not words. Finally I ask, “Do you enjoy playing for the White-Tails?”

  “I do.” He nods firmly. “It's the culmination of a dream to work with Coach Jones.”

  I stuttered step. “The coach? I figured it was the team or salary that called you.”

  Devon snorts, his mouth curving up on one side. “Most people do.” He tilts his head slightly. “Are you money motivated, Claire?”

  “I’d be an idiot not to consider it, given what life’s been like,” I counter.

  “True. But is it a deciding factor?” He’s staring rather intently ahead, but I catch his eyes watching me. “Like is money more important to you than say, happiness in a job?”

  I bark a laugh. We’re in the middle of the sidewalk, across the street from Mack’s. I put a hand on my hip. “You don’t get it, Devon.”

  “What don’t I get?”

  My head shakes in near disgust. “I’d make at least half ove
r my current salary if I worked somewhere else.”

  “So why do you work at the rehab center then?”

  It isn’t confusion I read on his face. I’m not sure what it is, but I know my answer is critical to him. “For the coffee.”

  His brows quirk upwards. “The coffee?”

  I head across the street. “It’s the best outside of Mack’s and it’s too noisy in there to work.”

  Devon holds the door to Mack’s open for me. I glance up. “Plus the hours are perfect.”

  “Perfect?”

  “Never on-call and people rarely die.” I grin.

  Devon laughs. “That's why I like you, Claire. You see what’s really important in life.”

  As we sit down in a booth, I ask, “I take it you’ve gone through the same?”

  Devon peeks at me over the menu. “Meaning my picking a team for the coach instead of the salary?”

  “Yep.”

  Devon lays his menu down, gaze intent on me. “You actually see me, Claire.”

  I shrug at the compliment. Not what I want to focus on though. “Maybe because I knew you before.” I leave off the most important aspect: before you were a pro football player.

  “I’m guessing so.”

  The softening of his eyes scares and thrills me. I look away, back at the menu. “So, do you know what you want?”

  8

  Devon

  You. The word is said only in my mind, but it’s there. Loud and clear. I want Claire like I want sleep and a hard workout on the field that leaves me feeling the satisfaction of having done my best.

  And telling her that fact right now would be the single worst thing I could do. So, instead, I look at the menu and pick something to eat.

  We eat. We talk. I walk her home and kiss her on her cheek. Not where I want to kiss her. Definitely not where I want the night to end, but I have time. Not a lot of time, but some. And I need Claire to want me. I need her to be the one to ask. Because, if I ask, I wouldn’t know for sure if she’s actually forgiven me or not.