Pass Interference

by Desiree Holt

  Maybe, possibly, one of her friends had laid their phone on a bar or table and someone had managed to scroll the contacts list. Or… The list was longer than her driveway.

  First thing today after she dressed, she was getting another phone with yet another new number. She’d keep this one for all those annoying calls and use the new one for personal calls. That way she’d have some control over the situation. Maybe the person would get tired of it and go away.

  She dried herself off, her mind doing a quick flashback to the previous night and Rafe. Calling him had been a move of desperation for her. She hadn’t known who else would rescue her from the rapidly deteriorating situation. She got the feeling he didn’t have a very high opinion of her but not nearly as bad as how she saw herself. What the hell was she doing with her life, anyway?

  In a short robe and still barefoot, she carried a fresh mug of coffee out to the deck and dropped down into one of the lounge chairs. Letting the sunlight warm her, she closed her eyes for a moment and there was Rafe’s face again. That thick shock of midnight-black hair set off a dark face with a square jaw and high cheekbones. Eyelashes as black as his hair and as thick as a woman’s curtained eyes of a shocking electric blue. Faint evening scruff shadowing his square jaw made him look devilishly sexy. And his lips. God, those full lips, so soft yet at the same time hard and demanding. Remembering the feel of them, she touched her fingertips to her mouth.

  If she’d just pushed it, she was sure she could have had him. The swollen thickness of his cock had been unmistakable when she’d imprinted her body against his. And she hadn’t imagined the heat of the kiss before he’d forced her away. His tongue had been just as much involved in that kiss as hers.

  She didn’t think it would have taken much more effort on her part to coax him inside the house, to peel off the soft-collar shirt that matched his eyes so perfectly and the jeans that hugged his muscular legs and very fine ass. Oh, yes, she’d noticed his ass.

  Over time her crush had developed and blossomed, despite no interaction between them to help it along. She’d certainly tried to obliterate her feelings with her lifestyle, but there it was. She was plain and simply stuck on the man. And wasn’t that just a bitch, because she had as much chance of making anything happen as she did of her father giving her a hug and telling her he loved her.

  Inside, she rinsed her mug and set it beside the sink. Fetching her phone, she scrolled through until she found the number she wanted.

  “Hope you’re not all perky today.” Betsy Timmerman punctuated her words with a loud yawn.

  “I don’t think perky exactly describes my situation,” she told her friend. “I need to do some stuff, and I want company. Is today a free day for you?”

  Betsy was a docent at the San Antonio Museum of Fine Art three days a week, a responsibility she took very seriously.

  “Sure is,” Betsy said. “What’s on your plate?”

  “I need to buy another phone, for one thing.” Betsy was the only person she’d shared her problem with.”

  “Oh, Tyler.” She heard the caring note in Betsy’s voice. “Are you still getting those damn calls? You ought to report it.”

  “And say what?” she asked. “They’ll want to know who it could be and they don’t have enough time to hear all the names. I’ll get halfway through the list and they’ll tell me they’re sorry but my lifestyle just leaves me open to stuff like this. It’s my problem.”

  “Surely not,” Betsy protested. “They’re the police. They have to help everyone, no matter what they think.”

  Tyler gave a bitter laugh. “You keep right on thinking that, Betsy, if you want to. They like to write off people like you and me.”

  “But your father has a lot of influence,” her friend said. “Get him on it.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s the last person I want to tell. He already thinks I’m a wasted piece of trash.”

  Betsy was silent for a long moment. “Maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet with him.”

  Tyler snorted. “Oh, right. What kind of pills are you popping?”

  “I’m just sayin’, you know? After all, you are his daughter.”

  “He hasn’t cared about that all these years. He’s not going to start now.” She sighed. “No, I’ll figure this out myself. So, are you up for some shopping and lunch at Al Dente?”

  Betsy laughed. “Two of my favorite activities.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  Before she could climb back up the stairs, her doorbell rang. A deliveryman stood there holding a disgustingly atrocious display of flowers.

  “Miss Gillette?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “These are for you. Glad you’re home to receive them.”

  Tyler stared at them. “Who are they from?” she demanded.

  The driver juggled the flowers and checked his digital tablet. “All it says here is From the man who will always love you. Wow! He must really love you a lot. I know what they cost.”

  Tyler stepped back into the hallway. “Please take them away. Right now.”

  “But—”

  “Away. Now.” She practically slammed the door in the poor man’s face. This had to be Nate. No amount of flowers or candy would gloss over the disaster that was her marriage.

  She sat down on the stairs for a few minutes to pull herself together. This just had to stop. And she had to quit letting it bother her. But the phone calls and the flowers and the—

  Get it together, girl. If you fall apart, he wins. Whoever he is.

  Finally she pulled herself together and stiffened her spine. She’d go to lunch and ignore this. But maybe today she’d go without all the typical Tyler glitz. Maybe it was time for a change. Because she was tired of wasting her life, throwing it away and getting nothing for it. She knew who she really was on the inside. Maybe it was time to show the world on the outside.

  Eventually she settled on a pair of unadorned skinny jeans—she hadn’t even known she had any—and a plain, pale green T-shirt with no embroidery or bedazzling on it. She didn’t even remember buying it. She unwound the towel from her head and picked up her blow-dryer to style her hair, then stopped, changed the setting and just dried it enough so she could skin it back into a ponytail.

  She opened her makeup drawer, decided on just a brush of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. She felt almost naked without the heavy mask of makeup she usually wore, but damn if she didn’t look a lot better. Younger, even. Well, well, well. Simple studs in her ears completed her outfit. Then she was ready to go.

  When she picked up her cell, she looked at it for a long moment, sure she was about to make a stupid mistake.

  Do not call Rafe. Do. Not. Call.

  But it’s just to say thank you, she told herself.

  Uh-huh.

  Her finger hovered over the keypad and before she could change her mind, she punched in the number. By the time she hung up, she was almost sorry she’d called. What had she expected, that he would ask her out?

  Oh, right! Dream on.

  Time to head out.

  When she picked up Betsy, her friend slid into the passenger seat of Tyler’s car and froze in place.

  “What’s the matter?” Tyler asked. “Something wrong?”

  Betsy just stared at her. “I didn’t recognize you. What’s the deal?”

  “With what?” But Tyler was sure she knew what she meant.

  “The clean-face look. You lose your makeup box?” Betsy continued to stare at her.

  “Maybe I’m incognito. Fasten your seat belt.”

  “I need a drink.” Betsy fastened the safety clasp of the belt. “I can’t stand the shock.”

  “Okay,” Tyler grinned. “We’ll have iced tea with lunch.”

  “Jesus, Tyler. What the hell is this all about?”

  “Maybe it’s just about me,” Tyler said. “Maybe I just need a change.”

  “U
h-huh. We’ll see.” Betsy chuckled. “We’ll just see.” She paused. “Although I have to say, you look a hell of a lot better.”

  * * * *

  The team headquarters was busy, probably because the Hawks had just returned from two weeks on the road. Rafe knew they hated playing back-to-back away games, much as he had before he retired. The National Football League, however, had its own method of scheduling and there wasn’t much to do except go along with it. At least they now allowed for jet lag when putting the calendar together. Rafe sometimes traveled with the team depending on the location. This time he’d chosen to stay home, clean up loose ends, and get ready for the first game after their return. He saved the open file on his computer and pulled up his digital calendar.

  An important game was coming up Sunday, a highly competitive game with the Austin Mustangs. For the stadium security team this meant more drinking to monitor, more tailgate parties to keep an eye on, more everything. Only a few more days to prepare for the next onslaught of trouble. For the most part, football fans, as crazy as they were, behaved themselves. They respected the sport and the players and wanted only to show their support. But there were always the exceptions. In recent years there seemed to be more and more of them, people looking to settle sports disagreements with their fists rather than their mouths, and often in more drastic measures.

  Then there were the fans who had that one beer too many and got belligerent when told they would have to leave. Rafe drilled his men constantly on the best way to handle all these people with a minimum of fuss and disturbance to the people around them. It was important that those who paid to see their team play had the best experience possible.

  He had met with his staff twice already this week, but he made a note on the calendar for one more meeting on Saturday. He wanted to review everything before he went through the game-day drill once more. Clicking on Invite, he sent the notice with the time and place to everyone on the stadium security team.

  Finally he sat back in his chair, wishing like hell he could erase the previous night from his mind. Images of Tyler Gillette had plagued his dreams so intensely that he woke with a painful morning woody. He’d tried an icy shower to shrink his stubborn cock but not even what he felt was subzero temperature had helped. He’d ended up turning the water to full steam, soaping his hand, and stroking himself to completion, imagining a naked Tyler kneeling before him with her slender fingers gripped around him. When the hot cum erupted from him and slid thickly over his fingers, his body had shaken with the effects of the release.

  He’d leaned against the shower wall until he could catch his breath again and his legs were steady. For a hand job, the orgasm had been so powerful it totally rocked him. Not only didn’t he remembered the last time he’d had such a draining climax, he also couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed his good right hand as a partner. Maybe when he was sixteen?

  He glanced reflexively down at his crotch, startled to realize he’d placed his hand over his fly and the insistent bulge beneath it.

  Damn, Rafe! Get your shit together.

  Tyler Gillette was forbidden fruit on so many levels. When the Hawks drafted him right out of college, the gates of the future had opened wide for him. He’d had a successful playing career, choosing to retire while his body was still in one piece. With his degree in criminal justice, he’d had a lot of options to examine.

  Then Anthony Castillo, owner of Lone Star Security, had stepped in with an offer he couldn’t refuse—head of security for Southern Bank Stadium and for the team. Kurt Gillette and the Hawks would be his sole responsibility. He couldn’t believe they had given him this assignment first thing out of the box, but he’d busted his ass not to let anyone down.

  Which was a very good reason to stay away from a wild card like Tyler Gillette, no matter how many of his fantasies she’d starred in over the years.

  At that moment, the phone on his desk buzzed and he hit the Intercom button.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Tyler Gillette.” He heard both amusement and curiosity in the voice of the team receptionist.

  Was it possible his wandering mind had called her up just like that?

  Shit.

  “Did she say what she wants?”

  “Just asked if she could speak to you for a minute.” Pause. “I did ask if she’d leave a message, but she said she wanted to speak to you personally.”

  Now what?

  He heaved a sigh, something he seemed to do a lot of where this woman was concerned. “Okay. Put her through.”

  He heard the click of the connection: “Tyler?”

  “Good morning, Rafe.”

  She sounded a little less sure of herself today for some reason. Without the slurring caused by the alcohol or the gruffness of a late-night voice, her voice was almost musical.

  Musical? Where had that come from?

  “What can I do for you?” The best thing was to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible. He did not need any more contact with this woman than absolutely necessary. He hoped she wasn’t calling to pursue that hot kiss from last night. He’d need every bit of tact and diplomacy to get out of that bit of trouble.

  “I just wanted to call and thank you for coming to get me last night.” She cleared her throat. “I appreciate it.”

  Hmm. That was the last thing he’d expected.

  “I’m just glad I could be of help.” He waited, wondering if she expected him to say something else, but what?

  “Okay.” Her voice breaking the silence startled him. “Well, thanks again for the rescue and thanks for your time.”

  And she was gone.

  Thanks for your time? What the hell did that mean? She had to know that one of these days, she’d get herself in a situation like last night and it wouldn’t end quite as well. She was on a fast trip to self-destruction if she didn’t wake up. Still, it wasn’t his responsibility. She was Kurt Gillette’s daughter. Maybe the old man should put a leash on her the way he did on his players.

  Still, there was something about her that he just couldn’t put his finger on. A feeling that she wore a disguise, that beneath it there just might be a woman he’d like to get to know. Getting involved with Gillette’s daughter, though…

  He gave himself a mental shake. Forget it.

  “Got a minute?”

  He looked up as a gravelly voice broke into his thoughts. Kurt Gillette himself, in dark tailored slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, stood in the doorway. The man pretty much filled the space. A former football player, he still had the bulky but toned appearance of a lineman. Unlike many other former players his age, he hadn’t let his body go soft, despite the amount of time he spent at his desk or in meetings. It was common knowledge that “The Boss” regularly used the workout room when no one was in there.

  “For you?” Rafe smiled. “As many as you want. What can I do for you?”

  Kurt lumbered into the room and dropped into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “It’s about Tyler.”

  Damn! Had his thoughts conjured up this visit with the man himself? Tyler Gillette was the last thing he wanted to discuss, especially with her father. The man would not like what he had to say. Every muscle in Rafe’s body tensed. He forced himself to relax before he spoke.

  “What about her?”

  The man rubbed his jaw. “ I was just wondering… I mean, I know…” He shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

  “Maybe if you tell me what you want, I can tell you if it’s bad or not.”

  “Okay. I just…”

  Rafe knew there was a kicker in here somewhere. This man was never at a loss for words. In fact, sometimes it was next to impossible to shut him up. Oh, crap. Had he heard about last night? Rafe was not in the mood to dissect it.

  “You know I’d never discuss my daughter with anyone but you, Rafe. Right?”

  Oh, shit. Now what?

  It was no
secret the old man and his daughter had a damaged relationship. Was Gillette regretting it now, for some reason? Rafe didn’t think the man ever regretted anything.

  “Where is this going, Kurt?”

  “Okay, here it is. I’ll just say it straight out. It’s been brought to my attention by…people…that my girl has a tendency to get herself into a little bit of trouble now and then. I’ve been hearing about it more and more.”

  Really? No shit. Talk about an understatement. And was he concerned about Tyler or about his own image? He certainly couldn’t like his high-octane friends telling stories about Tyler.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Rafe put a half smile on his face. “I’m sure this concerns you, but I’m not sure what I can do about it.”

  Kurt shifted, as if the chair was uncomfortable. “I don’t have any right to ask this, but I know you’re out here and there some nights.” He lifted a hand. “I don’t mean you hang out in bars and stuff like that. You’re a good man, Rafe. I always thought of you as the son I never had.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  Gillette shook his head. “I know she won’t listen to me. Listen, hell. She hardly talks to me.” He rubbed his jaw. “Anyway, I’m suddenly getting feedback from people more than before, so I just wondered if you could kind of put the word out to keep an eye on her.”

  Ah. Feedback from people. That meant his cronies were asking him what was up with his wayward daughter. But why now? Had news of the debacle at Tequila Sunrise reached his ears? Had someone called him and said, “Your daughter is a mess. Fix it.”? Was this all about how it affected Kurt’s reputation? Or had all the stars suddenly aligned and focused on her father, giving him a nudge? Not likely, but whatever. He’d do whatever he could. After last night, he figured it was necessary, anyway.

  He frowned. “Put the word out where, exactly?”

  Gillette shrugged. “Wherever you can would be appreciated.”

  “I don’t know how much help I can be,” he said. “I hate to say it, Kurt, but it’s not like I can call every bartender in town and ask them to watch out for her.”

  “I know, I know.” The man gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Maybe you could just tell the guys on your security team if they see her any place to pay attention to what’s going on.”