But she had agonized for hours over what to wear. Shorts and a tank weren’t enough, she claimed, but a frilly skirt seemed like she was trying too hard.
Being the wise male he was, with experience with his sisters, Stephen retreated to his own room, where he dressed in under five minutes in a simple polo and khaki shorts. He hovered an extra half hour, checking baseball scores on his phone, because he knew if he left the bedroom he’d be bombarded with Does this look right? What about this? If I switch this top with this one, will it be better? He had sisters. He knew the game.
No, best to stay in his own little cave and be safe. Cowardly? Maybe. But he preferred to think of it as using his God-given survival instincts.
Darwin would be proud.
Mags beat on his door a few minutes into his watching a bloopers clip from ESPN’s mobile site. “Stephen! I need help!”
He grumbled, then tried, “I’m in the bathroom.”
“No, you’re not. I hear your phone. I know you’re sitting on your bed. Just get out here, you liar.”
There went that idea. With a sigh, he blanked out his phone’s screen, tossed the cell on the bed and walked to the door. “If you’re going to ask me, again, what to wear, I’m going to tell you the same thing I said before. Whatever you pick out is fine.”
“Coward,” she said as he opened the door.
And nearly swallowed his tongue.
She had her back facing him, hair scooped over one shoulder to reveal the long, creamy length of her neck and back, which was exposed by the dress she wore being completely unzipped. The V of exposed skin ended just above her lower back, and showed off a pale pink bra that he could have unfastened with his teeth in five seconds flat, if given the chance.
“I can’t reach it, and I think it’s stuck,” she said in an annoyed tone. “Help.”
He froze, not sure what to do. “Can’t you just, like, tug on it?”
“Stephen.” Her tone was sharp. “Just zip the damn thing up. We’re going to be late.”
“Can’t be late to an informal get-together.”
She stomped her foot, which was in a cute little sandal. “Do it now or I’ll start rearranging everything in the house while you’re at workouts.”
“Vicious little thing,” he muttered as he reached for the zipper. Thanks to his fingers being the size they were, and her zipper pull being the size of a clothespin, he couldn’t find it. “What the hell . . . Where is it?”
“You have to dig for it. It’s a hidden zipper, so the pull thingie is probably stuffed down in there.”
Oh, super. “My hands are too big for this.”
“Stephen. Please.”
The pleading tone, and the fact that her breathing started to speed up from the unnecessary anxiety of being late, had him sucking in a breath and going for it. With one hand, he plucked and pulled at the fabric, searching for the invisible tab. The other, he cautiously slid between the dress and her skin to push it out farther and make the zipper more accessible. As the backs of his fingers skimmed over her skin, he heard her breath hitch.
Yeah, that makes two of us, sweetheart.
His fingertip brushed against lace, and he knew he’d reached the waistband of her panties.
No, don’t go there. Just get the damn dress zipped up so you can go.
When was the last time dressing a woman had been more erotic than undressing her?
Never. That’s when.
He fumbled, cursed, debated getting a pair of scissors to just cut the thing off—which led to even more sexual images flittering through his mind—and finally located the infinitesimal zipper pull and yanked.
And yanked.
And yanked, then yanked again until the zipper pull finally freed itself from whatever snag it had been caught on and zipped like the damn thing was meant to.
She breathed a sigh of relief when he finished the project at the base of her neck, shaking back her hair to cover what he’d just accomplished. “Thank you. Okay, now we can go.” When she turned, he saw she’d picked a floral-print dress—maybe a sundress? He didn’t know—and simple, low-heeled sandals to go with it. She held a sweater in one hand, along with her purse. She was ready to roll.
And all he wanted to do was grab her arm, pull her into his bedroom, and undo all the hard work he’d just suffered through in order to get her naked and in his bed with him.
“We need to go.” He shut his bedroom door—metaphorically slamming shut the opportunity—and took her elbow to walk her to the stairs. “We don’t wanna be late.”
“I thought you weren’t worried about—Stephen! Slow down!”
He slowed down, just enough to get them down the stairs in one piece, then hustled her to the car and into the passenger seat. “I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”
“What? You just want me to sit here?” She looked confused, a little baffled, and maybe some annoyed in there, too.
Good.
“Yeah, just one minute. Here, start the car.” He tossed her the keys and raced back inside.
Where he could have a minute of privacy to adjust the crotch of his pants and calm himself the fuck down before waving his woody all over town.
***
Unlike the happy, casual barbecue at Trey Owens’s house, this affair seemed much more stuffy. More uptight, less chance for joking around. Mags held tight to her glass of white wine, terrified to spill a drop onto the carpets. She didn’t dare try the food. It was clearly catered, and there was nothing available she could even recognize easily, and that would be even worse to clean up than a spilled drop of white wine.
Talk about feeling like a fraud . . . She was the help you brought in the morning after one of these parties to clean up the mess. Not the guest you invite to begin with.
“Hey, Margaret.” Aileen, looking cute in a skirt and top, with simple flats and a big tote-like purse, walked up. “How’s the food?”
Mags grimaced and said quietly, “I haven’t had the nerve to try some yet. Stephen’s getting a plate for himself, but I’m just . . .”
“It’s no barbecue from Trey’s house,” Aileen supplied, grinning when Mags sighed in relief. “I know, I hate the more formal events myself. I don’t often go, actually. The guys we hang out with don’t have a problem with me and my job, but the more broad you get into the organization, the more stiff they get when they find out I’m a reporter.”
“That’s a shame.”
“No kidding.” Aileen took a sip of her glass of red wine. “If they don’t talk, how am I supposed to ferret out all the dirty secrets from the players?”
Mags blinked, staring, until Aileen laughed and bumped elbows with her. “I’m kidding! I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. I prefer straight interviews and other ways of getting information. I don’t like playing the secret spy or lying to get what I want.”
She sighed a little and felt heat creep up her neck. “Sorry, I should have known. I’m just wound so tight. It’s my first official team function.”
“I know what you mean. And it’s an odd one,” Aileen said in a low voice, leaning in a bit. “Burt Talbin is a good coach, and a nice guy from all accounts. But he keeps his family and private life pretty close to the vest. So him hosting the party, when it would normally be Coach Jordan and his wife’s thing . . . odd all the way around.”
“I heard something about them,” Mags admitted. “Just some of those blogs. I try to keep up, because of working for so many of the players. It’s nice to know what’s going on with the team in case they want to chitchat. But I’ve heard rumors . . .”
“Everyone has. But . . . Hey, stranger.” Aileen grinned as Stephen approached. “How’s life in the sober lane?”
Mags snorted into her wine, but Stephen simply leaned down—way down—to kiss Aileen’s cheek. “Smartass.”
“Figures.” Killian Reeves approached and wrapped an arm around Aileen’s waist, pulling her back against his chest. “If anyone’s out there being a smartass, it’
d be my woman.”
Aileen kept a small smile on her face but didn’t argue.
Stephen pinched a teardrop-shaped bite of whatever and held the plate out. “Want some?”
She gave it a quick look then shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
He shrugged, then mirrored Killian’s posture with his own free hand, pulling her back against him. Which was comical for them, as she barely came up to Stephen’s chest, whereas Aileen and Killian seemed to fit perfectly together. She just felt awkward.
Maybe that’s because she also felt like an imposter.
But after a moment, as his hand spanned across her stomach, she let herself relax. His heartbeat against her cheek was soothing, and she could forget for a moment she was in a house with people she didn’t know and wasn’t altogether comfortable with, and was pretty sure she might make an ass of herself at any given moment.
“You okay?” he asked, his lips brushing against the curve of her ear. She shuddered, and his hand tightened a moment against her belly. “If you want to go, we will.”
“I’m fine. Just getting my bearings is all.”
“Have I told you that you look incredible today?”
She tried to consider whether the comment was meant for her benefit alone, or because people were near.
God, this stupid, stupid agreement.
“Hey, Reeves, Harrison.” Josiah wandered up, holding a glass of what she assumed was water. “Coach wants to see us in the other room.”
“Just us?” Killian asked.
“Yeah, players only. Sorry, ladies,” he added with an apologetic smile. “Not sure how long we’ll be, but it can’t be avoided.”
“We’re fine.” Aileen patted Killian’s chest, brushed a kiss across his lips, and gave his butt a good swat as he walked by. “See ya later, cutie.”
He scowled at her, but Margaret could tell it was only for show, thanks to the heat in his eyes.
“Better go see what the boss man wants.” Stephen’s hand dropped from her waist, and she had to bite back a sigh at losing its steadying, warm presence. He handed her the plate of food—which she wouldn’t be touching—and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. When he started to pull back, he rocked forward once more and captured her lips in a hotter kiss. As he pulled away, he said in a low voice, “We are gonna talk about things after we get home.”
With that, he followed the men down the hall into . . . well, she had no clue where as she hadn’t taken the ten-cent tour of the house.
Cassie wandered over after a moment. “Abandoned as well, hmm, ladies?”
Aileen held up her red wine in a mock toast. “Par for the course. Anything decent to eat?”
Mags looked at the plate in her hand, then thrust it at her. “Here.”
With a grimace, Aileen took the plate and considered her options.
“Poor Mrs. Talbot,” Cassie said with a pitying look at the plate. “She had to throw this thing together at the last minute when my stepmother said no to hosting. Or maybe it was my father . . .” Her voice was uncertain. “Not sure. Suffice to say, this was a last-minute thing for her. She’s a lovely person, but entertaining isn’t her thing.”
“Then we’ll do the best we can to show her we appreciate the effort,” Margaret said after a moment. Maybe the older woman who had answered the door when they’d arrived was as at sea in the whole thing as she felt. “Let’s go find her and see if we can help with anything.”
“Good idea,” Cassie agreed, linking arms with her and nudging Aileen to follow. “Let’s do that.”
Chapter Ten
“This doesn’t feel good,” Josiah muttered to him as Stephen followed the herd toward the back of the house.
“You’re not kidding.” He leaned an arm on his favorite running back and limped a little. “Think I can get out of it if I twist my ankle?”
“It’s not a sprint drill, so no. Knock it off, you two,” Trey said easily behind them. “This is weird enough without you two acting like morons.”
“Jeez,” Josiah muttered. “Guy gets leg shackled and suddenly he’s Mr. Serious.”
Trey flicked both of them on the back of the head in response.
Rubbing the area, Stephen followed everyone through the kitchen and into what appeared to be an open sunroom. The wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the wooded area behind the house made the room feel as if it were in a bubble within nature. It was a pretty cool room, really.
Maybe after this little meeting they were about to have, Stephen could approach Coach Talbin and get his opinion on breaking the news to Coach Jordan about not actually dating Mags so much as using her as a stand-in life coach. Talbin was easier to talk to, and he had a feeling they could at least discuss the merits of coming clean now.
And Stephen wanted that, badly. Mags was straining under the weight of their deception, and he wasn’t a fan, either. He wanted no barriers in the way of pursuing her legitimately. No doubts in her mind when he kissed her that he meant it, and it wasn’t a show.
Stephen waited as guys filled the two couches and recliner before taking a seat on the floor with a few more, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. It wasn’t even half the team, and they were packed like sardines in the large room. And at the front, with Coach Talbin, was Coach Jordan . . . who hadn’t been present at the party.
Not that he looked much like partying. His face was set in a grim line, his body posture screamed, “I’m pissed off,” and he was underdressed compared to the rest of them in simple jeans and a Bobcats T-shirt. As Stephen had never seen his coach underdressed before . . . it was an unsettling sight.
They waited until the guys were settled before Coach Talbin cleared his throat and spoke.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. I know it’s a little out of the ordinary to host our veteran preseason get-together here, but we appreciate you participating and being present.” He seemed . . . nervous, which was very out of character for their easygoing assistant coach. More than a few guys had caught on to the energy and were shifting around, looking at one another for clues.
Coach Jordan’s face was as hard as granite, and he’d yet to uncross his arms since they entered.
“This year is going to be a bit different. Last year was something of an anomaly, we thought,” he went on, pulling at the neck of his dress shirt. “What with the pressure and media attention focused more on families instead of on the field.”
They all knew who that was intended for. Coach Jordan and his straitlaced, uberconservative moral standards, being usurped by having had a child out of wedlock decades ago . . . Cassie. Stephen stole a quick glance at Trey, and found his friend’s jaw clenched so hard he worried he might need dental surgery.
“And we’d hoped to have left that behind us, but now . . .” Talbin cleared his throat again—nobody needed to clear their throat this much—and tried to speak but simply coughed. “But now . . .”
“But now things are changing,” Coach Jordan finally jumped in.
The silence among the group was heavy, like a wet blanket of anticipation and dread. He wanted to get up and shake it off, but he knew that would only make it worse.
“As much as I don’t want this season to turn into what it was last year, there are personal situations happening that might affect how the media comes at us. And as vets, I’m telling you first, because you are the example for how the rookies and trades will conduct themselves. I expect you to play all things close to the vest. Personal Bobcat family business is just that . . . personal. Everyone understand?”
There were nods and a few Yes, sirs, but for the most part, it was quiet enough to hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
“Just tell them, Coach,” Talbin muttered, but it was so silent, everyone heard him.
“Tabitha—my wife,” Coach Jordan clarified, as if none of them knew that, “and I have filed for divorce.”
Somewhere else in the house, the women chattered on, dishes and glassware clinked, the AC kicked in and h
ummed in an almost-unnoticed low buzz.
Except they all noticed, because not a single one of the twenty-plus men crowded in the small sunroom was moving. Breathing. Blinking.
“This might come as a shock,” he went on, when it was clear nobody else was going to say anything, “but in the end, I think this is for the best. I should clarify that my daughter—Cassandra,” he added, again unnecessarily as they all knew her, “is not to blame. None of my children are. Sometimes . . .” He shook his head, sighed, and let his chin drop to his chest.
In the dictionary, next to the word defeated, there was a picture of someone with posture just like that.
Stephen dared a quick glance around him at the others. Several had their mouths hanging open like some easy-pickin’s trout. A few others had lowered their own heads.
It was like the end of an era, or something. Maybe not in reality, but with how solid a front the coach and his wife had presented in previous seasons, he could understand why some of the younger guys would be bowled over by this news.
He knew more than most what had been going on behind the scenes, and even he was a little breathless. Not that he would miss the coach’s wife . . . She could leave. He had never met, or heard of, a more judgmental, quick-to-snap woman in his life. The way she’d treated Cassie had been nothing short of horrible. On the outside, she was good at projecting the “We’re A Perfect Family” facade, but inside the Jordan house . . .
Trey’s hands fisted and unfisted at his sides. Stephen wondered if his friend knew. If Cassie knew. Then her cryptic comment from earlier came back to him. She knew. She was waiting for her father to spring the news to his vets himself, but she knew. The question was if Trey knew.
“We’re working overtime to make sure that my personal life doesn’t affect the season. Again,” he said, and a few guys dared to chuckle. The strain around the coach’s eyes seemed to soften a bit at that. “I want us to have a record-breaking season. We’ve got good guys coming up from the draft, a few good trades. We’re strong. We’ve got no excuse this year. I won’t be an excuse for losing our focus on the field. That’s all that matters. And you all,” he added, letting his steely gaze rake over the crowd at large, “will help me by keeping your asses in line. I mean twenty-four hours a day, you are on your A-game. No scandals. No lies. Nothing from my players that will make me judge your ability to be an asset to this team rather than an obstacle. We are already starting with one of those this year. Let’s not add to the pile.”
Takes Two to Tackle Page 9