Game For Love: Love Games (Kindle Worlds)

by Mara Jacobs

  “Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. It’ll be Wednesday already and I need all the practice I can get before I leave.” His voice got low, and his drawl came back when he said, “There’s something else I want to get all I can of before I leave.”

  “What?” But she knew what he would say. Hoped, anyway.

  “You.” He hung up, leaving Marlee tingling and aroused and anticipating going home more than she had in years.

  Declan hung up the phone and continued his packing. The destination—if not the content—of the suitcases had changed. For the better, right? In retrospect, Declan wasn’t sure. Marlee’s offer of hospitality had so surprised him that he’d agreed before he could really weigh out the consequences.

  But the consequences shouldn’t be too serious. By making love last night and making her dinner tonight, Declan would already have invaded the two rooms Marlee probably most held dear. The two places that fed her body, anyway.

  He’d received several offers of a place to stay this week, most from the women who were still at his house when he’d arrived Sunday night. But also some from his teammates. Declan didn’t want to take any of them up on their offers. He thought he should be alone this week, or if not alone, at least not someone’s guest. He’d hoped things would work out with Marlee, and he wanted to be able to come and go from her as he pleased.

  This was now a double-edged sword. He was with Marlee, but he couldn’t very well come and go as he pleased, not when he was staying in her house and working with her during the days. Surprisingly, Declan didn’t panic at the thought. In fact, he kind of liked it, which was why he’d said yes to Marlee’s proposition so quickly.

  Declan replayed their conversation in his mind. He wanted to be with her. In her home. Where she was comfortable.

  Declan had seen Marlee’s pure adoration when she’d shown him the pictures of her nieces and nephews last night. The way she’d traced her nephew’s Styrofoam hook with a wistful smile on her face, as if she was right back in the moment, expecting to shield her eyes from the wayward appendage at any minute.

  Declan had seen a softness in Marlee when she looked at those pictures. Not when they were in bed, though. There she had been passionate and responsive, but Declan didn’t fool himself into believing that what Marlee felt for him was real. None of the women Declan was ever with had real sentiment for him. How could they? They never took the time to get to know him. The man he was away from the gridiron.

  And just who was that man? Did he even know? He was going to have a hell of a lot of time to figure it out. All the time in the world. Just him, alone with his thoughts, becoming a man devoid of football.

  Well, not totally devoid. Not if he got this network gig.

  His stomach lurched at the thought, as it did every time he allowed himself to dwell on it. If he didn’t get this, what would he do? He had enough money to last his entire lifetime. Had already set up trust funds for the educations of his nieces and nephews. Made sure the family farm would never be in need of anything, no matter how uncertain farming became. His mother was well taken care of. He’d bought her a condo in Florida for if she ever got tired of Ohio winters on the farm. Realistically, he could just sit back and hobby his way to old age.

  There was a flaw with that plan. Other than cooking, Declan didn’t have many hobbies. He didn’t even get to do much cooking during the season. He ate at the football offices most nights. A salad or eggs in the screening room while he watched video. In the off-season, he was a voracious reader, but even then, hobbies would take second place to his physical regimen. He would still work out several hours a day. More, as he got older and his body was more susceptible to injury.

  The game of football had consumed his whole life, and he was grateful for all it had brought him. Incredible highs and lows, a pride in his body and accomplishments, riches, but most importantly to Declan, the feeling you got when you were on a team.

  There was nothing like it. Being a part of making something happen. Knowing if you didn’t do your best that the end result wasn’t going to be pretty. Chewing guys out when they messed up. Praising them when they did well. Being a part of a team was precious to Declan.

  Down deep, that was what he knew he’d miss most. Not the game itself, but the meshing of guys from all walks of life to achieve a common goal. Maybe he’d get lucky and have that kind of atmosphere with a broadcasting job. After all, most of those guys were retired players too, they probably craved that feeling as well. Declan didn’t think you could achieve that level of camaraderie in a broadcasting booth, but he hoped it was possible. That thought alone kept him from falling into a deep despair over his retirement.

  That was why working with Marlee in front of a camera was so important. He had given thousands of interviews during his career, both on camera and for the print media. But he had always either been on the field or in the locker room—in his element. Playing the role of sports hero. Most times he’d still been in his uniform, wearing it like a shield, only talking about the game and the team, never having to just be…Declan.

  His agent had said they’d have professionals in New York to work with him, but he wanted to practice on his own first. He felt really comfortable with Marlee, assumed he still would even after they’d slept together, and he wanted her input. She obviously knew how to put a program together, and her ease in front of the camera yesterday was unmistakable.

  She taught public speaking for a living, for Christ’s sake.

  Declan wasn’t naive enough to believe that the networks would come calling on his reputation as one of the game’s best quarterbacks alone. He needed to be able to hold his own on camera, and he also had to look good. Looks played a part in broadcasting, that was not to be denied. Why would ESPN put Kirk Herbstreit in blue shirts every week if not to capitalize on his baby blues?

  Declan hadn’t noticed until a woman had pointed it out to him, and, sure enough, the blond, blue-eyed former quarterback was seldom on air when he wasn’t wearing a crisp dark blue shirt under his sports coat. Kirk was a former Ohio State quarterback too—maybe Declan should give him a call and get some inside scoop on this whole audition process.

  He thought he could hold his own with the pretty boys of sports broadcasting. He wasn’t vain, but knew he was considered a good-looking guy. The thought was hard to escape when he was approached several times throughout his career to do a beefcake calendar, or other endorsements. He always said no. Maybe he should have done a few of those things, so at least now it wouldn’t all be so foreign to him. Maybe if he had he’d feel as comfortable at all this as Marlee seemed to.

  Declan didn’t delude himself that it was all Marlee’s delivery and content that made her such a riveting speaker. Just to watch her was a pleasure. Her poise, her confidence that showed through when she spoke were obvious. Classy. Declan thought the word was overused, but it definitely fit Marlee. Maybe he was so drawn to her because there was a definite lack of classy women in Declan’s circle. Whatever. He thought she was classy, and a great speaker, and he was spending the week at her house, the nights in her bed.

  Heaven.

  He went downstairs after packing two bags. One for this week with Marlee, filled with jeans and shirts. The other for next week. A garment bag with a few suits. His agent said that they’d have what they wanted him to wear for the taping in New York already, so Declan only needed to bring some suits to wear to meetings with the networks. Years of traveling had taught Declan to pack light.

  He checked in one last time with the repair guys in the kitchen, making sure they had everything they needed. He surveyed his damaged kitchen one more time and knew he needed to get out of there before he broke down and bawled like a baby over the disorder of his pride and joy.

  Disappointing. That was the word Marlee had used when he told her about the fire damage. Even that set Marlee apart from the other women in his life. Bummer. Drag. Those are words they would have used. But “disappointing” seemed to fit the situation to a t
ee. It was disappointing. The kitchen he loved was not entirely destroyed, but would have to have major renovations done. Declan had taken the opportunity to make some changes in the kitchen. He’d designed it with the contractor six years ago when he’d had the house built, but years of usage had given him some suggestions on how to have it improved.

  He hadn’t had much food in the fridge. The party had been catered and the leftovers were taken to a homeless shelter, per Declan’s request. He purposely didn’t want much food in the house because of him leaving for a week on Sunday. Declan didn’t get a chance to cook much during the season, anyway.

  He cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer because the power would be off in the kitchen for the next several days when the crews began the repairs. He took the few things that would travel well and put them in a box to take to Marlee’s. The rest he put in a bag to take to the same shelter that he’d told the caterers about.

  The NFL was very active with United Way, and Declan had been involved with them and several other charitable organizations his entire career. Before that, really. His parents had instilled in Declan a sense of community, a basic goodness toward his fellow man. Declan had always had the “there but for the grace of God go I” mentality, knowing full well he’d been blessed with a talent that few men possessed. He acknowledged it as well as stood in awe of it.

  Declan could have easily had his cleaning lady take care of all this, but figured this would save her from having to come in at all. She came in twice a week and stocked the fridge, did the laundry and cleaning. Declan had called her and told her to come in only on Friday to see if the crews needed anything and to dispose of any of their trash. He then gave her next week off completely, asking her to come back the following Monday with groceries, as Declan was due to arrive back from New York that Monday night.

  With the home front taken care of, Declan left with all he would need for the next two weeks.

  After stopping by the shelter, taking the time to meet some of the people in attendance and signing a few autographs for them, he spent a couple of hours in the grocery store. He had found a gourmet store in Newton a few years ago. Not too far from where Marlee lived, he now realized. He traveled the aisles several times, feeling produce, sniffing fresh herbs, debating the choices. Marlee being a vegetarian like himself worked out great. Should he impress her with something sleek and ultra nouveau, or go with basic Midwest home-style cooking? He could do both well.

  The thought of how badly he wanted to impress Marlee only slightly irritated him. He was starting to get used to the idea of needing Marlee to see he wasn’t just a womanizing, one-night-stand kind of guy. Surely she didn’t still think about him in those terms? Not after the day they had spent together yesterday. Or the night.

  That, coupled with the fact that he’d accepted her invitation to stay with her this week, should at least let Marlee know she was more than a one-night stand to him. She was more than a week-long stand to him, but he didn’t think she’d want to hear that from him. Not yet, anyway. He had time to work on her.

  He was still working on those thoughts himself.

  He had a fleeting vision of her wooden frames and his silver ones intermingled on a larger mantel, with maybe some golden ones with their own kids photos interspersed between them.

  Where had that thought come from? Still, the vision was crystal clear, and Declan hung on to it for a second or two before he let it drop, like his receivers sometimes did when Declan’s passes were too strong and fierce to hang on to.

  He ended up buying the ingredients for both types of meals, thinking that now that he was staying with Marlee, he’d get the chance to show off all his skills. And not just his skills in the kitchen. He smiled to himself.

  As he neared her home, Declan was once again struck with the feel of familiarity and comfort he found when driving through Marlee’s neighborhood. The trees were bare of leaves, of course, but Declan could picture the powerful oaks and elms that lined the streets at their brilliant fall hues of oranges and reds.

  There were kids playing street hockey on her road, and they stopped, moving their nets out of the way as Declan’s vehicle came into view. Declan was surprised to feel a lump in his throat as he watched the kids. He and his siblings had played such games. He hoped his children someday would too. The vision of teaching a son to catch a football flashed before him, and he felt the image warm him, flow through his body like a shot of alcohol. He let his daydream continue and was not surprised to see Marlee coming out of a back door and call them in to dinner.

  Simple stuff, but it felt right to Declan.

  Marlee’s garage was open and her car was parked far to one side of the attached two-car garage. Leaving a space for him? She would have closed the door otherwise, right? In Boston winters, you definitely wanted to put your car in the garage overnight. It saved you lots of time in the morning. Declan had spent almost twenty minutes this morning scraping the ice and snow from his windshield, waiting for his car in Marlee’s driveway to warm up.

  He parked his car in the garage and headed to the inside door that led to the kitchen. He took a couple of bags of groceries. He’d come back for the rest and his suitcases. He pressed the garage door button next to the door leading to the kitchen and watched as the door lowered, closing out the twilight and the blustery wind.

  Marlee was standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen. She had what looked like a glass of water in her hand and she was leaning over, reading a newspaper that was spread out across the marble countertop. She was wearing a maroon Boston College sweatshirt and black yoga pants, her hair pulled into a ponytail, and Declan thought she looked about twenty years old. She glanced up at him as he entered and pushed her glasses up her nose. Declan had seen her do that a couple of times yesterday as she went through her speech and found the habit endearing—sexy, even.

  She smiled. A warm, intimate smile, and in that moment Declan knew he’d made a good decision about staying with Marlee. It felt…right. Coming home to this woman with a car full of groceries on a cold winter’s night. Perfect.

  He returned her smile and greeted her with, “Hi, honey. I’m home!”

  A soft sort of giggle came out of Marlee. “It’s about time. I’m starving!”

  Declan’s grin drew wider. He knew what would fill Marlee up.

  And then afterward, he’d feed her.

  Chapter Ten

  Marlee was not to be swayed. Not even for hot sex with Declan. She wanted to see his stuff, all right, but his cooking skills were the prowess she wanted demonstrated first. Hearing the garage door go down behind him, seeing him walk into her kitchen laden with groceries, even now as he put them away, getting the lay of the land of her cupboards, it all felt so natural, like something they’d done for years.

  Marlee scolded herself. It wasn’t about Declan. It just demonstrated to her how ready she was to be a unit, to share her life and her home—and yes, even her kitchen—with a man. Now that she was certain this was the future she wanted, she could start the search for a viable candidate. And the short list didn’t include Declan Tate.

  From somewhere deep inside of her—and Marlee was pretty sure that spot was at the place between her thighs—a voice screamed, Why not Declan? It was not the first time the analytical side of her debated the emotional side, but it was the closest match they’d had in years.

  Marlee would let the emotional side rarely win, and the events usually included standing in front of rack of designer suits that weren’t on sale. She wasn’t about to be waylaid by her attraction to Declan—and that was all it was, she kept reminding herself—on an issue so important.

  Doing just that had almost destroyed her two years ago.

  She’d met Justin Jones in an aisle at the gourmet grocery store in Newton. He’d asked her what was the difference between arugula and kale, and his gorgeous blue eyes had her saying yes to his offer of coffee.

  It had been a whirlwind romance, and before she knew it, she
was deeply in love with Justin. At first, the thought that he was the star shortstop for the Boston Red Sox was kind of cool. She’d never followed sports so hadn’t known who he was until their third date, but it was summertime and she’d gone to the games, sitting with the players’s wives and girlfriends (WAGs, she later found out). She’d been amused at the attention she’d garnered as Justin’s girlfriend.

  He was on the road a lot, sometimes for ten days or longer, but when the Sox were in town, they spent as much time as possible together. Within four months, Marlee was nearly living at Justin’s amazing Boston penthouse apartment and they were talking—albeit abstractedly—about a permanent future together.

  His place was beautiful, with a breathtaking view, but it was decorated in a very modern—almost cold—way, and Marlee never felt quite at home. Though she loved being there with Justin.

  He told her how much he loved her, and Marlee had felt the same way. Their lovemaking had been both lusty and sweet, and Marlee savored lying in Justin’s arms throughout the night.

  Until someone with an anonymous Gmail account had sent her a link to a sports gossip site that featured the Top Ten Players of Baseball. And it had nothing to do with their prowess on the field.

  Justin was number three.

  At first, Marlee assumed that the list was from the pre-Marlee Justin’s antics. But there were pictures on the site of Justin with women where he was wearing a shirt Marlee had bought him.

  She’d confronted him, of course. And he didn’t deny any of it. In fact, he seemed somewhat shocked that Marlee didn’t know “the score,” as he called it. “That’s my world, babe. It’s just understood that…things happen…when I’m on the road. But I come home to you, Marlee. And when I’m in Boston, you’re the only…” He’d stopped then at the horrified look on her face. She’d turned from him and went to the bedroom to pack her things, leaving his apartment, and Justin, that night.