He stood there, hands in his pockets, half-turned as if prepared to leave. His Henley shirt was a little tattered at the cuffs, the jacket that hung loose over his torso had the collar flipped up, his jeans were worn, and his tennis shoes were scuffed. And the glasses were smudged beyond belief, again. His face registered surprise. “You’re here.”
“Yup. I’m here.” She waited a moment, then cocked a hip against the doorjamb. “Did you forget something last night? I was packing up but I didn’t see anything left.”
“No, that’s not . . .” He took a step back and ran a hand over his neck. Was he blushing? Or maybe it was just the heat. “I wanted to see you again, and I don’t have your number. I called your room a few times but you never answered.”
“I’ve been out. Did you want to come in?”
“Come out with me,” he said at the same time.
They both blinked at each other, then each cracked a smile. Cassie stepped in and held the door open wider. “Come on in.”
He followed her in, and she resisted the urge to brush her breasts against him as he squeezed into the short hallway. Teasing herself would only lead to disappointment. But oh . . . the temptation his butt proved to be in those jeans. They were worn in just the right places, clinging to the curves and hanging loose down the legs.
“You’re all packed.”
She had to force her gaze away from his butt, up to his eyes, which were laughing at her. Caught. “I said that already.”
“Yeah, but, really packed. Nothing left. I thought you meant you’d just tidied up.”
“Nope. I’m ready to roll.”
His eyes widened a little and he tunneled his fingers through his hair. It stood up in wild tuffs. “Back home to . . . Georgia, you said?”
“Atlanta, but no. I’m staying with family for awhile.”
“Still here then.” He looked relieved, and reached for her arm to pull her down by him on the bed. She let him. Their arms touched as they sat on the bed—the same bed they’d slipped into not twenty-four hours ago and had sheet-scorching sex. At least the hotel maid had cleared any and all evidence of sexy time. She squirmed a little, but when her arm brushed against his, she forced her body to still.
“Go out for dinner with me.”
“I . . .” Her father’s words, the photo of her sisters in their silly matching Hawaiian leis, floated through the back of her mind. Her chest felt a pinch when she shook her head and stood, pacing a few steps away. This would require distance. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Do you have a boyfriend? Husband?”
She opened her mouth a little on a gasp. “Of course I don’t. I wouldn’t have slept with you if I did.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “Good. So go out with me.”
The very naughty, very rebellious part of her wanted to say yes. Yes, yes, oh baby yes. But . . . “I just can’t. I’m sorry. You should go.”
He stared at her a moment, as if he couldn’t believe she’d said no. He probably didn’t. Guys who looked like he did and had moves like he did didn’t hear the word “no” all that often. Frankly, she couldn’t believe she’d had enough resistance in her to pull it off.
Trey stood, long legs unfolding slowly. He advanced with a calm Cassie couldn’t have even pretended to feel. And when he had her pinned to the wall next to the entertainment stand, he leaned in enough for her to breathe in his scent. Minty body wash, fresh laundry. She wanted to press her nose to the soft fabric of his shirt and breathe deeper.
“There’s more here,” his deep voice rumbled.
She remained silent. Plausible deniability.
“Cassie, there’s more. You know it, and I do, too. I’m not letting up that easy.”
Easy? He thought walking away from the chemistry they’d created the night before was easy? She snorted a little.
“So prove me wrong. Push me away. Tell me no and show me the door.” He leaned in closer, until his lips were against her cheek, his voice low and seductive. “Don’t kiss me.”
She turned her head to do just that, but when her lips brushed his, every tentative brick of resolve she’d stacked against him crumbled to dust. She pressed into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Her tongue licked against the seam of his gently closed lips. And when he didn’t react instantly, she tugged hard on his neck until his arms wrapped around her waist and pushed her back against the wall.
His hips ground into hers, his tongue swept in to tangle against hers, to taste her. He wrapped one hand around her ponytail and tugged until the angle of her head changed enough for him to deepen the kiss further. To melt more firmly against her. He nipped at her bottom lip.
The momentary sting snapped her back to reality . . . and the promise she’d made and already failed at.
“No,” she gasped, tearing her mouth from his. His mouth worked down her neck to the sliver of shoulder exposed by her shirt. She almost said no again when he bit her gently, and she lost the will to deny him anything in that moment. His hand crept up beneath the hem of her shirt, settling on her bare back. The touch of his calloused fingers were like little licks of fire on her overheated skin.
“Come out with me,” he whispered, sucking on the skin just below her ear.
“I can’t.” The strength it took to utter those words was almost embarrassing.
“Give me your number then. I need to be able to find you. Don’t just disappear.”
She shook her head and slowly slithered away, back still against the wall. Truthfully, if she’d tried to step forward, her knees would have given out. As his hand slipped from under her shirt, she wanted to grab it and hold tight. But the timing . . . oh, the damn timing.
“I’m sorry, Trey. It’s not you . . .” She trailed off. Wow, was she really about to use that line?
His raised brow said he caught the meaning anyway. But he stepped back and gave her space. Space she desperately needed to breathe again. “So what, I just leave and pray I find you again somewhere in the city?”
She held up her hands, let them fall helplessly to her sides. If he actually managed to see her again, that would take one hell of a work of fate.
He nodded slowly, a smile spreading over his gorgeous lips. “Okay, then. I’ll see you.”
“No,” she said cautiously. “I won’t be here. I’m checking out.”
He chuckled and walked to her door. “There’s no way we won’t find each other again. I know it.”
And with that he slipped through her door and closed it quietly behind him.
Cassie pressed the heel of her hand to her still-racing heart. Holy Jesus, the man was insane. Insane in the best way possible.
But there was absolutely no way he’d ever find her again. Santa Fe was too big, and she would be too busy with her family to worry about running around town, bumping into hot men.
She touched her tingling lips with two fingers, smiling slightly.
Damn it.
* * *
Like a bad case of déjà vu, Trey stood on the outside of Cassie’s hotel door, desperately wanting to be on the other side, with her.
Fuck. He scraped his hand through his hair, dislodging the fake glasses. Yeah. He’d panicked at the last minute and thrown them on before leaving his car in the parking garage, as well as the completely unnecessary jacket with the collar flipped up. He didn’t want some random desk clerk tweeting he’d gone into the hotel and then watching security footage to see what room he entered. He’d meant to take them off before knocking on her door, but had forgotten.
Now he was stuck wearing them back down the elevator like a goober.
His phone vibrated with an incoming call just as he stepped off the elevator. He glanced at it, praying it wasn’t Stephen with another distress call, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Josiah’s name instead. “What’s up, bro?”
The warm night air enveloped him as he exited the lobby and turned right to head into the hotel’s garage parking lot.
“Dude,” his co-captain groaned. “Help.”
Shit. Just shit. “Now what?”
“I decided to hang out with Stephen, have some dinner and just chill. But I didn’t realize he wouldn’t just let it go after one beer, and now . . .”
Trey growled as he hit the unlock button to his SUV. “Josiah. Spit it out.”
“He’s drunk and trying to get behind the wheel. It’s starting to cause a scene.” There was a grunt and the sound of shuffling in the background. “Get your ass here now. Pizza Dan’s on Main.” And then dead air.
Trey cursed as he hopped behind the wheel and slammed the door. The glasses as well as the jacket that had been smothering him since he put it on were tossed into the passenger seat. Son of a bitch. Was he looking to have a permanent spot on the bench? Coach Jordan would blow a fuse.
He cursed the entire seven minutes it took to get there and park, praying the whole time Josiah had exaggerated the entire thing. But when he pulled up . . . no dice.
Two men were staring, gape-mouthed, as Josiah and Stephen did what looked like a bizarre bear-hug dance. Stephen, trying to walk forward, and Josiah with his arms wrapped around, pushing back. No easy feat, given a running back was trying to hold back a defensive lineman. It would have been no contest if Stephen hadn’t been swaying.
Shit. Shit, mother freaking shit. A few diners were looking out the window, pointing. As he watched, one spectator grabbed their cell phone to take either a video or a photo.
Trey threw his car in park, yanked the keys out of the ignition, and did the first thing he could think of. He jogged up the stairs of the pizzeria, as if nothing were going on in the parking lot. “Hey, bro.”
Josiah froze, staring back at Trey with a what the hell, dude? Help me! look on his face. He’d apologize later.
Walking into the restaurant with a bounce in his step and a smile he fought to keep lighthearted, Trey noticed the conversations dim just a little, a few heads swivel as he walked up to the counter to order a completely unnecessary pizza to go. The effect was instantaneous. Eyes were on him, not the commotion outside. When he saw one of the two men from the parking lot step in to stare, he knew he’d made the right choice.
He ordered his pepperoni pie—light on the cheese, thanks to training—and sat down at the first open bar stool. He gazed at the big screens showing baseball highlights, seemingly unaware of the attention and waited. Timing. Just like sitting pretty in the pocket, with the chaos surrounding him, he had to wait for the receiver to make their move
The moment came two minutes later with a light tap on his leg. He looked over, then down into the face of a cute little girl, maybe seven or eight, with pink-framed glasses and a lopsided blonde ponytail.
“Are you Trey Owens?” she asked in awe.
He grinned down at her. Of all the fans, kids were his favorites. Their complete lack of self-control when meeting a much-watched athlete was comical, and a little humbling. “That happens to be my name.”
“The Trey Owens? Number Sixteen Owens?” She scooted closer and blinked, as if that would make his face more clear.
He leaned over, realizing the restaurant had gone nearly silent. “I’ll tell you if you tell me something first.”
She nodded so hard her frames slid down her nose.
In a stage whisper, he asked, “Are you a Bobcat?”
Her smile could have lit the stadium. “I am! I’m a Bobcat! Daddy, it’s him! I was right!”
Trey chuckled, then grunted in laughter when she grabbed his left hand and tugged a little. He let her drag him with minimal resistance across the restaurant, passing checkerboard tables full of gaping people, or people trying hard to not look like they were staring . . . and failing.
It was the relaxed kind of place with fat red plastic tumblers for cups and laminated menus, where the napkins sat in a dispenser on the table along with a trifold of the daily menu. It was exactly the kind of place he wanted to bring Cassie to, and just relax. Beautifully normal.
“Come meet my Daddy, pleasepleaseplease! I told him it was you and he said it couldn’t be and I said of course it could be because it looks just like you and he said you wouldn’t come to this side of town and I said why not and he said—”
“Pumpkin, that’s enough.” A man the size of Stephen—though not as muscular and with more middle-age-spread—walked up behind her with an embarrassed smile. “Let’s not bother Mr. Owens while he’s eating.”
Trey rocked back on his heels, trying to drag out the moment, feeling like a complete ass and hoping nobody else thought it. The longer they stared at him, the more time Josiah had to wrangle Stephen home. “Not a bother. Always fun to meet a fan. I hope she’s got all her classmates cheering come September. We love to hear the noise.”
A woman toward the back let out a quick yell, and a few patrons laughed. Trey grinned. In a louder voice, he asked the restaurant at large, “That was pitiful. Can’t we do any better?”
The pizza parlor erupted into cheers and claps. Hands thumped the table, silverware and cups rattled, and someone started a slow clap with a Bobcats chant. It was a mini-stadium.
The little girl—who informed him her name was Anne—asked her father to take her picture with Trey. When he knelt down to her level and smiled at her father’s phone, she surprised him with a quick hug around the neck just as the flash went off.
Several more pictures, one FaceTime wave for a family member who screamed bloody murder at seeing him on their cousin’s phone, and several handshakes later, he grabbed his pizza and headed out the door. Stephen and Josiah were gone—hopefully in Josiah’s car—and he hopped in his own and immediately activated his Bluetooth. Josiah answered on the first ring.
“He’s home, dead asleep.”
“Thank you, God,” Trey breathed as he pulled carefully into traffic.
“I go by Josiah here on Earth,” his friend said dryly. “You have any idea how much this fucker weighs? Dragging his ass into his house was almost impossible alone. What the hell happened to you? I called for help, and you decided to eat dinner instead?”
“I was deflecting, moron.” A headache started buzzing behind his left eye. “People were watching, and I had to do something to keep them from looking too closely at who was out there slow dancing in the parking lot.”
“We weren’t—”
“So now,” he went on, “they’re going to remember someone from the Bobcats was at Pizza Dan’s, and he was a decent guy who took some photos and shook some hands. And hopefully, if anyone recognized you two jokers, they’ll let it go.”
Josiah breathed out heavily. “Okay, that’s scary how accurate that was. You been interning with the PR geeks?”
“Bite me,” he said. He almost hung up before remembering to add, “Stay with him. Don’t let him leave. Hide his cell phone, hide his keys, tell him a zombie apocalypse is outside if it keeps him indoors. Until he’s sober enough to recite the alphabet backward, he doesn’t go anywhere.”
Josiah was silent for a moment. “Okay, make sure he’s sober. And then what?”
Trey’s hands gripped the wheel, taking out all his frustration on the leather and steel. “And then kick his ass.”
Chapter Six
Cassie turned into the short drive and came to a full stop before an arched gate, separating the rest of the world from the Jordan family home. Apt, really. One more barrier to stop her, to make her think before diving into this entire thing head-on.
The iron was almost frilly, with its curling tendrils and little blossoms sprouting here and there. Clearly, Tabitha picked out this piece. But that was sweet that he let her.
She input the security code Ken had given her into the pad and watched as the gate swung in soundlessly. No squeaky hinges for this McMansion. Then, following instructions to the letter, she drove slowly past the large home and around the back. There was a single spot next to a small cottage-style house behind the pool that was the perfect fit for her three-year-old Escape. As Cas
sie stepped out, she blinked against the gleam of the pool house windows.
Thank God I had my car washed before driving over here. Makes my little SUV look like the Clampett mobile.
She tried the front door of the pool house—was there even a back door?—and found it locked. Huh. She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and rocked back on her heels. So she’d have to walk around to the main house and knock. Maybe there was a housekeeper with a set of keys for the place.
Housekeeper. She blew out a breath and ruffled the stray hairs that threatened to stick to her damp temples. Welcome to the new world, Wainright.
“Cassandra!”
She flinched at the name since she’d never been a big fan. But it was more the tone than the name itself. High pitched, a little too cheerful. Turning, she spotted a woman in camel-colored pants, matching heels and a lightweight powder-blue shirt walking unhurriedly around the edge of the pool. Her hand extended up in welcome, a little feminine wave that would have made Miss America proud.
The stepmother.
No, Tabitha. The woman had a name, so she needed to use it. There was no reason to be on the defense. Nothing indicated this woman was an enemy. They were all testing out the waters here.
Cassie raised her own hand in acknowledgement, then popped the trunk of her SUV and hauled the first of her two suitcases down to the brick walkway.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Tabitha scooted—not a run, not a jog . . . a scoot—over and placed a hand over hers on the suitcase handle. “We’ve got someone who can do this for you.”
“I don’t mind. It’s just a few suitcases, nothing major. Clothes and junk.” She stepped back and got her first up-close look at the woman her father had married.
Her light hair twisted back perfectly. No leftover strands stuck to the side of a sweaty neck, like her own mess of hair. Her makeup was minimal, if she wore any at all. She looked fresh, put together, and ready to run a country if necessary.
One Night with a Quarterback Page 6