Griff Montgomery, Quarterback

by Jean C. Joachim

  Her eyes welled up.

  “Don’t go there. You’ve tried tears on me before. I’m sorry if this hurts. But you’ve left reality behind if you think we were anything more than casual.”

  “But, Griff, I know I could make you happy.”

  “I am happy. And now, you’ve screwed it up.”

  “If you’d give me three months—”

  “We talked about this. You and I are not meant to be. Please accept it. Move on. Find a nice guy who wants to commit. It’s not me.” He walked away, with Don trailing behind.

  “Do you expect me to tell my sister about that little scene?”

  “That would be helpful.”

  “I’m not gonna mess in this. It’s between you two. I thought you were only roommates…with benefits.”

  “Maybe we started out like that. But it’s changed.”

  “Crap. Good luck explaining to Lauren. Thanks for the tickets. If you want ’em back, I understand.”

  “Keep ’em. I’ve gotta get home.” Griff raised his hand to Don and headed for his car.

  He stroked his stubbly chin on the drive home. I’ll tell her the truth. I’m not guilty this time. The house was quiet when he arrived. The slow cooker was working, and there was a distant bark from Spike. She’s upstairs. Griff climbed the steps slowly, his heart pounding. He knocked.

  No answer.

  “Please, Lauren. Talk to me.”

  No answer.

  “You’ve gotta let me explain.”

  No answer.

  He sighed. “She was lying. She’s not my fiancée. Yes, I dated her in California. But I broke it off on my last visit.”

  No answer.

  He knocked again. Connecticut Kings never give up. “Come on, honey. Come out. Talk to me. Hit me. Do something.”

  No answer.

  He combed his fingers through his hair and paced the hall. “I’m not leaving. So open the damn door!” He pounded once, hard.

  The bedclothes rustled inside. A faint padding of feet on the floor brought a smile to his lips. As the knob turned, he stepped back in case she took him seriously about the hitting. The door opened six inches.

  Lauren’s eyelids were swollen, and her nose was red. She twisted a tissue in her hand as she leaned against the jamb. “What do you want?” Her voice was gravelly.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said, pushing the door open and grabbing her arm.

  She gave him a steely stare. “So talk.”

  “Downstairs.”

  “No. Here.” She sank down, cross-legged, on the carpeted floor.

  “Okay, okay.” He followed her.

  “Are you engaged?” She shot him a suspicious stare.

  “No. No way. Not engaged. Not even going steady with Cheryl Charles.”

  “Then, why did she say that? Are you dating her?”

  “I don’t know why she said that. No, we’re not dating. I broke it off when I was in L.A.”

  Lauren chewed her lip and cast her gaze to the ground. “What was she doing here?”

  “She was pretty upset. She said some harsh things. Guess she thought if she came here, she could patch it up with me.”

  “And did you…she…you…whatever?”

  “No. I was probably a jerk the way I broke it off.”

  “Probably?”

  “All right. Definitely. I wasn’t nice about it.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  “This last time in L.A.? No.”

  “And you were mean?”

  “I could have been a little more…sensitive or something.”

  “And you were going to tell me about her…when?” Lauren raised an eyebrow.

  “It was over. Nothing to tell.”

  “I guess there was something to tell, wasn’t there?”

  “Hey, look who’s talking. You don’t want any commitment. You’ve said so a thousand times. Why should I clear my decks—especially on the road—for you? How do I know who you’re sleeping with when I’m away?”

  At that, she burst out laughing. “Me, sleeping around? What a joke. You’re the whore in the room.”

  “Nice.”

  “I’m not the one who’s in the Guinness Book for the longest list of sexual partners in the most cities. I’m a one-man woman.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And after you, I’m thinking of becoming a no-man woman.” She pushed to her feet.

  “I haven’t slept with that many women. It’s all in your mind.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Just because you say you’re not with anyone else—” Her icy stare froze the words in his throat. “Cheryl is over,” he managed to croak out.

  “Why, all of a sudden, are you putting this filly out to pasture?”

  “Because I don’t need her. I have you.”

  Lauren’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She cocked her head. “What?”

  “You heard me,” he said, his tone softer.

  “What do you mean, you have me?”

  “I mean I’m getting a complete package with you. So, why would I need someone else?”

  “Because you’re alone on the road?”

  “Alone? Nah. I have Buddy to talk to. I can get along for a week or two without sex. Won’t kill me.”

  “Does that mean you’re committed to me?”

  He took her elbow. “Uh, let’s not go there. Something smells good. Don’t you want to check on dinner?”

  * * * *

  Lauren didn’t know what to think. Was that a compliment or an insult? She descended the stairs slowly. When she arrived, he had the top off the slow cooker and was bent over, sniffing.

  “Stew?”

  “Lamb stew,” she said, taking the lid from his hand and replacing it.

  He grabbed her upper arms and kissed her. “Love your cooking.” He released her and stepped to the cabinet. As he was pulling down plates, Lauren stole over behind him, reached around, and shut the door. He didn’t turn around.

  “I’m a replacement?”

  “Not exactly.” He still didn’t turn.

  “What am I, exactly?”

  “You’re you. Wonderful, smart, sexy…and a great cook.” He folded his fingers over hers resting on his belly.

  “And you’re full of shit.”

  He did turn then, placed his hands on her waist, and inched her closer. “We have something great, Lauren. Let’s not wreck it.”

  “Wreck it?”

  “Over analyze it. Can’t we just enjoy each other…the way we’ve been?”

  Her gaze searched his face.

  “I love living here. Best move I’ve made. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “I’m renting to you. You’re a paying customer.”

  “Maybe. So. Forget that. We’re a team, a pair…”

  “You mean ‘a couple’?”

  “I guess. That’s so formal.”

  “You don’t want a commitment, and neither do I.”

  “And that’s why what we have works.”

  “You mean, if we changed that, it would fall apart?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t want to find out.”

  “Somehow, you’ve insulted me in there somewhere.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I meant to say, you’re perfect. Why would I need anyone else?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Perfect? Me? A perfect failure maybe. But she kept her thoughts to herself. “Delude yourself all you want. I’m not giving you my share of stew…or of the apple cobbler I made to go with it.”

  “Apple cobbler?” She could almost see him drool.

  “Yep.” She pulled it out of the fridge and slid it into the oven.

  “I don’t know which is better—sex or your cooking.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Okay, okay, but your cooking is a close second.”

  Dinner started out quietly. Griff appeared content to eat while Lauren explained how she was decorating the new house.

  “Annet
te told me the guy’s in London and won’t be back for a month or more.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. But she told me what he likes. A lotta wood. Brown. Earth tones. He loves fall, she said. So, I’m making his house a little woodsy and a real guy kind of place.”

  “Like a man cave?”

  “Nah. More classy.”

  “How?”

  Lauren retrieved her briefcase from the front hall table. She plucked out wallpaper and paint samples. She had some fabric swatches, too. Griff asked questions, and she was happy to answer.

  “I like the green for the den walls.”

  “You’re so interested in this. It’s like it was your house.”

  Griff coughed. “Just taking an interest in what you’re doing. By the way, no guys like yellow.” He screwed up his face and shook his head.

  “Say, when is your place going to be ready?” She put a piece of lamb in her mouth.

  “Anxious to get rid of me?”

  “Just thinking maybe I could decorate your house, too.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” He shot a sexy glance her way as he pushed his empty dish away.

  “Like it here?” She stood up.

  He sidled up to her and snaked his arm around her waist. “Are you kidding? With you in my bed and me in your kitchen…heaven.” He bent down to run his lips up her neck.

  Lauren shivered. “Okay, Mr. Sexy. Time for the dishes.” She stretched her arm, reached the sponge, and dumped it in his palm.

  Griff laughed. “It’s the least I can do after that fantastic meal.”

  Lauren skipped upstairs and changed into a rose-colored, velour lounging robe. She curled up on the sofa, spread a small throw across her knees, and turned on her e-reader. If I’m reading, I’m not thinking. Don’t wanna think. Let it alone. Enjoy it while it lasts.

  Twenty minutes later, Griff strolled into the living room, rolling down his sleeves.

  “Done?”

  “Yep. Reading?”

  “Yep.” Lauren dropped her gaze back to her book.

  “Me, too.” Griff plucked a novel out from several standing together on the mantle.

  “You?”

  “You think I’m illiterate or something? I read.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she mumbled. “What are you reading?”

  He took the book, checked the spine, and then turned to her. “Vince Lombardi on Football.”

  She nodded, suppressing a grin. “Football. How unexpected.”

  Griff frowned. “You got something against reading about football?”

  “Just thought you might have greater literary aspirations.”

  “Oh, like your book club, which isn’t a book club? It’s a support group.”

  Lauren’s mouth hung open.

  “Yeah. One of the women told me. So, don’t be so high and mighty.” He slumped down on the other end of the sofa.

  “I need that group.”

  “Never said you didn’t,” he said, leaning over to take her hand. “Just don’t go makin’ like a literary snob or something. Reading is reading.”

  “It is.” She smiled at him.

  He opened the book and tried to get comfortable.

  She peeked at him above her reading device. “A problem?”

  “If you would scoot down,” he said. “And settle right under here, I could get comfortable.”

  Lauren slid over and let him tuck her into his embrace. She rested her head on his chest and raised her e-reader. Griff closed his arm around her, shifted his position, sighed, and smiled. Spike jumped up and snuggled in-between. He snorted then closed his eyes before a quiet snore escaped him.

  “This is the way I like to read.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  The room grew silent as the pair turned their attention to their books.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lauren found herself humming a Christmas carol in the car. Just a few weeks until the celebration that included a big meal with Don and his family. She’d invited Griff’s father to come for the holiday as a surprise. A little thrill shot up her spine at the thought of how happy Griff’d be to see his dad.

  After a quick lunch at the diner, Lauren headed home. Her lasagna was ready to go into the oven. Griff would be home from practice in half an hour, hungry as hell for a solid dinner, with her for dessert. She turned on the bath that would soothe his sore muscles.

  Returning to the kitchen, she popped the pasta in the oven. While shredding lettuce for a salad, she almost jumped out of her skin when two strong hands gripped her from behind.

  “You like?” He nuzzled her neck.

  “I like.” She closed her eyes and eased her head back so he could kiss her throat.

  He moved away from her to set the table. “I’m going on the road.”

  “What?” Her eyes wide, she snapped to attention.

  “Yep. Road trip.”

  “But it’s Christmas.” She plucked utensils for two out of a drawer.

  “Not yet. Besides, we play through December.” Griff put down dishes.

  “Don’t you get Christmas off?”

  “Christmas Day, yeah. Gives you a chance to miss me.”

  She made a face and picked up a knife to cut the lasagna.

  “What’s this?” he asked, turning an envelope in his hand.

  “I got one, too. Open it.”

  “Damn! From the judge.”

  “You have to appear and tell him whether I’m a good or bad mother to Spike.”

  “You going?”

  “If I want to keep Spike, I have to.”

  Griff pulled out a chair for Lauren then sat himself. “Good thing it’s on a Wednesday. Don’t have to miss a game.”

  “Can you just do that? Miss a game?”

  “Nope. You get fined. I don’t want you to lose Spike.”

  “You were the one to cause this stupid misunderstanding in the first place.” She glared at him.

  “Me? I’m not the one who left the dog out in the cold.” He ate a forkful of pasta.

  “It wasn’t cold. And I didn’t leave him anywhere. Damn. Let’s not go over this again.” She took some salad.

  “Your attitude is ruining this great lasagna. I’d swear you’re Italian.”

  “Got the recipe from Connie. She’s Italian.”

  “Aha! Can’t fool me. I know what’s authentic.”

  “What attitude?”

  “Skip it.”

  They finished the meal, trading bits about their day.

  “Let’s read in my room tonight.”

  Lauren arched an eyebrow at him.

  “How ’bout it?” His fingers played with hers.

  She nodded, snatched her e-reader from the counter, and joined her hand with his. He led them to the bedroom.

  “What about your book?” she asked.

  “I don’t need it. I’ll be reading your body, instead.”

  Lauren laughed, but stopped questioning him and followed along.

  The next morning, she awoke brimming with energy and Christmas spirit. Always a fan of the holiday, she looked forward to making the Victorian house festive. She debated real versus fake garlands and opted for the real because she loved the scent. A fresh wreath for the front door and a tree were on her list. Standing in the seasonal section of The Beloved Knickknack in town, Lauren chewed her lip, trying to decide whether to put electric candles in every window or just the ones in front.

  Will Griff want to decorate with me? Will we celebrate Christmas together? That’s family stuff, and we’re just…I don’t know what we are. Pushing negative thoughts out of her head, she examined small, ceramic Santa’s and reindeer for the mantle and mistletoe for over the front door. Mistletoe? He doesn’t need any help. She chuckled to herself as she fingered the green leaves.

  A saleswoman strolled by. “Does Mr. Montgomery need encouragement?”

  Lauren turned wide eyes to the lady.

  “Well, you are his girlfriend, aren’t
you?”

  Lauren sputtered.

  The woman patted her arm. “Don’t worry, honey. Your secret’s safe with me.” She moseyed on to help another customer. Can no one keep a secret in this town?

  Ten days later, at two o’clock, the sound of Lauren’s cell broke the silence of the night. She grabbed it and slid out of bed.

  Griff opened one sleepy eye. “Huh? Wazzup?”

  “Sorry. I’ll take it in the hall.”

  “Who’s that?”

  She rested her hand on his shoulder, kissed his cheek, and quickly padded out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  * * * *

  Rolling over to find the bed empty woke Griff early. He stretched his arm out, but it didn’t come in contact with any warm, soft, bare flesh. Cracking an eye open, he peered at the clock. It read six thirty. No Lauren. He smiled at the thought that she was in the kitchen, starting coffee and maybe rustling up some bacon and eggs. He eased the comforter over his chest and went back to sleep.

  When the alarm went off, he lumbered out of bed, grabbed his robe, and headed for the kitchen. The lack of an aroma of goodies grabbed his attention. No coffee. No bacon. He frowned, scrunching his face up to look downright grumpy. Where is that woman?

  He didn’t find her, though he investigated the rest of the first floor. Spike followed him up the stairs. After checking all the rooms on the second level, Griff still couldn’t locate his girlfriend. Finally giving up, he shrugged and returned to the kitchen. He put up coffee and slipped on jogging pants, commando, and a sweatshirt to take Spike for his morning walk. The pug circled by the front door and whined until Griff fastened the harness on him.

  While he walked the dog, a vague memory of something the night before plagued his brain.

  “That’s it!” He snapped his fingers. “Her cell,” he said to Spike. The pug looked up from sniffing a tree. He recalled the phone going off and her getting out of bed, but nothing beyond that. He’d gone back to sleep and had no idea what had transpired. Giving up, he hoped he’d know soon enough and headed for the gym.

  He always left his cell in his locker when he was practicing or training. At the end of the day, he checked it first thing before hitting the showers. But this time, there was no missed call and no message from Lauren. He checked his watch. No time to investigate further, as he had to be at the courthouse within an hour. Griff showered, dressed, and headed for his car.