“Tompkins, you know media aren’t allowed in this part of the building.” Asia pinned him with the haughty voice known to cause grizzled sports writers to back down.
“I know,” Joel said, his eyes glued on Carly. “I need to get my parking pass updated.”
“Mary handles that up front and you know it,” Asia replied. “Either find your way back to the press room or find your credentials revoked for a week.”
“She’s such a buzz kill,” Joel said. Leaning his hip against a nearby table, he slowly eyed Carly from head to toe. “How was Cabo, Carly? You’re back early. You must’ve missed me.”
Carly was too stunned to respond. Only a handful of people knew where she had gone on vacation, and she would swear on her life that none of them would tell Joel. The guy was really starting to creep her out. Before she knew it, Donovan Carter, director of security for the Blaze, appeared out of nowhere and had Joel by the arm.
“Tompkins, I thought you and I had already talked about staying in your side of the facility,” Donovan practically growled. Joel cowed quickly, intimidated by the stocky African American former Marine.
“Just checking on my best girl,” Joel said as he yanked his arm out of Donovan’s grasp. With a jaunty salute, he sauntered toward the hallway. “I’ll see you later, babe,” he called over his shoulder.
Best girl? They had coffee together. Once. Carly was certainly used to overzealous reporters, but Joel’s fascination with her was a little over the top.
“That guy’s ick factor just went way up,” Asia said.
Donovan stood with his hands on his hips until Joel was out of sight. Hooking one foot around a chair leg, he pulled it toward their table and sat, offering a smile to Asia.
“He still buggin’ you?” Donovan focused his eyes on Carly. She was always amazed at how a man so imposing could have such beautiful eyes: warm chocolate with a genuine sincerity that always managed to put Carly at ease.
“All media bug me, Donovan,” Carly quipped, taking another sip of her tea.
Donovan leaned forward, putting on his best interrogator’s voice. “I mean, is he still leaving little gifts in your office or waiting for you at your car at night?”
Carly shivered at his intensity. “Yes and no,” she hedged.
Donovan made an incoherent sound before Asia subdued him with a hand to his arm. “Carly, don’t mess with him. If Joel’s being a worm, you’d better give us the details,” she said.
Sitting back in her chair, Carly released a sigh. “Yes, he’s still leaving flowers, candy, and notes on my desk. As far as I know, he hasn’t disturbed anything in my office, though. No, he doesn’t wait at my car anymore, but that’s because I always find someone to walk out with. I think he’s getting the hint.”
“It didn’t sound to me like he got the hint,” Donovan snapped. He waved a finger at Carly. “If he gets in your face again, you’re to come tell me right away. Got it?” He was so intense, Carly was surprised steam hadn’t started to rise from Donovan’s shaved head.
Carly smiled at him before giving him a smart salute. She wanted to grab him up in hug because, despite his ferocity, she knew his actions meant he cared. Sure he was responsible for the security of the team and its staff, but his protectiveness made her feel as if she were a part of something. Someone was willing to run interference for her with the media and it felt good. Until recently, she hadn’t experienced that feeling too often.
* * *
Nonchalantly leaning back in the plush confer-ence room chair, Shane watched as his agent, Roscoe Mathis, charmed a young woman into bringing him some coffee. Shane shook his head and chuckled softly as the receptionist offered to bring them donuts, too. Roscoe’s grandmother used to tell Shane that Roscoe could charm the habit off a nun. He’d seen the effects of that charm too many times to argue with his friend’s grandmother.
The two men had met when Shane was a freshman in college. Roscoe was in law school, working as a tutor to raise extra money. Determined not to make the same mistakes as his father, Shane did everything he could to earn the degree the football scholarship offered—even if it meant working with a tutor. By the time Shane was picked in the first round of the NFL draft, Roscoe was working as a junior attorney with a sports management company in New York. The relationship was lucrative for both of them. Shane trusted very few people in life. Roscoe Mathis was one of those very few.
Thin rivers of rain zigzagged down the glass of the huge windows surrounding the conference room. The cold, nasty weather was definitely a shock to Shane’s system. Dressed in gray slacks, a black cashmere crewneck sweater, and loafers with no socks, he felt the chill seep through him. With the exception of games played on the East Coast and two weeks spent each summer at a cabin near the town in western Pennsylvania where he grew up, Shane managed to avoid living in the East. Southern California had the sun, the beach, and a laid-back lifestyle that allowed him to cultivate the “devil may care” attitude people expected of him. He never intended to return East. It was too close to Bruce Devlin and his new family. Yet here he was, practically groveling for a chance to play another season or two of football in Baltimore.
Several people entered the conference room, jarring Shane from his thoughts. He stood as Roscoe shook hands with a tall gentleman sporting a buzz cut who, were it not for his Brooks Brothers suit, looked as if he were commanding a battalion of troops in the Middle East. The middle-aged man turned and thrust his hand at Shane, his bright blue eyes twinkling behind wire-rim glasses and an easy smile on his tanned, weathered face.
“Shane, allow me to introduce you to Hank Osbourne, president and general manager of the Blaze,” Roscoe said. “Hank’s known around the NFL as the Wizard of Oz.”
Shane returned the handshake with a nod. But, with the mention of the Wizard of Oz, his mind drifted back to the dimly lit bar on the beach in Cabo a few days earlier. Try as he might, he’d been unable to banish the image of Dorothy. Days later, he was still frustrated. If he’d been smart, he would have invited one of the models to his bungalow and lost himself inside her nubile body. Instead, he stayed by the pool trying to get a handle on his desire. When he returned to the bar, the Italian fashion designer had rounded up all her charges and sent them along to bed. Alone. Shane had spent the rest of the evening listening to Mort and Kitty talk about their grandchildren—they’d cornered him as he’d tried to escape across the patio to his bungalow. He kept telling himself he’d made a narrow escape. She obviously was one of those women who liked to tease. One minute, she was giving him the cold brush-off; the next, she was dragging him to the dance floor, grinding her hips against his. Yeah, it was a good thing she left when she did. He’d had enough psycho chicks to last a lifetime.
“This new guy, Carl, you hired has been a pleasure to work with—even it has all been by email,” Roscoe was saying, bringing Shane out of his reverie.
Hank chuckled and stepped aside to reveal a young woman stacking papers on the conference table.
“It’s Carly and we enjoy working with her, too,” Hank said with a smile.
“Wow, he’s a she.” Roscoe turned on the charm as he reached across the table to shake hands. Shane would have rolled his eyes at Roscoe, but he was transfixed by the woman in front of him. She lifted her head and their eyes met. Almost as if he had conjured her up in his mind, Dorothy stood before him. Her once wild hair was pulled up in some fancy knot. A conservative pale gray pantsuit and pink blouse covered up the soft glowing skin he remembered. Shane’s pulse rate shot up as her cool blue eyes stared into his. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a look of wariness pass through them before she quickly looked at Roscoe and smiled. Don’t smile at him! The guy’s happily married with twin toddlers at home!
“Shane Devlin, this is my assistant, Carly March,” Hank said. He placed his hand on Carly’s shoulder to propel her forward.
Shane waited to see
if she would own up to having met him before. When she didn’t, he raised an eyebrow at her. She lifted up her chin, offering her hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
Her soft, precise speaking voice unnerved him. Two can play at this game—whatever it was. Taking her hand in his, he brushed his thumb over her delicate wrist. She barely flinched before pulling her hand away quickly.
“Likewise, Miss March.” He carefully enunciated her name.
They took their seats around the conference table, and for the next hour or so Shane barely heard a word as the GM and Roscoe went over the final details of his contract. Members of the coaching and training staff came by for introductions, but Shane couldn’t remember a single name or face. His mind was racing as he stared across the room trying to figure out what Dorothy was up to. Or Carly. Or whatever the hell her name was. She’d known who he was all along. Christ, he’d been nuzzling her neck! He’d spent the last several days in a constant state of sexual frustration, ready to hunt down a certain fashion designer who’d ruined the evening. Shane should have felt relieved that he’d managed to avoid breaking a fundamental rule he had: don’t screw with the staff within the team’s organization. He’d learned that one the hard way.
But he wasn’t relieved. The sexual tension was still there, sitting between them in the room like a giant linebacker. It was all Shane could do not to break out in a sweat. History was not going to repeat itself. He’d been falsely accused of sexually harassing the daughter of the San Diego Chargers’ owner, when the truth was, it was she who’d been harassing him. In her capacity as the team’s travel coordinator, she’d constantly made sure her room adjoined to his when the team stayed in a hotel the night before each game. When Shane had rebuffed her advances enough times, she cried foul, claiming he’d been doing the harassing. The problem was, he didn’t feel a breath of the attraction to her that he felt for Dorothy. If she came on to him, he wasn’t so sure he could resist.
“I think that does it,” Hank was saying. “Asia Dupree, our media relations director, suffered a little mishap on the ski slopes last week and tore her ACL. Despite that, she’s put together a fairly intensive media campaign to help turn you into a household name here in the Baltimore area.”
“Ahh, damage control for my image.” Shane leaned back in his chair defensively.
“Are you suggesting your image couldn’t use a little public relations help?” Hank challenged.
Roscoe answered before Shane could damage his image further. “He’s suggesting nothing of the kind,” his agent said as the heel of his shoe made contact with Shane’s shin beneath the table.
“Good,” the GM replied, leaning back in his chair, one ankle propped over the other knee. He peered over steepled fingers at Shane. “We take our responsibilities for encouraging proper values in the community very seriously. Every member of the Blaze family is expected to adhere to a certain standard of conduct both on and off the field. You’ve had some very negative publicity with your off-the-field antics lately. You also have a reputation of bucking the team’s system when it comes to dress codes and curfews. Everyone on this team follows our rules, Devlin. No exceptions.”
Shane resisted the urge to squirm in his chair, instead maintaining an insolent slouch. He’d spent years cultivating his renegade reputation. Most of it was an act; a shield to keep people from getting too close. Best of all, his so-called bad behavior helped to wipe a bit of the sheen off the Devlin name. Shane meant to bring down his father any way he could.
Hank lectured on: “As a team, we believe we have everything in place to win the Super Bowl this season. Gabe Harrelson’s little honeymoon mishap may have been unexpected, but there are still a few months until the season starts. Time enough for you to learn our system and lead us where we need to go. You’re smart. You’re talented. And you’re here because everyone in this organization believes you can do the job. Leave the bad-ass behavior on the West Coast and come here to play and we’ll be fine. Are we clear with this?”
“Well, of course,” Roscoe said, again not giving Shane a chance to speak. “Gabe Harrelson was well liked by folks in the area. Shane wants to do everything he can to earn the respect of all the Blaze fans, too.” Roscoe finished his sappy speech by shooting Carly his Boy Scout grin, which was beginning to piss Shane off.
“Excellent,” Hank said, placing his hands firmly on the table in front of him. “Asia will put the wheels in motion. While she’s recovering, Carly here will accompany you on the press tour around town.” With that declaration, Hank Osbourne stood, putting an end to the meeting.
Shane was still reeling over the fact that not only was he going to have to pander to the media, he’d be doing it with Dorothy by his side. Not a good scenario. Sure his image wasn’t the most pristine. He’d been wild in his younger days. But lately, he’d managed to stay out of trouble, just not out of the tabloids. Thanks to his celebrity, every move he made, every relationship he had, was chronicled at the supermarket checkout lanes, further fueling his bad-boy image. He hadn’t done much to refute that image. It hadn’t mattered to him what people thought.
Until now.
He wanted to tell Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz exactly where they could shove their image makeover; he would do his job as the team’s quarterback, and they could leave his moral compass the hell alone.
But they had him where they wanted him. Shane knew if he wanted to play football, he’d be expected to adhere to the prescribed “values.” Otherwise, he was screwed. He needed the Blaze as much as they needed him.
Roscoe quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. They’d known each other too long for Shane not to know what he was thinking. He’d get the speech about being reckless and disrespectful later. He’d heard it so often, he could probably give the speech to himself. Still, he was peeved and he needed some breathing room.
“Well, I guess that covers it,” Roscoe said, clearly wanting to get out of the room before someone on the Blaze changed his mind about Shane.
They all stood to file out of the conference room. Carly hung back to gather her documents. Slender fingers stacked and restacked them into a neat pile. Shane leaned in as he passed her and murmured, “We’ll catch up later to discuss my world tour, Dorothy.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought she flinched as he brushed by her. Good.
* * *
Carly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and quickly collected her papers. That didn’t go well at all! She was still mortified by her near encounter with Shane in Cabo. It didn’t look like he was going to go easy on her, either. She’d wanted to come clean to him before the meeting, but there hadn’t been time. It would have been awkward to do it during the meeting. Sure, maybe she and Shane would have laughed about it, but Hank? Probably not. She needed to apologize to Shane and clear the air. He probably thought she was some crazy tease. Not that she’d blame him. Maybe she could catch him before he got to the training wing.
As she hurried through the door, she collided with a broad, muscular chest. Strong arms enfolded her in a tight hug and she let out a squeal.
“Hey, gorgeous. Where’s the fire?”
“You mean the fireworks!” She buried her face against his fleece Blaze sweatshirt, her body beginning to relax after the meeting she’d been dreading for two days.
Two strong fingers brought her chin up and she looked into the smiling green eyes of the Blaze head coach, Matt Richardson. A former NFL player, Matt was tall and well built. His sandy brown hair was damp from the rain. He was dressed in his “uniform” of white athletic shoes, khaki pants, and a gray sweatshirt. The trademark smile he greeted Carly with had, at one time, endorsed everything from soup to athlete’s foot cream.
“I take it my new quarterback was a bit of a hothead?” Matt released her, taking a step back to get a better look at her. “I hope that’s sunburn making you so red and no
t Devlin’s bad attitude.”
“No, he was fine. I’m sure we’ll have no problem working together.” At least she hoped there wouldn’t be a problem.
“Good.” Matt pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Because if he gives you any trouble, he’ll have to answer to me.” He gave her arms a gentle squeeze before releasing her fully.
“Can you still get away this afternoon?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
“Great. I’d better get over to the training facility and meet our new addition. I’ve got some ground rules I want to lay down as well.” He walked toward the conference room door, but before leaving, he lifted his hand to gently brush her cheek. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I feel really bad Asia’s injury cut into your trip. You needed the rest.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to infuse as much reassurance into her voice as she could.
“All right then. I want to hear all about Mexico over dinner. Deal?” he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
“It’s a date,” she replied with a smile, knowing full well she wasn’t going to tell him all that went on in Cabo.
Sighing, she picked up the last of the paperwork. She’d barely made it out of the conference room before colliding with another hard body. This time, she looked up into the stormy eyes of Shane Devlin.
“Shane, Coach is on his way to the training facility to meet with you.” She took a step back, clutching her paperwork to her chest.
“Yeah, I forgot my umbrella. It belongs to the car rental company and I wouldn’t want to read in the tabloids I’ve taken to petty theft.” Efficiently using his large body, he maneuvered her back into the conference room, quietly closing the door behind them.
She rolled her eyes at him as he circled the table to retrieve the umbrella from the floor beside his chair. Laying her papers back on the table, she took a deep, fortifying breath. It was time to clear the air.
Game On (AN OUT OF BOUNDS NOVEL) Page 3