“On the first date?”
“Well, technically, it wasn’t a date. Or I guess you could say it was our twelfth date, if you count dates that aren’t really dates. But, really, at this point, I’m planning to take credit for them all. It makes me seem less slutty, don’t you think?”
“You’re not slutty.”
“I slept with a guy on the first date.”
“Twelfth date. And I thought you said your life wasn’t going to change?”
Jenny missed a stop sign and sucked in a shocked breath when she realized what she’d done. She was a careful, conscientious driver. Fortunately for her, there was no cross traffic.
“Maybe you better pull over,” Emily suggested in a worried tone.
“Yeah,” Jenny agreed. She eased her car into the gravel parking lot of the Royal Diner. She kept a death grip on the steering wheel until she came to a complete stop.
“What happened?” Emily asked gently. When Jenny didn’t answer, she put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Jen?”
“This morning…” Jenny swallowed. She wasn’t going to cry. She was an adult, and she would not cry over a cad like Mitch. “When he got to the office. He told me he was sorry, and he hoped we could forget all about it, carry on as usual, as if nothing had happened.”
“I can’t imagine Mitch—seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“That I deserved better than him.”
It was Emily’s turn to go silent. They both reflexively watched while a car pulled past them and turned into a spot near the diner’s front door. The car doors opened, and two teenagers hopped out.
Jenny was pretty sure she knew what Emily was thinking. It was what Jenny was thinking. It was what any reasonably intelligent adult would conclude.
“Yeah,” she voiced it out loud, her tone mocking. “He gave me the old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me, babe’ brush-off.”
“Ouch,” Emily whispered.
“I can’t believe I was a one-night stand. I’d have bet money against that ever happening. To me of all people. I’m not stupid, Em.”
“Of course you’re not stupid,” Emily staunchly defended. “I never would have guessed that Mitch of all people—”
“He’s a football star,” Jenny reminded her, feeling defeated. She wished she’d remembered that important fact last night. “He’s a celebrity, and the world is his oyster. I bet he does this kind of thing all the time.”
“But not with you.”
“He has now.”
Emily gestured with a spread palm. “But, you’re not… You know.”
“I am now.”
Emily thwacked her head against the seatback. “This is ridiculous.”
“I’m over it.”
“You are not.”
“I am. I have no choice. What you told me last night was spot-on. And I promised myself if this didn’t work out, I’d date other men. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Pining away over Mitch Hayward has gotten me exactly nowhere in the past, and it will get me exactly nowhere in the future. I refuse to do something so illogical.”
Emily sat up straighter, eyes narrowing, forehead creasing. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.” Jenny had never been more serious in her life.
Emily smacked the dashboard. “Then let’s get going.”
“Where?”
“Take Bainbridge to Payton for Harper’s Boutique. You’re going to need a new wardrobe.”
Three
After an excruciatingly long day at work, followed by a grueling physiotherapy session for his injured shoulder, Mitch pulled his Corvette in front of the garage of his rented, split-level house. The pain in his shoulder was bad enough, but then there were some of Jenny’s words that he couldn’t seem to get out of his mind.
“We slipped up,” she’d said. “Hey, it happens.” As if it was the kind of thing that had happened to her in the past. As if anything like their lovemaking had ever happened to him.
Sure, he’d dated his share of women. He was on the road, in the public eye, invited to parties and publicity events where supermodels wanted to hobnob with athletes.
But it wasn’t the same thing. There had never been anything like his night—well, his half night—with Jenny.
He exited the cool car, using his left arm to push the door shut, cursing the fact that his shoulder wasn’t healing as quickly as he’d hoped. He knew he wasn’t eighteen anymore, but he was in top physical shape, and he’d done every single thing the doctors and physiotherapists had told him to do.
He heard the sound of footsteps and looked up to see Cole, who lived across the street, pacing his way down the driveway.
“Hey,” Cole greeted with a nod, striding forward. Living so close to one another, the two men spent many casual evenings in each other’s company.
“Hey,” Mitch returned, hitting the lock button on his key fob.
“Shoulder okay?”
“It will be. But my physio is a sadist.”
“Poor baby.”
Mitch grunted.
“Got a beer?” asked Cole.
“Sure,” Mitch answered as he started for the front door. He’d rather have a double shot of single malt. But he’d read studies that told him drinking alcohol to relieve pain was a dangerous path to start down. He wondered if it was as dangerous for emotional pain as it was for physical pain.
“You took Jenny home last night,” Cole stated as he followed behind.
“So?” Mitch’s tone came out uncharacteristically sharp. But the last thing he wanted to do was talk about Jenny. “Her car broke down.”
“I saw she left it in the TCC parking lot.”
Case closed. There was nothing unusual about Mitch offering Jenny a ride home. He didn’t owe anybody any explanation.
He inserted his key and swung open the front door. He retrieved his Royal Crier newspaper from the metal bracket beside his house, and grabbed a handful of mail from his mailbox. Then he tossed it all, along with the keys, onto the side table in his small foyer.
The house was cool and dark, and he breathed a sigh of relief at being home. Maybe he’d take some pain pills later tonight. He had a feeling it was going to be a challenge to get to sleep.
“I was on the phone with Abigail for an hour today,” he told Cole, changing the subject from Jenny and choosing something familiar and safe as he crossed the living room to open the blinds. The direct sunlight had passed over his house hours ago and would now be shining on the back deck.
“Does she know that Brad’s being threatened with blackmail?” Cole asked. Few people knew about the blackmail threats to Brad, but Cole was a trusted confidant of most TCC board members and had been brought into the loop.
Mitch shook his head. “Not yet. At least not that she mentioned. She has some strong opinions on the design for the new clubhouse.”
Brad and Abigail were locked in a bitter fight for the upcoming presidential election at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Mitch was pretty sure that Abigail would have spoken up if she knew that Brad was receiving vague, threatening notes that talked about exposing his “secret.”
“Whatever it is, it’s going to come out sooner or later.”
“I’m betting sooner.” Mitch opened the refrigerator and snagged two icy cold imported beers. “That’s the thing about secrets.”
“That’s the thing about secrets,” said Cole, an oblique look in his eyes as he accepted one of the chilled, green bottles. He twisted off the cap and tossed it into the trash.
Ignoring Cole’s dire tone, Mitch opened his own bottle and headed for the back deck. He settled into a padded chair beneath the shade of the awning, propping up his right arm to relieve the stress on his shoulder.
The deck provided a view across the seventh green of the Royal Golf Club. Two men were putting in the distance, while a foursome, two men and two women, made their way to the eighth tee. A breeze rippled the leaves on the perim
eter oaks, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass.
Cole sat down. “Secrets,” he said, then took a swig.
“You got one that matters?” asked Mitch, trying to gauge his friend’s expression.
Cole smiled. “I think you do.”
Mitch squinted. “You know something I don’t?” Most of his life had been splashed across the national tabloids. Everybody in the country knew his yardage, his college grades, his weight. They’d even done a spread on his new haircut last fall.
“You got home at 4:00 a.m.”
Mitch stilled, and his voice lowered to a warning growl. He did not need to defend himself to Cole. “Last time I checked, I was over twenty-one.”
“You were with Jenny.” Cole’s tone wasn’t exactly judgmental, but there was a steadiness in his eyes that made Mitch feel like he was under interrogation.
Mitch didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t about to tarnish Jenny’s reputation, either. So, he didn’t respond.
“Are you sure that was such a good idea?” asked Cole.
Mitch felt his heartbeat deepen, while adrenaline trickled into his system. “You might want to think about exiting this conversation along about now.”
“I’m worried about Jenny.”
“Jenny’s fine.”
“How would you know that?”
Mitch forced in a calming breath and took a long pull on his beer. He knew he should never have kissed her. And after she’d made his blood pressure skyrocket there in the car, he should never have walked her to the door.
But it was done. And he couldn’t change it. And it was none of anybody else’s damn business.
“What are your intentions?” ask Cole, his gaze steely.
“Is this a joke?”
“I’m dead serious. I’ve known Jenny since she was a little girl—”
“And I haven’t?”
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
Mitch came instantly to his feet, pain throbbing through his shoulder. He hated mounting an argument when he was in the wrong. Oh, he could do it. But he sure hated it. “Jenny is an adult. We talked this morning and—”
“And she told you she was fine?” Cole asked, brow arched.
Mitch came clean. “She said ‘we slipped up’ and ‘hey, it happens.’”
“Does that sound like Jenny to you?”
And that was where Mitch’s logic fell off the rails. It didn’t sound remotely like Jenny.
The accusation went out of Cole’s eyes, and Mitch felt his guard slip a notch.
Both men were silent for a few minutes, while the wind picked up, and the golf games continued on the course.
“What were you thinking?” asked Cole.
Mitch eased back down in his seat. “You saw her last night.”
“Yet I didn’t sleep with her.” Then Cole’s gaze grew contemplative, as if he was questioning his own judgment on that front.
Something dark burst to life inside Mitch, and he reflexively jerked forward. “Don’t you dare even think about sleeping with Jenny.”
Cole looked amused now. He obviously saw some kind of twisted humor in Mitch’s predicament. “That sounded a whole lot like jealousy. Why don’t you tell me again how you have no intentions toward her?”
Mitch could tell where Cole was going. But there was absolutely no future for him and Jenny. Jenny was a great girl, and Mitch was only human. “You know what I’m like.”
He and Cole had been friends since elementary school. Cole had played baseball instead of football, his smaller stature making that game a better fit. But he was fully aware of the perks available to elite athletes. And he was under no illusions about Mitch’s lifestyle.
“You’re not the guy I’d pick for my sister, that’s for sure,” Cole agreed.
“You don’t have a sister.”
“If I had one.”
“I’ll be leaving town after the election, or as soon as my shoulder heals,” Mitch added to the discussion. There was absolutely no future for the two of them. And Jenny deserved a guy who could give her a future.
Nipping things in the bud was the only way to keep from hurting her even more.
“I talked with Jeffrey Porter last night,” he put in, knowing it was a way to further emphasis his undesirability as a match for Jenny. Cole was well aware of Jeffrey’s many indiscretions.
Cole lifted his beer bottle in a mock toast. “Is he serving as your cautionary tale?”
“His girlfriend caught him cheating. You know,” Mitch mused aloud, “I honestly think Jeffrey said ‘no’ to the first hundred propositions. Then maybe one night he was alone. Maybe we’d lost the game. Maybe he got hurt on the field. Maybe the coach had reamed him out for something, and maybe he’d had a fight over the phone with Celeste. And there she was, a fresh, pretty, willing little sweet thing that would make all his problems go away. At least for a while. And so, he stumbled. And once he’d done it the first time, well…”
Mitch had watched the same scenario play out with dozens of players. His teammates tried to make relationships work, yet, inevitably, they were spectacular failures.
“You don’t have to sell me on the general sleaziness of professional athletes,” said Cole.
“I’m trying to sell you on the general sleaziness of me. I’m going back to that world, Cole. And I’m no different than any other guy on the team.”
“Then you had no business sleeping with Jenny.”
Mitch grunted out a cold laugh.
He ought to be drawn and quartered for what he’d done to Jenny. Guys like him had no business sniffing around caring, wholesome, defenseless girls like her.
Jenny was keeping a sinful secret. It had to do with her updated wardrobe. Though she’d worn her usual Friday outfit of gray linen slacks, matching blazer and her favorite aqua silk blouse to the office this morning, underneath it all, she wore skimpy purple lace panties and a matching push-up bra.
She and Emily had spent every evening this week shopping for new clothes. They’d started Tuesday at Harper’s Boutique. Then, they’d moved on to every high-fashion store within a fifty-mile radius.
Even if nobody had a clue, Jenny felt a little bit sexy. It was good for her bruised ego. As Emily had said on the drive home last night, Mitch had no idea what he was missing.
The outer office door opened with a rattle, and a uniformed courier entered, a white cardboard envelope in one hand and his electronic tracking device in the other.
“Delivery for Mr. Hayward,” the young man announced. He crossed the room and perched the envelope against her upright in-basket, holding out the tracking device.
Jenny took it and scrolled her signature across the grayed window. “Thanks.”
“Have a good day.” He gave her a salute of acknowledgment while he turned to leave.
As the door swung shut behind him, she ripped the perforated tab and reached into the depths of the cardboard pouch, extracting a smaller manila envelope. She retrieved a letter opener and sliced through the paper. Inside, she discovered four VIP tickets to tonight’s football game in Houston. The Texas Tigers versus the Chicago Crushers.
Her mood slipped another notch.
Like any good Texan, she loved football. And the last three times Mitch had been sent complimentary tickets to a nearby game, he’d invited her to join the group. But those days were obviously over.
A folded note slipped out of the envelope, and she opened it up. The jet will be at the airport at four, it read. Bring a date. It was signed by Mitch’s friend and teammate Jeffrey Porter.
“Jenny, can you please look up—” Mitch stopped short.
A jolt of guilt hit her. Which was ridiculous. She opened Mitch’s mail all the time. There was nothing on this package to indicate it was personal. And it wasn’t. He was a football player. He received packages from his team with some regularity.
“The tickets?” he asked, moving forward.
She nodded. Bundling them along with the note back into
the manila envelope, pretending everything was perfectly normal in her world. “They say the jet will be at the airport at four.” For a split second, she wondered who his date might be, but then she quickly cut off that line of thinking, mentally admonishing herself.
She rose to deposit the empty cardboard packaging into the recycling bin.
She heard Mitch behind her, the envelope rustling. He was clearly reading the enclosed note.
Determined to banish the annoying jealousy, she turned and moved briskly back to her chair.
But she no sooner sat down than perversity made her speak out. “So, who are you taking?”
He went still, and she had to fight the urge to glance at his expression. She focused on picking up the scattered bits of cardboard from the envelope tab. She rolled them between her fingers and tossed them in the wastebasket.
Then she straightened a stack of papers on her desk, returned her letter opener to the drawer and lined up three pens in front of her phone.
Mitch’s voice was a deep rumble. “Do you want to come to the game, Jenny?”
She forced out a little laugh. “Of course not. That would be silly.”
“You can join me if you’d like.”
She looked up to where he stood above her, tone tart. “I would not like.”
Her words dropped into silence.
His gaze held hers, and for a long moment she couldn’t breathe. He seemed to be searching deep into her eyes.
Then his lips compressed, and his broad shoulders drew back beneath his suit. “You do understand why I’m no good for you, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He was no good for her because there were hundreds of beautiful women out there who were perfectly willing to throw themselves at a star quarterback. And Mitch was a star quarterback who wanted to be in a position to catch them.
She was a fool to ever think she could hold his attention. She wasn’t a movie star. She wasn’t a supermodel. And she sure wasn’t a bored debutante looking for a walk on the wild side.
“It has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you,” he said.
“You do know that’s the oldest line in the book.”
“In this case, it happens to be true.”
An After-Hours Affair Page 4