Catch of the Day

by Whitney Lyles

  “Doing what on purpose?”

  “Trying to turn you on. Trying to make you so desperate you’ll give in first.”

  “Oh, no! No, no, no! Will wouldn’t do that.” When Holly gave her an exasperated how-can-you-be-so-stupid look, Lissy tried to explain. “Scrabble was my idea, and I’m the one who walked in on him when he was in the shower. He didn’t ask me to come in. And he’s played football without his shirt before. No, it’s me. I’m just—”

  “—head-over-heels in love with a very sexy man,” Holly finished for her, then continued, “who knows perfectly well how he affects you and is doing everything he can to make you lose the bet before he does.”

  Lissy shook her head and stood, cafeteria tray in hand. “I just don’t think he would do that.”

  Holly followed her to the trash. “Lissy, dear, Will is special, but he’s still a man.”

  “The Broncos have a young receiver corps this year, heavy on strength and speed but light on experience.” Will spoke into the mic on his headset, almost finished with their second live broadcast of the day. The hot June sun beat down on him, made him sweat beneath the sport coat the station insisted he wear. “Receivers Coach Tony D’Angio put them through their paces today running cross patterns and focusing on technique—footwork and hand position.”

  From the station downtown, helmet-haired sports anchor Don Philips was interviewing him, his voice buzzing in Will’s earpiece. “Darius Williams was taken out with a pulled hamstring. Any word yet as to how serious it is?”

  “No, Don, though it’s unlikely he’ll return to the field this week. The coaching staff is working hard to prevent preseason injuries in hopes of avoiding an early season like the one they had last year. They’ve added extra stretching and conditioning workouts, which are also helping the newest members of the team adjust to playing at altitude.”

  “If anyone knows what injuries can do to a player’s career, it’s you, Will. It was a devastating knee injury that ended your career, taking you from Big 12 star to former college legend overnight.”

  Will hated it when Don brought up his past, but Don seemed to love rubbing it in. “That’s right, Don. Neither the coaches nor the players want to see that scenario unfold here at team camp, so, while they’re training hard, they’re also holding back a bit, waiting for their conditioning to peak before they push forward into the more strenuous workouts.”

  “Checking in with Will Fraser at Broncos team camp in Englewood. We’ll continue to follow events as the week unfolds. Tonight, the Red Sox—”

  Will waited until the red light on the camera went out, then ripped off his headset. “Stupid dick.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Will.” Merrill, the cameraman, began breaking down the equipment. “The asshole can’t catch a clue, much less a football. Spends his days worrying about his hair.”

  “Thanks, Merrill. Go find yourself something cold to drink and some AC.”

  Will had assumed he’d be over it by now. It had been eleven years since his dreams of playing pro football had ended in one moment of shattering pain. Although he’d never played a single pro game, he had turned professional football into a solid career for himself, using his name and his knowledge to earn a good living reporting from the sidelines. His work had brought him together with Lissy, more than making up for anything he’d lost. He had no regrets. Yet there were still times when he found himself wondering what might have been.

  Let it go, Fraser.

  Feeling on edge, Will turned back toward the practice field and watched the players finish one-on-one drills in the red zone. He’d been irritable all day, maybe because it was ninety-nine degrees outside and maybe because he had a beautiful fiancée whom he - hadn’t touched for almost three long days.

  He’d come close last night to winning the bet and ending this whole thing. Then Lissy had gotten help from an old friend. He’d known the vibrator was there. Why hadn’t he thrown the damn thing out or hidden it somewhere else? Well, he might have blown it last night, but he was a man who learned from his mistakes.

  He’d waited until she’d walked out the door this morning, then he’d searched the guest room until he’d found it. Knowing he - couldn’t smash it or toss it out without giving himself away, he’d turned it on and slipped it back beneath the mattress where she’d hidden it. By the time she got home from work, the batteries would be dead—and he’d taken care to make certain there were no more AAs anywhere in the condo. If she reached for her little buzzing boyfriend tonight, she’d find him unresponsive—and Will doubted she’d go to the trouble of getting dressed and traversing the Cone Zone for replacement batteries.

  Of course, she still had fingers.

  The thought of her touching herself, sliding her pretty fingers between her lips and over her tasty little clit until she came, sent a rush of blood to his groin, leaving him half-hard.

  “Hey, Fraser!” Coach D’Angio strolled over to him, pigskin in hand, followed by two rookies who would most likely spend the year serving an apprenticeship on the bench. “I hear you’re getting hitched.”

  Will nodded, grinned, grateful for the distraction. “You heard right—two weeks from this past Saturday.”

  D’Angio slapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations!”

  The rookies nodded and smiled.

  “Is she worth the ball and chain?”

  Ball and chain? Will had never thought of marriage to Lissy in that way. “More than.”

  Coach D’Angio held up the ball. “Hey, you want to show these two clowns how to catch a damned football? Will here is more than just a pretty face,” D’Angio said to the rookies. “For six years, he was the Big 12 all-time leader in receptions, receiving yardage and touchdowns.”

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve run a serious pattern, D’Angio? These guys are pros. I can’t teach them anything.” But Will was already unbuttoning his sport jacket.

  From Big 12 star to former college legend.

  By the time Coach D’Angio had the ball in the air, Will was far downfield. He turned in, saw the leather spiraling toward him but about two feet too far to the left and high. As it had always done, his mind emptied of everything except how much he wanted that ball. He leapt for it, thought it into his hands, pulled it against his chest. Then his feet hit turf, a sharp bite of pain in his knee the only proof he’d just done something stupid.

  Back toward the fifty-yard line, D’Angio was applauding and shouting. “Softest damned hands in the Big 12, boys, and feet with wings. If it hadn’t been for an interception and a linebacker with a grudge, he’d be shaking up the pros. Want to go for another one, Fraser?”

  Will let himself be talked into catching three more before he pleaded deadline and retrieved his jacket. “I still have a column to write.”

  Only then did he realize Merrill had taped the whole thing.

  “Please tell me you’re going to scrap that.” Will tossed his jacket over his shoulder.

  “Might be fun at the employee holiday party. I do take bribes, you know.”

  Lissy picked up Chinese on the way home and tucked Will’s supper in the fridge. Then she hunkered down before the television with her dinner plate and a pair of chopsticks. The station was just finishing weather, which meant sports was next. They’d probably recycle Will’s live broadcast—Denver was Broncos crazy—and she’d at least get a glimpse of him. She hated it when one or the other of them had to work late.

  No, it’s me. I’m just—

  —head-over-heels in love with a very sexy man who knows perfectly well how he affects you and is doing everything he can to make you lose the bet before he does.

  Lissy hadn’t been able to forget her conversation with Holly. She’d run Sunday through her mind again and again but could find no reason to believe Will was deliberately trying to seduce her. Holly had an overactive imagination.

  But why had none of his friends taken off their shirts? Hmmm?

  Lissy ignored the irr
itating voice in her head and turned up the volume.

  The latest Red Sox victory over St. Louis. A doping scandal in the world of cycling. A few surprising NFL draft picks.

  Thank God they were finally getting to football. No matter how much she loved Will, Lissy could only stand so much sports news. She stood and hurried to the kitchen to refill her glass of ice water, the sound of the television following her.

  “At Broncos team camp this afternoon, spectators might have assumed the team had inked a new draft pick. But look closely. The man catching the ball is none other than Channel Four commentator Will Fraser, who stepped out from behind the microphone and onto the field this afternoon to catch a few passes thrown by Receivers Coach Tony D’Angio.”

  Lissy nearly tripped in her crazed dash from the kitchen to the sofa. She watched, thrilled, as an image of Will leaping into the air and catching a football filled the screen.

  My man.

  The words popped into her head, uttered by some primitive female part of her, as she savored the replay, melting into the cushions. Then they segued from the footage of him catching passes to his prerecorded analysis of the team’s receivers.

  It was only later that it dawned on her.

  His knee, which had hurt so much last night, hadn’t seemed to bother him at all.

  Will drove home feeling ready to hit someone. He’d been halfway through his column when his phone had rung and he’d found himself on the line with Lissy’s mother. She obviously hadn’t expected to reach him in person, had planned to leave him a message. But once she recovered from the shock of speaking with him live, she told him that she was prepared to compensate him handsomely if he signed a prenuptial agreement, which she had just faxed to him at the paper.

  “You’ll receive a check for fifty thousand dollars as soon as the document is legally final,” she’d said, her voice all ice and clipped syllables. “Once Lissy sees you’ve signed it, she’ll quit being ridiculous and sign it herself. The money—”

  “You mean the bribe?”

  “—will remain our secret.”

  Anger and disbelief had tied Will’s tongue, but only for a moment. “I don’t know how a woman as warm and loving as Lissy came from you, but for her sake I’m going to keep this conversation to myself. It would crush her to know you’ve gone behind her back like this.”

  “I will not have my daughter lose her fortune to trailer trash! You don’t even know who your father was!” The ugly sharpness of her words rang between them like shattering glass.

  Will fought back profanity, chose his words carefully. “I know he was a wealthy married man, like your husband, and that the young waitress he took advantage of paid the rest of her life for his irresponsibility, raising a child alone on tip money. She had more courage in her heart than he had dollars in the bank. Lissy is like her—kind, courageous, caring.”

  “Don’t presume to tell me about my daughter!”

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Charteris.” He’d slammed the phone down, then retrieved the hateful document and fed it through the shredder.

  Will got home just before nine to find Lissy curled up on the sofa with a pile of fashion magazines and a glass of iced tea, Seal playing over the stereo. At the sight of her, he felt his anger drain away. God, he needed her tonight.

  She was wearing a skin-hugging black tank top—without a bra—and a pair of very short denim shorts. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that hung halfway down her back. She stood when he neared the sofa, raised herself onto her toes and kissed him—on the cheek. “I missed you.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her long and slow—on the lips. “I missed you, too.”

  She stepped away, started toward the kitchen. “Your dinner’s in the fridge—Chinese.”

  “There’s nothin’ like my Lissy’s home cookin’.” He followed her, watching the feminine sway of her hips and the sexy curves of her ass, willing himself to forget the conversation he’d had with her mother.

  “I saw you on TV today.” She opened the refrigerator and bent over to reach inside, her shorts rising an inch to reveal the soft, rounded undersides of her ass cheeks.

  His mouth watered, but not for Chinese food. “I’m always on TV, sugar.”

  She turned around, two take-out containers in her hands. “The receivers coach was throwing passes, and you—”

  “What? Are you telling me they aired that?” Mortification followed astonishment.

  She poured the containers out onto a plate and popped the plate into the microwave. “You looked really good. And, hey, you caught it every time.”

  Cringing on the inside, he shook his head. “Christ, that’s embarrassing! I didn’t even know Merrill was taping. I think he was trying to get back at that dickhead Don, but I sure wish he’d asked me first.”

  She took a pair of lacquered chopsticks out of the silverware drawer. “Why would that be embarrassing? Most men would give anything to be on the six o’clock news tossing the ball around with a Broncos coach.”

  “Most men don’t have to see how much they’ve gone downhill or worry that everyone will think they’re trying to show off.” He hated the self-pity he heard in his own voice.

  She looked over at him, her green eyes going soft. Then she set the chopsticks aside, walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Will. I’d give anything to be able to change things, to see you live the life you want to live.”

  He stroked and kissed her hair. “You are the life I want to live, Lissy. You’re not someone I got stuck with because the rest of it - didn’t work out.”

  He felt her body relax, an almost imperceptible shift. “It’s still hard, isn’t it? Every day it’s hard for you.”

  He pulled her closer. “Not every day.”

  What was hard was not reaching down to cup the lovely, firm breasts that pressed so temptingly against his ribs. He ran his knuckles up the warm, bare skin of her arms and cupped her silky shoulders instead. Then he ducked down and brushed his lips over hers, tasting first her upper lip, then her lower.

  He heard her quick intake of breath, saw her eyes go smoky. She lifted her chin, reaching for his kiss with her luscious red mouth.

  The microwave beeped.

  Will bit back a groan as she slipped out of his arms, pulled his steaming chicken and vegetables out of the microwave and carried it to the table.

  They shared the highlights of their day while he polished off his supper, then they snuggled on the couch to watch the ten o’clock news.

  Later Will would not be able to say how it started—an innocent brush of skin against skin, a glance, a shared breath. They’d made it through the day’s headlines, when he found himself brushing his lips slowly over her cheek, kissing her temple, nibbling at the whorl of her ear, sucking on her earlobe, the sound of the television a distant buzz.

  Her breath came in shudders. Her lips were parted, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. When her head fell back onto his shoulder, he did what he’d wanted to do all night. He kissed her full on the mouth—and she kissed him back.

  It seemed like forever since they’d kissed like this with lips and tongues and teeth, and he found after the first taste that he wanted more. With a groan, he took her beneath him, pressed her back onto the cushions, kissed her harder, deeper.

  She arched against him, wrapped her legs around him, moaned into his mouth, a sweet feminine sound that made every muscle in his body tense and sent his mind reeling with urgent, throbbing lust. His cock strained eagerly against his fly, seeking a way out of his pants and into her. He reached down with one hand, grasped her ass, rubbed his clothed erection between her legs, searching for relief.

  She whimpered, slipped out from beneath him so that she sat on the floor, holding her hand out at arm’s length as if to ward him off. “W-we have to stop. We can’t!”

  The goddamned bet.

  Will wanted to point out that they didn’t have to stop, that the best possi
ble thing they could do right now was fuck each other’s brains out, but that would mean wearing pink. He sat up, forced breath into his lungs, bit back a few choice words. “I’ll bet engaged couples kissed a hundred years ago.”

  She seemed to consider his words, hugging her arms around herself as if that would stop whatever she was feeling. “I don’t think they kissed like that.”

  He leaned toward her, almost touching her. “I bet they touched every way and everywhere they could—as often as they - could.”

  She scooted backward. “But they stopped. They knew they had to stop.”

  “They didn’t all stop.” He dropped to the floor beside her, slipped an arm around her waist to halt her retreat and pressed his lips against the pulse at her throat. “Ever hear the expression ‘shotgun wedding’?”

  Her answer was something between a squeak and a moan.

  He pressed kisses along the silky skin of her throat. “Besides, we’re just kissing.”

  “Kissing . . . often . . . leads to . . . sex.”

  “Only if you want it to. I’ll prove it to you.” He licked the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, felt her shiver. Then he caught her hair with his fist, tilted her head back and plundered her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep, nipping and sucking her lips, taking from her mouth what he could not take from her body. He gave her no quarter.

  With a muffled cry, she melted against him and met the potency of his kiss with her own ferocious hunger. He knew he was pushing her to the edge because he was being pushed right along with her. He knew he had to stop to make his point, but his body wouldn’t let him. One more stroke of tongue against tongue. One more taste of her lips. One more gust of breath.

  His cock hard as stone, his blood raging through his veins, he broke the kiss. “I agreed not to have sex until after the wedding. But I didn’t agree not to touch you, Lissy. I intend to touch you - every day. Get used to it.”

  She stared at him through wide green eyes, her pupils dilated, her lips swollen.

  He kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, sugar. Sweet dreams.”