“You really have to remind me to be honest, sugar? I thought you understood that my brutal truth-telling is a given, no matter what.”
She smiled, her face lighting up. “Oh, my mistake. I apologize for doubting your integrity.”
“That’s better.” My fingers itched to reach up and trace the line of her cheek, and I had to make a fist to stop myself. I’d learned over these past five weeks what Gia deemed acceptable touching and what spooked her. I could offer her my hand to help her up, or I could lay my hand on her shoulder now and again, if we were in a crowd and trying not to get separated. I could press her back lightly to guide her through a doorway or pat her hip if we were cooking and she was in my way.
But Gia never initiated any physical contact, and she got skittish if I didn’t have a good reason for doing so. I could always tell if I’d gone too far, because she’d get quiet and her face would tighten. She didn’t hold a grudge, and she got over it pretty fast, but I was still careful. Pushing her was the last thing I wanted to do.
She cleared her throat now, tilting her head to remind me that she was still waiting for my answer. I considered carefully before I spoke.
“It was much different than I expected it to be, from what I’d heard over the years.” I paused. “The music was . . . it was unbelievable. There was so much depth and emotion in every single song, and I’m not a big fan of musicals.”
“Okayyyyy . . .” Gia rolled her hand in the classic get-on-with-it gesture. “And?”
“And . . . I really liked it. I’ll admit it. I loved Rent.”
“Yay!!” She clapped her hands and did a little scooch-bottom dance on the bed. “I’m so glad. I thought you would, but I was kind of nervous that you wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Great acting, and the storyline was heavy, sure, but it was about redemption and love and family. Not a traditional family, I guess, but why should that matter?”
Gia shrugged. “It just might not be something a typical football-playing macho man would enjoy. But I’m happy you did.”
“Haven’t I told you I’m not the typical football Neanderthal, toots? When are you going to start believing me?” I quirked one eyebrow at her, challenging.
“Yeah, I know, I know. You’re all enlightened and shit.” She stood, twisting to stretch her back, and I did my best not to stare at the way her thin black cotton shirt tightened over her boobs. I spent a lot of time these days trying not to get caught ogling this girl, and that got harder every day. If I was a cruder guy, I might add that it wasn’t the only thing getting harder . . . but as Gia had just said, I was more enlightened than that.
“Is it time for the chili? I’m starved.” She stepped into the kitchen and lifted the lid of the slow cooker, sniffing appreciatively. That slow cooker was just one of the many additions to Gia’s kitchen; she also had a dish rack, a blender and small coffee maker. That coffee maker had been among the first things I’d bought for her, and I wasn’t too proud to admit I’d done it to keep her from visiting the hot barista at the shop on the corner.
Hey, I might not have been allowed to push my own agenda with Gia, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand back to let some other schmuck nose his way into her heart, either.
I laughed, making my way over to join her. “Yeah, it’s probably ready. I wouldn’t want you to faint from hunger or anything.”
She stuck out her tongue at me. “You’re just squiffy that you didn’t say it first. I can’t help it if you’re rubbing off on me. And that you keep making me such amazing food.”
“Fine. You get out the sour cream and chips, and I’ll dish up the grub.” I lifted two bowls from the cabinet and scooped the chili into them. It did smell good, and my stomach growled in anticipation.
We sat at the table, eating and talking, and as I always did, I took a second to appreciate how far we’d come in a little over a month. Gia was relaxed, enjoying her food. She’d begun to open up about what we called her weekday life, those five days between our weekends together. I knew about the people who annoyed her at the television station and how much she dreaded going into work every day. I recognized the names of her professors and remembered what classes each taught.
A couple of times, I’d mentioned coming to visit during the week, but she’d shut that down fast.
“Tate, it’s not that I wouldn’t want to see you, but it takes everything I’ve got—all my energy—just to pull myself through Monday to Friday. Between the hours at the station and my classes, I hardly have a minute to breathe. I just look forward to the weekends, when I can relax and enjoy being with you.”
How could I be upset at her when she said stuff like that? Gia admitting how much she enjoyed our weekends felt like the biggest victory I’d ever scored, on or off the field.
She’d begun to ask me more questions, too, things that made me aware of how much she saw and noticed. Just last weekend, out of the blue, she’d asked me about my watch.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw a man wearing a watch,” she’d observed, gesturing to my arm. “But you always do.”
I’d grinned at her. “I like to know the time, and you don’t have a single clock in your entire apartment.”
She’d ignored that dig. “But most people just look at their cell phones. You have a phone, I know.”
“Yes, I do, but I prefer the old-fashioned way.” I shook my arm until the watch slid down onto my wrist. “This was my great-grandfather’s watch. It belonged to Pops’ dad. Pops gave it to me when I graduated from high school, and it was the best gift I could’ve gotten.”
Gia had studied me with a frown. “That’s so sweet. Your Pops gave you something that must’ve been really special to him, too, if it belonged to his father.”
“Exactly,” I’d nodded. “It meant more than just the watch itself. It’s part of my roots.”
She hadn’t said anything else, but given her own mixed feelings about her family, I’d wondered if I’d struck a nerve.
Now, thinking about the conversation, I glanced up at her as I chased a red bean around my bowl. “Pops was asking about you again. He wants to know if I’m ever going to bring you over to meet him.”
Gia ducked her head, but I didn’t miss the wince. “Um, I don’t know. Why would he want to meet me?”
I kept my voice neutral. “Because he knows I’ve been spending my weekends over here, and he’s always insisted on meeting my friends, all my life.” I reached across to tap the back of her hand where it rested on the table. “Don’t freak, Gia. Pops isn’t reading anything into this, and he’s not asking me to bring you over so he can give us his blessing or anything. He just wants to meet you. I talk about you a lot, and he’s curious about this sassy chick who keeps me on my toes.”
One side of her mouth tipped up. “That’s how you describe me to him?”
She seemed to like the idea, so I went with it. “I tell him stories sometimes, and if that’s the conclusion he draws, I can’t help it.” I winked at her and then got serious. “He’d really enjoy it if we could go over and hang out with him at some point. The last year or so has been tough on him, because he’s slowing down, and he hates that. He likes to think that at almost eighty, he’s got the same energy and strength he did twenty years ago. These days, I’m walking a fine line between keeping him from overdoing and not making him feel like I’m coddling him.”
Gia caught her lip between her teeth. “As long as he doesn’t read anything into it, I guess it would be okay if we went over to see him. We could go next weekend, if you want.”
I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “Uh, next weekend won’t work. I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m driving down to Richmond on Friday with Leo’s brother Danny. We’d set it up a while back . . . nothing big, just a guys’ weekend. Leo wants us all to see his new house, and I think he’s a little lonely down there.” I shrugged. “I kept forgetting to tell you that I’ll be away all next weekend. I’m sorry.”
“Won’t you miss me even a tiny bit?” I knew better than to ask questions when I wasn’t sure if I’d like the answer, but I did it anyway, keeping my tone light and teasing.
“I’ll miss your cooking.” Gia reached for my bowl to take it to the sink along with her own. “Guess it’s back to egg rolls and chips for me.”
“Hey, now.” I covered her hand with mine, effectively stopping her from moving away from me. “It’s okay to say you’ll miss me being here, you know. I promise, I won’t take it as a declaration of undying love.”
Something flared in her eyes, something that was full of fear and uncertainty. I decided I’d better change the subject before I waded into deeper, more dangerous waters. “And I hate to think about you falling back into bad habits. Let’s go shopping tonight, and then tomorrow, I’ll make you a couple of things to put in the freezer. It’ll be the next best thing to having me here.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She wriggled her hand out from beneath mine. “I didn’t die of malnutrition before you took pity on me, Tate. I hardly think I will now.”
“I didn’t say you would.” I focused on making my voice even, with no trace of irritation or hurt there. “It was an offer, and by the way, I never took pity on you, Gia. I thought we’d gotten that straight weeks ago.”
“Maybe.” She had her back to me now as she stood at the sink, rinsing the bowls. “But I’ll be fine next weekend. You don’t have to worry about me. You can report to Leo that I’m not suicidal or anything.”
“I don’t talk to Leo about you, Gia. I haven’t mentioned you at all to him. What’s between us is none of his business.” I picked up a dish towel and began drying the bowls as she placed them in the rack. “Have you said anything to Quinn or Zelda about how you’ve been spending your weekends lately?”
The look she cast me over her shoulder was equal parts guilt, fear and fire. “No. And when you say it like that, it sounds . . . wrong. Like something I should be hiding. Or maybe like I’m not being fair to you because I’m not saying anything.”
I frowned, shaking my head. “That’s the most confusing thing you’ve ever said to me, and honey, that’s really saying something, because you confound me on a regular basis. I didn’t mean we’re doing anything wrong. We’re not, unless watching five hours of TV without a break is wrong.”
“If it is, I was wrong way before you came along.” Gia’s wry humor as she dried her hands on a paper towel eased the knot in my belly a little bit. “I know we’re not doing anything wrong. It was just how you said it, I guess.”
“It really isn’t anyone’s business. I wasn’t kidding about that. And I haven’t mentioned anything to Leo because he might make a big deal out of it, and he probably wouldn’t be able to keep himself from telling Quinn. I don’t want people ruining what we have.”
“Is Leo talking to Quinn?” Gia sounded surprised. “I hadn’t heard that. The last I knew, she’d gone down to see him in Richmond, and he sent her packing. That was right before she decided to take the job offer in California.”
I decided to keep the Leo side of that story to myself. Again, it was none of my business, and I didn’t want to gossip about our friends. Much. “I don’t know the details, but apparently, he’s texting with her. Maybe it’s just their way of keeping in touch while Quinn . . . figures out stuff.”
“Maybe.” Gia leaned her ass against the edge of the counter, folding her arms over her chest. She had a habit of doing this, her forearms tight against her ribs and her boobs resting on them. It was increasingly difficult for me to keep from staring at them. I struggled to bring my attention back to what she was saying.
“Zelda called me this week to see if I wanted to fly out to San Francisco with her to see Quinn some time soon.”
“Oh, yeah? So, are you going?” I knew it would probably be good for both Gia and Quinn, but selfishly, I didn’t want her going away, not when my free weekends were going to disappear once pre-season training began.
Gia rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. Sure, I’m going. I just need to run down to the basement where I keep my goose. You know, the one who lays the golden eggs. She’s going to pop one out for me, then I’ll give it to the nice people at the airlines in exchange for a ticket. No problem.”
“No need to get snippy.” I folded the towel in half and draped it over the handle of the oven door. “I’d be happy to buy you a ticket, if you want to go.”
If I’d expected my offer to elicit gratitude, I should’ve known better. She actually looked more pissed off than she had before. “I don’t want you to pay for my plane ticket, Tate. Zelda offered, too. I’d love to see Quinn, but I’m not taking anyone’s charity. If I can’t afford to do it myself, I’m not doing it.”
“Fine.” I spread my hands. “I’m just saying, Gia, that this isn’t charity. I’m paid pretty damn well. I earn more than decent money. I live with my grandfather, who refuses to let me pay rent. So I can easily afford to treat you to a trip. But I’m not going to push you on this, because I can see your mind is made up.”
“Yep.” Her jaw was tense, and her lips formed a straight line. “It is. Just because you make a lot of money doesn’t mean you should spend it on me.” Her eyes darted around the small kitchen, taking in the additions I’d brought. “Any more than you have already, I guess.”
I thought for a moment, trying to see a way out of this minefield she’d created. “In Rent, when Angel brings the food on Christmas or treats for dinner at the restaurant, Mark and Roger don’t shut her down. They’re not too proud to accept a gift from a friend—and if we’re going to be nit-picky on the details, they don’t even know her that well then.”
Gia’s head tilted ever so slightly. “It’s a movie, Tate. Fiction.”
I offered her my most winsome smile. “But very realistic. Just because the story came from some guy’s head doesn’t make it any less true.” I paused to let that sink in before I went on. “If our positions were reversed, you’d be generous with me, right? I hope?”
She closed her eyes. “Of course, I would.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m not mad at you, Tate. This is just a sensitive subject for me. I could call my dad, and he’d send me money for a plane ticket. My mom probably would, too, even though she’d make me pay for it in other ways, like reminding me every time we talked about how wonderful she is. I’m tired of being the one who has to be helped, you know? I’m sick of being pathetic.”
“Sweetheart, you’re not pathetic. You’re just starting out, and you’re in school. Your experience is actually much more normal than mine is. Most of the people I know from college are still trying to figure out what they want to be when they grow up. At least you’ve already got that part figured out.”
“Some days I do.” She opened her eyes a crack and snuck a glance at me. “Some days I think I hate the idea of being a reporter. It was just the logical choice of majors in college, and I fell into it.”
“You like your classes. It’s just the internship you don’t love. But we’re getting off track here. I only want you to answer one question honestly.” I waited until she raised her eyes to me. “Are you going to miss me next weekend? For more than just my food services?”
Pink spread over her cheeks. “If I say yes, am I ever going to hear the end of it? Or are you going to use it against me?”
It pained me to hear the apprehension and defensiveness in her voice, and not for the first time, I hated Matt Lampert for what he’d done to her. “I promise that I won’t ever mention it again in any context. I won’t even react to it now.”
Gia shrugged one small shoulder. “Fine, then. Yes, I’ll miss you. Are you happy?”
“
Of course not.” Without thinking about it, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a quick, tight hug. It was instinct; I only wanted to offer her some kind of comfort and reassurance. And at first, Gia melted into me, relaxing against my body. But within a few seconds, she stiffened and began to push away.
“What the hell was that?” She backed into the furthest corner of the kitchen, as though I might try to give chase.
I flipped over one hand. “It was a hug. You looked like you needed one.”
“Well, keep your hands to yourself.” She tightened her own arms around her middle. “I’m not a touchy-feely kind of girl.”
“It wasn’t a proposal or a proposition, Gia. Calm down.” I knew the words were the wrong thing to say, but I was irked, too. Holding her that close had been like a tantalizing taste of forbidden fruit, and damn if I didn’t want more. “You might not be a toucher, but I am. I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
“So keep your hugging to your other friends. We have rules here.” She sniffed a little and angled her body so that she faced away from me.
“Jesus, Gia.” I tossed up my hands and then jammed them into the front pockets of my jeans as I stalked the limited space in the apartment. “When have I ever done anything that broke any of your so-called rules? And when did I sign on to those rules?”
“When you said you could . . . you know. That we could keep things casual. Friendly.” Her forehead wrinkled as her brows drew together. “You said you wouldn’t pressure me.”
“Yeah, and if you think a little hug like that, which was clearly only because I didn’t want you to be upset, is pressure, then . . .” My voice trailed off. “I can’t walk around on eggshells all the time, Gia. I love spending time with you. I’ve had more fun than—well, I can’t remember when. Every week, I look forward to Saturday when I can see you again. But I can’t deal if you’re going to second-guess everything I say or do and suspect hidden motives behind every move.”
Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance Page 8