“He’s trying to stir the pot and create some drama to psych you out the week before the championship game.”
I wish Amelia’s theory didn’t make so much sense. I’d like to believe that the boys and I have reached a level of professional—and even league—courtesy that we’d limit our playoffs tomfoolery to smack-talking. That’s already in full force.
Yesterday, after securing his spot against Brook in the semifinals, J.J. had pounded his chest and shouted, “Next week I’m taking down Mac. Then I’m coming for you.” It was like something a professional wrestler would do before stepping into the ring. I’d half expected him to ramble on with, “Let me tell you some-thin’, bru-tha,” but Gio told him to sit down and shut up.
Amelia gestures at my screen. “That doesn’t look like work.”
It’s not. I’ll never again be able to judge another person based on his or her Internet usage at work. Not since I joined the fantasy league. I spent half an hour on Friday ordering a new pair of boots for the Bon Jovi concert. The day before, I’d refreshed the screen hundreds of times to order those tickets. I hope Brook likes his Christmas present.
“What are you watching?” Amelia asks.
“I was re-listening to this week’s Bon Jovi song to cheer me up.” I start the song over so she can hear “You Want to Make a Memory.” I pause it halfway through the first verse with a shrug. “It fit perfectly. It’s like your brother’s playlist can read my mind and plays what I need to hear every week.”
She snorts. “More like my brother is reading your mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Harper.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s picking the songs for you.”
I swivel in my chair to gape at her. “What?”
“Why else haven’t you ever had a duplicate?”
She’s right. Somehow, we’ve always had a completely unique song when he pressed the play button every Sunday. And he never lets me look at the screen. It’s not like he’s protective of his phone. I’ve used it other times to take photos of Blitz and check player stats when mine wasn’t available.
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “And before you ask, I verified my theory from the source.”
“He told you?”
“Well . . .” She looks a little sheepish. “He tried to deny it, but he’s never been very good at lying.”
That explains the logic behind a few of the songs. Like, on the day of our first date—our birthday weekend—the song of the week was “Born to be My Baby.” And “Lay Your Hands on Me” was the song the Sunday before we spent our first night together. I should’ve read between the lines of his sexual frustration more clearly.
“God, your brother is cute.”
“If you say so.” She nods toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get out there and be the fabulous ladies we are.”
“I—”
“Nope.” She links her arms through mine. “We’ll be strong, independent women until my brother gets here. But the second he walks through the door, I’m ditching you for my date.”
It’s not the game call I had in mind for tonight, but I can live with it.
I AVOID A RUN-IN WITH Dirk and his future wife by chatting with our customers. In addition to the salesmen, maintenance crew members, and support staff, Anderson invited our top clients.
After I assure Amelia for the hundredth time that I’m fine, she goes in search of Wade. I hang out by the buffet, filling my plate. We should eat as much of it as we can tonight so Kelsey and I don’t have to deal with storing the leftovers in the fridge at the end of the night. I’d asked everyone to remove their personal items in preparation for the party to give us more room, but like usual, only half of the team had listened.
Dr. Patel and his wife corner me next to the salmon cream cheese dip. “Where’s your boyfriend? Wade said he’d be here.”
“He’s running late.” When he raises his eyebrows, I add, “He’s a teacher and football coach. He has meetings or practices almost every night.”
The doctor nods in approval. “That’s important work. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
“I am, too,” says a familiar voice that turns my blood cold. “But not as much as I’d like to catch up with you.”
Keeping my face as neutral and polite as I can manage, I face Dirk. “What a surprise.”
Not a good one, but he’s a guest. It’d be rude to point that out.
“We’re heading to Iowa to visit this one’s parents,” he says, gesturing to his date—my replacement at work and in his life. “And when I told J.J. we’d be only a few hours away, he insisted we come. So here we are.”
“Here you are.” And if I could get a good grip on J.J.’s throat, I’d be glad to show him how happy I am about our surprise guests. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you.” Dirk grabs his fiancée’s hand and holds the diamond in front of my nose.
“It’s a princess cut,” she says. “Two carats.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur. I’m sure it is, but I can’t tell because it’s blinded me with the glare. “When is the big day?”
“We want a summer wedding,” Dirk says. “But our dream venue is booked for next year, so we’ll get hitched the June after.”
“Long engagement.” I sip on my glass of champagne. “Good luck with that.”
A dark glint flashes into Dirk’s eyes, but he turns his smile up a notch brighter. “Did I hear you have a date? Is he one of the salesmen? I know you have a type.”
“Actually, I’m a coach.” Brook steps up beside me. He slides an arm around my waist and turns to plant a kiss on my head. “Sorry I’m late. I had a never-ending meeting with a parent.”
“I understand those,” Mrs. Patel says. “I teach third grade.”
Brook grins. “American history.”
“Oh, which school?”
“Lincoln—”
“You said you were a coach,” Dirk interrupts.
“I am. I teach high school history, and I’m the offensive coordinator for the football team.” Brook’s hand tightens on my waist. “That’s how we do it in Nebraska.”
It’s hard not to make comparisons while my past and present boyfriends are in the middle of a pissing contest. Not only does Brook stand a full three or four inches taller than Dirk, but he exudes more confidence. And it’s sincere. It’s not like the swagger Dirk feigns to sell cars. We wouldn’t have been happy together. Not long-term. Even when I’d imagined having a life with him, I’d never been able to see it. Now, with Brook, it’s different. He’s standing here offering me his support. I don’t need a crystal ball to tell me he’ll never budge. Not today, not fifty years from now.
Dirk clears his throat and turns his gaze to the floor. “Well, it was great meeting you, but we should be going. We want to get to her parents’ house tonight.”
“Thanks for stopping by.” The smile falls off my face the second they’re out the door.
Brook’s hand slides up to the back of my neck, and his fingers work at the knot. “Sorry again.”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I should have scheduled the meeting for earlier, but it was the only time this kid’s parents could meet. And we need to get him to study before his final next week.”
I lean up on my toes to kiss his chin and repeat, “It’s okay.”
Cheeks flushing slightly, he turns to Dr. Patel and introduces himself, which I’ve rudely forgotten to do. We carry on a light conversation, and I notice we’ve caught Gio’s attention. I give him a tentative wave, and he shakes his head with a surprised, but amused, expression on his face. I hope he’s not too disappointed he wasn’t able to make a love connection for Wade and me.
I’m starting to relax when I catch J.J. staring at us, too. Glaring might be a better description. “Uh oh.”
“What?” Brook asks.
“We might have trouble.”
He follows
my gaze. “Yeah, I wondered if he would be a problem.” He shrugs. “Oh well. We might as well get this over with so J.J. can get over it.”
“But not right here.” I lead Brook toward my office, hoping J.J. catches the hint that I’d rather not have a public outburst.
For once in his life he does. I’ve barely switched on my office lights when J.J. storms in. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Brook closes the door quietly. “Harper and I are together.”
J.J.’s jaw twitches. “For how long?”
“A while,” Brook answers at the same time I say, “Not long.”
“It’s still pretty new,” Brook clarifies.
“Who knows?”
“My sister and Wade.”
“Why the secrecy?”
Brook shrugs. “It wasn’t really a secret. We just wanted to keep it quiet for the moment.”
“This is low, Mac. Really low.” J.J. takes a menacing step towards Brook. “I joke about you rigging the games, but I never realized you actually were.”
Even if it’d be better to let him vent, I can’t let him continue. “Stop,” I say through clenched teeth. “Brook isn’t a cheater. That’s not what this is about.”
“You’re so blind.” J.J. shakes his head at my perceived naïveté. “When did Brook start pursuing you? It was after your team showed improvement, probably.” J.J.’s hands ball into fists. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that he was only trying to get in your pants so he could penetrate your defense to secure another championship?”
Maybe a month ago—heck, even an hour ago—J.J.’s words might have rang true. But not now. Any of my doubts and fears about our relationship are on me. Brook has never given me a reason to question him.
Brook’s eyes meet mine, begging me not to listen to J.J.’s rant. “Harper, you know me. You know us.”
He’s right. I do. I know he cares about me and that I care about him. I know he’d never try to hurt me and would do whatever he could to keep someone from hurting me back. And I know J.J. is a liar. I nod and offer him my hand.
The silent show of solidarity is J.J.’s undoing. “This is bullshit. Just . . . bullshit.”
“J.J., I—”
“No, you’re right. You’re Brook MacLaughlin. Mr. High and Mighty, who’s better than everyone else.”
“When have I ever said—”
“You don’t have to say it,” J.J. interrupts, practically spitting every word. “You waltz around here rubbing my face in the fact that you’re a big deal now. Showing up in the newspaper all the fucking time. You’re Coach Brook MacLaughlin. The assistant who’s destined for bigger and better. The man who will one day end war and find a cure for cancer.”
“I can’t help what people write about me,” Brook responds, his voice chilling. “And I’m not going to apologize for making something of myself. I work hard in the classroom. I work hard on the field. I’m good at what I do. I won’t be sorry for that.”
“Why would you? You’ve got everything. And now you’ve decided to steal the girl.”
Brook’s hand becomes a fist around my fingers. He loosens his grip when I wince and turns his full icy stare on J.J. “She isn’t your girl.”
“I had dibs.”
“That’s enough.” Brook’s voice takes on a harsh tone I’ve never heard before. “Do you even realize what you’re saying?” Silence. Brook releases my hand and grabs J.J. by his shirt. “You don’t call dibs on another human. That’s not how this works. I should beat the living—”
“Don’t.” My voice cracks under the strain of trying to keep my emotions in check. “Please don’t be another guy who solves problems with his fists.” Brook’s grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go. I place my hand on his forearm. “You’re always a good man,” I say. “But tonight, can you please be the best one, too?”
That does the trick. His face pales, and his pale blue eyes grow worried. “I’m sorry, I . . .” He turns to J.J. “We’ll settle this later.”
“I still have to decide whether or not either of you can be in the league,” J.J. says.
“What does us dating have to do with our eligibility to play?” I ask.
“You guys broke a rule.”
“What rule?”
“One of them.”
Now I’m the one ready to do battle with him, but Brook’s gentle touch on my shoulder gives me pause. Instead, I take a deep breath to settle the anger wanting to flow out. “Brook is right. We shouldn’t talk about this anymore tonight. We can deal with it later. When we don’t have dozens of our best customers and co-workers celebrating the holidays in the other room.”
With his chest still rising up and down with barely suppressed fury, J.J. points his finger and says, “This isn’t over.”
He slams the door on his way out, shaking the walls. Alone at last, I turn in Brook’s arms. “What’s—”
“Don’t worry about that right now.” He dips his head and presses a light kiss on my lips. “It’ll be okay.”
I’m not so sure, but I don’t want to create any kind of wedge between Brook and me after what we’ve been through together in his short time at the party. I stare at the door. “J.J. should have gone into theater. Or professional wrestling.”
Brook’s chest rumbles with laughter against my ear. “He would make a pretty good heel.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
Brook’s hand moves up and down my back soothingly. At last he says, “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have lost my cool like that, but . . . he infuriates me sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” Anyone who has spent more than a few days around J.J. eventually experiences the sudden bursts of anger that come from knowing him. “You wouldn’t have hit him.”
“But I wanted to. That’s not any better.”
“Maybe not, but you practiced self-control.”
“Only because you stepped in.”
“Does it really matter who did what?” I place my palms on his cheeks. “You help me be a better person, and I’m here to bring out the best in you, too. We’re in this together.”
“I like the sound of that.”
Pulling him close, I pour myself into the kiss and this moment. It’s been a difficult evening—bordering on bad at times—but maybe we can try to erase some of the damage. Or at least make it pale in comparison.
PLAYOFFS WEEK ONE RECAP: Queen Harper Prepares to do Battle
Queen Harper didn’t have to do anything but sit pretty—and stay healthy—to win this week. And that she did.
She would still have her playoff spot if she’d gone up against any other team in the league. That’s thanks to the powerhouse team she has assembled led by the likes of stud veteran QB Todd Northwood. We had our doubts about him coming in this season. We may have questioned team owners who drafted him in the first few rounds. And we’re not too proud to admit we were wrong. Clearly Queen Harper saw something in him that the rest of the world did not, and she has been rewarded.
Hopefully she can keep this momentum going next week when she goes head-to-head with her opponent, Tyler’s Boys, for a spot in the championship game.
Get your game pants on, people. It’s go time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
J.J. MAKES US WAIT twenty-four hours before releasing his edict on how he plans to deal with Brook and me. But what can he do? We didn’t break any league rules. We didn’t use our relationship to cheat. He’s determined he’s in the right and we’re in the wrong.
This afternoon at work he accused me of messing with his emotions to get inside his head. Then, he asked if I was with Brook to sabotage him, too, because obviously that’s what people do. They date other people as part of some master plan to win a championship for a fake football league.
Actually, that isn’t a terrible strategy. A person could do a lot of damage to a league that way and gain some crucial insight. You could sleep with one guy for a better wide receiver. Date another for tips. Promise your hear
t to another in exchange for getting you through a week when too many of your top players are on a bye. If you timed everything perfectly, you could mess everyone up in time for the playoffs.
I’d never be able to pull off a scheme like that. I’m too scared of catching crabs or gonorrhea to be so casual with sex. And of course now I have Brook. I’d easily pick him over a fantasy football title. I mean, we don’t even have a trophy.
After our miniature blow-out in the break room during lunch, J.J. asks Brook and me to meet him at a sports bar near his place in the Railyard. With my guidance and, okay, some nagging, we actually get there first.
“Will he kick me out of the league?” I ask Brook when he returns to the table with our drinks. “He hinted at that this afternoon.”
“It’s hard to tell.” Brook shrugs and swigs his beer. “J.J. can be spiteful when he’s mad.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Brook covers my hand. “No, we didn’t. But now that he’s made it to the semi-finals, he won’t take any chances. He’s up against me this week and maybe you next.”
“If I beat Tyler.”
“You mean when.” Brook squeezes my hand. “The guy hasn’t set a lineup in weeks. You’ll be fine.”
I wish I had even a fraction of Brook’s confidence. He’s positive enough for the both of us. Thank goodness for that because our little black rain cloud just stepped into the bar.
J.J. catches Brook’s wave and makes a straight line for our table. Brook’s grip tightens briefly on my hand before he lets go. It’s for the best if we don’t touch each other until this is finished.
Taking a seat across from us, he wastes no time with pleasantries. He signals the bartender to bring him a drink and slides two sheets of paper forward. He waits for us to read, a smug smirk on his face.
Exchanging a brief glance with Brook, I flip over my copy of the evidence. It’s a photo. Of a football player. It takes me a couple of seconds, and I have to factor in the guy’s jersey and hotness, but I recognize him.
Giving a nod of thanks to the bartender, J.J. returns his attention to us. “Do you recognize the man in this picture?”
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