Chapter 4 #3
Curiosity and my soft spot for him had me feeling bad for him and upset with Denise for the games she was playing with him.
I heard him say something about not wanting to live like a monk for a month and then it sounded like they agreed she’d come back every other week.
Even though I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, I knew Denise was holding out, going on strike, as she put it.
And I didn’t trust that she’d hold up her end of the bargain.
When he went silent for a few beats, evidently listening to her, I turned and went back to the table.
There’d been no reason for me to visit the ladies’ room, not except to check on Gabe.
Not for Denise’s sake, but for his. And mine.
Denise’s refusal to visit wasn’t a smart move, in my opinion.
Even if Gabe were the most loyal man in the world, why push it?
Being so unreasonable could only cause resentment.
Denise was going for absence making the heart grow fonder, but in this case, because she was enforcing the absence for no good reason, I would bet my mother’s vintage Chanel suit that her absence would cause nothing but problems.
And I absolutely didn’t want to be in the line of fire when Gabriel Wyatt’s loyalty blew up.
Sneaking back to the table, I sat back down next to Tate.
He was a hunk and a sweetheart, but I could tell we didn’t have that connection I was looking for.
But then, maybe I needed more patience. Maybe I didn’t need the kind of connection that could electrify me.
Like the kind I felt with Gabe. Those connections could be dangerous.
“What happened to Wyatt?” Tate said under his breath.
“Why is it a thing with you guys to call each other by your last names?” I deflected.
He shrugged, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners, forming lines in his handsome, tanned face. Why do all you guys have chiseled jawlines to go with your obviously chiseled bodies?
“Guess it’s the coach—he calls us by our last names. So we follow suit. At least for now. I’m still new to the team, still fitting in.”
“Doesn’t seem like fitting in would be hard for you to do.”
“No, especially not with Wyatt for a QB. He looks after every player on the team as if we’re all superstar prima donnas and he’s our water boy. Respects everyone. Unquestionable team leader. Hell, he’d probably be voted the captain even if he was the water boy instead of the QB.”
“What do you mean? What does he do?”
“I’ll give you an example. He took me to dinner first week—before cuts.
Took every single new guy to lunch or dinner in the first three weeks of preseason.
I don’t know how he didn’t gain twenty pounds of fat.
” His smile doubled up, his eyes staying steady on mine while my heart fluttered.
But the fluttering wasn’t the effect of Tate’s devastating smile and attention—though it should have been.
It was from thinking about Gabe making his new teammates feel welcome.
“It’s his specialty,” I said. “Making people feel welcome. He was like that in college too.”
Tate nodded and I felt the air move, and I caught the scent of Gabe’s aftershave before he pulled the chair out on the other side of me to sit down again.
His mother said, “Everything okay, honey?”
“Everything’s swell, Ma.”
She laughed. I felt his tension ease.
“Then make sure you take home some of that pasta you didn’t eat. Last thing I want to worry about is my boy shrinking down to skin and bones.”
Most everyone at the table laughed at that.
“Not damn likely,” Gabe said. He turned to me, winked, and said, “So what did you overhear?”
I felt the instant blush and tried to remain calm. I dipped my head and whispered.
“Something about you being a monk.”
Tate coughed and Gabe shook his head. “Not a word from you.” He didn’t look angry or annoyed, more like resigned.
“I’ll talk to her,” I said, as if I had sway over Denise. Maybe I had sway on her wardrobe decisions, but that would be the only thing she listened to me about—and that was because of my mother’s creds, not mine.
“I’m counting on it,” he said. That made my chest bubble, as if he had all the confidence in the world in me. In truth, it galvanized me, made me determined to do my damnedest.
“Not that I’m a gossip,” Tate said, “but I find it hard to believe that Mr. Football, cover boy for GQ and Sports Illustrated and splashed on every billboard and social media outlet everywhere I look, is having women problems.”
“Keep it down. I don’t want my mother to know.”
Tate laughed, shaking his head. I suppressed a smile at Gabe’s comical look as he leaned with his head in one hand as if he were troubled.
The quirk of one side of his mouth showing that famous dimple was a dead giveaway that however troubled he felt deep down, he wasn’t letting it interfere with the moment.
And I truly believed he must be feeling lonely and sad on some level.
Denise had put him into a tough position.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the solution was for Gabe to break it off with her. It was fifty-fifty in my mind between a breakup and an engagement. I couldn’t see him buying her a ring unless she promised to move back here.
They were at serious odds. And I felt like I was in the middle of it. I leaned closer to Tate. He could save me from being embroiled in an unholy love triangle. He could be the escape I needed. Desperately. Because deep down, I was rooting for the breakup and I didn’t like myself for it.
“So, Tate, what do you do besides play football?” I said.
“Is that a trick question?”
“Could be. More like a test.”
“Is that all? Does eating and sleeping count?”
“Depends. Eating and sleeping can be fun.” I was living dangerously, flirting in front of Gabe—or at least that’s what it felt like in my heart.
In reality, this was what he’d brought me here to do.
Even though I was hyperaware of his presence next to me, behind me since I was turned in my seat to face Tate, I knew he was listening even if with one ear.
My heart racing like mad, I stepped it up.
“Is that right?” Tate said, his voice low, getting my flirtatious angle and responding with that manly gleam in his eye as if someone had turned on his testosterone switch.
“Yeah, it is. For instance, if you eat with someone—or sleep with someone—that could make life particularly interesting.”
My chest thudded at the warp speed I was moving. I had never so blatantly pitched a man to sleep with me in my life. Not unpredictably, Tate’s face lit up. But before he had a chance to answer, Gabe leaned in and spoke to him.
“What time do we have to be at the stadium tomorrow morning?”
Tate took in a long deep breath before answering, “Seven. Which you damn well know.”
“Be there at six. I have a few guys coming early. We’ll run sack drills.”
Tate looked at him long and hard and then nodded. He looked at me then, a boyish smile in place.
“That’s why he’s Mr. Football.”
“I got that impression. I bet he sleeps with his football,” I said.
Tate laughed. Gabe gave me a soft shove.
As if I were one of the guys, only smaller and weaker.
Maybe like a kid sister. He knew my place.
About time I got my head around the fact that I belonged in any role except temptress.
Moving closer to Tate, I resumed my flirtation with my date with more purpose.
“What did Gabe tell you about me? No, let me guess. He told you my mother is Michelle Day, the world-famous supermodel.”
“Sure, but that’s not what sold me.”
“No? What sold you?”
“It was the way he said it. The admiration in his voice. I knew if he wasn’t already pussy-whipped by a stunner of his own, he would want you for himself. That’s what sold me.”
If my tension had me palpitating before, I should have been worried about a stroke about then, the way my heart raced and bobbed.
Gabe was talking with his brother. I could hear him behind me, hear their loud conversation as I leaned closer still to Tate so that I was practically whispering in his ear.
“Don’t worry. That’ll never happen. His stunner, Denise, is my best friend from college.”
“I wasn’t worried.” The way he said it suggested that he might change his mind if I kept talking, so I shut up, tried to breathe, kept my focus on his beautiful eyes.
I reached a hand up and touched his jaw, stroked my finger along that strong line to his chin, the corner of his mouth.
His lips looked very kissable and I planned to test them out.
In a lightning-quick move, he snatched my hand in his and brought it down to his lap, not touching his cock, but precariously close. Close enough to feel the heat. I definitely felt the coiled tension in his hand, in his thigh where he held my hand against his hard muscle.
“You move fast,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed in a good way or a bad way. I’d never forgive myself if I blew this. I needed a distraction badly and I liked him. And he was gorgeous. And he in no way bore any resemblance to Gabriel Wyatt.
What a pathetic case I was.
“I-I’m sorry.” I turned from his stare. He released my hand from his lap, but I left it there, sitting lightly on the hard muscle as a reminder that he was no slouch even if he wasn’t Gabriel Wyatt. He took my chin in his hand, turning me to face him.
“No worries. I’m a big boy. It’s just . .
. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy—not that that’s what you had in mind, I’m sure.
But I’m old-fashioned. I like to get to know a woman, have a real meaningful relationship.
I have nothing against sex—believe me. But been there and done that with the revolving bedroom door. I want more than that.”
“Where have you been all my life, Tate Fontanna?” I took a deep breath and could have kissed him right then, but he would have probably thought I was being too forward.