Chapter 5 #2
“So a conjugal visit is my reward for good behavior?” I wasn’t sure if I was joking or not, or pleased or not. She’d called Mia last night and didn’t call me. Hell, I’d called Mia last night and didn’t call her. That said something about our relationship. Something very sad.
“Conjugal? Funny, that’s what Mia called it. I’m excited to see you, Gabe. I’ll send you the details of when my flight gets in on Friday so you can pick me up at the airport.”
“It’ll be good to see you, babe.” It was true, though I hated picking her up at the airport and she knew it. Too many people. Too much hoopla when they recognized me. But she was making the effort to get here so it was the least I could do. “How long are you staying?”
“More good news. I’m staying until Tuesday.”
“Four nights? You may put me in the hospital if you’re not careful,” I said. “I’m out of fucking shape.”
“Not you. That’ll never happen,” she said.
I didn’t remind her how long it had been. Almost three weeks and it was getting damn painful. But I wanted to keep our conversation positive.
“We’ll go out with Mia and Tate on Friday night,” she said, “and then have dinner with your family on Sunday—I miss your family too.” That warmed me.
“They’ll be glad to see you. Mom and Dad asked about you.”
“I know. I should call them, but it’s been so busy. I barely got a couple of extra days off.”
“You’re happy in the new job?”
“Loving it.” I was never so mixed about hearing news. I was happy for Denise because she deserved to be successful. She was a talented designer. I knew she worked hard. But I knew that meant she wouldn’t be coming back to Boston anytime soon.
And that meant I had to make a decision about us. Sooner than later. Clearing the problem from my mind, I switched back to football. It was where my head belonged. Where I planned to keep my focus.
“Good to hear, babe. You deserve it.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, sweetheart. You have no idea. We’ll talk more this weekend. Can’t wait to see you. Love you—gotta go now.” She hung up. It was the second time in a row she hadn’t bothered to wait for me to tell her I love you too. Maybe that was for the best.
Standing, I made my way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. Practice would be intense this week, preparing for the first regular season game. I would finally get to play so I’d be getting massive reps at practice.
My only remaining thought about Denise was dread about having that talk she’d promised.
And, shamefully, I wondered if I could at least put it off until after we fucked our brains out.
It shouldn’t be hard since that would be my first order of business on Friday when I got her home. To hell with going out.
The field was blazing hot at practice later that morning and sweat dripped off me in rivers.
A water boy ran up to me as I paused on the sidelines, chest heaving after a scramble play.
The kid squirted water in my face until I opened my mouth for a long swallow.
Then I put up a hand and he went to the next guy.
There were two water boys and a water girl today.
Probably someone’s kids or nieces and nephews.
We could have used ten of them, it was so damn hot and humid.
And I loved every minute of it. A whistle blew, calling an end to the defensive drill on the field, and the players came trotting toward the water as fast as their exhaustion allowed.
I moved aside to give them room. Nodding at Tate as he tore his helmet from his head, I waited for him to get his water and a scoop of Gatorade before I went to him.
After only a few seconds an air horn sounded and Coach Marini waved for us to huddle.
“We’re going in for lunch early and we’ll stay later.
To deal with the heat. We’ll have a couple of hours late after dinner.
Plan on practice under the lights tonight, men.
” There were a few groans that Coach silenced with a quick glare.
I didn’t mind. Practice was my favorite thing after playing in games.
We broke from huddle and I walked inside with Tate. As soon as we hit the tunnel the air temperature dropped ten degrees.
“Ah, that feels damn good,” he said. “It’s almost hotter here than it was in LA. The humidity is hell.”
“Takes some getting used to,” I said. “How are you finding Boston—aside from the weather?”
He looked at me with suspicion in his raised brow. “Why don’t you come right out and ask me about Mia? How I like her?”
I laughed. “Okay. What do you think of her?”
“It’s only been one date. Half of it spent with you, so it hardly counts.”
“That was it?” Damn if relief didn’t sound in my voice.
“You asking me if I slept with her, Wyatt? ‘Cause that’s bordering on—”
“No. None of my business.”
“Damn right it isn’t. I’m not one for locker room talk about women. And even if I was, she’s not one of those women.”
“I know that. I’m the one who fixed you up.”
“True.”
I got to my locker and started stripping off the sweat-soaked jerseys and pads. I always made it a point to shower before eating, not wanting to taste sweat and dirt in my food.
“Okay,” he said, stopping at my locker before moving on to his. “The answer is no. And that’s all you’re getting.”
“You seeing her again?” He could say whatever else he wanted, but I figured I had a right to know that much.
He nodded. “I’m not stupid. I know quality. Why are you so interested?”
“The matchmaker is always interested in how things turn out.” It was true, but he wasn’t buying it.
“You keep telling yourself that.” He moved on with that kind of look like he was thinking, like he was adding two plus two and it wasn’t coming out right.
No matter. He was happy with Mia and that’s what counted.
I had an interest that wasn’t strictly altruistic, but that didn’t mean I would interfere if they got a good thing going—on the contrary.
I was praying they would stick, that Tate would remove Mia from my periphery where she hovered like a wild rabbit distracting a race horse. I needed to win my race.
By the time I finished showering and throwing on gym shorts and a T-shirt, my mind was back where it should be, running through the plays and the personnel and determining who I needed to sit with for lunch.
The social times between the on-field reps were almost as important with new players.
Piling the steak and salad on my plate, I took a seat with our top wide receiver prospect and a walk-on with promise.
I kind of knew who’d make it in this game and had picked the walk-on early.
There’d been a familiar spark of determination in his eyes. He was a spitfire full of menace.
I sat down and nodded. “Men. Don’t you love sweating like we’re practicing in the bowels of hell?
” Top Pick laughed like I was joking. The walk-on menace smiled and nodded.
He actually loved it. Not as much as I did.
No one loved this damn game more than me.
Every last drop of sweat, smear of dirt, ache, and bruise made me feel alive.
After meetings and films in the afternoon, the evening practice drills felt good, drained every last ounce of energy from me.
Pulling into my driveway later, I looked forward to collapsing into bed.
As I climbed the stairs to the second floor I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate, telling me I had a text message.
It could wait. The kitchen was semidark, lit only by the light under the microwave shining on the spotless surface of the stove.
I hadn’t cooked anything in a long time.
Not stopping until I got to my bedroom, I stripped down to my boxers in a few efficient moves.
When Denise lived with me I used to cook for her regularly.
Then when Hunter had moved in, I cooked on occasion, but not as often.
He’d had his own life and preoccupations.
Now I ate out far too often or made do with the food at the stadium.
It was okay during training camp, but as we moved into the season, team meals would be less of a regular thing.
I sat on the edge of the bed and took out my cell phone. The text was from Denise. It said Good night. Translated, it meant she didn’t want me calling this late. I’d missed my window of opportunity. Lying down, I got comfortable and turned on the late news with the sound way down.
Maybe I could cook dinner for Mia and Tate.
Have Hunter and Cat over too. I’d be a fifth wheel, but after rolling the idea around in my head, I couldn’t work up any angst over that fact and came away with a mental shrug.
So what? A night cooking for friends, eating healthy foods, would be a great idea.
My phone buzzed again. Grabbing it up, I wondered if Denise had changed her mind about a late-night call.
I was tired, but I could get up for it if I had the chance.
Reading the message doused my hope, but I didn’t care.
Denise texted me back because she’d forgotten to tell me Mia’s birthday was tomorrow and she suggested I do something for her.
Before I thought about it, before the smile on my mouth faded, I tapped in Mia’s number and texted her Happy Birthday. She responded before I had a chance to put my phone back on the nightstand.
Thank you! You’re up late. Don’t you need your beauty sleep?
While I mulled over my response, wondering if I should ignore her tease, not wanting to but knowing I shouldn’t flirt, I tapped on the phone icon to call her. Talking was better than texting, less room for misinterpretation. The last thing I wanted was to have her misinterpret me.
Her phone rang twice before she answered, before I had a chance to swear at myself for not texting a banal reply.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said playfully.
“You in bed?” I asked. Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say even if I hadn’t meant anything by it.
“What if I am?”