Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
gabe
Lying in bed, naked and glistening in sweat, I watched Denise walk around also naked, gathering up her things to shower and dress for our Friday night out. She’d allowed for a quickie before going out and had confirmed our plans with Mia while we were in bed and I was still breathing heavily.
She opened the top drawer in the dresser, the one she’d claimed for herself when I moved in here—when we’d moved in a year ago. She still kept some things there and pulled out some lacy black panties and bra.
“I’m excited to see Mia and meet this football guy you fixed her up with.” There was a hint of accusation in her tone, but I ignored it and she didn’t push it.
“The football guy’s name is Tate Fontanna and he’s a decent guy. She likes him.”
She turned to me. “Yes, but the question is does he like her?”
“What’s not to like?” My response was automatic. And a mistake, telling too much. She narrowed her eyes and padded toward the en suite.
“That’s what people say about me, you know.” She tossed the words over her shoulder but kept going and closed the bathroom door after her.
Jesus. It would be a miracle if we didn’t have a knock-down, drag-out free-for-all before her visit was over.
Something had to give, but I wasn’t the one who would be compromising and I wasn’t sure whether I’d get her to relent, to commit to visiting every other week.
I really needed to make it through this season without this shit distracting me.
Untangling myself from the sheets, I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Thank God the door wasn’t locked. I went in to take advantage of one of the few good things we still had going with each other.
It had been a while since we’d had sex in the shower and there was no time like right now to remedy that.
Afterward, we were both in better moods, so I dressed, refusing to examine my mixed feelings about going out, seeing Mia. With Tate. He was doing me a favor. Any hint of resentment was totally unfair. And yet, there it was, glaring at me from the mirror as I shaved my face clean.
“Let’s get going, hon,” Denise called from the bedroom. “We already wasted enough time—”
I tossed the razor in the sink. “Wasted time? Is that what you call lovemaking?”
She laughed. “You know what I mean.”
Picking up the towel, I went back into the bedroom to look her in the eye, every muscle in me tight, the good mood disappearing.
I wasn’t one to pick a fight, but that comment hit a sore spot.
I hadn’t wanted to go out at all and she knew it.
Denise and I always had great sex. It was something I could always count on, that made the imperfect relationship worthwhile.
She stood in front of the full-length freestanding mirror she’d bought for the room, fully dressed and hot as sin.
My burst of anger almost died out looking at her.
Her blond hair was piled up, leaving curling wisps around her delicate neck that made me want to nibble and raise goose bumps all over her.
She wore a sleeveless pink dress that flared out from her small waist and showed an ample amount of cleavage, the dress the only thing holding it up as far as I could tell.
Falling just above her knees, it showed off her legs as she stood in impossible-to-stand-in tall strappy white sandals.
She turned to me, face fully made up including what looked like false eyelashes. She didn’t need them and it bugged me that she wore them.
“Sweetheart, you can’t possibly count that quickie or the shower as lovemaking.
Besides, we’ll have all weekend for that.
” She waved a hand in dismissal, knowing full well that tomorrow and Sunday were no-gos for sex.
One of my strict rules was no sex the night or morning before a game.
It had a way of sapping too much energy and I needed it all bottled up.
I didn’t bother responding, back to my usual attitude of not wanting to rock the boat. Throwing on the shirt Denise had laid out on the bed for me, I finished dressing. It was a hot night and she’d wisely chosen a short-sleeved lightweight knit in pale blue.
“That looks perfect with your gorgeous blue eyes,” she said, moving in close.
“You touch me and I’m ripping your dress off,” I growled, half meaning it.
She took no chances, laughing as she pushed away, heading for the door.
She handed me a jacket, which I’d wait to put on until we got to the upscale restaurant she’d chosen.
My only requirement had been that they have steak on the menu.
“Let’s go then before your self-control snaps.”
“If I’m hornier than usual it’s your fault.”
She said nothing, but purposefully swayed her hips as I followed her out to the garage.
She had a lot of sass, I’d give her that.
I opened the door to my Porsche 718 Boxster convertible and she got in.
We took off with the top down, her idea in spite of the heat.
She liked to be noticed when we went out.
As expected, when we pulled up to the valet in front of the restaurant, Moo, every head within thirty yards was turned in our direction.
And that was a lot of heads on a summery Friday night in the mixed residential Beacon Hill area of Boston.
Mia and Fontanna pulled up behind us and we waited for them on the sidewalk before going inside. It didn’t take long for a small crowd to gather. We stayed to take photos with several people on the sidewalk. Passersby took photos of the four of us and others pointed at the gathering we’d created.
I didn’t rush inside to get away from the crowd, though standing outside on the sidewalk in the heat with this dark jacket on wasn’t my idea of fun.
The fans were good to me, more than supportive, and if it wasn’t for them I’d be sitting behind a desk somewhere doing who knew what shit.
That was something I never let myself forget.
“You can go inside if you want,” I said to Denise and Mia. Mia was astonished, wide-eyed, her lips lifted in wonder. She wasn’t used to the fan fervor.
Denise said, “It’s okay, honey, I’ll hang with you.”
Tate stood with a couple of middle-aged women who took a selfie with him.
An older gentleman approached me. “Mr. Wyatt, I’d sure appreciate a photo with you. And your pretty lady too, if you don’t mind?” He winked at Denise as he drew up, leaning on his cane. Denise winked and said, “Sure thing.” The white-haired woman who held onto his elbow shushed him.
“I think we can handle that,” I said, pulling Denise in on one side while the man stood on her other side. The older woman rummaged in her bag and pulled out a phone, ready to take the picture.
“I’ll take the photo for you,” Mia said. “Why don’t you jump in the picture too?”
“That’s very kind of you.” Mia gently took the woman’s arm and helped position her on my other side. Then she took the old woman’s phone and stepped back a few feet to take some photos.
“You all look great. I’ll take a bunch so you’ll be sure to find one you like.
How about you all say ‘Super Bowl?’” She laughed when I plastered a cheesy smile on my face, exactly the reason I’d done it.
To hear that laugh. The heat I felt run through me then had nothing to do with the weather outside.
“We’re all set. I think I got some good ones for you.” Mia handed the phone back to the woman. “Where are you headed?” she asked.
“Not far,” the man said.
“Do you have a ride?” I said. It was not a good night for a stroll with the heat heavy and another thunderstorm impending.
“No, we were walking,” the man said.
“Let me get you a cab,” I said, noticing that a few drops had already started falling outside the shelter of the restaurant’s awning.
Under her breath, Denise said, “Do you really think that’s necessary?” I ignored her.
“That’s awfully nice of you, Mr. Wyatt, but that’s too much.”
I went to the curb and waved my hand. There were always cabs around this part of town and I managed to flag one down within a second.
I told the cabbie to take the couple wherever they needed to go and gave him a fifty-dollar bill.
Mia helped the older woman into the cab and I shut the door.
Luckily the crowd had trickled down to nothing with the start of the rain.
I didn’t need anyone making something of this.
The sky decided to stop spitting and opened up, cool rain pouring down in a sheet. Mia squealed in surprise, mirth on her face as she looked up. I took her by the arm and ran with her back under the awning where Denise waited with Tate and the ma?tre d’.
“Mr. Wyatt, come inside. Let me get you a dry jacket.” The ma?tre d’ held the door open and Denise took my free arm. Mia joined up with Tate and we went inside.
“Do you have a towel for the lady?” I asked, looking at Mia, the twinkle still in her eyes. She shivered in the sudden cold of the restaurant’s dark interior.
“I should hope so,” Denise said.
“Of course. We’ll have a towel brought to the ladies’ room for you.”
Denise nodded and went with Mia. A hostess brought a jacket to me. “I’m not sure if it’s big enough,” she said. “I was guessing at the size.”
I took it from her and winked. “I’m sure it’ll do.” Shrugging out of my wet jacket, she took it and I tried on the charcoal jacket she brought for me.
“Take care of that,” Tate said, “It’s worth more than a month’s rent.”
“Sure will, Mr. Fontanna.” She gave Tate a flirtatious smile and the ma?tre d’ ushered us to a semiprivate booth.
Tate whispered. “I feel like we’re in the scene from the Bible where the seas part. You hear that hushing as we walk by? Feel the stares?”
“Don’t let your imagination run away, Fontanna.” I spoke quietly as we took our seats. “You ain’t seen nothing till you’ve been in a Super Bowl parade on duck boats through downtown Boston with thousands of people coming out in the middle of the winter to cheer. That’s what I call biblical.”
The ma?tre d’ left the menus and said someone would be over for our drink order right away.
“That’s my plan,” Tate said. “To have the Super Bowl experience. That’s why I took this deal even though the Militia weren’t the highest bidder.”
I nodded. I knew when he’d gone into free agency we’d be lucky to get him.
“Appreciated, Fontanna. It’s one of the things I like about you. One of the reasons I’m glad you’re on the team. Why I’m certain we’re favorites for a repeat.”
Denise and Mia arrived back at the table, escorted by the ma?tre d’ who seemed to be our private staff for the night.
“No more talk about football,” Denise said as she sat in the booth next to me. Mia slipped in on the other side, next to Tate.
“No football?” Mia’s expression was incredulous. “Impossible. I was looking forward to discussing the game—hearing about it from the insiders.” She regarded Tate with one of those looks that said, I can’t wait to hear the sound of your voice so I can hang on every word.
Fuck. My gut tightened with longing, wishing that look was aimed at me. I turned to Denise.
“She has a point,” I said.
Denise made a face, but I could tell she would be a good sport about it.
“You don’t like football?” Tate asked her.
She shook her head. “Not even a little. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Tate nodded and slid his eyes to me. I ignored him.
Didn’t want to see sympathy or incredulity or whatever else he thought.
My heart hammered as the waiter appeared, thank God, and asked for our drink orders.
It wasn’t the first time I felt that anxiety, that feeling that this was all terribly wrong, whatever the hell I had going with Denise.
It was even hard to think of her as my girlfriend anymore.
“Glenlivet. Rocks.”
Denise gave me a sharp look and ordered her usual white wine.
“Since we’re celebrating,” Mia said, “and it’s still summertime, I’ll have a frozen margarita. With salt.”
“I’ll have a Sam Adams,” Tate said.
The lines were drawn. It was an odd feeling, an odd sense that I was mismatched. That I should be the one with Mia. The same exact feeling I had that first time I had dinner with Mia on the double date four years ago.
Fuck.