Chapter 1
Chapter One
Gabe
“I miss you, babe.”
“Enough to get yourself traded to Atlanta, Mr. Football Star?”
Familiar words, but with more snap than sass.
Letting them roll over me, I closed my eyes, expecting the same kind of gut-punched feeling I got when she moved last year, forcing us into a long-distance relationship.
Looking around my too large bedroom, after a beat, with only a knot of tension and mild annoyance settled inside me, I responded.
“Not now.” My next thought was not ever, because Atlanta’s team and management sucked, but I didn’t share that with her. I wanted to share some teasing and laughs with her, the way we always had.
Denise’s impatient sigh signaled the likelihood of that being zero to none.
“Gabe, you can’t put it off forever. You got your damn Super Bowl championship.
” She paused. I, for once, kept my mouth shut, waiting her out.
Maybe some of my old roommate Hunter Quintanna, a man of few words, was rubbing off on me.
Lifting off the bed, I paced around the room in my boxers.
It was getting late, the sun shining low on the horizon, and I was starving.
“In the meantime, I have a favor to ask.” Her voice had returned to the pleasant tease I’d come to know and love, and I imagined her favor involving sex toys.
“My best friend from college, Mia Lane. You remember her, right?”
I held in a sigh. “Babe, every girlfriend is your best friend. No, I’m not sure I do remember her, but if she needs tickets—”
“No.” She laughed, that laugh that had me interested from the first time we met, full of passionate promise, teasing yet edgy.
“Not everyone is interested in watching you play football, you know.”
“So you remind me.” It was true. My family liked that she kept me humble, or at least my brother and dad did. My mother and sisters, not so much. They thought she ought to adore me, kinda like they did. I was spoiled. I needed Denise and her reality check sass—along with her sensual torture.
“Mia is the one who was dating Paul, but she got a job in Boston and broke up with him to move there. I asked her to keep an eye on you for me. Be nice to her and show her around, introduce her to some nice guys—preferably not from the team.”
“Hey, what do you have against my teammates?” I ignored the part about her friend being my watchdog.
Denise had always been jealous of the female attention I got.
We’d had more makeup sex for perceived slights than any other kind of sex the past two years, since I became a legitimate NFL quarterback—or, in her words, Mr. Football Star.
“Your teammates are probably all too into football like you are,” she said. No punches pulled there.
“Unfair, Denise. You were the one who left town.”
“I have a life and career too, you know.” Her voice hardened, no fun left in it.
We were racing toward a familiar argument like a wideout heading for the end zone, only the end result would be nothing like a score. I refocused the conversation. Walking toward my bathroom, I was ready to end the call and jump into the shower.
“So what do you want me to do with her—your friend?”
“You forgot her name already, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
She laughed. I was notoriously bad with names.
Always had been, long before football, so I couldn’t attribute it to any hits to my head.
Denise had tried to train me to remember names, said it was important, especially since I’d be meeting a lot of people in my position. She was right. We’d had mixed success.
“It doesn’t count. I haven’t met her.”
“Yes, you have. But that’s a whole other matter.”
I took a deep breath and held my tongue for the second time in this conversation. That took some doing and I was damn proud of myself. If Hunter were here, he’d be proud of me too. I think I missed him as a roommate almost as much as Denise. But not quite.
“Take her out—not on dates. Don’t let anyone think you’re dating.
” She paused, then said, “On second thought, maybe it would work out if the media thought you were dating. It might cut down on random women throwing themselves at you if they were reminded you were still taken. Heaven knows I had a hard time keeping them off you while I was there. What do you think?”
“I think you’re overthinking it. I’ll take her on some nondates and introduce her to some non-football guys. Anything else?”
“Perfect. You’re a doll. Love you. I have to go now—”
“Wait, what was her name?”
After an exasperated sigh, she said, “Mia Lane. Don’t forget again. I’ll text you with her number. She’s moving in tomorrow. Bye, honey.”
I’d been kidding, meant to be funny, but she hung up before I had a chance to say so, or to tell her I loved her too.
Our usual ritual. It was unlike her, but I shrugged it off.
If she didn’t mind, I certainly didn’t. I was more of a believer in saving the amore, the words of love, for special occasions, to keep them special.
I was more like my dad, the anti-Italian, as my mother joked.
Though she and her strong cultural roots had Italianized Dad pretty well. I smiled as I jumped into the shower.
About the only non-Italian thing about me was my last name. And my guarded approach to amore.
Right now, the love of my life was football. The season was about to begin and I would be laser-focused.
Denise was right about that. Football was the biggest problem in our relationship. I don’t know if she started out hating football, but it was clear that she hated it now. I let the cool water sluice over me, remembering that football had to be my focus, letting my tension run off with the water.
Toweling off, I shoved the problem of Denise from my mind.
My phone lay on my bed and it didn’t ring, but I saw it light up. The number was one I didn’t recognize, wasn’t in my contacts. But mine was a highly protected number only given out to people I knew, people I wouldn’t mind talking to. No reporters, no media, no agents except my own.
Picking it up, I figured what the hell and punched it on.
“Gabe Wyatt speaking. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, whoever you are?”
A feminine trill of a laugh tickled my nerve endings from the other end of cyberspace.
“This is Mia, I’m sorry. You’re funny. I should have expected it.”
“Mia . . . oh, Mia.” I searched my blank memory for her last name and then skipped it. “Denise’s friend from college.”
“That’s me. She told you I moved to Boston?”
“Yes. Gave me my marching orders to show you around.”
“Is that what she told you? My marching orders were to keep an eye on you.” She laughed again.
I laughed too, but she was hitting more than my funny bone with that titillating laugh of hers, reminding me of something too far away to grasp.
What was it with me and women’s laughter anyway?
I’d always been drawn by the way a woman laughed, the authenticity, the way it made me feel, light as if the sound were a helium balloon for my soul.
Whenever I met a woman, I relentlessly tried to make her laugh, to test her out, see what she had to offer.
Mia had a lot of promise. Her laugh didn’t have the edge of Denise’s, it was more open, the sensuality less guarded, less sharp. Being a connoisseur, I ought to know. Pulling myself up short, I woke up to where my mind had been running. Mia was out-of-bounds, promising laughter or not.
“Well, either way,” she said, “I wanted to call and say hello. I just moved in yesterday.”
“Good. We’ll have to set up a time to have dinner.”
“That would be great. I have this long, gaping, empty weekend in front of me with nothing to do and no one to do it with. I was hoping—”
“Sure, of course. Sorry. I forgot it was the weekend. We’re on two-a-days, and I pretty much work seven days a week. But I have to eat dinner sometime, so we’ll have dinner. I know a great Italian place in my neighborhood.”
“That sounds wonderful. What time?”
“You mean tonight?”
She’d misunderstood and I was surprised by her eagerness.
My mind raced, running through the options.
It must be almost eight. I’d planned a quick bite, reviewing clips of new lay drills, then early to bed.
Our last preseason game was Sunday, two days away.
Coach said I’d be sitting it out, but that didn’t stop me from preparing as if it were another Super Bowl.
The other teams would be gunning for us this year, hard.
The last thing I wanted to do was come into the season soft.
I’d planned an early night and I’d have to stick to that. To bed by ten.
“Oh—I’m sorry,” she said at my hesitation. “You probably already have plans. Whenever you have time. I should have expected you’d be busy.”
“Tonight is fine. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.” I could handle it. I didn’t want to disappoint her. I’d make sure dinner was quick, no more time—or not much more—than I’d have taken to eat on my own.
Glad to have my cool back, we made arrangements for me to meet her out front of her apartment building in Beacon Hill, a ritzy old-world part of Boston. The place I’d pick to live if I wasn’t a die-hard Italian boy living in East Boston.
When I pulled up in my new Audi R8 convertible, I experienced a puzzling case of nervous energy. Mia had thrown me off-guard and I hadn’t even met her yet. She was Denise’s friend, my watchdog, my own hanky-panky police.
No wonder I felt off. I didn’t need a guard or a watchdog or whatever else Denise had in mind.
I went along with it because I always went along with Denise, but it bugged me.
I had some rules in life that I followed ruthlessly, and one of them was never to cheat.
Not in cards, not on my friends and, most importantly, not on my woman.
I’d tell Mia right away—after I told Denise—that I wasn’t comfortable with a watchdog.
I’d fix Mia up with someone this weekend and get rid of her.
How hard could it be? Trying to picture Mia, I couldn’t place her.
I’d met too many of Denise’s so-called best friends and I had no idea who Mia’s boyfriend Paul was.
Damn, I was bad. I needed to do something about that name-remembering thing.
As soon as I’d parked at the curb, a graceful willowy woman emerged from the door. Chestnut-brown hair, thick and wavy, bounced around above her shoulders and framed her flawless face, a face that looked smooth as ice cream, good enough to lick—
Boom. Recognition slammed me. All my senses stood up and jumped. She was the one—the girl from college I couldn’t touch because she’d been seeing someone else. And because I’d been seeing Denise.
I’d put her ruthlessly out of my head, like I always did, because of my rule about cheating. Though Denise never gave me credit for it, I had never cheated on any woman I was with.
Mia Lane, the forgotten idol from afar, with that laugh I could live for, walked to my car and got inside.
And she was still off-limits. Way outside out-of-bounds.
She smiled at me and my gut knotted with the need to turn her smile into a laugh.
The perfect row of her teeth and her sparkling almond-shaped eyes under dark lashes taunted me.
Her dark hair bounced around her shoulders in glossy waves, tempting me to push my hands through them.
Damn it to hell.
Of all the girlfriends in all the cities, why did Denise send this one to watch me?
Pulling myself together, I recovered from the initial shock of seeing her after four years. I might not have remembered her name, but I had no trouble remembering that face, those eyes. And that laugh. Now I knew why I hadn’t remembered her name. It had been very purposefully purged.
She had to stay purged. While I showed her around.
“I should have no problem fixing you up with someone else—someone, I mean.” Damn, were those really the first words out of my mouth?
Amusement twinkled in her eyes.
“Nice to see you again, Gabe. Is that what Denise told you to do?”
“Sorry. What I meant to say is, it’s great to see you again, Mia. You’re as beautiful as I remember. I should have no trouble fixing you up. Yeah—per Denise’s orders. If that’s okay with you?”
She sighed, “I suppose. Since you’re already taken, I may as well get fixed up with someone else.” She was mocking me. It was clear as day. But my heart stuttered for a beat.
“Seriously, I don’t mean to be presumptuous. We don’t know each other.”
“We’ve met before.” She looked surprised and disappointed. “You don’t remember? We—Paul and I double dated with you and Denise. I enjoyed it. You were funny.” She paused, “Although it was only that one time.”
I remembered. I knew why it was only that one time.
Because I’d flat-out refused to double date or do anything that involved seeing Mia again.
I’d only seen her around campus a few times from afar after that, and turned and headed the other way each time.
Everything about her flooded back, the sensual awareness, the feeling of sharing some private joke every time we spoke to each other that night.
The sparks of excitement that gave me that feeling that I’d been with the wrong girl.
If I was being honest with myself, I knew that the reason I’d literally wiped her from my memory wasn’t only about not wanting to cheat. I could have broken off with Denise. Our relationship was young then, in our senior year at Auburn. Mia could have broken it off with Paul.
But I’d been on the brink of my football career then and concentrating hard, burning with the taste of the NFL career I’d dreamed of. There was no way I wanted to start up a relationship with the likes of Mia.
So I’d let her go. Shoved aside her pretty face, her grace, her thoughtful intelligence, and her damn laugh that made my balls tighten. Purged. And I went to the NFL.
Now with a few more years of life experience, I wasn’t so easily influenced by a pretty face and a tantalizing laugh, but I still wanted no part of her. There was Denise. And there was my first love. Football.
And even if there wasn’t Denise, there was no way in hell I was going to cheat on football.