Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Gabe
Even after I dropped her off, I felt Mia’s presence in the tension of my muscles, the sweet scent of her in my car as I drove home, the vibrating anticipation of something that wouldn’t leave me.
I had no business flirting with her even a little, no business appreciating her with an intensity bordering on possessive, no business being jealous of Fontanna before I even introduced them or feeling proprietarily protective of her against him.
I let myself inside, walked up the stairs, and headed straight for my bedroom.
It was way later than I’d planned to get to bed, but I called Denise anyway.
Part guilty conscience, part hot need. Stripping down, I lay in bed, phone in hand, and tapped her number in.
I hoped to God she’d be up for phone sex because I sure as hell needed the release.
Putting the phone to my ear, after a beat there was no ring and I heard her message. Straight to voice mail. Fuck.
Flicking the TV on, I let my mind drift.
I don’t think I’d ever met a woman like Mia, who was so self-assured and vulnerable at the same time, so beautiful and so unaffected, so sassy and still gracious, so kind and giving.
I had a sense of all these things about her and my dick got hard imagining her here, with me, now.
Wondering what kind of lover she’d be, wondering exactly how giving.
Fuck. I got out of bed and went to the shower.
Stepping onto the pebble tile, I cranked on the water to cold. “Fuck.” The spray hit me like a brick and I didn’t even bother moving. It was too close to game day for me to bother spilling my energy on an imaginary lover.
On Saturday morning, I made it into the stadium first, as usual, for walk-throughs and film.
Standing inside the door, I waited be the last one to file out of the film room and I caught Fontanna by the arm, pulling him aside.
When the room emptied, we walked together to the locker room to dress for a light walk-through.
“What’s up?” he said.
“How do you like Boston so far? Been out and about?”
He shrugged, looking wary as if I was about to spring something on him, which I was. His instincts were impressive, but I’d already liked him for that before now.
“You planning to show me around?” He smirked.
“I plan on introducing you to a lovely young lady so you won’t be alone in a strange city.”
He snorted. “What makes you think I need your help finding a woman?”
I stopped walking just outside the door. He stopped with me.
“Not any woman. A lady, someone you can get to know and bring home to your mother someday, not a woman to spend one night with.”
“Are you implying I’m a man-whore?”
“Shut up, Fontanna. I’m doing you a favor.”
He shook his head and went inside the locker room. I went with him and stopped him at my locker.
“Look, I know you don’t have anyone coming to the games, your family isn’t nearby and you’re unattached.” I paused. “I figure you could use the company of a good person.”
“Don’t tell me she has a great personality.”
“She does. She also happens to be a certifiable knockout.”
“Says you.”
“Mia could be a supermodel if she wanted to be.”
He snorted and stepped away. “What the hell are you trying to sell? What’s this could-be-a-supermodel bullshit? Is she your cast-off? A groupie?”
“She’s my girl’s best friend and she’s the daughter of Michelle Day.”
“Mich--The supermodel?”
“The very one. The thing is, she’s hotter than her mother ever was.”
Tate laughed. “You sure you want to give this paragon up?”
“I’m taken. And don’t you forget it.”
“Me, forget it?”
I shook my head. “I know. But I won’t be forgetting about my taken status any time soon. Football has me all locked up.”
Tate laughed again, but with a tinge of something else in his expression.
Something like pity. And that burned a hole in me, wiping away any lightheartedness I felt.
And that was saying something since lighthearted was my default state until game time.
One could never underrate a positive, upbeat attitude.
At game time, I turned up the intensity to viral and let loose the competitive edge that I was fast becoming famous for. Tate was new. He didn’t know yet.
“Are we on?” I asked.
“When and where and who else will be there?”
I told him. He would have his first date with Mia under my watch. With my family on Sunday after the game at Louie’s Restaurant. He whistled.
“Thanks for thinking of me, but I don’t know—”
I took my phone from my locker and thumbed to the photo I’d taken of Mia when I dropped her off.
It felt like a cheap trick, like I was doing Mia a disservice, and I wasn’t entirely sure Tate deserved her.
But he was available and I needed her to be taken care of by someone else.
Not me. Shoving the phone under his nose, I waited.
He whistled again, this time with more interest.
“What’s with the whistling? Use your words.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there. Casual dress?”
“Sure, but don’t go overboard.”
He whipped a towel at me, or tried to, but I was fast enough to get out of his way.
“Just testing you,” he said. “You’re sharp. And a lucky SOB if Mia is an example of your cast-offs.”
“She’s no one’s cast-off.” I resented the term applied to her. I should have kept that to myself, but whatever. Even if I was still getting to know Tate, I knew he was decent, if rough around the edges.
He nodded and moved on without saying what I could read on his face. Keep telling yourself that. Already dressed for walk-throughs, I went and sat down for a few, watched my teammates, soaked in the locker room vibes.
Okay, I remembered Mia’d had a crush on me.
She’d admitted it. But there had never been anything between us.
Nothing besides a the sizzling flirtation at dinner the first time we met, years ago.
Me and Denise, her and Paul out on a double date and I was lucky Denise had a few too many glasses of wine to remember my behavior well.
My connection with Mia had been outrageous that night. It had made me think. Way too much.
Kind of like right now. Maybe we had a tiny bit of flirtation at dinner the other night, but that hardly counted. It meant nothing, went nowhere. Never would. Tate would charm her. He was fun and witty and smart and he didn’t look half bad if he cleaned up.
“Wyatt.” Hunter showed up and snapped his fingers in front of my face. “What the hell?”
“You mean what the hell took you so long to get in today?” I said.
He was usually in competition with me for first to arrive.
A few others had tried to enter the competition, but fell by the wayside after the first week.
Tate was still in the running, one of the reasons I liked him, but definitely third place.
I sat in my usual chair at the center of a small grouping in the middle of the spacious locker-lined room, dressed and ready to go.
So as far as I was concerned, if I took a minute to contemplate my navel or whatever the hell else I wanted to contemplate, I could safely ignore Hunter’s shit.
Hunter said, “At least I’m not woolgathering.”
“What the fuck? Did you say woolgathering? What are you trying for, the part of a seventeenth-century wench?”
“Reading. Or rather Cat is reading to me. Jane Austen.”
“Of course. Every football player’s favorite.” My grin got wide enough to piss him off. He stared me down, but that just made me laugh.
He gave me the finger and disappeared behind his locker door. Standing up, I took my time looking around, watching men come and go in various states of undress, some patched up, some limping, some light-footed and ready to go. I loved the locker room.
I respected everyone here and made sure they knew it. A couple dozen high fives, shoulder punches, and grunts hello later and I was ready to take the field. It was only walk-throughs, but the season was closing in and I was as excited as a teenager before prom.
Out on the practice field it was hot and sunny and I went straight for Coach Parker, the QB coach.
“How many snaps you have me in for tomorrow?”
“None,” Coach Parker said. “Brandon Chase will start and then Max Devon will get in some time in the second half, but no way are you playing tomorrow Wyatt, so get over yourself.”
Brandon Chase was our fifth-round draft pick and Max Devon was our veteran backup QB.
Parker gave me no hope of playing. I gave him a pissed-off look, trying not to be an idiot or worse, a prima donna.
Reining in my enthusiasm to get the season started, to get playing time, I took a cleansing breath.
“Okay. I get it. You still want to check out the kid. Give him his last chance to show something. I’ll work with him.”
Coach patted me on the shoulder. “I know that was hard for you, Wyatt. Congratulations on your restraint. Run over the four-two-one and the six-three with him. Get Quintanna to catch for him. Quintanna won’t be playing either.”
I saluted Parker because I knew he hated it and he shook his head. But I saw the suppressed grin. Parker was a decent guy, couldn’t be pushed around, and I trusted him. But damn, I was hoping for a few snaps in tomorrow’s game. Hell, I may as well watch from the stands with—
Pulling myself up short I went rigid. What the fuck was I thinking?
Watch the game with Mia? Hell no. Taking off, I ran toward the kid, Chase, and flipped the ball to him.
Then I kept going, trotting to the part of the field where the QBs ran their drills.
What idiotic shit was I even thinking? I damn well needed to be on the sidelines supporting the team and watching the opponent. Wow.
I needed Tate to come through and sweep Mia off her feet in a big way. And sweep her out of my hair and my head.