Page 47 of Playing for Keeps

Tate

Waking up with Chloe is like a dream and a nightmare. Once we get past another round of mind-blowing sex and I take her back to her car, I’m not sure how to handle her.

I’m not comfortable having a relationship with her—fuck no, but I’m not comfortable with the whole enemies with benefits thing either, though that’s where we’re at. That’s what I tell her. I feel like a fucking jackass saying it.

“If that’s the way you want it,” she says. “You got it.” I’m too much of a coward, or maybe too concerned about self-preservation, too cynical, to ask her what other way there is, what way she wants it.

“Look, I have a busy week this week. With the game on Thursday night.”

“No need to explain to me. I’m right there with you—on the other side, of course—behind enemy lines.”

“You’re a troublemaker,” I say, no heat, giving her half a smile.

“Notorious,” she says. Then she leans in and kisses me, quick and easy and hot, and gets out of my car.

I watch her as she drives away. I’m not sure where she’s going, to the studio or to her attic lair.

I throw my car into gear, wishing it were that easy to get myself into gear because my head isn’t where it should be for this game and I’m going to need to catch up fast. It’s a big one with our main division rival. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I am so fucked up.

Can I really have a relationship with a sports reporter? A woman who hounds me for intel about my injury status as if she wants me to be injured to make a good news clip?

Not to mention the havoc she could reek on my contract negotiations with the team and with sponsors. According to my agent, unless it’s about my spectacular play on the field, the less said in the press about me, the better.

If I thought the locker room was going to be my solace, my escape from Chloe-on-the-brain, then I’m seriously delusional or I forget what my friends are like. Because the first thing I hear on the way to my locker is a wolf whistle loud and clear from Sean Patrick and a mile-wide grin as he slaps me on the back.

“We had bets you’d be late, but you did me proud. I knew even a woman like Chloe couldn’t keep you—”

“Shut the fuck up. And what do you mean a woman like Chloe?”

Hi grin doesn’t diminish one iota. “You know—someone special.” I take that in and don’t know how to respond, how to explain that she’s not special when my gut and my heart know otherwise. When that’s the exact thing that has my insides in fucking knots and my head messed up. Because if she weren’t special, I’d have dismissed her after that first day we met.

But how does Sean know she’s special when he doesn’t even know what I know, that she’s the kind of woman who makes crazy anonymous donations and lives in a fucking tenement while she devotes herself to preserving her father’s legacy by carrying on in his footsteps. That she’s the kind of woman who’s endured in spite of losing everyone she’s loved and still moves ahead, bent but unbroken and brave.

Fuck. I look away from him only to hear Gabe and Hunter snorting with laughter and heading my way.

“Here he is,” Gabe says, too loud for my comfort, as I throw my things into my locker and pretend he’s no more than a pest. “The man with the biggest, bravest balls of the day. Gutsy enough to parade around with a sports reporter in front of her fellow reporters. The least likely—”

“Fuck off,” I say, attempting a smile, knowing it’s more of a scowl. Predictably he laughs, as does everyone else in earshot. Taking a deep breath, I know I’m being a fool letting this all get to me. Knowing he has no idea how messed up I am. He probably thinks it’s a casual fling. It should be a casual fling.

Or maybe he thinks it’s more and truly thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am, because I know damn well it’s more than casual between me and Chloe, no matter how much I say the words enemies with benefits. No matter how much I warn myself not to go anywhere near a relationship with a reporter.

Gabe slaps me on the back and says in a much quieter voice, “Don’t worry, man. We’ve all been there.” I wonder what the fuck he means by that and he must read my mind because he says in a low voice I can barely hear, “We’ve all had what we thought were . . . inappropriate relationships.”

My mind clears, and for a flicker I see he’s right. Mia was his girlfriend’s best friend when they met and I thought Gabe was crazy. Hunter married the fucking coach’s daughter. Max comes over to our huddle and we let him in because he’s the one man universally respected as the veteran sage, the wise old man. He takes in the situation and sizes it up.

“You ready to play, Fontanna?”

“Sure. The guys were just schooling me on how fucked up we all are when it comes to women.” He quirks his mouth and nods.

“I’m right there with you. I’m with a woman young enough to be my niece.” Everyone cracks up because in truth, he’s not exactly an old man and Natalie is a formidable woman underneath her hot-as-sin exterior. I know there’s all kinds of complications going on in his life, but he never lets it get to him, plays it cool always, and even Gabe admires him though Max is his backup QB. The men around me are more than my teammates and, looking around at them, I nod.

“Let’s go get ready,” I say, putting my fist in the center of the huddle. Everyone follows suit and Gabe makes the call and we break. I’m not usually in huddles with Gabe, neither is Sean or even Max, but we have a bond within the team’s close-knit community that I fully appreciate at this moment, that motivates me, elevates me above whatever else is going on, to play with everything I have. That makes me remember who and what I’m dedicating my career to, the memory of my mentor, my uncle Frank.

After films, we’re on the field breaking into our groups and I’m with the linebacker group. My role is to run the defense on the field, communicate reads and shifts and make sure we stay in sync. I’m working with the defensive coordinator on a scheme to disguise our QB spy for Thursday’s game. We run through a play with the offense with Max in at QB because he’s less predictable than Gabe.

The switch-out disguise works perfectly as I catch up with Max when he tries to scramble outside of the pocket and I end up on the ground with him under me.

“Fuck, sorry man.” I jump to my feet and reach out a hand to help him up. He’s laughing and he lifts his helmet off.