Chapter Four

Gwen

A professional football player? How was that even possible? Sure, statistically it was probable to run into a pro ball player in a town with an NFL team but not me. Gwen Bristol didn’t flirt with professional football players, and she definitely didn’t have coffee with them. But there I was…across the table from one of the most devastatingly handsome men I’d ever seen—in person or magazines—and he wanted to give me a ride home in his truck.

“Did you always want to be a lawyer?” Carson asked, casually swirling the contents of his mug.

I took a sip from my own before answering, “Well, if you skip over the years where I thought being a princess or mermaid were real options, then yes.”

Carson chuckled. “Naturally.”

“My dad used to tell me I should be a lawyer, mostly because I was always arguing my case about something or the other. I don’t know. I guess it kind of stuck with me.” I brushed my side-swept bangs out of my eyes. “So, I was on the debate club in junior high and high school and even competed in some speech contests. Total nerd.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all. It’s served me well. I got accepted to Yale and earned a lot of scholarships to make it all work out.”

“Wow! I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.” I wrapped my hands around my mug, leeching the remaining warmth. “What about you? Did you always want to be a football player?”

Carson smiled but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes as he nodded. A faraway quality I couldn’t quite place. “What little boy didn’t? I guess that was my version of being a princess.”

I laughed softly. “Guess so. Only difference is your path was actually attainable.”

“Hey, you could have snagged Prince William,” Carson added, flashing a lopsided smile.

My cheeks warmed at his comment. “I don’t know if I could have, but—”

“Sure you could have.”

I flapped a hand at him but couldn’t pull back down the smile across my face. “What’s it like? Being in the NFL?”

Carson dragged in a heavy sigh. “It’s a lot of work.”

A laugh slipped past my lips. “I’d imagine.”

“You’d be surprised. Some people think it’s one never-ending party or something.”

“Hmm.” I tilted my head, considering him for a long moment. What was it hiding behind those eyes? “All that matters is that it’s worth it. Right? I mean law school is no joke, but I don’t regret all the long hours and nonexistent social life for the last seven years.”

“Seven years?” Carson repeated, his eyebrows shooting back up his forehead.

I laughed and nodded. “Yeah. Four years for my bachelor and three more for law. Most of my friends from high school and college are off living life and up until July, I was constantly locked away in a quiet room at the library. Cramming for the test like my life depended on it. Not a lot of fun. So, most people kind of moved on. I’m just now getting back to seeing everyone and going out for long coffee dates, without watching the clock and counting down how much time I had until my next study session.”

“Wow.”

“Seems like you might be able to relate,” I said, dropping a pointed look at the binder he’d closed but still had shoved into the corner of the table.

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Our quarterback went down today. Broke a rib and jacked up his ankle. We won the game and we’re going to the playoffs but he’s out. His season’s over.”

“And let me guess, you’re his replacement?”

“Not quite. But I’ll be getting more time so I need to be ready.”

I nodded. “Aha.”

The bell on the front door rang and I tried to mask a cringe. It was within ten minutes of closing time, and besides that—I wasn’t done talking to Carson. I plastered a smile on as I jumped up to greet the new arrival.

“Dad?”

My dad, Mark, stopped just inside the entrance and shook off the snow he’d accumulated on the short walk from the parking lot. I hadn’t even noticed him pull up, but when I looked outside, his SUV was parked there with the engine running, headlight beams shining through the windows on the other side of the diner.

“Hey, Gwenie! Mags called me to come pick you up on my way home.”

I folded my arms. “You just wanted to escape the Jensens’ Christmas party.”

A look of guilt crossed his windblown cheeks. “Well, it did make a convenient excuse…”

I laughed. “You want a slice of pie to go?”

“You know me so well, Gwenie. You need me to clean anything up while—” my dad stopped short as he strode toward the counter, and did a double take when his eyes landed on Carson. “Carson Stiles?”

I turned back and smothered a smirk as Carson’s face registered surprise at my dad’s recognition. He pushed up from his seat and came over to offer my dad a handshake. Which he took, eagerly. I rolled my eyes and wandered off behind the counter as my dad had his fanboy moment.

“Mark Bristol, big time fan. It looks like you got your work cut out for you this week, young man. Good luck on Sunday.

Carson pocketed his hands once they broke off the handshake. “Thank you, sir.”

They started talking shop and I tuned it out as I bustled around to box up a slice of pie for my dad and got the till ready to count. The sound of the receipt printer stirred the men from their in-depth analysis of the Cannons playoff chances. I smiled sweetly and set the paper on the counter. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Stiles.”

Carson’s eyes locked with mine as a smile played at his gorgeous lips. “Call me Carson,” he said, fishing a wallet from his pocket. He handed over a black credit card and I rang it up.

“You live close by?” My dad asked.

“Yeah. I’m just a few blocks away. The Hattford building.”

My dad nodded. “Oh, nice. I’m assuming that truck out there is yours? Looks like she’ll get ya home, no problem.”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Sir?” My dad chuckled. “Please, it’s Mark. This is my aunt’s place.”

Carson nodded. “It’s a great diner. My favorite place in Bitsburg.”

My dad chuckled. “I’ll be sure to let Mags know. She’ll be thrilled.”

I pushed the completed ticket over to Carson. “Though, fair warning, she’ll probably make you sign a picture for the wall,” I interjected, setting a pen down for Carson to sign.

He smiled as he picked up the pen, rolling it between his large fingers before scribbling a signature along the bottom of the receipt. He picked it up and handed it back and I gawked at the large tip he’d left for me. My eyes flew to his and I started to object but he held up a hand. “It’s Christmas,” he said, as though that explained away the too-generous tip.

“Thank you.”

Carson gave a single nod and wandered back to his table to collect his thick winter coat and the messenger bag he’d had slung over his chest when he’d walked in. Once he was put back together again, he started for the doors. My heart sank, wondering if I’d see him again. If the Cannons were going into the playoffs he wasn’t bound to have a ton of free time for late night biscuits and gravy. And if all went according to plan, I’d have my bar results and be working at my new job by the time New Year’s rolled around.

“It was nice to meet you,” Carson said, stopping with one hand resting on the handle.

“You too,” my dad replied, beating me to the punch. “Good luck in the playoffs! We’ll be rooting for you!”

Carson’s eyes found mine and his lips twitched as though there was something he wanted to say but was holding back. All at once, his expression shifted, his eyebrows arching again. He fished into the inside of his coat. “Wait,” he said, as though we were the ones ready to leave. He pulled a white envelope free from the inside lining and extended it out. “Would you guys like to come to the game Sunday? One of the team executives handed them to me tonight as I was leaving practice. There is a preferred parking pass in there too…”

“Wow. That’s very generous,” my dad said, reaching to take the envelope from Carson.

Carson smiled. “The game’s this Sunday afternoon. It would be great if you guys could make it.”

My dad’s face fell. “Damn. I’ll be out of town at a teaching convention. Why they schedule these things over winter break is beyond me…” he groused. “Wish I could.”

He started to pass the envelope back and I lunged into action. “I’m free!”

My dad turned toward me, his bushy eyebrows hiked up high on his lined forehead. “Really?”

I swallowed a groan at my utter lack of chill. With nervous fingers, I tossed my hair past my shoulders. “I mean, it would be fun. Right? I haven’t been to a football game since…” my voice trailed off as I realized that I had never been to a professional football game. Hell, I even avoided the games in high school. “Well, it’s been a while. I’m sure Vivi would want to go too.”

No, she wouldn’t.

Carson smiled and I wondered just how transparent I was.

My dad was on to me and handed over the envelope with a knowing smile. “I’m sure she will, honey.”

The bell on the front of the diner jingled as Carson pushed it open and a blast of frozen air filled the room. “See you at the game, Gwen. Again, Mark, it was nice to meet you.”

I offered a wave as he slipped out into the night.

My dad barely waited for the door to flap shut before he burst out laughing. “You’re going to a football game?”

I scoffed and went back to the counter. “You’re just jealous.”

His chuckling followed me as I pushed into the kitchen to break down the till. As I sorted through the receipts, I plucked up the one Carson had signed and noticed ink showing through from the other side. I turned it over and saw that Carson had scrawled his phone number along the back.

This could get interesting to say the least.

****

A starry night, a steady snowfall highlighted by the sliver of moonlight across the front of the gun-metal truck. Steam fogged up the windshield as Carson leaned across the dash, captured my face with his large, seductive hands, and his lips brushed mine in a way that left no doubt as to where the night would lead…

Clothing scattered on the floorboards, his breath against my bare skin, the fog so thick that no one could see in and we couldn’t see out as we gave into the primal longing we’d been fighting all night…

Straight up Titanic style.

A soft tap on my bedroom door startled me. “We’re heading out, Gwenie.”

I mumbled a reply into my pillow and rolled away from the sound. My parents were off to my dad’s convention. Why my mom felt the need to wake me up when I knew full well the intimate details of their daily lives and routines, was beyond me.

Normally, it was a mild irritation, but when it ripped me away from the steamy dream of Carson and me together in the front of his truck, it was downright rude.

When the house was silent again, I squeezed my eyes shut, yearning to get back to where I’d left off, with Carson’s fingers sliding down every curve of my body.

The front door slammed shut and my eyes popped open. “Damn it!”

“Gwenie, have you seen Dad’s readers?”

I groaned. “Did he check his pocket?”

My mom scoffed. “That’s not funny.”

Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true…

My dad was endearingly referred to as the Absent-Minded Professor around the house. He was brilliant, a high school teacher-turned-principle, held three master’s degrees, but lost his slippers and reading glasses with startling frequency.

“Oops! Got ‘em! Bye sweetie!”

“Goodbye,” I called out from between gritted teeth.

So much for sleeping in—or enjoying a little alone time before giving up the memory of my steamy dream. When the front door slammed shut again, I threw the covers off and swung my legs over the side of my twin-sized bed. “I really need to get my own place,” I mumbled to myself as I slipped into my favorite hooded sweatshirt and tugged on a pair of long socks and pajama bottoms.

It was probably for the best, I decided, padding out of my room. I followed the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen and poured myself a huge mug. After all, Carson had only offered the football tickets because he was a nice guy. Just like the ride home. What kind of guy would he be if he left me stranded at the diner with a foot of snow outside? He’d been raised right and was doing what any gentleman would have done in the same situation.

Right?

I chewed on the corner of my lip as I went about making a couple scrambled eggs for myself. Carson Stiles was out of my league. I dated the nerdy guy in the corner, the kind of guys who would go on to become accountants or dentists. Quiet guys. Safe guys. I’d never been the type of girl to hang off the arm of some jock. Not that it had ever really been an option for me. I’d grown up a little on the fluffy side and while I’d managed to come to terms with my curves more or less over the years, there was still a nagging little voice in the back of my mind that reminded me I was never going to have a Victoria’s Secret Angel’s body.

Which, as an adult, didn’t feel like as big of an issue, but back in high school, the jocks and popular guys only wanted to date the tiny girls and I got left behind, forced to watch all the pretty girls dance at Homecoming or go skinny dipping in the summer. All I got were the pitying looks and comments like “but she has such a pretty face” with the underlying message that the rest of me was a problem.

Something about Carson both silenced and awakened those memories. When his stormy eyes had wandered to the low scoop of my sweater’s neckline, there was no doubt that he liked what he saw. But then the little voice would remind me that almost every guy liked big jugs. What would he think about the roll under my bellybutton or the fact that my thighs were closer to mermaid status than thigh gap territory?

I shrugged it all away and returned my attention to my quick, lazy Sunday morning breakfast. Once my plate was piled high with buttered toast, eggs, and banana slices, I headed to the couch and nestled into my favorite corner seat. My dad had left the morning paper spread open wide across the ottoman and a gasp caught in my throat when I looked over and saw a half page spread featuring a large black and white photo of Carson Stiles.

For a minute, I considered shoving the stack of papers to the floor. It was hard enough to stop thinking about Carson without him staring at me. But I couldn’t fight the urge to read the article accompanying the picture and with a heavy sigh, balanced my plate on the wide arm of the sectional, and dragged the paper to my lap.

The Cannons’ Playoff Hopes Rest In This Third-String’s Untested Hands

“What?” I skimmed the article but got lost in the football details. Instead, trying to read between the lines, I scoured for any sign or mention of his personal life. Sadly, the article was all about the recent developments, mostly centered around a couple of ill-timed injuries. I folded the newspaper back together and picked at my breakfast, wondering what would happen at the football game and if I’d actually get a chance to see Carson again—or if I’d just be putting myself through three hours of freezing-ass, mind-numbing boredom for nothing.

I smiled when I remembered he’d scrawled his number on the back of the receipt and figured that one way or another—it was going to be a very interesting night.