“Hey, Durham. Great game today.”
I turned to glance over my shoulder as Clive Hanson, a middle linebacker, slugged me on the back. He was sweaty and filthy, too, just like we all were after our hard-fought victory over Dallas.
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Not a bad way to start a season, huh?” He elbowed his way closer to the lockers and began to strip off his pads. “Or maybe even better, what a way to say welcome to the City of Brotherly Love.”
I forced a grin. “No complaints here. I had more play time today than I did in a month of Sundays in New York.”
“And you made the most of it, too.” He sat down on the bench to untie his shoes. “So, a bunch of us are going out to celebrate after. You in?”
I hesitated. “Who’s going?”
Hanson counted off names on his fingers. “Ahhh, Skeeter, Douglass, DeLain . . . you know. The single guys. Gonna hit a couple bars, hang out.”
I swallowed back a sigh. There had been a time this year when I’d looked forward to not being numbered among the unattached team members. Stupid, naïve me had pictured telling my teammates that I couldn’t go out to party, because my girlfriend and I had plans. In my mind, those plans had been very private ones and a hell of a lot more fun than hitting the bars.
Yeah, I’d been a fool, counting the chickens that were never going to hatch.
There wasn’t a single reason for me to say no to Hanson’s invitation. Pops had come to the game, but he’d ridden over with a couple of his buddies, and they were likely already back in Jersey by now. He wouldn’t mind me hanging with the guys—heck, he’d probably be thrilled that I was out of the house and not moping around. And the girl who I’d thought would be at my opening game in Philly, and every other home game, too, was still lost to me. She was somewhere in the city, probably, but she didn’t want me, and I was damn tired of fighting a losing war. I was done with trying to hold on to hope.
“Sure.” I grabbed my towel and turned for the showers. “I’m in.”
“This is sweet, man!” Tripp Douglass shouted in my ear, trying to be heard over the thumping music. His face was flushed, and fleetingly I wondered if that came from the heat or the beer. Or maybe both.
We’d arrived at the upscale pub that wasn’t too far from the stadium, and immediately, we’d been escorted to a huge round booth in a prime location just off the dance floor, adjacent to the bar itself. Within minutes, women of various ages and types had flocked over to us, smiling, flirting and tossing their hair, trying to make inroads with any of the players.
I might’ve been more flattered if I hadn’t overheard an exchange between two of the women early on.
“Which one do you want?” The blonde had asked her red-headed friend.
The red-head had shrugged. “Who cares? They’re all football players, they’re all hot, and they’re all loaded.”
Yeah, it was hard to feel special after that.
But Douglass was even more of a rookie than I was, since this was his first year in the pros. He’d left college after his junior year, so he was younger and greener than most of the newbies. He was looking around like he was a little boy in a candy store.
“Hey, kid, take it easy, okay?” I’d never been in the position to play big brother, but I hated to see him get sucked into a bad situation, and some of the women had bad situation written all over them.
“Yeah, I got this.” He winked at me, cocky, and I just barely refrained from rolling my eyes. He was hell-bent to get into trouble tonight, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.
Then again, I wasn’t really qualified to give advice, given that the only woman I’d ever wanted had stomped on my heart and left me as soon as I’d told her that I loved her.
Suddenly, I couldn’t sit there any longer. I nudged Douglass. “Hey, let me out, would you? I need to hit the mens’.”
The kid, who was flirting heavily with a woman who looked like she had at least ten years on him, barely paid me any attention, moving down the bench until I could get out of the booth. I stretched a little, rolling my shoulders; sitting still for any period of time after a game as intense as the one we’d played this afternoon was never a good idea.
I headed in the direction of the restrooms, taking my time and looking around to see if I could possibly make an escape from the bar without making it a big deal among my teammates. I didn’t want to be here anymore, but I didn’t want to interrupt their good time, either.
The bathroom was blessedly quiet after the cacophony of the music and talking. I did what I needed to, washed my hands and stepped back out into the corridor, glancing down the hall for a back exit.
“Looking for a getaway?” The voice was low and filled with humor, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall woman with dark hair and a half-smile playing on her lips. She was regarding me with poorly-concealed amusement.
“Ah, just scoping it out.” I offered her my official, dismissive but polite smile and tried to side-step her to get back into the main room.
“I was watching you there, sitting with your teammates. You looked bored.” She tilted her head.
“Not at all. Just tired. In case you didn’t know, we played a game today, and it took a lot out of me.”
“Oh, I know. I was there.” She lifted a small plastic square that had her picture on it. “On the sidelines, as a matter of fact. I’m a reporter. I cover you guys for the Inquirer.” She held out her hand. “Lana DiMartino.”
“Tate Durham.” Thanks to the years of manners drilled into me by Pops, I automatically reached out to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“I know who you are. Philadelphia’s lucky to have you.” Her eyes roved up and down my body, making me acutely aware of every inch of my skin. I couldn’t help comparing the sensation to how it had felt when Gia had looked at me. Then, I’d been eager to be perfect for her, to make her want me. Now I just felt uncomfortable and more than a little objectified.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to my friends.” I tried to release Lana’s hand, but she tightened her grip.
“You mean, you’re going to sneak out so that you don’t have to deal with the meat market out there. I get it. But why don’t you come sit with me and have a drink before you take off?”
I didn’t want to do it. I just wanted to go home and lay on my couch and watch the highlights from today’s games. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or keep on my professional pleasant face.
But this chick was press, and I couldn’t afford to piss her off, or I’d be risking bad exposure for the team. “Uh, sure. One drink and then I really do have to go. I live with my grandfather, and I need to make sure he’s okay.”
She gazed at me, her eyes wide with incredulity, as we both took stools at the bar. “Now that’s either the best brush-off line I’ve ever heard, or you just won the award for ‘football hottie most likely to make women’s ovaries sing’.”
I tried not to grimace. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I do live with my grandfather. He raised me, so I figure now that I can help him out, I should. Plus, he’s a great guy, so it works out well for both of us.” I signaled the bartender, who responded with a one moment finger.
“God, you really are adorable.” The bartender paused in front of us, and Lana ordered a glass of red wine, while I asked for a bottle of water.
“Hey, you played an amazing game today. You sure you don’t want a beer?” She gazed up at me through a fringe of dark lashes.
“No, thanks. I’m driving home, and I want to keep a clear head.” I smiled at the bartender and thanked her before turning back to my companion. “Are you from around here?”
“Yeah, actually I am. Well, South Jersey, if that counts as local.”
“I say it does, because that’s where I’m from, too.” I hooked a thumb at my chest. “Gatbury.”
“Seriously? My cousin went to school at Birch, and she and her husband live in Gatbury now. Small world.” She sipped her wine. “I’m from a tiny town down the shore. All of our family lives there . . . my aunt and uncle run a big Italian restaurant, and all the DiMartinos work for them at one point or another.”
“That sounds fun.” When I thought of Italian food, I thought about taking Gia to Amico’s, both the first night we’d met and the night she’d kissed me for the first time. I wondered if my memories of our time together would someday lose their bittersweet edge.
“It is. Mostly. And kind of a pain in the ass sometimes, too. But enough about me. Tell me all about Tate Durham, the newest Philadelphia football hunk.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m just here to do a job, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to do it. This team has tremendous promise. I’m excited to see what the season brings.”
Lana smirked. “You spout the company line to perfection. But I’d like to know something a little more . . . personal.”
Danger sirens rang in my head. “Uh, okay. Like what? There’s really not much to tell. I live with my grandfather, I train, I eat and I sleep. On Sundays or Mondays or the occasional Thursday night, I play football. That’s it.”
“So there’s no Mrs. Tate Durham?”
“Nope.” I took a swig of my water. “Not yet.”
“Is there a likely candidate for the role?” She quirked one eyebrow. “In other words, are you dating someone seriously?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s . . . complicated. I guess I’m single, but I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Are you gay?”
I shot her a glance of bemusement. “No, I’m not.”
“Because you know, it’s okay to come out now. You don’t have to pretend and hide.”
“I’m not, I promise you.” I shook my head. “But if I were, that would be my business. Just like what’s going on in my personal life is my business. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll be happy to discuss football in general or the prospects for the team, but anything beyond that is off-limits.”
“All right. Fine.” Lana lifted one slim shoulder. “Then my next question is this.” She swiveled her stool so that her knees were pressed up against the side of my thigh. “Do you feel your performance on the field would be enhanced by participation in a night of no-strings sex with a random admirer?”
Before I could digest the outrageousness of her words, Lana followed up the question with action, leaning up and grasping my chin, turning my face toward hers and kissing me solidly on the lips.
For the first few seconds, I was astounded into paralysis. And then for a moment after that, I didn’t pull back, because . . . I wondered. All the time I’d been focused on Gia, waiting for her to be available and ready for me, I’d never been tempted by another woman. Not really. But Gia had made it clear that she didn’t want me, and although I knew I’d never love anyone the way I did her, maybe I owed it to myself to at least find out if I could be attracted to someone else.
So I let Lana kiss me for the space of several heartbeats. Her lips were soft and insistent, and she kissed with skill and persuasion, but I didn’t feel anything, not even a mild spark of attraction. As a matter of fact, I had a pounding sense of something being very wrong.
“Lana.” I pushed her away as gently as I could. “Hey, look. I’m flattered. Really, I am. But I’m committed to someone else.” I smiled wryly. “Even if she isn’t ready to belong to me yet, I still belong to her. I appreciate your offer, but it’s not going to happen.”
I wasn’t sure how she was going to respond. I knew for a fact that women could be unpredictable, and if she took offense at a perceived rejection, she could slap my face or knee me in the balls. Anything was possible.
But she didn’t. Instead, she gave a little huff of laughter and leaned back. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. And just so you know, this isn’t my normal MO. I don’t set out to seduce all the new players. As a rule, I don’t mess with anyone on the team at all.”
“I should feel special, then?” I winked at her, just to show I didn’t harbor hard feelings.
“Oh, absolutely. Consider yourself unique.” She leaned back, studying me. “This girl who you’re so hung up on . . . is she something special?”
I nodded. “She is. She’s the most beautiful, most amazing women I’ve ever known. She makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“If she’s so amazing, why are you here in a bar by yourself after your home opener? Why isn’t she with you, celebrating your victory?”
I finished my water and crushed the bottle in one hand. “It’s—”
“I know, I know. It’s complicated.” Lana grinned. “Well, don’t think of this as me coming onto you or making a pass or anything, but if you ever need a friend in the press, give me a call.” She fished a business card out of her purse and passed it to me.
I took it from her and tucked it into my pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, hey, maybe you could give me some info. Do you know if the Rebels won today? Leo Taylor’s an old friend of mine. We played together at Carolina.” I lifted my phone. “I forgot to check before I left the stadium, and my coverage in here is crap.”
“That I can help you with.” Lana polished off her wine and signaled for another. “Richmond won today, and Leo the Lion was the talk of all the media. He introduced a girlfriend no one knew he had, and he basically proposed to her right there in the hallway outside the locker room. The video’s gone viral.”
“No way!” My smile was broad. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. They’re both friends of mine, and they deserve all the happiness they can find.” I paused and then added, “You can quote me on that.”
Lana threw back her head and laughed. “Thanks. I didn’t get mind-blowing sex, but I scored a quote on a story that didn’t even happen in the city I cover.”
“You’re welcome.” I stood up and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “This is to cover our drinks. Thanks for the conversation.”
“Um, dude, maybe you haven’t drunk for a while, but this is way more than they’re going to charge for a bottle of water and two glasses of wine.” Lana tapped the bill.
“Have an order of potato skins on me.” I patted her back. “See you around, Lana.”
When I stepped out of the bar into the waning light of late afternoon, the sounds of the city seemed muted after the noise of the crowd inside. I’d just begun walking toward my car when I felt my phone buzz against my ass.
“Guess reception’s better out here,” I muttered to myself as I pulled the phone out of my pocket. It was most likely Pops, texting to see if I’d be home for dinner . . . or maybe even Leo, with news about his reunion with Quinn.
Of course, on second thought, if Leo was finally with the girl he’d loved forever, the last thing he’d be worried about was getting in touch with me.
I squinted down at the screen, and at first, I assumed the glare from the last ray of sunlight was making me see things. Frowning, I stepped under a nearby awning and took off my sunglasses before I checked out the phone again. When I saw it clearly, my heart stopped.
Gia: Hi, Tate. I saw your game today. You played so well—congratulations on the win. I was proud of you. I know this is out of the blue, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you. I was wondering if maybe, someday, you’d want to get together and talk. If you don’t want to see me, I understand.
I miss you.
I read the message three times before I could digest it. Gia. She’d watched the game. And she wanted to see me.
And she missed me.
I wanted to run down the street and yell at the top of my lungs. I wanted to shout to the rooftops. I wanted to drop to my knees here on the sidewalk and weep with relief.
My hands were shaking, but I managed to respond, even though I typed two messages before I decided on the right one to send.
I love you, babe. I can come to you right now. Tell me where you are.
No, too much. Gia’s text had been cautious, and I needed to follow her lead.
Hey—sure, I can do that. Let me know when you’re ready and what might work for you.
No. Too casual. It sounded like I was setting up a meeting to buy a used car. I didn’t want to spook her, but I also wanted her to understand how happy I was to hear from her.
And so because honesty had always been the best bet with Gia, that was the way I went.
Gia, getting this message meant more to me than winning the game. I don’t want to come on too strong and make you second-guess contacting me, but I definitely want to see you. Give me a time and a place, and I’ll be there.
I miss you, too. So very much.
I hit send and prayed for the best.