Fourth and Goal (17 page)

He bent down and gave her a long, wet kiss. “Good night, baby.” His dark eyes searched her face. “I'll see you tomorrow evening for drills. We fly out on Saturday morning for the Sunday game. Maybe we could hook up on Friday night? I'll buy you dinner."

She nodded. “I'd like that."

He turned to leave, then hesitated. “Are you sure you're okay with this? I mean where we're at?"

"I'm fine. Absolutely fine. This is what I want too."

He nodded, then smiled. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, but he kept quiet. She watched him go, bringing a finger up to touch the lips he'd just kissed. She'd better build those walls higher before she fell in love with this man again.

Had she ever fallen out of love with him?

As the sun rose over the Cascade Mountains, Rachel wrote out another check, then calculated her bank balance. Her heart sank. A double-digit balance didn't go far, and she didn't get paid for another week.

Someone pounded on the door, and she jumped and shot to her feet, scattering papers and envelopes across the floor. The pounding increased as she hurried to answer it. She threw the door open to find Mitch on the other side.

"Is something wrong?” Her heart caught in her throat. Had something happened to her dad or brother?

"This!” Her brother shoved the newspaper in her face. “This is wrong!"

Momentary relief flooded her. After all, this worrying crap was hard work. Rachel grabbed the newspaper out of her brother's hand. And stared. And stared. And stared—at the picture of Derek with his tongue down her throat. The caption said:
Jacks’ wide receiver, Derek Ramsey, celebrates the team's first win with an unidentified woman.

"They didn't get my good side.” Rachel faked a grin and flinched as she waited for the explosion.

"Is that all you have to say?” Her brother's face displayed the most interesting shades of red and purple.

"We didn't make the front page.” She faked a frown.

"It's all over the Internet."

"Oh. So I'm famous?"

"What the fuck are you doing—acting like this is a big joke?” If he got any madder, he'd burst that vessel pulsing in his neck; then she'd have a mess to clean up. She really hated messes.

"It's hard to tell it's me."

"Really? Then how come my phone and Riley's and Dad's have been ringing off the hook since this morning? What are we supposed to tell all these people?"

"That I had fun."

"Fun! You call this fun?"

"Actually yes, I do."

He snorted and stamped his foot. “You're just a plaything to him, a momentary distraction."

"Is that a bad thing? Maybe that's all he is to me."

"Rachel, what is wrong with you? Doesn't it concern you that he's using you?"

"Maybe I'm using him.” Rachel stifled a yawn. “Trust me, Mitch. I know what I'm doing.” Like hell she did.

"What are you doing?"

"Earning his trust. Getting close enough to him to appeal to his basic sense of decency."

"Are you sure he has any?"

"If he doesn't, Dad's screwed, because nothing any of us do will change a thing."

"You're sleeping with him again, aren't you?"

"Actually we didn't sleep much.” She braced herself for his next detonation. This whole line of questioning was way beyond old.

"I'm going to castrate the bastard.” He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately the jerk gets a stay of execution. I'm late for school."

"Well, have a nice day.” Rachel slammed the door in his face and locked it. Leaning against it, she took a deep breath. Despite her pseudo-smart-ass attitude, fighting with her brother exhausted her.

Her phone rang. No rest for the weary or justly accused. She crossed the room and checked caller ID. Her father. They were tag teaming her. Gearing herself for the next onslaught, she answered the phone. “Hi, Daddy."

"What the hell is this picture of you with Derek Ramsey? I knew no good would come from you moving onto his property. You need to move out. Now.” Her father sounded amazingly sober.

"No.” She dug her feet in. No more bending to her father's and brothers’ wills. She drew a line in the sand and dared him to cross over.

"Excuse me?"

"Dad, I'm staying here. I'm helping him get his game back."

"Is that what you call it?"

"What I do and with who is my business.” As much as she loved him, no way would he run her life again.

"Not when it affects me and the whole family. Do you have any idea what this means?"

Rachel gripped the phone tighter. “It means I'm being my own woman."

"Damn, Rachel, that's not it at all. Think about what this could do if the press starts digging around and finds out who you are. It won't take long for them to make a connection. Then they'll nose around for information, and they may find it. I don't want them to find it. I want this to go away."

"It's not going away, Dad. Not as long as you're accepting responsibility.” She shivered and checked the level of the heat on the furnace. Feeling cold and a little sick, she sank into a chair. Wasn't this just what she wanted? For the press to find out the truth.

"Rae, you need to avoid this guy. For me."

"He's paying me to help him with his game. I can't back out now, but I will keep a low profile."

"I sure as hell hope that's good enough. It'd be better if you got the hell off his property and out of the area."

"I'll be careful. I promise."

"You can't get involved with him. For all our sakes."

"I know, Dad. I know. We're not involved."

She hung up, walked to the window, and looked out. On her porch, Simon looked in at her and thumped his tail, obviously hoping she'd let him in so he could feast on Charlie's cat food. He must have escaped the fortified dog kennel in record time—Derek's truck had rumbled down the driveway about five this morning on his way to work out.

Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she contemplated the mess she'd gotten herself into.

Derek lay on his back and bench-pressed more than his weight. Just as he lifted the weights, Tyler stuck a newspaper in front of his face.

"Shit. What the fuck are you doing?” Gritting his teeth, arms shaking from the effort, he lowered the barbell and sat up. Tyler waved the newspaper in front of his face. Derek caught a glimpse of a picture of him in a lip-lock with—

Oh shit. Rachel
? Like he'd had his tongue down any other woman's throat in the past few months. Of course it was Rachel.

Derek ripped the paper out of Tyler's hand and scanned the caption. “Oh man. This isn't good. Did Rachel see this?"

"How the fuck would I know? Do you think I keep tabs on her?” Tyler snorted, clearly enjoying his cousin's distress.

"I hope not.” Derek wiped sweat from his face with a towel.

Tyler grinned. “Afraid I'll move in on your territory?"

"Don't even think about it."

"So it's a case of you don't want her, but no one else can have her either."

Who said Derek didn't want her? He wanted her so badly he'd lain awake most of the night, his thoughts alternating between replaying the game and replaying the sex. He'd wanted her to stay the night, but he hadn't asked. If they were going to keep this casual, then they had to limit the sex to once a week before a game. In his mind that kept it strictly business. The minute it became an every-night or even every-other-night thing, the whole makeup of their relationship changed.

Swiping the sweat off his brow with a towel, he read the photo caption again. “Damn. I have to call Rachel."

He tried several times, but no answer. Finally he settled for leaving a message asking her to call. She didn't.

But everyone else did, including his father and his sister, both wanting to know what the hell was going on. He couldn't very well tell them when he didn't know himself.

They liked Rachel, would love to have her as part of their family, but their concern went deeper than that. It had to do with his mother. It always seemed to go back to her. He knew he had abandonment issues. Hell, didn't everyone have issues?

Derek always held back a piece of himself, even from his family and Tyler.

Rachel was different. She knew him. He'd shared so many hopes and dreams with her over the years. She stripped bare his most secret, painful spots. He couldn't afford that. Not anymore.

He'd protect his heart from the one woman who had the most power to do damage, next to his mother.

HughJack studied the game films for this week's opponent. Every team had at least one good game in them no matter how lousy their season. It was consistency, week in, week out that counted. One win meant nothing. A string of wins meant everything.

HughJack switched to a different video—not that they were actually using videotapes anymore; everything was strictly digital now. He watched his team at last week's game, knowing this week's opponent would be doing the same thing, analyzing them for weaknesses, figuring out how to capitalize on their mistakes and minimize their strengths.

He watched as Derek Ramsey threw a block, caught a pass up the middle, ran for twenty-five yards. He'd been all over the field. Damn, when Ramsey was in the zone, the kid was pure poetry in motion. And Harris, well, the cocky bastard had finally exercised his arm instead of his mouth.

The Jacks might well have some of the best raw material in the league if he could minimize their mistakes and mold them into a consistent winner.

If he figured how to do that, watch out professional football.

[Back to Table of Contents]

All week Rachel hid behind her power suits and professional facade. Derek didn't question it. They worked out as usual every night or watched game film. Derek kept his distance, and so did she until Friday night. She avoided being seen with him in public and cooked dinner for both of them at Derek's house. Afterward they dropped both their respective emotional walls and their pants and engaged in hot, heavy sex far into the night.

Derek flew out for the game the next morning while Rachel busied herself with the animals and a long-overdue bout of housecleaning.

Late afternoon, someone pounded incessantly on her front door. She ran to open it. Cass pushed her way past, dragging three suitcases. Simon, seeing an opening, slipped in with her and dived into the cat food dish.

Dumping the bags unceremoniously on the floor, Cass stomped into the kitchen and poured herself a beer.

Charlie rose from his nap on the couch and snarled at Simon, who growled back. Rachel grabbed Simon by the collar, hauled his butt outside, and firmly shut the door behind him.

Sighing, she locked the door and took a seat. Cass threw herself on the couch.

"That bastard. That lying, cheating bastard. I'm going to feed his balls to New York's defensive line.” She tilted her glass back and guzzled the entire thing.

"What did he do this time?"

"Everything. He's a lying, cheating—” Cass slammed the glass on the coffee table.

"Bastard. I know."

"He was supposed to meet me for dinner at Alfonso's last night. He never showed up, so I checked next door. There he was, sitting in the bar surrounded by a half dozen women. It was disgusting how they fawned all over him. Who'd have thought that asshole's head could get any bigger, but it did after the last game. One win and he thinks he's a fucking celebrity."

"Did he see you?"

"Sure did. Just before I dumped a pitcher of beer on his head."

"You didn't?"

"I did. Not only did I soak him but all those little bitches too. Looked like a wet T-shirt contest gone bad."

Rachel laughed in spite of herself. “Cass, you never cease to amaze me."

"I was going to dump him anyway. Just hadn't gotten around to it.” Cass looked around. “Where should I put my stuff?"

"Uh, I guess in the spare bedroom. Where'd you sleep last night?"

"I stopped by here, but no one was home so I got a hotel room, waited for the ass to leave this a.m., and then packed all my shit and left him a fuck-you note."

Grabbing a couple of suitcases, Cass headed for the spare bedroom. Rachel followed. She sat on the bed and watched as the whirlwind threw her suitcases on the bed one by one, opened them, and took out her clothes. She stuffed them in drawers until the dresser overflowed, then crammed them in the closet. She didn't seem to care. Rachel zipped her lips. Cass was pissed and taking it out on her clothes, which beat maiming or murdering a living being.

Last to come out was her cheerleader uniform, a skimpy little thing that she actually hung in the closet with care. “I'll show the bastard. There are plenty of guys that'd beg for a chance with me."

"Are you sure he wasn't just engaging in some harmless flirting? He considers it a sport."

"It was blatant. You'd never catch me doing anything like that. I have more class."

Rachel's eyes crept up to her eyebrows. She resisted the urge to roll them. Every other week, Tyler and Cass got into an argument over one or both of them flirting.

Cass flirted shamelessly; so did Tyler. Whether it ever came down to actually sleeping with any of their victims, Rachel hadn't a clue and didn't want to know.

She had enough problems of her own.

The Jacks won their away game over the weekend with ease. Derek played relaxed and loose after a Friday-night roll in the hay, a pregame ritual he intended to keep.

Tyler completed twenty-two out of twenty-five passes, several of them to Derek. The Harris-Ramsey connection was picking up steam and gaining some local press. Ever the publicity whore, his cousin wallowed in the attention. Derek avoided it.

Tyler went about his business as if nothing traumatic had happened in his life. He boozed it up, projected the appearance of a man slut, and threw touchdown passes during practice. Yet at the end of each night, Derek was certain Tyler slept alone. Tyler's playboy ways were mostly for show.

Meanwhile Derek's relationship with Rachel settled into an oddly comfortable routine. During the week, they kept each other at a distance. Only in bed did the ice princess melt and they kicked it through the uprights all night long. Perhaps she'd been telling him the truth about being able to have recreational sex without any emotional entanglements. He followed her lead, not entirely certain how long he'd be able to keep his heart out of the deal. But damn, if she could do it, so the hell could he. Besides, the alternative would be an absence of Rachel in his life, which he considered an unacceptable option on so many levels.