Fourth and Goal (2 page)

Her heart lay down at his feet and begged for any crumb he chose to throw her way. Her pride gave it a swift kick in the pants and forced it back to reality. This man was not her friend. Not anymore. Not after what he'd done to her father.

"You're still fighting a losing battle with gravity.” His mouth quirked and his eyes sparkled as he slipped into his old teasing banter.

"What makes you think that?” She'd mastered stilted conversation, but her voice shook like an unbalanced washing machine.

"I'm still holding you up.” His voice vibrated with that too-familiar deep, rich tone, making her want to jump into the nearest bed and drag him with her. Fortunately it was edged with pity and regret, which poured water on her fire.

She jerked out of his arms, backed up, and stumbled. He saved her again, this time around her waist. His big hands steadied her before he let go. Standing upright, Rachel pulled down her skirt and smoothed the wrinkles in her suit.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he held back a grin. “You're a danger to yourself. How you've survived this long I'll never know."

"I'm nursing a bum ankle."

"Bullshit.” He squinted into the sun at her. Leave it to Derek to call it as he saw it.

"Gravity is not my friend.” Her jaw clenched. She didn't need him to point out her lack of coordination. It'd been the butt of her family's jokes since birth.

"Gravity is your nemesis.” He raised one eyebrow for emphasis, still battling that smile. His gaze traveled the length of her body and lit up with appreciation.

Rachel took a step back, but a few feet couldn't squelch the sexual chemistry crackling between them. “Thank you.” Let him think she always dressed like this, not just for an aborted job interview, thanks to a key-pilfering dog.

"You don't look like you.” His brow furrowed as he continued to assess this new look of hers.

"Actually I do. I've outgrown my college image.” A bald-faced lie, but what did he know? He hadn't seen her in five years. Despite feeling like an imposter, her power suit acted like Kevlar body armor, effectively disguising the chickenshit female bent on justice underneath.

His gaze settled on her face. “I always liked the way you looked. Natural. No pretenses. Real.” His voice came out soft and low.

Rachel had always liked how he looked too—and still did. She stood up straighter and faked a confidence she didn't feel, thanks to the suit. “It's been a long time."

The man looked at the ground and kicked at a small rock with the toe of his shoe. His head lifted, and he met her gaze. “Lots of changes. I suppose you know I haven't taken professional football by storm."

"I heard.” She'd heard plenty, such as washed-up, a disappointment, lost his nerve, finished. The list went on and on. Sympathy for his situation warred with cynicism regarding his character.

He forced a smile. “And you?"

"In between jobs right now. Just waiting for the right thing to come along."

"You got a bum rap."

"Who told you?"

"Tyler."

"Cass talks too much.” Rachel averted her eyes, unable to face his sympathetic gaze. She shrugged like her employment status was nothing when it was everything.

"I'm sorry to hear about your dad. I considered him a mentor, a role model. I still don't believe it.” His discomfort obvious, he concentrated on petting Simon. The dog's tail thumped energetically on the ground.

"Neither do I.” A lump lodged in her throat. The pain inside squeezed the breath from her lungs. She studied Derek's body language, searching for a revealing chink in his armor, but found nothing but sincere concern.

Derek threw the stick and jumped back as Simon barreled past. “I'm sure things will work out in the end."

She was counting on it. “I hope so. In my line of work, jobs are a rare commodity."

Derek started to open his mouth and seemed to think better of it. Most likely he didn't have a clue what her line of work was. Heck, she wasn't even sure what it was anymore.

Their small talk dried up, and an awkward silence followed. His jaw worked like it always did when he was trying to find the right words. “I want to thank you for agreeing to watch my animals and my place on such short notice."

"It's convenient for both of us.” He had no idea how convenient, nor would he be grateful to her if he knew her real reason for being here.

"Thanks just the same. There is one tiny catch."

"What?” Rachel caught the twinkle in his eyes.

"Him.” Derek indicated the dog.

"Not him."

"Yup, Simon.” At the sound of his name, Simon dropped the slobber-coated stick at her feet and whined.

She grimaced and ignored the stick. “Are you sure he'll be out on parole?"

"I'm pretty sure.” His mouth twitched upward in a smile.

Two hours later, after several changes of clothes and a half-dozen unsuccessful attempts at applying makeup, Rachel hopped into Derek's waiting car.

"Sorry it took me so long."

"You're a woman.” As if that explained everything. “We'll grab a bite at the bar down the road and go over things. You didn't need to dress up for that place.” He took in her ivory blouse and black pants.

It wasn't the power suit, but it'd have to do. Her meager unemployment check didn't pay for good business suits.

"I'm more comfortable in these clothes.” She looked out the car window. She'd always been a lousy liar.

Derek frowned, seemingly uneasy with this new Rachel. They drove in silence. A few minutes later, they sat at a table in a local bar, eating burgers and nursing their drinks. Derek went over last-minute instructions, and Rachel wrote down the details.

"I guess that's everything. You're taking a load off my mind. I couldn't ask for a better caretaker."

"That's right, buster."

"You'll stay on until the end of my season?"

"Certainly. That's the plan."

"This season is pivotal to my future.” He smiled at her and warmed her from the inside out. Despite her misgivings, she felt oddly comfortable around him.

"I know that too.” She toyed with her napkin, ripped the corners off, and wished she'd worn the power suit.

"Do you?"

"I pay attention.” She lifted her head and met his steady gaze. Her heart ached for the carefree young man she had once known and for simpler times.

"I haven't exactly lived up to my potential."

"You will.” He'd given his all to the game he loved, yet it hadn't been enough.

A slow smile spread across his face. “You always had faith in me. Have you seen me play in the past year?"

"A little.” A lie—she'd watched every single game.

Looking away, he focused at a spot on the wall. “Remember how we used to pore over game film? You saw stuff no one else saw. Those little things make a big difference."

"I tried.” She wanted to help him now, to tell him what she'd observed when she'd watched him play. Instead she held her tongue.

"You helped me. A lot. Now I just don't know. I've lost it, and I don't know how to get it back."

"You're not a quitter. You'll find a way.” Part of her longed to take him in her arms and hold him, to deny he'd played a role in ruining her dad. Proving this man guilty would be more difficult than she'd ever imagined.

"I hope so.” His dark eyes brimmed with sorrow. “It's good to have you here. To talk to you."

"The agreement works for both of us."

"Rae, I'm sorry. I was an insensitive ass our senior year. I never meant to hurt you. We should've never crossed the line between friends and—” He hesitated, struggling with the words.

"Friends with benefits.” She waved a hand and dismissed the subject as if her broken heart had been nothing at all, just an immature crush. “It's in the past. Old history. No need to apologize. We were both young and dumb. End of story.” Rachel gulped down her liquid courage and called forth the ice princess. Unfortunately Her Highness refused to cooperate without her power suit of armor.

"Do you think there's a chance we could be friends again?” Derek leaned forward. His chocolate eyes, earnest and bright, searched hers.

Rachel looked away and forced all expression from her face. “Let's not run that play yet."

It might be the one play that'd drop them both for a loss.

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A lump of guilt rose in Derek's throat like bile, acidic and rank. He groaned and buried his head in his hands. What the fuck had he been thinking? He cursed the day he'd taken Cass up on her offer to find a caretaker for his small ranch.

Fisting his hands in frustration, he leaned back in his teak lawn chair and stared down the hill and across the field that separated his house from the barn. Through the trees, the lights in Rachel's little house glowed warmly. When he'd first laid eyes on her, regret and longing had blindsided him as hard as a linebacker with a grudge. Yet the ice princess inhabiting Rachel's body hadn't batted an eye once she'd refrigerated her anger regarding the key theft.

Part of him wanted to blame Tyler, his asshole cousin, and Cass, Tyler's bimbo blonde girlfriend. Shit, the assholes knew Derek's future rode on his performance the next four months. He had a career to resurrect and didn't need distractions. Rachel living within spitting distance of his home definitely distracted him. He'd sported a major boner since this afternoon, further proof he didn't need this. Any more than she needed him.

"You're not armed, are you?"

Derek jumped, startled. The front legs of his chair slammed onto the deck. Tyler peeked around the frame of the open French doors. Derek glared at him. “Should I be?"

Tyler shrugged as he dropped into a lawn chair next to his. “So you're not pissed at me?"

"Oh, I
am
pissed at you, but using a weapon would be too quick and painless. I prefer slower methods to get my point across."

"Whatever. You could have said no.” Tyler propped his feet on the opposite chair.

The truth rankled him even more. “Why the hell did I let you talk me into this stupid-assed idea anyway? And take your dirty feet off that chair."

"Because in the dark recesses of your fucked-up brain, you wanted her here.” Tyler dropped his big feet on the floor with a clunk. “It's been years. Both of you are adults. Fucking deal with it.” He helped himself to the remainder of Derek's beer.

"Easy for you to say."

"It
should
be easy for you to say.” Tyler rose to his feet, disappeared inside, and returned with two beers—an expensive microbrew for him, and a can of the cheap crap for his best buddy.

Derek took the beer offered to him and studied the label. He scowled. “You're really getting on my nerves."

"Like
I
give a shit?"

"You should."

"Whatever. You still have a thing for her."

"Fuck you. I never had a thing for her. We were buddies. That's it,” Derek shot back much too quickly.

A shrewd smile crept across Tyler's face. Derek's rat-bastard cousin smelled blood and moved in for the kill. “Then what are you so damn upset about?"

"I was stupid to let you talk me into this.” Derek glared at Tyler. “Anyway, it's not me I'm worried about."

"Really?” Tyler didn't look convinced, not one bit.

"Yeah, really. I treated Rachel like crap, and I feel like an ass about it.” Derek looked away, not wanting Tyler's knowing gaze to see the depth of his guilt.

"You
were
an ass. You should feel like one."

"This coming from the king of asses?"

Tyler didn't have the decency to look hurt. “All in a day's work.” He grinned. “You, my friend, are an idiot. I'm just an ass. You turned a lifelong friendship into a weekend of sex and fucked the whole thing up."

"I thought she was okay with therapy sex. How the hell was I to know she'd do something stupid like fall in love with me?"

"She's a woman. How could you
not
know that? Get over it. It seems she has."

Derek conceded that point. “I can't read her anymore. She's changed."

"Yeah, so? We all have."

"Ty, she doesn't look like Rachel. You should've seen her in her business suit, all cold and professional."

Tyler sat up straighter and frowned. “No way."

Derek nodded and read the label on his can of cheap beer. “You brought this crap last time you were here.” Resigned, he popped open the top and took a long swallow. At least it was cold.

Tyler quirked an eyebrow and raised the bottle to his mouth. He took a long pull and licked his lips in satisfaction.

"She was working in management for the Everett Blockbusters?"

Tyler nodded. “After all the shit surrounding her dad shaving points, the Blocks let her go."

"That's got nothing to do with her, and nothing was ever proven."

"Tell that to the Blocks. Of course, they gave her some lame-assed excuse, but no way did they want scandal tainting them."

"This sucks.” He leveled a murderous gaze at Tyler for putting him in this position.

The ass grinned, obviously enjoying his cousin's dilemma. “Too bad you're such a nice guy."

"Being rude, obnoxious, and dumb isn't in my nature like it is yours."

"No need to get insulting. You're no different than me."

"No different than you?” That almost made him laugh. “I don't party all night long—well, not anymore. I don't date bleached blondes with a bust size bigger than their IQ or switch girlfriends faster than channels on a remote. I don't feel entitled just because I have more athletic ability in my little finger than most men have in their entire bodies."

"You can be humble and boring if you want. I'd rather be an obnoxious braggart."

"Yeah, well, remember this, Ty: any day it could be over. And any second our charmed lives, which are already damn tarnished, could come crashing down around us."

"Then let's party while we can.” Tyler grinned. Nothing fazed him.

"You know what? I like myself most of the time. Can you say that?"

"I love myself, and I love being an asshole. But you, my cuz, are in deep shit. Being a nice guy with a guilty conscience only digs you in deeper."