Perfect Summer (13 page)

A smile curled on her pretty mouth. “Hello.”

Her eyes darted from him to Jade to the cameraman and back to Clint. “Come in.”

Clint looked around. No backpacks, pens, or people. Based on the piles of paper stacked all over the desks, the books lined up on the floor instead of in the bookshelf, and the can of furniture polish and rag on the teacher’s desk, Clint was in deep shit.

Summer should have told him it was a teacher workday.

Anxiety twisted in his stomach, and all the blood rushed from his head. Was she trying to make a fool out of him on national TV? By the time Jade was finished with him, he’d be a big, fucking idiot. While she wanted to sleep with him, she wouldn’t hesitate to wring every rating point out of his stupidity. The room tilted a little.

World Wide would laugh their asses off, and he’d never hear the end of it from his teammates. But Summer’s betrayal was worse.

Why hadn’t she told him that today was a student holiday?

Summer touched his arm and discreetly mouthed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clint turned to Jade. “Why don’t you set up and give me a minute with Ms. Ames?”

When Jade was out of earshot, Clint whispered through gritted teeth, “I left you four voice mails.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flamed red. “My battery’s dead.” She pointed to a wall outlet where her phone was plugged in to a charger. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

She walked to Jade. “I
am
so sorry. When Mr. Grayson said he was bringing a camera crew, I thought it was next Friday.” She crossed her eyes and shook her head. “Blonde moment.”

He couldn’t let her take all the blame.

She laughed and offered her hand to Jade, who shook it. “So sorry to have wasted your time and Mr. Grayson’s. You should see him with the students. He’s perfect. They really relate to him."

Jade spewed out an exasperated sigh.

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Jade took in Summer’s appearance, and her nose wrinkled like she’d just gotten a whiff of stinky garbage. “As long as I’m here, I suppose I could interview you. The students would have made the piece, but that can’t be helped. I guess you're better than nothing.”

Summer’s smile tightened.

Clint revised his opinion—Jade wasn’t an everyday-garden-variety bitch. Somewhere along the way, she’d worked her way up to head bitch.

Clint couldn’t let Summer take the fall for him. “This is my fault—”

“You’re too nice.” She stepped in front of him, body blocking him from the embarrassment he’d created. “I’m the one who made the mistake, and I owe Ms. Harold an interview. It is Ms. Harold, right?”

The only people who ran interference for Clint were paid to take hits for him. Why was Summer doing it? “I’m sorry. Summer Ames, this is Jade Harold—”

“Sports Nation Anchor for ESPN.” Jade threw a plastic media smile Summer’s way then dismissed her. “Tony, set up over there. I’d like her seated behind that desk so we can hide most of her. Can we do some sort of side shot or only get her face?”

Clint gritted his teeth so hard they should have ground to dust. “I don’t think—”

“Ms. Harold.” Summer put a hand on Clint’s arm and shot him a
shut-up
look. “I’m a huge fan. Your last game at Notre Dame was amazing—”

“Yes, well…I did have a pretty good season.” Jade’s face lost some of its steel as she turned back to Summer.

“My students are going to be so disappointed at having missed the opportunity to meet you, especially Elise—she’s on the girl’s basketball team. Earlier this year, I had my class write a report on the one person they’d like to meet most, and she chose you.” Summer rolled the teacher’s chair from behind the desk and waved a hand, indicating that Jade should take a seat. “Would you mind signing an autograph for her?”

Jade’s brittle smile cracked. “I guess I could.”

Summer handed her a spiral notebook and a sharpie. “May I have one also?”

Clint crossed his arms and leaned against the whiteboard. Ames had skills. She’d taken the blame, defused Jade, and managed to put her at ease, all without breaking a sweat. Where did that level of composure come from, and why couldn’t he do it?

Her eyes met his, and he nodded. She smiled back. He’d let her take the fall, but he’d make it up to her, with dinner, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“I’m sure my viewers would love to get your take on how Clint’s helped your students. We could make it informal. You two could sit side by side.” Jade didn’t look up as she signed two autographs.

“That’s a fantastic idea.” Summer practically gushed sweetness.

Clint’s pulse pounded at his temples. Informal. He hadn’t prepared for informal. In concentrating on Summer, he’d forgotten his plan for the interview had been shot to hell. Informal? He had a speech with talking points, jokes, and answers to every conceivable question on The Business of Football. His palms began to sweat. Informal. What, exactly, did that mean?

“Where are my manners? Would you like some bottled water?” Summer watched him.

“Yes.” Jade handed Summer the paper.

Summer turned to the cameraman and sound guy. “Gentlemen, would you care for some water?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

“I’ll be right back.” She grabbed Clint’s elbow. “Mr. Grayson, could you give me a hand?”

She pulled him into her office, opened the fridge, and handed him two bottles of water.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll field the questions, and you jump in when and where you feel comfortable.” A grin twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know very much about football, so if she asks something about yards or downs or goals, you’re on your own.”

“Goals?” The tension in his shoulders eased, and he smiled back. “I play with balls not pucks.”

Throaty laughter rippled out of that sexy mouth. “I dare you to open the interview with that line.”

Summer was proud of Clint. He was walking Ms. Harold and her camera crew out to their van. She picked up the furniture polish and the rag, sprayed a long stream on the bookshelf in front of her, and then wiped.

The interview had gone pretty well. All things considered, no one would ever guess that he’d been nervous. As she knelt down and picked up the first load of books to return them to the shelf, her stomach rumbled. Dumping the books on the shelf, she reached behind her for the plastic container of chocolate chip cookies she’d made last night and brought out for the ESPN people to eat. Summer liked to feed people. Food made them happy, and happy people liked her.

No one had noticed she hadn’t taken a cookie. She didn’t eat in front of other people. No need adding fuel to the fat fire by giving them ammo. Her ex, Jack, had taught her that useful survival skill. The world passed judgment based on body mass index—the higher the BMI, the more strangers analyzed what was in Summer’s shopping cart.

Since she was alone, she popped in a cookie. Her eyes closed, and her mouth took a ride on the sin wagon as chocolate chunks and pecans swirled around her tongue. Yum.

“That is pure delight on your face.” Clint stood in the doorway. He whispered something under his breath that sounded like, “I wish it were me who’d put it there.”

Her eyes flew open as heat rushed to her cheeks. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. The fat jokes would be next—no wonder she was so fat, she ate cookies all day—and he’d start laughing any minute.

“Those cookies are so good they should be illegal.” Clint grabbed a handful. “Jade ate several, and I don’t ever remember her eating anything but salad.”

Yep, that was a great lead in to
know the difference between salad and cookies? About ten dress sizes
….

He took a bite and nodded. “Mmmm.”

She couldn’t seem to swallow her mouthful of cookie. It was content to stay there, mix with spit, and turn to concrete. Chewing didn’t help.

Why didn’t he laugh and get it over with? She glanced up. His eyes were closed, and he was enjoying his cookie as much as she’d almost enjoyed hers. He wasn’t watching her with disapproving eyes. It dawned on her—he didn’t see her as fat because he didn’t see her at all. She was a means to an end…nothing more.

It wasn’t acceptance so much as apathy.

Her cookie shimmied down her throat and rested comfortably in her stomach. Just to test her theory, she ate another. No self-consciousness, no guilt. She could eat in front of Grayson. It was a…revelation.

“They are pretty damn good.” Kneeling down, she picked up another armload of books and stacked them on the shelf.

“Why?”

“Why what?” She picked up the rag, sprayed the next shelf, and wiped.

“Why’d you take the fall for the student holiday?” He was standing so close behind her she could smell his lemony scent.

“You need good PR and I don’t. It seemed like the best plan.” She knelt down and picked up more books. “You smell good. Is it soap or cologne?”

Maybe she’d get some for Stan for his birthday.

“Soap. My ex-girlfriends picked it out.” He squatted next to her and scooped up the rest of the books.

“All of them? Did they vote?” She stacked her books on the shelf first and then took his and put them on the shelf below.

“No, just Mandi and Tandi.”

Summer pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Twins, or do they have rhyming names by accident?”

“So what if they’re twins? I met them at work.” Clint tried to sound offended, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“They play football?” The image of two beautiful blondes wearing helmets and shoulder pads with that dark line of paint under their eyes flashed in her head.

“Nope. Cheerleaders.” He popped in another cookie.

Summer did a mental head bang. Of course he dated cheerleaders.

She stopped stacking books long enough to roll her eyes. “Do you enjoy being a cliché?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. Hunky quarterback dates the head cheerleaders? Throw in a sports car and you’re right back in high school.”

He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. “Mandi and Tandi aren’t just professional cheerleaders. One’s a vet student, and the other’s an engineering major.”

Her shoulders were shaking from holding back the laughter. “Can I meet them?”

“No.” He tried to sound indignant but grinned. “Plus, I’m pretty sure they’re mad at me. There was an incident in the hot tub.”

“In the hot tub…you’re an all-you-can-eat cliché buffet.” Summer gave up and busted out laughing. “Tell me they weren’t running around the pool. Somewhere there’s a lifeguard shaking his head and blowing his whistle.”

“You’re funny.” He unbuttoned his suit coat, slipped it off, and hung it on the back of the nearest chair. “What else do you need help with?”

Her cell phone rang and buzzed around the floor. “I don’t suppose you’d mind wiping down the desks?”

Summer bent over, unplugged it from the wall, and slid her finger across the screen. “Hello?”

“Ms. A, it’s Mario.” He sounded terrified.

Her heart slammed into overdrive as she braced for the worst. Mario wouldn’t call unless it was bad. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m in jail.”

***

Davis walked into the kitchen. Lilly glanced up from the pot of okra and tomatoes she was stirring. He looked wonderful, well rested, and except for a bruise the size of a tennis ball at his temple, no one would have guessed that a little over a week ago, he’d been horse-kicked. His hair was damp from his shower, and he’d shaved. The kitchen clock behind him read twelve thirty. Afternoon was an odd time to shave, but he’d been sick, so maybe his internal clock was off. She looked closer. He was wearing a pressed, long-sleeved button-down and khakis with a crease so sharp it could cut a tomato.

“Going somewhere?” Lilly raised an eyebrow. Davis still needed to rest. Head wounds were tricky.

“Nowhere special.” He walked up behind her, snaked an arm around her middle, and kissed her cheek. “Dinner smells good.”

He was all warm, solid man pressing into her. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. He eased her, not just physically but emotionally—there was no need to impress him or pretend to be someone she wasn’t. He got her—the real her—and liked her anyway. The feeling was growing on her.

“Baked chicken, okra and tomatoes, and cookies-and-cream ice cream. The IGA was out of chocolate.” The last part was an offense against mankind. Who ran out of chocolate ice cream? Just when she’d started allowing herself to eat it, she had to settle for crunched-up cookies instead of Belgian chocolate. What was the world coming to?

“Can you put this on hold?” He took the spoon out of her hand, popped on the lid, and turned the heat down to low. “I’d like to show you something.”

“Okay. Do I need to grab my keys?” She slid her tired feet back into her black Christian Louboutin slingbacks. Her feet might disagree, but life was too short to wear ugly shoes.

He was dressed to go out. “No, why don’t we take a walk?”

“You look very serious. Is this about Bobby the peacock?” She went on the defensive. “No matter what he says, I only tapped him with the car this morning. He thought it was funny to block my parking space. When I opened the door, he hissed at me and flapped his tail feathers. The tap was self-defense.”

“I guess making him a house pet is out of the question.” Davis opened the front door, and happy, spring sunlight blared in.

“Very funny. You’re a laugh a minute.” She smoothed down the wrinkles in her black pencil skirt. “Bobby is out to get me.”

Hopefully, wherever they were going wasn’t far because her feet hurt. Oprah had said there were sitting shoes and standing shoes. Lilly knew these shoes were definitely sitting shoes…preferably where one could sprawl out in a comfy chair and admire these babies from afar.

“Why are you limping?” He eyed her feet. “Those are some shoes.”

“They’re Christian Louboutin. I bought them half off the day after Christmas.” It was one of her few accomplishments in life. The pride in her voice was nothing short of pathetic.

“Nice, I guess.” He picked up the mud-spattered rain boots she’d been using to feed the animals. “Why don’t you try these? I’d hate for us to have to go to the clinic again on account of your feet.”