Play by Play (A Play Makers Novella) (8 page)

She’ll be back. Oh, and I was up all night too, but for two good reasons, wink wink. Hang in there.

Anon 2
:

She dumped you at the Rustlers game? Harsh. Especially when they looked so great. You may not know much about the ladies, but you called it right on Spurling from the start. He’s still got it.

New from SD
:

Bummer. But for once I agree with Tweetie B. She’ll be back.

Cyber Sympathizer
:

Sorry to hear this, dude. My buddies and I have been following your progress, and we’re all betting you’ll get a happy ending. If not for your sake, then for ours. So hey, EG, if you’re reading this, have a heart!

A lurking fan
:

You’ve dreamed up some creative plays for football, Dublin. Time to dig deep and do the same for EG. It’s not over ’til the buzzer sounds, right?

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Chapter Thirteen

Five sleepless nights later, when Jake still hadn’t heard from Sophie, he knew he had to take action. He just didn’t know where to begin. Showing up at her door or otherwise stalking her didn’t make a lot of sense, especially given her experience with Daniel, the creepy colleague in San Diego. And meanwhile, her condo appeared dark night and day, and she hadn’t shown up for their Tuesday and Thursday jogging dates. Not that he blamed her, but still, he felt like such a loser when he hung around the picnic tables for a full hour, hoping she’d appear. Willing her to understand, or at least to give him a chance to explain.

He didn’t regret turning down the network opportunity, since on-air had never really felt right to him. At least he had made a new buddy from that mess, since Randy McDowell had nearly burst a lung laughing when Jake called him with a heads-up about the non-apology that would appear on the blog.

Since that entry, Jake hadn’t mentioned Sophie on the blog at all, and had ignored the attempts of his fans to drag additional information out of him. The most amazing part was the number of
new
commenters—dozens of them—who came out of the woodwork to offer advice and sympathy. It was an odd thing, hearing from so many folks, when the only person who honestly existed for him was Sophie.

He was trying to write his newspaper column when a knock sounded at his front door and he almost tripped over himself to answer it. Sophie had never come up to his place, and she would probably hate the crazy assortment of signed footballs, baseballs, posters, golf clubs, vintage pinball machines, and randomly placed hoops. It was relatively clean and organized, but the basketball hoop mounted on the dining room wall seemed a little crazy, and the tackling dummy in the corner wearing Jake’s old Notre Dame uniform? Not even a Spurling would find
that
funny.

Stymied, he pulled the door open, then winced in confusion when he realized his hero had actually come to call. “Coach Spurling?”

“Nice to see you again, son. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Jake’s mouth hung open for a moment. Then he shook the older man’s hand and asked, “How’s Sophie?”

“She’ll be fine. That girl’s resilient, just like her mom.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you guys lost her so young. She was your sister, right?”

“It was a heartbreaker,” the coach said, then he glanced past Jake. “Mind if I come in?”

“Huh? Oh, sure! Absolutely.” He motioned toward one of the recliners, but Spurling moved past him and took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Do you want a beer, Coach?”

“I’m fine.” Aaron Spurling gave him a pointed stare. “Have a seat. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“You said she’s resilient? I’m not sure what that means.”

Spurling chuckled. “It means it’ll all work out. I’m not here to discuss my niece, Jake. I’ve been studying up on you, watching film from your days at Notre Dame.”

Jake gaped again, truly speechless at this point.

“Your name rang a bell, and now I know why. You were pretty good. And you’ve written some good stuff since then. Not that nonsense about girls in elevators, obviously.” He paused to arch a bushy eyebrow. “But the rest of it. Especially your analysis from last season. Those Friday entries where you suggest new plays for upcoming games. That’s damned impressive stuff. So I have a question for you.”

Jake had lost the thread of the discussion, so he just nodded for Spurling to continue.

“Some analysts say football is like chess. Do you agree with that?”

What the heck . . . ?

Forcing himself to exhale, he admitted, “It might be like chess, sir. But since I never really liked that game, I never made the connection. And actually . . .” He cleared his throat. “I don’t see it.”

Spurling beamed. “It’s more like boxing. Agreed?”

“Boxing?” Jake considered this, then nodded. “You protect yourself, pace yourself—take as many decent shots as you can, and when the big chance comes, you go for the knockout. Yeah, that makes sense, Coach. I never thought of it that way.”

Spurling leaned back and studied him intently. “You know what I like about you? You think like me. Did you know I’m writing an autobiography?”

“Man, that’ll sell like hotcakes.”

“And you’re gonna help me with it. Because so far, I’ve got two pages of scribbles, and they look more like diagrams than sentences.”

Another knock sounded at his door, this one louder and more insistent. Startled, Jake asked, “Sophie?”

“Nah, it’s my son. I told him to meet us here.”

Jake grinned. “Your son? The one who wants to kill me?”

“They
both
wanted to do that, but they’re past it now.”

Crossing the room, Jake opened the door and arched an eyebrow at Sophie’s towering cousin. “Hey, Johnny. Come on in.”

The quarterback stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, Dub. Hey, Pop.” Walking into the room, the big guy chuckled. “Great place. The kid must hate it.”

“She hasn’t seen it yet.” Jake followed him to the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Yep.” Johnny sat across from his father, than asked Jake, “Did Pop offer you the job yet?”

“Helping with the autobiography? It’s a huge honor—”

“Huh?” The quarterback shook his head. “I meant the
real
job.”

“The book’s just a side issue, Jake,” the coach explained. “I want you to design plays with me. You’ve got a gift. I’ve seen that in your—what do you call them? Your posts?”

Jake licked his lips. “You mean informally?”

“
Hell
no. I want you on my staff. You might have to drop the newspaper writing, but you can keep the blog and just make it about that other foolishness. Like the dogs on the sofa.” Spurling chuckled. “I liked that one, by the way. And the one about the sports bars with ten different games going and the sound turned off—idiots.”

“On your staff?” Jake asked in disbelief. “In LA?”

“I need you, son. You
think
like me, or rather, like I used to. I don’t have the energy for it anymore. I’d rather just appreciate
your
hard work, and believe me, you’ll work your behind off, seven days a week.”

“Designing plays?”

Johnny chuckled. “Are you sure he’s smart, Pop?”

Jake laughed too. “It’s a shock. A good one, trust me. But it’s still unbelievable. And obviously, I’d have to talk to Sophie.”

Spurling turned to Johnny and instructed him. “Get her up here. We need to get this show on the road.”

Johnny pulled out his phone and within seconds was saying, “Hey, kid. We’re all up at Jake’s. Pop wants you to join us.”

An angry barrage—unintelligible and unlike anything Jake had ever heard from Sophie’s lips—sounded through the speaker. Johnny held it away from his ear for a few seconds, then pulled it back and drawled, “Just get your ass up here, will ya?” Without missing a beat, he re-pocketed the phone and assured Jake, “She’s on her way.”

“Man . . .” Jake stood and walked to the door, then rested his hand on the knob. Glancing back at his living room, he could see it through her eyes and remembered her cousin’s assessment.

She was going to hate this place.

“Hey, Coach? Maybe I’ll just meet her at the elevator, okay?”

Spurling laughed. “Go ahead if you want, but remember: there’s safety in numbers.”

“Thanks.” Jake pulled open the door then stared. She was standing there, wearing jeans and a tube top, her hair loose around her bare shoulders. For a full second, his breath caught in his throat. Then he murmured, “Hey, Sophie. Where’ve you been?”

“Thinking.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“And
reading
.”

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat again. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Not mad. Just . . . well, confused. And a little sad.”

Sad?

The word stunned him. Had he actually
hurt
her? Not just pissed her off or offended her?

“I’m sorry, Sophie. I know I don’t deserve another chance, but—”

“We can talk,” she assured him. “But give me a minute first, okay? I need to kill my family.”

“Don’t be a brat,” Johnny called over to her. “He’s trying to apologize.”

Ignoring him, she walked up to her uncle and asked in an uncertain voice, “What are you guys doing here, Uncle Aaron?”

“Your boyfriend’s gonna come work for me, but he needs your permission first. Have I mentioned you’re just like your mother?” Spurling chuckled heartily. “She had your father wrapped around her little finger too.”

Sophie turned back to Jake, her eyes bright with unhappiness. “So it’s true? You used me to get a job with Uncle Aaron?”

The coach laughed again. “How could he do that? I didn’t even
think
of it until yesterday.”

“What?”

Jake walked over to her and took her by the hand, leading her into the hallway. “I didn’t know you were a Spurling, Sophie. I swear it. I screwed up, but I didn’t have a motive, I just kept digging myself a deeper and deeper hole. If I had just told you I was a sportswriter from the start—”

“If you had done that, I might not have dated you,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. Then she scanned his eyes. “You really didn’t know? Tell me the truth, Jake. Please?”

“All I knew was I wanted to get together with you. You were like a gift from God, and I didn’t feel worthy, but I still wanted you.”

“I wanted you too. Right from the start.”

He stared in grateful amazement. “I shouldn’t have written about it on a public blog—”

“No, I
liked
that part.” A tentative twinkle lit her eyes. “It’s so crazy, isn’t it? I didn’t want a sports guy, but when I thought you
weren’t
a sports guy, I almost panicked. Because I guess I
do
want a sports guy as long as he isn’t glued to the TV day and night.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he murmured, his heart catching in his throat. He had been so stressed about the rift, he’d forgotten how great she made him feel. Now it rushed back—the warmth, the joy, the foolish grin. And so, while he knew he should be groveling, he rested his hands on her hips instead and said, “Man, I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” She gave him a shy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He chuckled in relief, but still had to be sure. So he asked her, “You read the blog posts? And you liked them?
All
of them?”

“I loved them.” She brushed her lips across his. “You’re being so sweet—and just for future reference, when I say that, I’m
totally
flirting with you.”

“Huh?”

She arched a teasing eyebrow. “In your first Elevator Girl post, you said I called you sweet. And you didn’t know if it was flirtatious or patronizing.” Looping her arms around his neck, she added in a throaty whisper, “Just assume I’m flirting from now on.”

“Geezus, Sophie.” He pulled her close, kissed her, then whispered, “Now how do we get rid of your uncle and cousin?”

“It can’t be done.” She laughed happily. “Are you going to take the job?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind moving to LA.”

“I can’t move, Jake. My job is here, and it’s working out better than I ever dreamed.” She touched his cheek. “But I can come to LA on weekends. And during the off-season, you can live with me. You’ll still be writing your column and blog, right?”

“I don’t think so. Which reminds me, I’ve gotta give notice to my editor. Man,” he added, belatedly shell-shocked. “This is so huge. A job with Aaron Spurling, and a second chance with you.” He eyed her warily. “Don’t you want to yell at me or something?”

“Maybe later. For now . . .” She slipped her hands behind his neck again, drawing his head down for a kiss. Then she said, “We can catch up later. Go talk to my uncle about the job. He’s your hero, right? You must be on cloud nine.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been going crazy without you. I want to talk to him—obviously—but not now. We need to be alone—”

“Just put a game on or something,” she suggested with a mischievous smile. “They’ll glaze over in seconds. Then you can meet me in your bedroom—”

“With Aaron Spurling in the next room?” Jake grinned. “Talk about performance anxiety. How about we take them out to dinner? Then drop them at the airport. After that—you and me, big-time.”

“And then you’ll blog about it?” She flashed a teasing smile. “I’ll have stage fright, wondering what you’re going to say.”

“Don’t worry. From now on, you’ll screen it before it goes live.”

She touched his lips with her fingertip. “Do you think your readers have figured out we do more than neck on the couch and watch sci-fi?”

“They’ll get suspicious once we have a couple of kids running around. But I’ll never tell.” He felt his heart soar in his chest. “Thanks for getting it, Sophie. For getting
me
.”

“A guy who loves me more than he loves sports? But who still loves sports?
I’m
the one who lucked out.” Her blue eyes blazed with the color of a Colts throwback uniform. “Come on, Dublin. Time to meet my family for real.”

Epilogue