Playing For Keeps

PLAYING FOR KEEPS

Liz Matis

Copyright © 2011 Elizabeth Matis

Print ISBN: 978-0-98400098-1-7

Digital ISBN: 978-0-98400098-2-4

Al rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, scanning, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition October 2011

Contents

Also By Liz Matis

1 |2| 3| 4| 5

6| 7| 8 |9| 10

11| 12| 13

Preview:
Love By Design

Also by Liz Matis:

Love By Design

Going For It – coming April 2012

This book is dedicated to my teachers who never stifled my creativity with rules. Thank you.

He’ll hold back the dawn

a moment longer, to

study the delicate features of her face

feel her heartbeat under his palm

breathe in the scent of her skin, to

imprint the memory, to

carry him through the long day

until dusk settles in the sky

then they will embrace again

love again, so

he will let the dawn come

Liz Matis

“Miss, we need to see your credentials.” Two guards stood firmly in front of the New York Cougars’ locker room.

With her index finger, Samantha pointed to the press card attached to her crisp white blouse. She tried to duck past them, but they didn’t budge.

“It says here, Sam Jameson.”

As other sportswriters breezed by, she conjured up a polite tone and explained, “That’s my byline; it’s short for Samantha.”

“I’l have to verify your credentials with the head of security,” the tal er of the two said. She read his name badge. Tom. The man stepped to the side, flipping open his radio like he was a Secret Service agent, while the other guard, Jerry, stil barred her way.

Samantha said nothing. Being a journalist led to confrontations such as this and she had more than her fair share, in far worse situations. Stil , frustration nagged at her, even as she reminded herself the guards were just doing their jobs. Though if she were a man she doubted she’d have this much trouble.

She bet the star tight-end for the NY Cougars believed women didn’t belong in this inner sanctum, as wel . He’d certainly come a long way since playing col ege bal with her brother, but she doubted that included his views on women as anything but playthings. Ryan Terel . The thought of him evoked vivid memories.

Shoulder length black hair fal ing in waves like rumpled satin, deep green eyes that seemed to know what she was thinking at any given moment, and hands made for more than catching passes. Much more. Sure, great packaging, but underneath the chiseled exterior was a man who hadn’t social y evolved from dragging his knuckles on the ground. If only he’d worked as hard on his interior.

Thank God she was no longer a sil y col ege girl who fantasized about him. She was a woman now. She’d been around the world and around al types of men. Even big, hulking Marines who rescued stupid reporters. Yup, she was definitely over Ryan Terel .

If the arrogant egomaniac hadn’t changed since their days at Notre Dame, her job would prove more difficult than getting banned from the locker room. And she needed this sports writing gig to work out. She couldn’t go back to writing hard news. Not ever.

She imagined a sign reading, ‘No Girls Al owed’, like the one her brothers had hung on their clubhouse door. Wel , she’d torn that sign down and mental y did the same with the one she imagined now.

Tom came back and whispered something to Jerry.

“How do we know you’re not some groupie?”

“Do I look like a groupie?” Samantha placed her hand on her hip.

“Wel , actual y you look like one of those lesbians. If so, then it wouldn’t be a problem letting you in.”

Samantha realized this was an initiation and it had Ryan written al over it. Pretty lame. If she handled the sand spider the reporter threw into her tent in Iraq, she could handle anything. Okay, so she screamed like a teenage girl in a horror film, and had every Marine at camp running to her rescue.

The two guards in front of her were nothing compared to that sand spider. She decided to play along, not that she had much choice. Her deadline loomed. “Oh, that’s me. I’m one of those lesbians.”

With the magic word spoken they parted and even opened the door. Armed with a notepad, she took a deep breath and walked into the Cougars’ locker room.

A mixture of sweat, meatbal subs, and Ben Gay immediately assailed her senses. Through tearing eyes she focused on the deep gold carpet covering the floor. Emblazoned in the center was a huge Cougars insignia. As her vision cleared she scanned the room. Each player was assigned a locker that looked more like a stal . The space was made of wood with a smal but sturdy stool in front. Each locker was fil ed with helmets, pads, uniforms, and several pairs of cleats. The players walked around in various stages of undress, shouting and laughing, riding high on the days win.

Reporters, mostly male, were engaged in interviews with the heroes.

Someone snapped a towel inches from her face, startling her. She must have looked shel shocked. She’d been in war zones, raids on drug lords, and in the aftermath of hurricanes, but nothing could quite have prepared her for this. Not that this testosterone-laden playground compared to those events. Stil al her senses heightened into overload.

Looking at her tormentor, she recognized the kicker, Steve Probost. “Thanks.”

“Any time, rookie.”

“Me? I’m not the who missed a field goal today.”

“Ouch.”

Samantha asked him a few questions and then moved on, spotting Ryan at the far end of the room.
Might as well get this over with
. It wasn’t like she could avoid him; he caught five passes for 125 yards and scored a touchdown. Her readers would expect a quote.

As she drew closer, she noticed he’d gained about ten pounds since col ege - al muscle. His hair was cut in a military type buzz. Did the owners of the team make him cut it? Or was he trying to hide a receding hairline?

Fresh from the shower he wore a towel wrapped around his hips. Drops of water stil clung to his wel -muscled shoulders. The urge to lick each droplet away abruptly entered her thoughts. She shook off the craving, reminding herself that she was a professional journalist and not some love struck teenager. Apparently the ‘girl now a woman’ theory wasn’t holding up.

Should she show disinterest or put him off guard with a smile to show she wasn’t intimidated by a roomful of giant naked men? A roomful of naked men?
What am I doing here?

“Hel o, Terel ,” she said with false bravado.

He turned to face her. Was it possible he was even sexier without the long locks? And when did he get the starburst tattoo around his navel? She clenched her notebook so she wouldn’t reach out to trace the lines with her fingertips.

“Hey Sami, your brother said you’d be starting today.”

Ryan bent forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, like she was his kid sister. She didn’t want to be his kid sister, but never wanted to be one of his ‘women’ either. Not that he was asking.
But he did ask you once before and you turned him down.

“He said to take it easy on you.”

Embarrassed, she stepped back and looked around, wondering why everyone was staring, then realizing they were waiting to see how she’d react to Ryan’s set up with the guards. “Umm…I got a few questions.”

“A little late, aren’t we? Did you stop to powder your nose?” he mocked.

She bit back a smile. How could she forget Ryan’s sense of humor, which at times was more dangerous than his handsome face? His wit had a way of chipping at her resolve to have nothing to do with him. “Yeah, wel two guards at the door thought I was some sex-crazed groupie.”

“Yeah, I know.” He casual y leaned against the side of the locker.

“And how would you know?” She played her assigned role as laughter filtered around the room. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I set you up.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

His teammate, Jake Mil er, added, “And he bet us a c-note you’d say you were a lesbian to get in.”

Samantha turned to Ryan and winked. “Yeah, but he cheated.”

“Cheated?” The question echoed in the locker room in unison.

“I am one.”

Laughter broke out again and the crowd of players dispersed.
Pure genius!
If they thought she was a lesbian, she wouldn’t be hit on and they might give her some respect. Though knowing the reputation of pro athletes, they might try to get her in a three-way with one of their groupies. She might have to re-think her strategy but for now she said, “So Ryan, it’s good you make five mil a year. That was an expensive bet.”

“Yeah, like they believe you.”

“You’re in trouble man,” said Jake. “She already knows how much you rake in. I knew no woman could be after you for your looks.”

“Shut up, Jake.” Ryan turned back to Samantha. “You got off easy. You don’t even want to know what we did to Jacobs from The Post.”

“You cal this taking it easy on me? Outing me?”
Oh, that was good.
“I don’t think that’s what my brother had in mind.”

“Outing you? Spare me.”

“Don’t give him a hard time. It’s just our way of welcoming you,” Jake interjected.

“Wel , I feel al warm and fuzzy now.”

Ryan jumped on the comment. “I’ve waited ten years to hear you say that - wel , maybe not exactly that, but it’s close enough.”

“In your dreams.” Samantha smacked him with her notepad. Sometimes he was as irritating as her brothers though what she felt for him even after ten years was not what she would cal brotherly love.

“I love it! A woman who final y put you in your place.”

“That’s enough, Mil er. The lesb - oh, I mean the lady is here to interview me. And it’s not my bank account she’s after, but my dazzling conversation.”

He turned back to Samantha. “Okay, ask away, but first…“ He took a dry towel from his locker and handed it to her. “You should strip down and put this on. I think it’s only fair, you know. Equality. I know how important al that equal crap is to you.”

She threw the towel back at him. “Maybe you should get dressed.”

“It would be more fun my way, but if you insist.” Ryan whipped the towel off his body. Some of his teammates whistled. He smiled, his eyes daring her to take a look.

She didn’t. Oh, she wanted to. Desperately. But that would be unprofessional. Samantha raised her notepad to block her view.

Relieved she’d passed some sort of test, she fired off questions he or any other player had been asked a thousand times and he answered in turn. Surprisingly, there were no self-serving remarks.

“Where’s the earring?” she asked as the interview came to a close.

Ryan’s hand automatical y went to his ear lobe. “Is that a personal question or are you going to write about that?”

“Forget it. I was just curious,” she said a little more sharply than she meant to.

“Whoa, I was only kidding. It didn’t go with the haircut.”

“What happened to the hair?”

“Now, that is a personal question, which means I get to ask you one.”

“Forget it. I was just-”

“Curious. Okay, you can look now.” Ryan smirked.

Samantha peeked over her notepad. He was stil shirtless, but she could deal with that, couldn’t she? She was over him. Right? “Okay, thanks. I’l see you around.”

“Am I forgiven?”

“Don’t sweat it. Oh, but you might want to sweat the payback, though. It’s a bitch.”

With a click of her pen, she turned on her heel and went to find her next interview.

***

Ryan wanted to spil more than his guts to her, but he wasn’t going to waste his time trying to win her over like he did back at school. Even tutoring her until three in the morning before her col ege math exam did him no good. Not even a lousy peck on the cheek.

No matter what he did she said no ---the first and only girl to say no. Hel , he never had to ask. Maybe she
was
a lesbian. That would explain a lot -

and soothe his ego. But deep down he knew she wasn’t, which meant she found something lacking in
him
. Though what she found attractive in those loser poet types she dated in col ege he could never figure out.