Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (16 page)

“I got the impression she genuinely wants to
help.”

“She’s too overprotective. Then there’s
Rachel. I love her, but she’s friends with Kerrie, so I can’t
really be honest with her.” He flashed an apologetic grin. “So
you’re elected.”

“I couldn’t be prouder,” she said, returning
the smile.

Waiting until after the server delivered
their drinks and took their hamburger orders, she prompted Sean to
continue. “Bring me up to date. She was going to file on Monday.
It’s Wednesday. And . . . ?”

His face fell. “That’s bad, right? I mean,
she hasn’t even talked to a lawyer yet.”

“Does she need a referral? I could help with
that.”

He shook his head. “The problem is, it’s no
big deal to her. They haven’t had a real marriage for years, so
divorce seems anticlimactic. But to me, obviously, it’s a deal
breaker.”

Darcie eyed him sympathetically. “Do you
love her?”

“Yeah, I think so. If we could just spend
some real time together, we’d find out. Instead we meet in motels
for a few hours at a time—” His eyes flashed. “I hate it. Sneaking
around? I could justify it for a week or two, since we were both
blindsided by the attraction. But it’s been months. And I won’t do
it anymore. So I gave her an ultimatum.” Wincing, he added
sheepishly, “Let’s see if I can stick to it, right?”

Darcie reached across the table and took his
hand. “What are the terms?”

“The terms?” His mood lightened. “Remind me
never to date a lawyer. Anyway, it’s pretty simple. No sex until
she files for divorce. And no more talk about love or marriage
until the divorce is final.”

“That makes sense.”

“She really likes sex. I mean,
really
. And she claims to be in love with me and I believe
her. The problem is . . .”

“You really like sex too?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part sucks. But I
also hate hurting her feelings. You should have seen her face.”

Darcie arched a stern eyebrow. “If she wants
you—and/or sex—she knows what to do. Maybe this is the push she
needs.”

“Yeah. That’s the plan.”

She almost didn’t ask the obvious follow-up
question, but he seemed to really want her input, so she murmured,
“What will you do if she still doesn’t file?”

“You think she won’t?”

“I have no idea. But my guess is, she’ll do
it. You’re adorable, you know.”

His cheeks flushed. “Thanks.”

“Does your ultimatum have a deadline?”

“Huh?” He grimaced. “It probably should,
right? I already felt so bad about it. She cried,” he added
dolefully.

Touched by his tender heart, she decided to
be tough for him. “What’s done is done. Now it’s up to her. Is she
supposed to call you as soon as she files?”

His face flushed again. “We’ve talked a
couple of times, but no progress yet.”

“Don’t tell me—phone sex? Honestly, Sean.
You’re hopeless.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know. But I won’t wait
forever. That’s for sure.” Leaning forward, he asked abruptly,
“What about you?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

Surprised, she admitted, “No, not
really.”

“Then you can be my backup bride. Like if
we’re both still single in X number of years, we’ll marry each
other.” When Darcie rolled her eyes, he added teasingly, “I
originally wanted Rachel, but she reacted the same way.”

“You mean she wasn’t flattered?”

They both laughed, but Darcie could see Sean
was still worried about the ultimatum. What if Kerrie didn’t file
for divorce? What if she
did
file and then they found out
they weren’t right for each other? What if she cried again?

Plus, phone sex.

What an idiot,
she decided
fondly.

At that moment, a cute couple in jeans and
UC Berkeley sweatshirts invaded her peripheral vision.

The McSpurlings?

Sean jumped up, looking less than pleased.
“What’s going on?”

“We’re joining you for dessert,” Johnny
explained. “Hey, Darce. How was your first negotiation?”

She beamed into his rock-star face. “It went
like clockwork. Of course, I didn’t say a word, so that
helped.”

Erica leaned into the booth, gave her a peck
on the cheek, then moved to the other side to join Sean, leaving
Johnny to slide in next to Darcie.

Sean seemed mollified by Erica’s nearness,
but still asked stubbornly, “What are you guys doing here? I wanted
Darcie for myself.”

“Life’s tough,” Johnny agreed. Then he gave
the waiter a brisk welcome and ordered pie and coffee all
around.

It was fun for sure, but Darcie didn’t know
what to make of it. Were they so starved for a visit with Sean that
they had tracked him here? Or had they just stumbled into the bar
on a whimsical pie-seeking mission and spotted them there? Either
way, Johnny seemed full of mischief while Erica catered to
everyone, flirting and telling funny stories, unapologetic about
the interruption.

Then Johnny shocked Darcie further by saying
in a no-nonsense tone, “Hey, Deck, do me a favor. Take Erica home
so I can talk to Darcie.”

Sean scowled.
“I’m
talking to
Darcie.”

“You were,” Johnny corrected him. “Now I
am.”

“About what?”

“A confidential issue,” the QB
elaborated.

“Confidential from Erica?” Sean demanded.
Then to Darcie’s surprise, he shrugged and told the QB’s wife,
“Come on, babe. Darcie? Thanks for meeting me.”

“No problem,” she murmured, completely
confused as Erica slid out of the booth behind him as though
nothing odd had happened.

“I won’t be late,” Johnny promised his
bride, standing to kiss her on the cheek.

“Take all the time you want,” she told him
breezily, then she latched on to Sean’s hand and followed him
toward the exit.

Johnny took a seat across from Darcie and
asked, his eyes twinkling, “Okay with you?”

“What just happened? Do you really have a
PMA issue?”

“Nah. I just know Deck can’t resist spending
time alone with my wife.”

Darcie laughed. “Nothing strange about that,
right?”

“He’s hooked on her. Which usually bugs me,
but tonight . . .” He dropped the jovial tone. “I’m
going to ask you something. You can tell me to shove off, and I
will. But I’m still gonna ask. Okay?”

She wanted to put a million qualifiers on
her answer. Or better still, insist on calling Murf and putting him
on speaker before they went any further. But that would be crazy,
wouldn’t it?

Not any crazier than this though, so she was
only half kidding when she said, “Ask me anything. But I reserve
the right to run screaming from the bar.”

He chuckled. “It’s simple. Were you and Deck
on a date?”

“What? No, no. Nothing like that.”

His vibrant blue gaze narrowed. “You’re
sure? He seems pretty into you.”

Darcie shook her head. “He talked about
Kerrie the whole time.”

“You mean in a positive way?”

Wow . . .

Wary now, she asked softly, “You don’t
approve of her?”

“That’s the wrong question.”

“Okay, so—you don’t approve of her with
Sean?”

His jaw tightened. “You know she’s married,
right? And this is confidential, isn’t it? You’re
my
agent
too.”

“Mum’s the word,” she promised.

He leaned forward as though brainstorming a
football play. “Here’s the deal. I like Kerrie. But she’s
eccentric, to use Rachel’s euphemism. Meaning she’s volatile and
melodramatic. And needy as hell. The opposite of Deck in every
way.”

“Opposites attract, Johnny. Look at Bam and
Rachel.”

“Bam and Rachel are soul mates,” he
corrected her. “Like me and Erica. It’s different with these two.
She stayed married to a jerk for years even though she’s supposedly
intelligent. And since she’s good-looking and wealthy, she could
have gotten a new guy any time she wanted. So she was getting
something out of the marriage, right? Something not normal.”

“Couples stay together out of habit until
something makes them take action,” she reminded him. Then she felt
a sting of foreboding. “Are you saying you don’t think she’ll
divorce him even now? She’ll just string Sean along forever?”

“No, she’ll divorce him,” he said in clear
disgust. “Then Deck will marry her out of a sense of obligation.
Because he knows she can’t make it on her own no matter how much
loot she gets in the divorce settlement.”

“Oh . . .”

“He’ll feel like he owes her. Because he
pushed her to get the divorce.” Pausing for a deep breath, he added
passionately, “I hope I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am.”

Her stomach churned, not because she agreed
with his assessment, but because it would be so awful if he was
correct. Finally she said with a sigh, “You’re protective of him. I
get that. But to me, he seems like a guy in love.”

“Deck’s
always
in love,” Johnny
drawled. Then he gave her an apologetic grin. “Sorry. He’s just
ready to settle down. Which is understandable. I’ve got Erica.
Bannerman has Rachel. He wants that too. Kerrie came along at the
worst possible time.”

“Or he’s in love with her.”

“Maybe so,” Johnny mused. “You’re sure he
didn’t hit on you tonight?”

“I think I’d know.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He chuckled. “Let’s face
it, you’re awesome. So who could blame him?”

Relieved that they had left the angst-y part
of their discussion behind, she decided to tease him further. “So
he likes being alone with your wife? What’s that about?”

“He crushes on every woman he meets these
days. But especially Erica.”

“Let’s hope she’s keeping him happy,
right?”

“You’re hilarious,” he said with a laugh.
“They usually work on a jigsaw puzzle. But yeah, it’s time to break
that up.” He stood and held out his hand with a gallant flourish.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your suite.”

• • •

As Darcie struggled to fall asleep that
night, a dozen questions swirled in her head. Did Sean really love
Kerrie? Or was he just a hopeless romantic? Was Kerrie as messed up
as Johnny claimed?

What the heck was going on between Sean and
Erica, aka his QB’s wife?

What did Murf think about Kerrie? About Sean
and Kerrie? About Sean and Erica?

How did Rachel Gillette survive her role as
go-between in this mess? Was Sean joking about asking Rachel to be
his back up bride? About asking Darcie to play that role?

Was the whole Triple Threat group stark
raving mad?

And most of all, what about Wyatt Bourne and
Darcie? Were they as screwed up as
this
bunch?

Laughing to herself, she remembered Emily’s
assessment of Wyatt. That he was emotionally closed off.

So much better than bat shit crazy, wasn’t
it?

• • •

By Saturday morning, the only real issue was
what to wear. Something skimpy like the quote-unquote see-through
top? Something classy? Or to be truly daring, one of the many
Lancers tees she had received from her clients?

The answer seemed obvious, so she dug in the
bottom drawer of her dresser for a pair of discarded cargo shorts
and a well-worn UCLA polo shirt. Thank God she was sentimental.

To calm her nerves, she convinced herself he
would absolutely, positively not hit on her. Even if he felt a hint
of chemistry—which she was sure he did—he had done the mental math
and determined it wasn’t worth it. Which meant she was free to
concentrate on the lesson part of the lesson.

And luckily, she had jotted down two pages
of questions in a notebook with the cheerful handwritten label ASK
WYATT. Given his massive ego, he’d like that, wouldn’t he?

Finally, as one o’clock drew near, she
brewed a pot of coffee, remembering it was his beverage of choice
on the flight. Of course, she had also stocked her fridge with
every cold beverage she could imagine, and made sure there was
enough ice for a party.

Not that they would be
partying . . .

When he pulled a dark green SUV up to the
curb at precisely one o’clock, she wasn’t surprised. He had a thing
about punctuality. Luckily so did she, so she was more than ready
as she waited behind the closed door, unwilling to look too eager,
but honestly bursting with anticipation.

Then he knocked and, after a deep breath,
she answered with a sheepish smile. “Hey, Wyatt.”

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes sweeping over
her outfit.

“I dressed like a Bourne.”

“So I see.”

Unlike a Bourne, he wore tan slacks and a
dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose corded
forearms. Black running shoes, a gray gym bag, and a nylon
briefcase, also gray, completed the look.

He looked amazing.

I hope you’re prepared to work your ass
off,
he had warned her on the phone.

You have no idea,
she answered him
now, her admiration spiking. Aloud, she invited him in and said,
“You can put your stuff anywhere.”

He nodded and piled it next to the coffee
table in front of the sofa. Then he looked around curiously. “Nice
place. Why do you need so much room?”

So much for sweet talk.

“I really only use the downstairs. There are
three more bedrooms and two baths upstairs, but those are for the
Murphys when they visit. Mostly to go to Disneyland.” Moving
closer, she asked wistfully, “How was your flight, Wyatt?”

“I didn’t meet any pesky agents, if that’s
what you mean,” he teased. “Why does Patrick Murphy take his family
to Disneyland instead of Disney World. Isn’t Orlando closer to
Dallas?”

She laughed. “We’re LA diehards, so we do
Disneyland or we go mouse-less. Plus,
I’m
here. To the
Murphys, that’s a draw.”

“And he subsidizes the rent? Man, you really
struck gold when he married your friend.”