Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (33 page)

You’re focusing on the wrong thing,
Darcie,
she warned herself as she searched for a jacket to
complete the outfit.
Why are you encouraging him? What can you
possibly get out of this?

But as usual, when it came to Wyatt she
didn’t really care. She just wanted to see him. Maybe she’d get up
the nerve to confront him about her feelings. It could backfire,
driving him away for good, but she couldn’t keep being his fake
friend either.

Settling for a black linen jacket she had
worn on casual Fridays at the court, she pulled it over her bare
arms and found some low-heeled black shoes. Hopefully she looked
enough like an agent to impress Wyatt’s friends without also
seeming like she was trying too hard to get a boyfriend, a new
client or both.

Before she stepped onto the porch to wait
for him, she sent the text she knew she owed Emily:
Casual
dinner date. No monkey dancing. Probably ends tonight
.

Wasn’t that the truth?

Depressed already, she sat on the top step
and reminded herself how tragically mismatched they were. But at
least now she knew why. He had lost a fiancée, an unborn child, and
the dad who was his hero. Darcie had barely broken a nail. And so
even if they were both decent people, which they were. Even if the
chemistry ran rampant, which it did. Even if they tried again and
again and again . . .

She could hear the Jag in the distance so
she stood up and smoothed her sassy jacket. When he pulled up to
the curb he hopped out immediately then flashed an electric smile,
as exuberant as he’d been on the phone. And while she knew she
should question it, she drank it in instead, knowing instinctively
something had changed.

Something big.

He was wearing jeans and a black
polo—probably in deference to the messy meal—making him look even
leaner, taller, more imposing. As if to reinforce the effect, he
strode toward her, taking the steps two at a time, then shocked her
by pulling her into his arms and kissing her with such ferocious
passion—such utter domination—she didn’t even have the strength to
gasp.

She had never been kissed like this before,
not even by Wyatt. Everything about it—the strength, the commanding
presence, the raw power—shocked her. Seduced her.

Owned her.

Then it was over as quickly as it started,
but he didn’t release her completely. Instead, he stared down at
her with iron gray eyes and said hoarsely, “Thanks for doing
this.”

“Doing what?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’ll explain in the car.” He released his
hold then seemed to regret it and pulled her close again, murmuring
into her hair, “This is all you, Darcie.
All
of it.”

“Wyatt . . .”

“In the car,” he reminded her. “We don’t
want to be late. Not for this.”

When she nodded, he wrapped his arm around
her shoulders, ushered her down the steps to the Jag and gallantly
opened her door. She scrambled inside, nervous and confused, but so
pumped from the kiss she almost dragged him into the seat with her.
All she could think was that he somehow shared her favorite
fantasy: Driving to a secluded spot and making hot, sweet love for
hours.

As soon as he took his own seat he started
the car and eased into the street. No squealing tires this time and
she knew why. He was in complete control of the situation, the
powerful sports car, and the love-struck woman at his side.

Then he gave her a sympathetic smile. “I
know you have questions. But you need some background first,
okay?”

She nodded, grateful she didn’t need to
speak.

“There are three things you need to know.
First, your only job tonight is to listen. Enjoy yourself, but try
to catch the nuances. Because it’s
all
nuance at this
point.”

“Okay.”

“The second thing is, I haven’t signed a new
contract with the Jets yet.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I can’t believe
they aren’t offering you the moon and the stars.”

“They offered me a tremendous deal. This is
confidential, right?”

“I promise,” she assured him, still amazed
that he had gone from suspecting her every word to trusting her so
completely.

“One-twenty for five years. With sixty mill
guaranteed.”

Her throat actually closed up so tightly she
could barely squeak in reply.

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s a decent offer. And
it’s just the opening salvo. Unfortunately I’m not interested in a
five-year deal. Not with anyone.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “Don’t quarterbacks
play into their mid-thirties? Or longer? Or is it the concussion
thing? Because it’s a real concern, although like you said, you
rarely get sacked.”

“It’s something else.” He exhaled sharply.
“I know my reputation. That I enjoy being a one-man show. But I
don’t. An occasional solo play, sure. I’ll bask in the glory. But
football’s a team sport. I
need
those guys. It’s the media
that says I don’t.” He paused then added, “It causes friction with
my teammates, which I regret. Especially because our defense rocked
this year. And our offense could have been great.”

“So the Jets need to get you some help?”

“More like, try not to sabotage me. Which is
why there’s an unspoken pre-condition before I’ll re-sign. They’re
aware of it but I don’t think they’ll meet it.”

“Unspoken?” She gave him a frustrated smile.
“Maybe you should speak it to me, at least.”

He laughed. “It’s about one of our players.
I want him gone but I don’t want him suing me. He could do that,
right?”

“Maybe.” She eyed him curiously. “What’s the
problem?”

“He’s a showboat and I’m sick of it. I made
some noise last year, basically wanted him benched, but the owner
sees it differently and forced the coach to include him in the big
plays. And because of that we lost the Super Bowl.”

Struggling to remember the most pivotal
moments, she wondered if Wyatt could possibly be objective about
this. Clearly he hadn’t gotten over the loss, and while he was
probably correct about the showboat in general, she couldn’t recall
any particular play costing them the game.

Finally she guessed, “You’re talking about
the wideout on that final pass? Butler, right? Because if he had
caught it, he could have taken it in for a touchdown? But the
Lancers’ cornerback intercepted it?”

Wyatt grinned. “You’re such a fast
learner.”

“I had good teachers. Including you.” Her
tone softened instinctively. “The announcers said it was just
outstanding play by the cornerback. A phenomenal pick. And that’s
how it looked to me too.”

“Watch it again without your boyfriends in
the room,” he drawled. Then he gave a slight shrug. “John and his
team played an outstanding game.
He
was phenomenal. Decker’s
the best. And Bannerman’s a beast. So I’m the first to admit they
outplayed us. But it was close. And we should have won. But that
clown was more interested in how he looked on the Jumbotron than
how he ran the route. It required pinpoint precision—not just on my
end but on his.”

She had to admit, Wyatt was correct about
her prejudice. She had been rooting for her clients and far too
dependent on the analysis of the commentators. Plus, she had
already known the outcome, and so, while she might have secretly
wanted Wyatt to win, she hadn’t really watched with a critical eye.
“I’ll watch it again,” she promised.

“My ankle was messed up, which affected my
mobility, so most of the blame is on me. Still, we had one last
shot, and the showboat blew it.”

She pursed her lips. “So you’ve been waiting
to see if they trade him?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling myself,” he
said carefully. “Now I’m not so sure.” Clearing his throat he
admitted, “If I went for the five-year deal, they’d get rid of him.
No doubt about it. But like I said, the owner thinks he’s good, so
why would they trade him if I’m just gonna shake them down again
next year? Maybe even walk?”

Before she could respond, he eased the Jag
along the curb in front of a rambling yellow house with a gorgeous
front lawn. Then he asked her playfully, “Guess who grew up here?
Your hero John Spurling.”

“We’re meeting with Johnny?”

“Not exactly.” He killed the engine, then
turned to her. “Do you know anything about his father?”

“He’s a coach, right? For the Los Angeles
Rustlers? And he has another son who plays for the Chargers, so he
must know what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, he knows what he’s doing,” Wyatt said
with a chuckle. “He might just be the best coach of the last three
decades. A brilliant strategist. Respected by everyone. When I was
growing up, he was an idol of mine. And even today he carries a lot
of sway.”

She smiled at the innocence of his hero
worship, something she had seen so often with these sports nuts.
Then she re-focused and asked, “Are you saying Johnny’s father
still lives here?”

“Yep. I ran into him today at a kids’ soccer
game, completely by chance. And we started talking about last
season. Mine and his.”

“How did the Rustlers do?” she asked. “I’ve
only paid attention to the Lancers and the Cowboys so far. And you,
of course.”

He chuckled again. “They did amazingly well
considering it was their first year in the league. You’ll hear more
about that over dinner. Nothing specific. Just general
chatter.”

“Don’t you mean
nuance?”
she asked
dryly. Then she scooted onto the console and gave him a stern look.
“Tell me why I’m here.”

“Because I need you. I don’t have an agent
at the moment—”

“
What?
I thought it was that O’Meara
guy.”

“I’ve been repping myself since February.
That’s confidential too. He’s an idiot, but I promised I’d keep it
quiet for as long as possible.” When she just stared at him, he
explained, “I’ve always called the shots. He was just a mouthpiece.
But he got greedy, so I axed him.”

She sighed. “You can’t possibly represent
yourself, Wyatt. And this time, find an agent who’s also an
attorney. This business is incredibly contract-driven, and yes,
you’re smart. But until you go through the agony of law school, you
just aren’t qualified.”

“Coach Spurling agrees with you on
that.”

“Oh, good.” She managed to relax. “So you
ran into him, and he offered to advise you on the new contract?
That’s pretty cool. But I’m not sure it’s kosher.”

“He’s not advising me on the deal with the
Jets. It’s almost the other way around.”

“Oh . . .” She felt a thrill
on his behalf. Apparently, Aaron Spurling was seeking
Wyatt’s
advice! “What a rush. No wonder you want me there to
pick up the nuances. I’ll pay attention, I promise.”

“I need that,” he agreed. Then he glanced at
his watch. “We need to get in there.”

“Does he know I’m coming?”

“Yeah, he saw the press conference. Called
you a ‘firecracker
,
’ and of course I agreed.”

She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t think I
represent you, does he?”

“No. I told him you make all my decisions
but you’re not my agent.”

“Oh, fine.”

“Are you ready?”

She nodded and moved back to the passenger
seat, then waited for him to come around and open her door, since
this now seemed more like a date than anything else. She would
listen to these two football greats swap stories and share
insights. Plus she’d see where PMA’s most important client grew up.
Meet the man who shaped him into a premier player. And while it
seemed a bit odd that Coach Spurling was willing to shape Wyatt
too, she wasn’t about to second-guess it.

Especially since chili dogs were part of the
deal. Maybe the
best
part now that she knew she could just
sit back and enjoy the food.

When Wyatt offered his hand to help her from
her seat, she wondered if he would kiss her again. He still seemed
so pumped up. Like something amazing was about to happen.

Then she heard a screen door open and a
cheerful voice call out, “Come on in! The food’s ready and it might
be my best batch yet.”

A thrill shot down Darcie’s spine. The
man—Johnny’s father—radiated the same unfocused but palpable energy
Wyatt had been projecting. Either these men loved their football
even more than she had guessed or she had just picked up on her
first “nuance.”

Meanwhile, it was hard not to smile at the
resemblance between the coach and his son. Sure, Johnny was taller
and leaner and hadn’t started graying, but that smile? Classic
Spurling.

Wyatt took her hand and led her up to the
house, clearly anxious but also solicitous of her. Mindful of her.
It was an interesting sensation, especially in light of his bizarre
statement on her porch.

This is all you, Darcie. All of
it
.

What could it possibly mean? All her fault?
All her doing? All because they had happened to sit next to each
other on a plane and had “hit it off,” thereby setting off a chain
of events that had led him to Aaron Spurling’s private
residence?

“Good to see you again, Wyatt,” Spurling
said, pumping Wyatt’s hand. “And this must be the new girl in
town.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Darcie Kildare, meet Coach
Aaron Spurling.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” she said with a
warm smile.

“It’s a pleasure,” he assured her. “I saw
what you did for young Romanov. Nice work.”

“Thanks, Mr. Spurling.”

“Call me ‘Coach,’” he urged her.

“Really?” She beamed at him. “Thank
you.”

“You can call
me
‘Coach’ too,” came a
cheerful voice from behind him, and a hot guy in a black-and-white
Rustlers T-shirt and cutoff jeans stepped into view, grinning at
her like he had heard a couple of firecracker stories already.

“You must be Jake Dublin,” Wyatt said,
offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, Coach.”