The Playbook (a Secret Baby Sports Romance) (11 page)

I shook my head and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. She was unbelievable… didn’t give up.

It was then I looked up and properly registered the other car.

Lucia’s partially lit face glared at me from inside her vehicle.

“No,” I shouted. “It’s not what you think, I promise!” But I had to know exactly what it looked like; I was half-dressed, and I’d just put a half-naked girl, who was wearing my freakin’ shirt, into a cab after she’d slobbered all over me.

To my surprise, Lucia climbed out and stood with her arms across her chest. At least she hadn’t driven away, I thought.

“Okay, listen to me. She’s crazy. She’s been following me everywhere, sending me notes, texts, harassing me, basically—”

“Like a stalker?” Lucia asked, her tone even and deadly.

“Yes! Exactly like that. I came home and she was in my house! In the pool, naked! I thought it was you! You have to believe me.”

She quirked her eyebrow at that, and I at once scolded myself. “You thought that piece of plastic was me?”

“I didn’t mean… Fuck. It was dark, okay? And what was I to do? She wouldn’t tell me where she’d hidden her clothes, so I had to give her mine. I promise I’m not making this up.”

“I believe you.”

“She was trying everything to get me to—wait, you believe me? I don’t understand.” I was thoroughly confused. Was this a trick?

The corners of her lips tugged slightly upwards as she gave a shrug. “It happens more than you think. That was Isabella, right?”

I nodded, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, you probably want to stay away from that one. She has a bit of a reputation for getting, shall we say,
attached
to the new players.”

“Okay, good to know. So why are you here?”

“I don’t really know. I was driving around, and I kinda ended up here. Silly, huh?”

“No, I don’t think it’s silly. Do you want to come inside?”

“I shouldn’t,” she said far too quickly, as if I’d startled her out of a daze. “I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She opened her car door as if to get back in and leave.

Grasping at straws, not wanting her to go, I said the first that popped out. “Running back to Daddy? God forbid you do anything that you want to do.”

She glowered at me.
What the fuck, dude?
Insulting her wasn’t going to win you any brownie points.

“Low blow, Jacob.” And with that she was back in her car, driving away so fast her tires lost traction and threw up a shower of gravel.

“
L
ucia
! You have a delivery!”

I climbed off of the couch and hurried to the front door, where Merry was holding a beautiful vase of roses, the darkest red I had ever seen. Normally I would have been at the guest house, but this morning I couldn’t help but want to be around someone and had come up to the main house for Sunday breakfast with Merry and my father. He was upstairs preparing to make his customary run to the stadium for his end-of-the-week meeting, while Merry and I planned to catch up on our shows on the DVR while we pampered ourselves with pedicures for a bit. Once Dad returned, then he would take us for a nice, leisurely lunch, as he did most Sundays.

“Oh, they are beautiful,” I breathed as she handed over the vase. There had to be two dozen of them, if not more, and amongst the lush green foliage was an envelope attached to a stem with my name scrawled across it in big looping swirls. It had been a long time since I had received flowers on anything but a special occasion, and curiosity was killing me to know who had sent them… but I wouldn’t let myself get my hopes up. That was the road to disaster. He was still a jerk, a Neanderthal without a filter.
But what if…?

“Who are they from?” Merry asked as we walked back into the kitchen. I set the crystal vase gently on the countertop and removed the envelope. I slid a fingernail under it, holding my breath as I was about to pull out the card. “A secret admirer, perhaps? Or was it your hot date from last month? Which reminds me, you never told me how it went. Have you seen him again? Must’ve been some night to make you nearly miss your father’s campaign speech.”

“It went, er, fine,” I replied, not wanting to elaborate and praying that my cheeks wouldn’t give me away. What was I going to tell her anyway? That I had slept with a player and gotten my heart broken all in one fell swoop?

Pulling out the card, I read the inscription:
I’m so sorry
, was all it said, signed with the initials J.M.

Jacob had sent me flowers; beautiful, delicate flowers. It had to be him; there was no one else in my life with those initials. He was apologizing, but could I trust the words on the card? I’d walked away from him twice now, tearing myself away more like it, and I thought that would be the end of it, that he’d want nothing to do with me after that. And yet he sent me these? Talk about mixed signals.
No, Lucia, stop it. Stop reading into things. He’s just saying sorry for being a douchebag. He knows you could easily snitch on him to your father. He’s just making sure you don’t. He isn’t declaring his love for you.

I was probably right, it was nothing. He was probably only apologizing for his uncalled-for comment back at his house and for backing out of our long-forgotten deal.

“J.M.?” Merry asked as she read the card over my shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, no one you know…”

“J.M? I recognize those initials! Lucia Cortes, I better be one hundred percent wrong.” I turned around to find my father staring me down, several deep creases on his sun-kissed face. “That better not be Jacob Maddox,” he continued, his words and the mere mention of Jacob’s name making me freeze in my place.

“Who? What? No… No, of course not,” I sputtered, feeling nauseated. “That’s ridiculous, Daddy. Why would Jacob Maddox be sending me flowers?” Merry’s eyebrow rose up into those perfected arches of hers, and I silently willed her to be quiet, knowing that she could see straight through my lies. She had a gift for it.

“There have been rumblings about you two,” my father said as he snatched the card out of my hands and read it again. Never had I been so excited to have a florist fill out a card in all my life. No identifying signature, no phone number attached so that it could be traced back.

“You must be thinking of someone else,” I said desperately. Rumblings? What the hell?! What had he heard?

“Well, it’s highly suspicious. ‘I’m so sorry’? What did this person do to you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my lip hard to keep from breaking down and confessing to everything. But still, Jacob had sent me flowers. That had to mean something. And though one half of me was on the verge of tears from being found out, it was hard to keep the happy voice on the other side from bursting into song and dancing around the kitchen. “Probably just a client… missed their appointment or something.”

He narrowed his eyes as he handed the card back to me, distrust in his gaze but a slight smile on his face. “Well, then you must be having a good effect on them for them to send you apology flowers. I’m proud of you. I knew you’d make a success out of it. Of course I had my doubts at the start, but you’re really doing it.”

I gave him a smile, feeling all kinds of horrible inside as he walked away. If only he knew the real truth. I was doing a shitty job, but at least no one had complained to him… yet.

Picking up the vase to take them back to the guest house, I turned to say goodbye to Merry, but before I could open my mouth she was all over me.

“So, your father might’ve fallen for it, but I certainly did not. Spill, young lady.”

I groaned. “Do we really have to do this now?” I hissed, hyper-aware that my father was still somewhere in the house and could be within earshot at any second.

“Yes. You’re my only daughter and, well, I have to live vicariously through someone, now don’t I?”

“It’s a long story,” I said and continued before she could interrupt me again, “one that I’m not ready to tell yet.”

“But—”

“But! It’s early stages, I don’t want to jinx it. And these,” I said as I hugged the vase, “these might very well be a sign that… Oh, I don’t know, that he’s not who I originally thought he was.”

“I have no idea what any of that means, hon. The main thing is that he makes you happy. Does he?”

I couldn’t hold back the blush any longer and shrugged, a nod following not far behind. It was the truth after all, the time spent with him alone had been wondrous, and even when we were fighting it was exquisite. But even I knew that I had to make sure I wasn’t going into this with my head stuck in the sand—one night with him wasn’t proof enough that we were meant to be. It would take a whole lot more than that.

Finally, Merry saw sense and let me go without pulling out any more interrogation tactics. I think she realized I still needed to work things out in my head before I could fully open up to her about it. I continued my walk contemplating what I should do next. What
would
be my next step? The ball was definitely in my court now, and if I didn’t act soon, well, I was sure he would move on. After all, Isabella was waiting in the wings, waiting for any chance to scoop him up.

I could call him and tell him thank you, but I didn’t want to talk to his voicemail again. We needed to discuss this face-to-face. But God help me if I did that. I would need a script of some sort to stop me from getting distracted. Last night when he’d been half-naked had been bad enough. My mouth went dry as I’d taken in his sculpted pecs and firm, tempting abs.

What if he didn’t want to see me anymore? The question popped into my head out of nowhere, with dread following not far behind it. I was over-analyzing everything, I knew that, yet it was better to know all the angles before I went head first into something that could very well be another misunderstanding… Because what if these flowers were not “I’m sorry I fucked up” but more like “I’m sorry this isn’t going to work out”?

The whats and the whys were going to be the death of me.

Pushing open the door, I set the flowers on the white oak coffee table and stared at them a long while, my thumb and forefinger brushing the card over and over again. I pulled out my phone and dialed Cara’s number. She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

“He sent me flowers,” I started, taking in a breath.

“He, who? Oh, your lover quarterback,” she answered. “What kind are they?”

“Roses, lots of them,” I said slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“The type of flowers a man sends a woman means a lot,” Cara replied, playful irritation in her voice. “Come on, Lucia, get with the program. So roses, well, let’s see here. What color?”

“Red, an intense crimson,” I said, still staring at them, lost in their beauty.

“Oh, really? Passion, love… sex.”

“Be serious!” I laughed.

“I am. It means he’s a very deep romantic type and that he keeps his emotions hidden until either he wants something or he really likes someone. Probably both in this case, I guess. Plus, red symbolizes all that good stuff I mentioned before. It’s a clear message really, Luce. He’s sending you a jolt of energy and hoping it flows back to him. In other words, he wants to fuck your brains out.”

“Are you Googling that?” I asked with a laugh. “Or have you turned into some type of new-age botanist?”

“Shut up,” she said, “and listen to me. I can help you through this.”

“Okay. You need to tell me what my next step should be. I don’t trust myself anymore,” I snapped, wanting quick answers. “Should I call him?”

“Hell no. You should go and see him,” she replied. “He’s still interested. Stop thinking, Luce. Go show him what he’s missing out on and call me when you get done. I want to hear all the juicy details.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a bad influence!” I replied then said goodbye, setting the phone down on the table before looking at my watch. It was a little after ten in the morning. It was a little early for a visit but I couldn’t wait, and I was under strict orders from my therapist, I thought with a wry smile. I could go extend the olive branch and offer to take him out for breakfast or brunch. With that snap decision made—or made for me—I went to change. I pulled out some jeans and a casual but still cute tank top. I wasn’t going to know how it ended if I didn’t at least try.

* * *

J
acob’s home
was just as I remembered it; last night it had been shrouded in darkness, but this morning it was absolutely stunning. The gate was wide open again and bravely I drove right in. Even the short distance up the driveway was breathtaking. No wonder he had put in an offer straight away.

As the front door came into view, I frowned; I saw two men in the driveway, their stances full of tension and anger. At least it wasn’t another half-naked chick, I thought. One of them I quickly identified as Jacob, but the older man, for he had a touch of graying hair in his overgrown beard, I hadn’t ever seen before. And yet there was something oddly familiar about him, too.

Muffled shouts made their way into the confines of my car, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Either way, it wasn’t good. Opening the door, I climbed out, worried. This definitely wasn’t good. Was this another obsessed fan who was trying to accost Jacob? Twice in row didn’t seem plausible, but didn’t famous people get killed over things like that?

“You are a worthless son of a bitch! After everything I did for you, and you can’t even find it in your heart to help me? What kind of family does that make you?”

I stopped in my tracks as Jacob’s face turned red, from anger or embarrassment I didn’t know. Both, I guessed. The other man was a few inches shorter than Jacob and had a slight pot belly that strained at his belt, but from my vantage point I could now make out some very similar features between the two men. Thick-set and wide shoulders, combined with a forthright nose and perfectly sized lips; they had to be related.

“Just go, you’re not my family,
Dad
. Don’t make me ask you again,” Jacob said with a grimace. “You won’t get anything from me. I told you to stay away. And don’t make this out to be some sort of warm and fuzzy reunion because it never will be. I was done with you in Minnesota, years ago! And I’m done with you now.”

Instead of turning around, his dad took a step forward, the short swing of his arm and the punch coming out of nowhere. I gasped as Jacob stumbled back; he was so fast on the field, but this was a pure sucker punch. There was no way he would’ve been able to dodge it. He brought a hand up to his lip that was now dotted with blood.

“That’s right,” his dad said, advancing another step toward him, “take it like you used to. Don’t you ever forget I’m still your father. I can still beat the living shit out of you, doesn’t matter how old you are.” His dad was muttering now, the telltale ramble of a drunk. “Someone has to beat some sense into you, you entitled little shit. Think you can get rid of me that easily, huh? Think you’re better than me?”

Jacob’s fists balled up, and for a moment I thought he was going to strike back. Hell, I wanted to strike back for him. But instead he just stood there, his face mottled with rage and shame. I couldn’t let his father take another swing at him. By the looks of it, if Jacob started swinging, he might not stop.

“Hey!” I shouted, getting both of their attention as I closed the gap between the pair and myself. “Leave him alone!”

“Who the hell is this?” his father said, his eyes narrowing, looking me up and down, like I was another fly to take a swat at. Jacob didn’t answer, his eyes raking over me in both confusion and surprise. I came to stand between them, focusing my attention upon Jacob, my hands on my hips. The best way to deal with his father’s kind was not to engage. “Did you forget about our breakfast plans?”