Completing the Pass Page 10

  “Done,” she said quickly, because having Josh Leeman owe her was a highlight in her currently pathetic life.

  ***

  Carri drove with Josh in silence until she realized she had no clue where to go. Not back to his place, since he was avoiding it. Not back to her house, or his mother’s, as they’d never get any peace there. So she finally ended up at the Bleachers. A popular make-out spot for teenagers and young adults, the Bleachers was really just an abandoned baseball diamond with rusted-out bleachers and a concession stand that some of the more adventurous teens would use for something other than heavy petting.

  At night, with car headlights at the right angles and teenage hormones coursing through her body, seventeen-year-old Carri had thought it was a pretty darn good place to get kissed. Ten years later, during the day, the flaws were shudder inducing. It was like a cheap set from a low-budget snuff film. God, how had she ever thought this was romantic?

  “The Bleachers?” Josh leaned forward a little and looked around as she put the car into park. “Why Carri, I’m not sure if I’m ready for this step.”

  She punched his arm while he laughed. “Idiot.”

  “Why here?”

  “Because it’s quiet, and nobody’s going to be here in the middle of the day.”

  She glanced through the windshield, then decided to just get out and walk. Josh followed her, though kept his distance. Rounding the rickety set of aluminum bench seating, she looked at the supports and shook her head. “It’s a wonder these never collapsed on anyone.”

  “Or gave them tetanus.” Josh came to stand beside her, then just plopped down in the grass. She smiled, then did the same, their legs splayed out in front of them like careless children.

  “You could have dropped me off at my mom’s house.”

  “I needed some time to decompress. I would have done it alone, but you needed a getaway driver.”

  “That I did.”

  An insect buzzed somewhere in the distance.

  “I needed some time alone, too.”

  “You were just gone for three weeks,” Carri pointed out, looking at him over her shoulder. She used her shoulder to prop her chin up. “What do you need alone time for?”

  “Gone, but not in solitary. I spent all three weeks in very close quarters with the entire team, plus support and coaching staff, plus media and fans.”

  “Your apartment will be quiet.”

  “My apartment is most likely currently swarmed with reporters waiting for me to come home since they missed me in the parking lot.”

  “But once you break through that, your own place is safe.”

  “My apartment building houses like twenty-five percent of the Bobcats players. They can come knock on my door anytime and harass me. It’s a dorm, basically, with easy access to each other.”

  “Isn’t that what you like? The camaraderie or whatever?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed, then shook his head. “I mean, I’m friendly with the guys, don’t get me wrong. But right now the pressure is on. Everyone keeps looking at me, and it’s like I can almost hear their thoughts while they stare. Him? He’s the one who’s supposed to lead us? He’s the guy? He’s no Trey Owens.”

  Several reporters had made similar comments during the press conference she’d watched with Herb. They kept trying to shove Round Josh Leeman Peg into the Square Trey Owens Hole. Why couldn’t they get that these were two different men, and comparing them was like comparing apples to tangerines?

  But he’d handled them well. “You stood your ground during the interview thing,” she pointed out.

  “You watched?” He side-eyed her.

  Carri waved that away. “Dad had it on. I was waiting for you to faint. Sadly, it didn’t happen.”

  He just rolled his eyes. “I held my ground, because I just . . . didn’t know what else to do. But everything I said, it was like one big defense mechanism. I still don’t think anyone believes I can do this. I didn’t make a fool out of myself . . . yet. And everyone just loves to remind me: I’m not Trey Owens.”

  Carri watched him carefully, as only someone who had known him his entire life could. His smile seemed genuine, but she read the strain under it. His eyes were clear, but she could see the tightening at the corners. He was under stress like she’d never seen him before, and he wasn’t handling it well.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “It’s true. You’re not Trey Owens.”

  He glared at her. “Your support is, as always, overflowing.”

  “You’re not Trey Owens,” she repeated. “You’re Joshua Leeman, damn it. You’re the guy who led our high school team to the state finals two years running.”

  “High school,” he scoffed.

  “The guy who went on to play four years of college with no redshirt season, graduate on time—which I’ve heard is more rare than a freaking unicorn—and maintain a pretty darn good GPA to boot.”

  “What are you, a stalker?”

  “Gail brags. Stop talking while I make my point. You’re the player all the dads pointed to on the field and said, ‘That one’s going places.’ The one everybody in our little suburb hitched their hopes and dreams to. You’re the kid who was a little too small to be drafted and got drafted anyway. You’re the guy who thought he wouldn’t make it through the rookie season and is now five years in and still going. You’re a stubborn pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to quit, and never has. So shut up already about your I’m not Trey Owens bullshit. Of course you’re not. Trey Owens is Trey Owens. You’re Joshua fucking Leeman, so act like it, goddamn it.”

  He was quiet for so long, she thought he’d get up and leave her there, until she remembered she’d driven and had the keys firmly in her pocket. Then he eased into her slowly, pushing her back down against the grass, and kissed her.

  Their mouths fused with warmth and wetness. His tongue didn’t wait for invitation, but slipped in, taking advantage of her gasp of surprise. The wild grass cushioned her perfectly, providing coolness against her skin when she felt like she’d burn up.

  His hand caressed her arm, and his chest pressed against hers until her breasts were flattened beneath him. The weight was thrilling.

  Then he eased back and grinned. “Maybe I was ready for the next step.”

  ***

  He knew he’d ruined the moment with that smartass little comment, but he couldn’t help himself. Looking at Carri’s flushed face below his, the way her kiss-swollen lips had parted so perfectly, her eyes glazed with the haze of passion . . . He’d needed to get himself on solid ground so he could be cool, be calm. Otherwise he might have broken all the rules, found a softer patch of grass, laid her back and made love to her.

  And that was absolutely not how he wanted their first time to be.

  Because after that speech of hers, and that kiss, he knew there would be a first time. And a second. A third . . .

  “What the hell was that, Josh?” Carri pushed at him, rather ineffectively, until he sat up. Her scowl lacked all heat as she straightened her tank top and fluffed out her hair. A piece of grass floated down to the shadow of her cleavage without her noticing. He decided to let it pass without a word.

  “If you don’t know what that was, then you and Robert Perkins weren’t doing what I thought you were doing when I walked by you out here junior year.”

  “My junior year, your senior year,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair. It was mashed against the back of her head, and nothing she did seemed to fluff it back up. Irrevocable damage.

  He grinned.

  “I’ve been thinking . . .”

  “Dangerous,” she whispered, crossing her legs and looking out across the diamond. Her focus was so intense, he almost expected to turn and see a ghost team playing a game of pickup, Field of Dreams style.

  “Why don’t we go out?”


  That broke her concentration. “Why don’t . . . Why don’t we go out? That’s a joke, right? You’re joking.” She paused, then nodded. “It was a joke.”

  “Not a joke. I’m serious. Why don’t we?”

  She spared him a withering glance. “We’ve been over this before. The prerequisite for dating is usually liking someone first.”

  “Doesn’t have to be.” When she huffed out a laugh, he went on. “I’m not talking about dating for real. I’m talking about using each other as a ruse.”

  “A ruse. What is this, a Sherlock Holmes book?”

  “Smartass. You want to get out of the house more. I can see it, you need to leave. It’s wearing on you to be with your parents so much.” When her eyes narrowed and she glanced away, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. “I need to escape the insanity of what my life might be like. And frankly . . .” He sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. “I’m scared I might get a big head with the attention.”

  She gave him a baleful glance. “Your head’s already a little too big for your body, so I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  “See?” He pointed. “That right there. That’s what I need. I need those little pinpricks to the ego in case I start getting full of myself. You’d never let me climb up on a pedestal. You’d just kick it out from under me.”

  “You don’t get to climb on the pedestal. Someone puts you on there. Don’t you know anything?” she grumbled, brushing off her knees, which weren’t at all grassy or dirty. Her ass, however, was probably a grass-stained mess. He grinned again.

  “Why are you grinning?” she asked warily.

  “No reason. The point is, we’re fulfilling a purpose in each other’s lives.” His eyes tracked her torso as she bent over, almost in a stretch. Her cleavage was much easier to see from here. He fought against the boner by shifting a little. “We’ve spent a long time being annoyed, aggravated, or pissed off at each other. Not without reason—”

  She laughed genuinely at that, and he felt like he’d thrown a perfect spiral.

  “—but now we can finally work together to get something we both want.”

  Right now, he wanted Carri. It was a stunning turnaround for his body—hell, his mind—to wrap itself around, but the truth was undeniable.

  “Working together, instead of antagonizing each other.” Carri tapped her chin for a moment. “It’s different.”

  “It’s right.” He held out a hand to shake. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out to take it. Then jerked her hand back and wiped it on her shorts before shaking for real.

  To catch her off balance, he jerked her hand until she toppled against him. Wrapping his arm around her back, he arched up to kiss her again. She ducked just in time to miss it.

  “What?” He let her pull back. “Jesus, we just rolled around in the grass ten seconds ago.”

  “Exactly.” Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “I’m not . . . I can’t. Not with you.”

  That stung, though it wasn’t a shock. “What, I’m that ugly?”

  “I’m not staying. And you’re . . . We’re . . . It’s too weird.”

  Her nose scrunched up as if she were trying to process exactly what was weird about it.

  “You’re in town for the moment. We’re going to be spending time together. And frankly, I want you. Physically, I mean.” Her eyes darted toward him before looking back toward the ghost baseball game. “Yeah, it was a little bit of a kick to the stomach, but there it is. If you can honestly look me in the eye and say you don’t want me, too, I’ll leave it alone. But,” he added, cutting her off as she opened her mouth, “I’ll know if you’re lying. You do that thing with your lips when you’re lying.”

  “I do not!” she shot back, pursing them exactly like she always did when she lied.

  He just smirked.

  “Let’s just say,” she said after a minute, “that I’m not against the idea of . . . something. Whatever that something ends up being.”

  Time to cut his losses and circle back for the kill later. “Deal.”

  Chapter Ten

  The day after Josh’s absurd—and alluring—proposition, Carri sat at Gail Leeman’s kitchen table while her father napped on Gail’s couch, the sounds of a lunchtime gameshow softly coming from the room. Josh had been worried about his mother’s security after she’d received several phone calls asking for interviews. Gail had, of course, declined, but when Josh had heard about it, he’d hired a security firm to install a better home-security system. Since Gail worked, Carri had offered to come stay at her place so the security team could do their work.

  Yes, Carri thought as she scrolled down Facebook aimlessly, that was one thing she could say about Josh. He was a fantastic son.

  While Herb snored contentedly on the couch, Carri sat at her laptop and let her mind drift in her favorite way . . . real estate. She opened up her browser and let her fingers play, manipulating various search-engine functions to find different houses. List view, map view, single-family house or condo, two bedrooms to four, she searched and played and debated comps.

  Her cell phone rang, and she answered it while opening up the listing for the auction house. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” Jess said, sounding more businesslike and less friendly. “When are you coming home?”

  Well, hello to you, too. “I’m still not sure.”

  There was a long pause, to the point Carri lifted the phone away from her face to see if she’d been hung up on. But the call was still going.

  “I need to say something,” Jess said slowly. “And I need you to listen all the way before you say anything.”

  With a suddenly dry throat, Carri croaked out, “Okay.”

  “I want to buy the short-sale house.”

  Carri glanced at her computer screen. What timing, that she’d been looking right at it when her PM called. It was the perfect bungalow for a young professor and his or her spouse. Right off campus, the opposite way of student housing, so no loud parties. Good backyard, but nothing too large to maintain. And ugly as Pinterest sin inside. The bones were fantastic, the location unbeatable in a college town. The inside just needed cosmetic fixes and updates . . . a lot of them. Her favorite kind of project.

  “Carri? Did you hear me?”

  “Sorry,” she managed to get out. “Yes, I heard. Just . . . mind wandered. Lots going on here.”

  “I’m sorry. How is your dad doing?”

  Little late for small talk now. “He’s got his good days and his bad. Today’s pretty good.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Jess’s voice was stiff, almost as if she regretted taking the small sidestep into personal territory. “But back to this issue of the house . . . If you won’t buy it, I will. I have an investor ready to go in with me on my first flip. And if you won’t take advantage of it, I will.”

  Carri rested her phone against her chest and rubbed at her temples. “I can’t tell you not to, Jess. But is this you quitting? Is this your version of a two-week notice?” Please say no, God, say no.

  “No, but it’s my warning that I won’t be around much longer. If I’m going to flip the house, I need to have time to do that. I have no break here as the only one in charge of the rentals.”

  “Just a little longer, Jess.” Begging worked, sometimes. She had zero pride left anymore. “Please. I’m doing the best I can. I can’t just leave my parents without this insurance thing all figured out. Please.”

  “I’m not quitting,” her friend said quietly. “Yet. Just giving you a heads up. It’s time to start looking for a replacement for me, or come back yourself. I can’t make the decision for you . . . just give you the kick you need to make it.”

  Thanks for that, I guess? Carri said good-bye and hung up, but continued to cruise real estate.

  It wasn’t until Herb shuffled into the room an hour later t
hat she realized she’d left Salt Lake City and had started looking at real estate in Santa Fe. She shut her laptop with a snap just as Herb sat beside her at the kitchen table. “Hey, Daddy. Want a snack?” Gail wouldn’t mind if she raided the pantry. Just another bonus of having all but grown up in this house as much as her own.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “Just some real estate. Nothing important. Mindless stuff.” When he kept watching her, she shrugged. “How about some peanut butter toast? I’m feeling like some protein.”

  ***

  Josh took his position at the center blue cone for what felt like the seven hundredth time, crouching in position, his eyes staring ahead at the imaginary defense, and farther down, toward the goal line. Normally, that was his goal. But right now . . .

  Michael Lambert counted off a fake play, slapped the ball, then snapped it back into Josh’s hands. With quick shuffling steps, he used footwork to move back five yards, quarter-turn his body so he ran backwards ten yards to one orange cone, then ran forward ten more to another cone. He turned forward to sprint toward the end zone as if he hadn’t found an open man and was taking it in himself. The three-cone drill, designed to focus on footwork, was his new most hated thing. And he’d done it so much his feet felt as if they were going to fall off.

  Josh wheezed out a breath and rested his hands on his knees. This would be how he died. The headline would read: Backup QB Murdered: Death by Footwork Drills.

  Normally Josh didn’t mind the footwork. It was a good rest for his shoulder, which most quarterbacks struggled with during their careers. But between the L-drill, various tackle-dodging plays, and flat out sprinting for conditioning, he was done. Just done.

  “Jesus God Almighty, Leeman. You’re slower than an elephant dragging a house.” Coach Barnes wandered over and stood beside him. At least, Josh assumed by the voice and the shoes it was Coach Barnes. He couldn’t straighten to look the man in the face between gasping breaths. “I thought we warned you not to go soft in the off season.”