Completing the Pass Page 12

  “So you’ve known Josh for a while?” Cassie finished chopping the pepper and slid it off the cutting board into the salad.

  Carri grinned, thinking evil thoughts. “Yup. Since we were in diapers, literally. We’re not dating,” she added, reading Cassie’s questioning glance. “It’s . . . complicated. My dad’s not doing great, and he gets confused sometimes. Josh and I just spend some time together for the dual purpose of getting out of the house or away from things.”

  “Oh.” Cassie set the salad forks down and watched her for a moment. “I’m sorry about your father. That must be so hard for you.”

  Having someone outside of the family acknowledge that made Carri’s eyes well up. She blinked hard, pushing back the tears with as much force as she could muster. “It’s not easy. My mom is really good with him, but he needs more help, so I’m here for now until other arrangements can be made. But he’s got it in his head that Josh and I are a couple. Telling him otherwise upsets him, so . . .” She raised her hands in a What can you do? gesture. “Josh and I just sort of roll with it.”

  “That’s really sweet of him. Josh, I mean,” Cassie added when Carri tilted her head in confusion. “I mean, that he goes along with it in order to keep your dad calm.”

  Josh always loved her father. It hadn’t occurred to her before then that he went out of his way to help Herb when he could. That he didn’t seem to mind going the extra mile to make him smile.

  “Huh,” was all she said, knuckling away the last of the wetness from the corner of her eye as the sliding door behind her opened up and the men walked in.

  ***

  “They’re just so freaking normal,” Carri said as Josh turned toward their parents’ neighborhood after dinner. “Insane, because their jobs and family situations are anything but normal, and yet they just sit there, grilling their own meat and chopping their own salad . . . How’d you like the salad, by the way?”

  Josh grimaced. “Too many red peppers.”

  “You’re welcome,” she added with a grin.

  Josh knew that smile well. He reached over and pinched her upper arm. “Brat. You added the peppers, didn’t you?”

  “Just for you,” she said in a sweet voice. “Wait, why are we coming in the back way to the neighborhood? It’s faster to go in through the front.”

  “I need a minute.” After driving another fifteen seconds, he pulled to a stop in front of a house she didn’t recognize. “Just . . . give me a minute.” Josh tipped his head back and sighed, eyes closed.

  She wanted to reach out then, smooth the line between his eyes. He looked so . . . exhausted. So tired, worn down. Football season could do that to a guy, of course, and she knew that physically he was likely dead on his feet. Professional athletes weren’t sloths, that was for damn sure. But the pain that crossed his face sometimes wasn’t just a pulled muscle or a strained whatever. It was the pain of keeping up with the mental aerobics he was forced to go through, that he never expected to have to take on, or wanted to take on.

  To take her mind off the instant want, the need to touch him, she looked at the house instead. For the life of her, she couldn’t come up with who used to live there when they’d been children. Other homes in the area—even if the families moved—were still the Smiths’ place or where that one family with all the yard toys that never got picked up lived. But this one wasn’t ringing bells.

  It was abandoned, that much was obvious. The telltale signs were all there, and her investor’s eye caught them all. Too-tall grass, windows that were dusty, cracked paint and a warped edge to the garage door, and the paper taped to the front inside window that would proclaim the house bank property. No For Sale sign, not yet. It could take another year before the bank got around to off-loading it, unless a savvy investor with bank connections got to it first.

  “If it helps,” she said after a minute of silence, “I think you’re doing amazing.” When he slit one eye and looked at her from the side, she shrugged. “I’ll give shit when it’s due, but you know me. I can’t just be cruel for cruelty’s sake. You’re not dropping the ball. You can do this.”

  “Thanks.” He waited a beat. “Thanks for coming with me to dinner, too. It would have felt weird going alone.”

  “I probably owe you for giving me a chance to escape.” When she turned to look back at him, his face was closer than she’d imagined. With a small smile, she started to sit back in her seat, but his hand cupped her chin.

  “Why’d you chop it all off?”

  “Hmm?” She could smell the spearmint from the gum he’d popped in post dinner and his body wash. “Chop what?”

  One finger rimmed the edge of her ear, gently tracing where the hairs brushed against it. “Your hair.” His fingers tunneled through it to bring her head closer. “You chopped it off. Why?”

  “Just . . . easier,” she breathed as their foreheads bumped. Would he taste like mint, too? Or something darker?

  He gave her five seconds to wonder, then kissed her.

  His taste—yup, mint—was the first thing she registered, but it was quickly overshadowed by Holy Jesus Christ Josh Leeman is kissing me. And not because he wanted to annoy her, or to make her father calm down . . . but because he wanted to. Wanted her. He’d told her before, but it still hadn’t fully sunk in.

  His hand curved into her hair and pulled her closer. The center console of his car bit into her hip, and she didn’t care. When his tongue touched hers, tentatively, she opened her mouth and fisted her hands in his shirt to give him the green light for more. Harder. Faster. Please, more.

  She saw spots flash behind her eyelids and she pulled away with a gasp. Breathe. She’d actually forgotten to breathe through her nose. What was she, thirteen?

  “Damn,” Josh muttered, sinking back into his seat for a moment. He ran a hand through his hair, then just looked at her. The mixture of confusion, awe, and fear made her want to laugh. “Damn.”

  “Back at ya, bud.” She finally calmed down enough to take in a full gulp of air. “Why . . . Why do you keep kissing me?”

  “Honestly?”

  She almost said no, because if he had to ask, the honest truth was going to be scary. But they’d never lied to each other before, even when it had hurt. “Honestly.”

  He looked like he might reconsider telling her. Then he said, “Because kissing you is the most real thing I’ve got in my life right now. Scary as that is, strange as that is, you’re the thing that, when I get near, I feel like I’m back on even ground. And you might hate that, but—”

  She lunged at him, kissing him again with the same force and exuberance he’d kissed her. They explored each other like two teenagers at the Bleachers, except they were both in their late twenties and nowhere near the make-out point. When Josh’s hand moved from her elbow to her waist, then up her shirt, she moved to arch back and give him space.

  That’s when the horn blared, long and loud.

  “Son of a bitch!” She jumped forward, knocking foreheads with Josh. “Oh, son of a bitch!” she moaned again at the instant flash of pain.

  “God, Carri, if you wanted to stop you could have just said so,” he said in a joking voice. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her back over to the other side of the car, then rubbed at his forehead. “I have to put that in a helmet tomorrow.”

  She stopped rubbing at her own head and glared. “Right, well, luckily I don’t have that problem. I just get to sport an identical goose egg and creatively style my bangs to cover it.”

  He flushed, then cupped her chin and looked closely at her eyes. “You feel okay? Dizzy?”

  He was checking her for signs of a concussion, she realized. Why was that adorable and exasperating at the same time? She knocked his hands away and straightened her shirt. “Just head home, please. I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you are,” he muttered, but turned the key in the ignitio
n and drove for home.

  ***

  The day after the Kiss that Turned Him Stupid, Josh met Tony and Derrick at Pizza Dan’s for a catch-up. Their schedules hadn’t aligned after training camp, so he was thankful to get a dose of unbiased friendship away from the insanity of work.

  He sat in the booth, his back to the restaurant like always, and watched as Tony and Derrick slid into the booth. Tony looked like his normal self. Derrick, though . . .

  “What?” Josh rubbed at his nose. “Dude, if I’ve got something on my face, tell me. Don’t stare at me.”

  “No, it’s just . . .” Derrick shook his head, then waited while the server came over to get their drink orders. Derrick ordered their usual drinks for them while Josh pretended to look at the menu. The second the server was gone, Derrick leaned forward and said in a hushed voice, “How the hell did you forget to tell us you were going to be starting?”

  “I always play preseason games,” he reminded them. Tony scoffed, and Derrick looked mildly offended that Josh would play it off. “Look, it’s not all my business to share. There are contracts and confidentiality agreements and . . . you know.” He left it open-ended because, frankly, he didn’t have a clue what had stopped him from sharing with his two best friends.

  “I can’t believe it. This is your year.” Derrick looked pleased with the entire thing, as if he’d orchestrated Trey’s injury and this opportunity himself. “You’ve got to tell us everything that happens. I wanna know what plays you’re running on game day, and what it’s like when you and Michael Lambert set up for a down.”

  “Can you get me some more ass?” was all Tony asked.

  This was probably why he’d resisted telling them. Because, much as he loved his friends, he knew it would change things.

  “You both suck balls,” Josh muttered, clamming up as the server returned with their drinks.

  Twenty minutes later, two slices into his pizza, Josh felt the back of his neck prickle. He turned around and saw a room full of people staring toward their table.

  “Anyone else feel like a bug under a microscope?” Derrick asked, rattling the ice around his red plastic cup. He glanced quickly around the dining room of Pizza Dan’s before rubbing at his beard. “I’m starting to understand the expression.”

  “Nope. I’m good.” Tony used the knife to cut himself another breadstick and slathered it with marinara sauce. “Don’t be weird. They aren’t be looking at you, anyway. They’re looking at the handsome one. Me.”

  Josh just rolled his eyes and pushed his slice away. “This is the shitty part of the job.”

  “So they stare at you.” Tony licked marinara off his thumb. “Who cares? Makes chicks easier to score with if they actually recognize you.”

  Derrick looked disgusted and took another slice of pizza.

  “This might shock you, but scoring with chicks is not really my concern,” Josh said, to Tony’s eternal confusion.

  “I guess you’re going to have to get used to being stared at.” Derrick looked a little sheepish, as if he’d just now caught on to what this might mean for him. “Before, nobody recognized you.”

  “A point for which I have previously been grateful, and now know why.” Josh glared at his pizza,

  “But the ladies,” Tony protested.

  Derrick slapped the back of his head. “Ignore the resident idiot.”

  “I always do,” Josh assured him. “It’s just I . . .” He trailed off as he noticed movement at the end of their table. Josh turned to give a polite smile to the cluster of teenage boys standing nearby, staring at him. “Can we help you guys?”

  They whispered among themselves for a moment, then shoved one out to the front as their spokesperson. Josh bit back a grin, knowing the drill.

  “Uh, are you . . . That is, my friend . . . They all said . . . You’re Josh Leeman. Right? From Central Valley High?”

  Tony snorted. Derrick grinned like a maniac.

  “Idiot,” one of the boys hissed behind their spokesperson. “He’s not from high school. He’s from the freaking Bobcats. God.”

  “I went to Central Valley,” Josh said, leaning back in his seat. “Class of 2007. You boys play there?”

  Easy guess, given the letter jackets they wore with football patches despite the heat.

  “Yeah, uh . . . can we just, like, get your autograph?”

  Another groaned. “Selfie. God, Eric. Who let him talk?”

  “You guys want a photo.” He stood, biting the inside of his lips to keep from grinning at the shuffling, posturing young men who looked like they’d rather chew off their arms than admit they just wanted something to Snapchat to friends later. “It’s fine.” Standing, he waited for the guys to form a line and stepped in the middle. One handed his phone to Derrick, who looked a little like he might pop a hernia from holding back laughter. His hand shook so hard he had to take the photo three times before he declared it satisfactory.

  As the group of guys shuffled off, Josh was inundated with other people who, now that the ice had been broken, thought it was a good time to come ask for an autograph on a napkin, a selfie, or a handshake and a good old-fashioned grilling about the team’s chances for the upcoming season.

  When he finally sat down again and picked up his slice of now-cold pizza, both Tony and Derrick were staring at him with strange looks on their faces.

  “What?” he asked, taking a bite of his slice.

  “You . . . were enjoying that.” Tony looked surprised and shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe it, but you were actually enjoying that.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Josh denied on autopilot, but caught Derrick’s short nod of agreement with Tony. “I . . . okay, so I didn’t hate it. They were nice people. So?”

  Tony lifted one shoulder and took another breadstick. “Never thought I’d see the day when you enjoyed hanging out with fans and being fawned over.”

  “I wasn’t being fawned over.” He waited a second, then looked at Derrick, who had stayed quiet. “Was I?”

  Derrick shrugged, but kept eating.

  Josh let the pizza fall back to his plate. “Damn pizza’s cold,” he muttered, reaching for his glass with a not-so-steady hand.

  ***

  Carri looked up from the page she was coloring beside Herb at the kitchen table at the sound of the doorbell. “We weren’t expecting someone, were we, Dad?”

  “Hmm,” he said, picking out another colored pencil and working meticulously on the vine of the flower she’d colored in.

  The activity was perfect for his motor skills, and it was a nice mental break for her. Coloring had turned into bonding-slash-therapy for them, on multiple levels.

  Setting down her pencil, she rubbed gently on his forearm, watching him for another moment. Herb was fully engrossed in the activity, not paying her a bit of attention. Which was fine, as it kept him calm and happy. She sighed and squeezed softly as he kept shading in the vine. “Love you, Daddy.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed again.

  She went to the door, surprised to find Josh’s mother, Gail, waving happily through the stained-glass window of the front door. Opening it, Carri gave her a short hug before asking, “Were we expecting you?”

  “No, no.” Gail laughed and pulled back, cupping Carri’s face in a maternal way. “Sweetie, forgive me, but . . . you look done in.”

  Carri felt a small smile curve one corner of her mouth. “I could use some downtime.”

  “Good.” Clapping her on the shoulders, Gail propelled her toward the door. “Go. Out. With Joshua.”

  “Hold on, what?” Putting the brakes on, Carri halted in front of the open door. “Go out with Josh? I can’t. I’m with Dad right now. Mom doesn’t come home for another two hours. It’s her—”

  “Night to work late, I know. That’s what I’m here for.” Gail made a shoo shoo gesture
with her hands. “Joshua is in the driveway, waiting. I’m making dinner and us three old farts are going to hang out when Maeve comes home. You’ll be in our way. So go be young with my son.”

  “I . . .” Carri looked around the foyer, then down at herself. “I’m not really dressed to leave the house. Let me—”

  “You’re hopping in the car with Joshua, so it doesn’t matter what you look like.” Gail picked Carri’s purse from the hook by the door and pushed it into her hands. “I’m going to mother you right out this door, so there’s no point in arguing with me.”

  “I just . . . I . . .”

  Just then, Herb called out, “Maeve? Maeve, are you coming back in?”

  “Go,” Gail whispered, patting her cheek gently.

  Carri paused long enough to toss her comfortable-but-ugly flip-flops off and slip her feet into some sandals before taking off.

  Chapter Twelve

  Josh breathed a sigh of relief the second he saw her leave the house and close the door behind her. She clutched her purse in front of her and kept looking back at the house as if she felt guilty for leaving . . . or maybe that she was afraid someone would run after her to pull her back in.

  When she opened the car door and slid in, she sighed and leaned her head back. “Do I want to know why you are coming to the rescue?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then just drive. Let’s get out of here.”

  That, he could do. He took off, watching her face as she closed her eyes and relaxed. He could visibly see each muscle smooth out and lose its tension with each passing minute. Because he couldn’t resist, he reached over and pulled her hand to lace fingers with his, resting them on his thigh. When she didn’t pull away, he rubbed his thumb over and over the soft skin he found there.

  She sighed at one point as he made the final turn into his parking garage, and he realized she’d fallen asleep. As he parked, she shifted, but didn’t wake up. So he simply turned the car off and watched her.