Romancing the Running Back Read online

  “Maybe.” Cassie sat up and glared at her. “I don’t think he’s your type.”

  “Yeah, handsome guy with a beautiful smile, decent sense of humor, lean body, and a fat wallet.” Anya gave an exaggerated shudder. “Spare me.”

  “I’m trying to. He’s hilarious, but he’s a bit of a player.”

  “Luckily, I’m not here to get played. I’m here for wedding stuff.” And to hide. “And besides, he’s adorable, but I can see he’s too slick for his own good. He’ll find someone that will make him want to lose some of that shine. I’m not her.”

  “Hmm” was Cassie’s entire comment.

  There was silence then. Anya didn’t normally hate silence . . . she loved it. Her mind operated better during silence. It’s why she lived alone instead of taking on a roommate, why she liked working from home better than working in the department store. But this uneasy silence with Cassie was unnerving. Her best friend had never been one to stay quiet for long.

  “What’s the deal with Josiah Walker?”

  When Cassie propped herself up on her elbows, Anya realized she’d broken the silence in the most stupid of ways.

  “Why?”

  “I just . . . was curious.” Brilliant, Anya. “He hates me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you. I don’t think Josiah knows how to hate. He’s just not as boisterous as Stephen, or as fluid as Trey. Personality, nothing more.”

  “He needs a haircut,” Anya muttered, opening her pot of night cream. Even as she dipped a finger in, she could hear Josiah’s mocking voice, telling her it was a waste and she didn’t need it. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. So, website,” she said firmly, smoothing on the cream.

  Chapter Three

  Stephen hopped onto the treadmill to the left of Josiah and set his pace for slightly slower than Josiah’s own jog. “Come here often?”

  “To California?” Josiah grinned. “Only when the team jet flies me. Look at you, all running like a pro.” Josiah watched his friend in the mirror for a moment, relief crashing in waves through him. He’d been worried—so damn worried—that he’d one day show up at Stephen’s house to find him dead. Alcohol poisoning, asphyxiated on his own vomit, or maybe flown through his windshield during a drunk-driving caper.

  Now sober, and healthier than Josiah had ever known him, Stephen embodied what recovery should look like for everyone.

  “How’s Mags?”

  “She’s good.” Stephen huffed a little. “I’m still not a runner, you know. You talk, I’ll grunt.”

  “Deal. I like the girl. You’ve scored there.”

  Stephen merely nodded.

  “Trey’s almost officially leg-shackled, you’ve got yourself a live-in . . . it’s getting pretty cozy around here.”

  “Thinking you need your own shackle?” Stephen said, sucking in a long breath to compensate for the question.

  Josiah grinned. “Nah. I mean, the idea appeals, don’t get me wrong. Someone to come home to, share meals with, make plans with, all that. And yes, I’m getting sappy,” he added when Stephen made a face at him in the mirror. “But you can’t argue it’s a decent way to live, when it’s with the right person.”

  Stephen merely grunted.

  “Just have to find her.” And she’d have to be the right person. He was too busy with his career at the moment to put any effort into looking. If she showed up right in front of him, he’d send up a thank-you prayer and snatch her up. But the thought of adding more to his already full plate . . .

  “Hey, asswipes.” Trey jumped on the treadmill on his right and leaned against it, not bothering to even pretend he was going to run. “So I’ve been thinking about this whole ‘best man’ situation I’ve got. Cassie has a maid of honor, which is obviously Anya.”

  Why was it just her name sent a shiver up his spine? Probably a shiver of horror.

  “She swears I can’t have two best men, because that means she’d have to pick between her sisters for the other maid of honor to even things up, and she can’t do that. So I’ve got to pick one of you two losers to do the duties.”

  Stephen and Josiah pointed at each other, calling out, “Not it!”

  Trey frowned. “Harsh.”

  “It’s work, man. Don’t get me wrong, planning a bachelor party, that’s pretty sweet. But otherwise . . . writing a speech and giving it in front of people?” Josiah shook his head.

  Stephen just grunted and pointed at Josiah, silently saying he agreed while saving his breath for more important things.

  “Well, one of you two has to do it. So we’re flipping a coin.” Trey dug in the pocket of his workout shorts and pulled out a quarter. One he’d clearly brought just for this purpose because who the hell just brings a quarter with them to the gym? “Stephen is heads, Josiah is tails.”

  “Please be tails,” Stephen muttered, then stumbled a little when Josiah reached over and kicked up his speed a few notches without warning. “Asshole,” he grunted, fighting to turn the machine back down without falling on his face.

  Josiah grinned.

  Trey flipped the coin, but when he went to make the grab midair, he miscalculated, and it bounced off the top of the treadmill and rolled under a rack of weights. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Aw, guess neither of us wins. Damn,” Josiah said, smiling when Trey glared at him. “Just go get it and do it over.”

  “No, you have to see . . .”—Stephen sucked in a breath—” . . . who won where it is.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Is not,” Stephen wheezed.

  “Is too,” Josiah shot back.

  “Why the hell did I even ask either of you to be in the wedding? Maybe you’d like to duke it out over being the ring bearer,” Trey snapped, landing on his knees to swipe his hand under the weight rack.

  “Find it?”

  “Found something . . . oh, gross. When was the last time they cleaned in here?”

  “When you’re on the road, you get what you get,” Josiah said with an evil grin. Trey shot him the finger from his position on the floor.

  “And that’s it for me.” Stephen punched the cool-down button on his treadmill. “God, how can you just keep going? You’re like a freaking antelope.”

  “Because I like having a job. Running clears the mind. It’s good.”

  “Yeah. I think the day they were passing out endorphins, I got shorted.” Stephen wiped his face with the towel he’d draped over the arm of the treadmill.

  Josiah knew his friend was winded, but it was a hell of a lot better than he would have been a year ago, at more than fifty pounds overweight, with more alcohol than blood running through his veins. He would never be the fastest one on the team, but he damn sure was one of the healthier ones now.

  “Found it!” Trey crawled backwards and sat back on his heels. “Tails. Congrats, Josiah, you’re the best man.”

  “Aw, shucks.” Stephen slapped a large hand on Josiah’s back, propelling him forward into the control panel of the treadmill and making him grab the guardrail to keep from sailing off. “The best man won. Ha! Puns are fun. Good luck with all those errands, brother.” With that, Stephen headed out.

  “You’re gonna love it,” Trey said. “And hey, Anya sounds like she’s got a handle on things anyway. I doubt there’s much left for you to do.”

  “Super,” he said, and kicked his speed up another notch.

  * * *

  Sunday was a football day, at least in Casa Owens. Anya sighed and looked down at her outfit. Cassie had mentioned another friend coming over to watch the game. Cass had been wearing jeans and a Bobcats shirt, but Anya owned nothing sports-related.

  Not that it should matter. It was just a simple get-together at home. Not like they were flying out to California to attend the pregame live and in person. Her
outfit was fine. She loved the loud print leggings, mostly because they were colorful and unexpected, but also for comfort. They paired nicely with the plain gray, oversized shirt that hung just a little off the shoulder. She fixed her hair into a loose braid to keep it from getting in her way, then walked downstairs.

  She heard Cassie’s voice, and another woman’s, and knew the friend had arrived. Walking into the family room, she said, “Hello all. Who’s ready to watch sweaty men in tight pants grab on to each other and wrestle to the ground?”

  Cassie rolled her eyes, which Anya had expected, and grinned at her. “Margaret, this is my friend from Atlanta, Anya. Anya, this is Stephen’s . . . Mags.”

  Mags, as it turned out, was a cute young woman with a Bobcats T-shirt on—everyone but Anya apparently owned the right wardrobe for today’s event—and jeans like Cassie. She stood and held out a hand. Friendly smile. “Not a football fan, I take it?”

  “I’m a fan of the scenery, but otherwise?” Anya sat and folded her legs beneath her. This was the exact reason the outfit worked. Comfortable and fluid enough to fold herself into a pretzel, which was optimum for TV watching. Not that she’d understand much of what they were watching. She simply didn’t understand the sport.

  “So, Stephen, hmm? I met him when Cassie met Trey. He’s a sweetheart.” And Mags was a lucky woman to have caught his eye. Hopefully she was strong enough to keep a big personality like Stephen in check.

  Mags narrowed her eyes, just enough that Anya barely caught it. She recognized it instantly. The woman was guarded about her boyfriend, and judging whether Anya was a threat. “Yes, he is.”

  “He was so cute that night.” Anya grabbed a handful of popcorn to munch on. So maybe the game would be a little confusing to her, but at least the food was good. “Trying to talk me into dancing and easing me away from Cassie so Trey could have a chance. Big teddy bear.”

  When Mags’ expression didn’t change, and her face flushed a little, Anya bit back a smile. Yup, definite jealousy there.

  “So, Anya,” Mags said, looking away to grab a cookie from the platter on the coffee table. “You live in Atlanta. In for a visit?”

  She barely managed to hold back a grimace. “In for a something. I’m imposing on Cassie’s good graces for an undetermined amount of time. We have wedding things to plan.” A quick glance at her best friend confirmed she wasn’t at all shocked to hear that the week-ish visit had turned into Who knows when I’ll leave? And wasn’t upset about it.

  “Fun,” Mags said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

  Cassie groaned and shook her head. “Torture.”

  Anya took a sip of water, debating whether to make herself a drink. Was it wrong to drink in front of a recovering alcoholic’s significant other? Was Mags on the wagon, too? She’d resist for now, and maybe ask Cassie later.

  “What do you do out in Atlanta?”

  “I’m a fashion consultant. I work for a department store, helping shop for those who don’t want to take the time to come in themselves and pick out outfits. And I do a little consulting on the side, which fortunately my job is okay with.”

  Hopefully soon, those two would switch, and she would be able to work full-time from home, with minimal additional income required. In all honesty, she’d given notice before she left that she wouldn’t be returning to the store. But she still wasn’t ready to share that news.

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Sounds boring,” Cassie put in, grinning when Anya flipped her off quickly.

  “Says the woman who spends time thinking in binary code, on purpose. It’s a fun job if you want it. And I do.”

  Some might call it wasteful, or pointless. Her mind slipped back to that shaggy-haired, backwards-cap-wearing running back with a vendetta against loving clothes. The first few times, he’d caught her off guard with all that crap about conservation and waste and pesticides. Next time he gave her hell she’d be ready to give it right back.

  “Boyfriend back home?” Mags asked.

  Her mind, still focused on Josiah, stuttered a moment at the boyfriend word being thrust against the infuriating man in her mind, before she managed to choke out, “No, I—oh!” Distract, deflect, move on. “Look, something is starting.”

  Both women took the bait and looked toward the TV.

  “This is so much more exciting now that I’ve met a few of these men. I’m not all that into sports, normally, but the personal connection makes it more interesting,” Anya said.

  Cassie shot her a disbelieving look.

  Mags said something into her glass, but Anya didn’t catch it.

  “It’s just preseason games,” Cassie said, sounding much more knowledgeable about the sport than she would have two years ago. Then again, a lot had happened in those two years. Her family, and her fiancé, were both steeped in the sport. No wonder she’d quickly picked up on it. “Don’t get all that excited. The real pomp and circumstance comes during the regular season. But this is Mags’ first game to watch Stephen as his special someone.”

  “Awesome!” Anya smiled at the other woman, who looked very much uncomfortable with being called her boyfriend’s special someone. Anya could relate, on a certain level. Maybe she was very shy. “You have to be really excited, then. I’m so glad he’s healthy and back on the field. I was worried about him.”

  “I am excited. Oh! Trey!”

  They settled back to watch the game, though more than once Cassie had to explain what was going on for Anya in very simple terms. And a few times, even Cassie had to admit she wasn’t quite sure. She’d come a long way from knowing very little about the sport, but Cassie was still not an expert. And she would be the first to tell you that working in the main offices for the organization did not give one an immediate understanding of the game.

  But the way Cassie watched her husband-to-be with such pride and admiration, with a hint of fear at times when he came close to getting hit, or the one time he was sacked, made Anya’s heart clench a little for her best friend.

  Long after the game ended and Mags had taken off, Anya relaxed on the couch. Cassie sat in Trey’s recliner, which was sweet. Anya had a feeling her friend only sat there because the chair smelled like him, and reminded her of her lover.

  “So, an indeterminate amount of time, huh?” Cassie nudged at Anya’s leg with her toe. “You need to set up a lease with us for the guest room?”

  Anya grimaced. “Yeah, about that . . .”

  “It’s fine. You can stay as long as you need to.”

  Yet another reason why she loved her friend. “Thanks, but if I’m staying longer than a few weeks I should really look into an apartment. You’ll want your privacy.”

  “Hmm.” Cassie tapped her chin a little. “I’ll ask about a sublease. Maybe one of the guys in the office knows of a place. But until then . . .”

  Anya sat up. “What?”

  “My old place is empty.”

  “Your old . . . oh. The pool house?” Cassie had lived in the fully furnished pool house on her father and stepmother’s estate the first year or so she’d lived in New Mexico. At the time, it had given her the privacy she’d needed as an adult, but the proximity she wanted to her two teenage sisters so she could get to know them better. “Uh, that’s a little weird, right? Since I’m not family, and your par—well, your dad and his wife are divorcing?”

  Cassie waved that off. “Tabitha moved out, the girls are only there half the time, and Dad is busy with the season gearing up. He’ll only be home, like, one third of the time anyway. There’s a separate place to park, and you wouldn’t even have to see each other if you didn’t want to. Heck, you don’t even have to go to the main house for laundry. Just bring it here.”

  “That’s . . . nice.” She cleared her throat. “Maybe you should check with him first?”

  “He’ll say yes.” She grinned in a way that made A
nya pity her father. “He can’t say no.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Any reason I should be worried about you staying so long?” Cassie asked, trying for casual and failing miserably. “Problems with your job?”

  That’s gone.

  “Tell me the truth, please. Is Chad causing you any more problems? Doing that weird thing where he just ‘happened to show up’ where you were grocery-shopping or eating dinner?”

  Yes. But admitting Chad’s pseudo-stalker tendencies hadn’t stopped like she’d implied they had would only send her friend on a crusade. Not what she wanted.

  “I’m just looking for a change. If this virtual shopper thing picks up”—please let it pick up—“then I can live anywhere. Why not next to my best friend?” She batted her eyelashes at Cassie, who rolled her eyes. “Let’s pick out your outfit for tomorrow.”

  “You realize I basically just wear jeans and a T-shirt to work every day, right?”

  Anya sighed and stood. “This is why you need me.”

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon, three dress shops and two cranky half sisters later, Anya was ready to roll around in a box full of tulle and light herself on fire.

  “You have to have a white dress,” Mellie, the youngest sister, insisted. “Brides wear white. It’s tradition.”

  “White symbolizes the bride’s purity. I think that ship sailed.” Irene looked at her nails as she sat in a chair by the runway.

  Mellie snorted, then scowled. “That’s not nice to say.”

  “That’s Irene for you,” Cassie sang, looking not at all insulted that her younger sister basically called her a ho. Having a sibling to bicker with was something Cass had wanted all her life. To Anya, it looked annoying at the best of times. But Cassie loved it.

  Anya watched as her best friend swished and swirled around in the cupcake confection she currently wore. It was dress number . . . Anya’s stomach growled and she realized she lost count around her missed lunchtime. “It’s not right,” she said absently, digging through her bag for her phone. “Too much on top.”