Takes Two to Tackle Page 6

  At the strained look in her eyes, he immediately stepped forward to take her in his arms for a hug. But she wrinkled her nose and he realized he smelled like something that had been sweating for three hours straight . . . and for good reason. “Sorry, right. I’ll get ya after I shower. You okay?”

  She sighed. “Yes, and no, and back to yes again. It’s for the best. And that woman . . .” Teeth gritted, fists balled, she shook a little. “She was awful. It reminded me why I wanted to take my future into my own hands, and soon. But I’m not a quitter. I didn’t like it.”

  He could see that. “So you came home and started spraying lemon-scented air freshener everywhere in retaliation.”

  “I came home and polished your china hutch,” she retorted.

  “I have a china hutch?”

  She rolled her eyes and started up the stairs.

  “We have somewhere to go tonight,” he called up after her. When she froze halfway up the stairs, he added, “Barbecue at Trey Owens’s house.”

  That got her. She turned and stared daggers at him. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

  “It’s just a barbecue,” he said, hands in the air in surrender.

  “I have to pick out an outfit from that heap in my room. I’m not even unpacked!” With a muffled shriek, she whipped around, hair flying behind her, and stormed toward the guest bedroom door. It closed with a resolved, if anticlimactic, click of the lock.

  Where the hell had his levelheaded Mags gone? It was just a barbecue at a friend’s house. Who cared?

  ***

  “Just a barbecue,” Margaret muttered under her breath as Stephen drove through a nice upper-middle-class neighborhood.

  “Yes, it’s just a barbecue.” His voice was firm. “Stop worrying about it. The people who will be there are all cool, and we’re not going to get the third degree. Just hanging out.”

  Men knew nothing.

  She watched out her window as they passed house after house. The homes weren’t as large as Stephen’s, but they were well maintained. “I thought we were going to Trey Owens’s house?” She hadn’t cleaned for Trey, and so didn’t know anything about the house they were headed for.

  “We are.” He glanced over at her, then back at the road. Before another minute passed, he reached over and covered both of her hands with one of his large ones. “You’ve never been to his place, have you?”

  “No.” Another few houses passed, one with kids playing in the driveway with a basketball hoop. “It’s not what I expected.”

  “Expecting a palace? Maybe surrounded by a moat and guarded by a dragon?” Stephen chuckled at that, squeezing her hands before working one hand free to lace her fingers between his. “Trey’s the most normal guy I know. He could have had something like that—minus the dragons—if he wanted it. He’s just not that kind of guy. He would rather go out without being noticed, so nobody knows who he is.” He grinned as he turned onto a back road in the subdivision. “In fact, that’s how he met Cassie . . . as just a regular guy.”

  Margaret blew out a breath. There was no way Trey Owens was just a regular guy. He was the quarterback for the Santa Fe Bobcats. Nope, not buying it.

  Stephen’s a regular guy.

  She watched him as he pulled over to park along the street behind a hybrid. The street was packed with cars, and a motorcycle as well. “Full house.”

  “Trey likes having people over. I see Cassie’s SUV, so you’re in luck there. She’s awesome.”

  Margaret strained to hear anything in his voice that sounded like jealousy or maybe even pining, but nothing was there. It seemed he really did just enjoy this Cassie’s company. It was good to know, that he was so comfortable with friends on both sides of the gender line.

  She would count on his friendship after their breakup. It would hurt to lose that most of all.

  Chapter Six

  It was telling, Stephen realized, that the first thing he instinctively did when he entered Trey’s house was head to the kitchen for a beer. When he got there, his hand froze on the fridge door before he realized the trap he’d walked into. It had been weeks, and he was about to fail his first test at his friend’s place.

  “Water, please,” Mags said behind him. Her voice was like shoving the key in the lock, turning it, and flinging the door wide open. He wrenched the fridge handle a little harder than necessary, heard the clinking of glass bottles against each other like the tinkling of crystal on a swinging chandelier, and knew he wouldn’t have survived this step without her.

  Two waters later, he put a hand on Margaret’s back and led her through the sliding glass door into the backyard, where Trey manned the smoking grill and friends lounged on the porch. A few more were in the yard playing . . . something. He’d have to inspect them more closely to see what game was going on. Damn Trey didn’t have a pool, but it was still going to be a good afternoon.

  The thought of seeing Mags in a bathing suit, though . . . that, he would have liked to see.

  “Stephen!” Cassie jumped up from a lounger and leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tight. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you! How are you? What’s going on? Half of you is missing! How have you been back almost two weeks and this is the first I’ve seen you?”

  Mags quietly took the water bottle from his hand so he could wrap both arms around her.

  “I missed you too, Cass.” He hugged her in return, making sure to put her gently down before letting go. He caught sight of her graphic tee—Byte Me with a photo of a floppy disc—and smiled. “I’m good. I’m not half-missing, just lost weight. Lots of stuff going on, and I’ve been busy. Coach Jodan keeps me moving. Your dad’s a task master.”

  At that, Cassie rolled her eyes and turned to Mags. “Hi, I’m Cassie.”

  “She belongs to me,” Trey called from the grill, waving his tongs in the air. And, dear God, the man was wearing an apron. He couldn’t see the writing on the front, but Stephen had a good idea it was some sarcastic, self-deprecating joke Cassie had likely bought him as a gift. Good for her.

  “I belong to no man,” Cassie retorted, but held out a hand. Mags handed him his water back before wiping her palm down her jeans and shaking.

  “Margaret Logan. And I belong to no man, either,” she said, smiling.

  Yup, these two were going to get along just fine. Stephen threw an arm around her shoulder and brought her close against his side. “But she tolerates me, when she can.”

  “Oh.” Cassie blinked, her eyes bouncing between them. “So you’re . . . the two of you are . . .”

  “Dating,” Stephen said the same time Mags said, “A couple.”

  The word couple hitched in his gut, but he kept her close. She closed the inch gap between them, pressing her breasts against him. Now, that, he liked.

  “Trey?” Cassie called out, not taking her eyes off of Stephen and Mags. “Did you know anything about this?”

  “Know anything about what? Jesus, Josiah, just come take my place a minute.” Trey, Stephen’s best friend, ditched the apron and tongs and hustled over. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “Hey, brought company. Hope that’s okay.”

  Mags gasped beside him. “You didn’t even ask if I could come? Stephen! Rude.”

  Cassie smiled and gripped Margaret’s forearm, pulling her away. “It’s fine. We always count how many people will be here, then multiply by three and assume we’re feeding that many. With this group, it’s usually not wrong. Come over here. You can meet Aileen and we’ll dish on the guys.”

  Stephen watched her walk away with Cassie, meeting their kicker, Killian’s, girlfriend and sitting down with Cassie on a lounger. They seemed to immediately hit it off, and he knew he wouldn’t need to rescue her anytime soon.

  “Dude, are you listening?”

  “Hmm?” He shook his head and glanced back at his best friend. “What?”

  “I was asking who the chick was.”

  “Not chick. Girlfriend.” Man, that sti
ll felt thick coming out of his mouth. “Margaret. Mags. She was my housekeeper. Remember me telling you about her? I think I recommended you call her.”

  “Maybe, too long ago to remember for sure. I remember now, though, that Killian mentioned telling her when you were due home. She cleans for him, too, right?”

  Stephen nodded, taking a sip of water.

  “So, you and the maid, huh?” Trey bumped shoulders. “Recent? I assume she wasn’t also in rehab.”

  He loved his friends all the time, but he especially appreciated how they didn’t pussyfoot around his alcoholism. They talked about it. They acknowledged it. They treated it as a real thing he had to deal with. And that made it seem less like some shameful mental weakness and more like an actual disease he needed help with. It made the goal surmountable.

  “No, she wasn’t in rehab, asshole. Though maybe she should consider some twelve-step program for furniture polish . . .” That made Stephen grin. “She’s just . . . good for me.” And that much was true, even without counting the accountability-partner part. She’d shown up, unpaid, to clean his house and make it welcoming for him to return home. It said a lot about her. “She moved in.”

  “She . . . what?” Trey ran a hand over his face. “Jesus, man. You just got back. Isn’t there some sort of outpatient code of conduct you’re supposed to adhere to? No major changes in your life for a year or something? I think this qualifies.”

  “She’s keeping me straight. She’s keeping me on track. She’s good for me,” he said again, because it was true and because, for reasons he didn’t want to analyze just then, it was important for him that his best friend give the blessing for this fake relationship.

  Which made it feel far from fake.

  “Well, I’d say grab a drink and come help me burn the meat, but these days I’ll be more specific. Grab a water and let’s go char some shit.” Trey slapped his shoulder and motioned toward the grill, where Josiah now wore the apron, which said Kitchen Bitch, and danced with a hot-dog-and-tong microphone, singing along to the radio.

  “Yeah. Let’s go stop that before he actually embarrasses himself.” Grinning, Stephen followed his friend to the grill.

  ***

  These women were amazing. Mags settled down with her water and listened as Aileen talked about the latest interview series she was working on, and Cassie gave her hints and suggestions.

  These were two women who, in theory, should have been at odds. A sports reporter and a woman who had spent an entire season being looked at as a physical reminder of an NFL scandal. But they seemed to click, to be friends. And it appeared as though they’d worked out some sort of understanding between them that they were both comfortable with, and neither breached.

  “Freckles!” Killian Reeves, the Bobcats’ kicker, called out to her from the lawn, where a dozen or so large blocks of wood were laid out in a sort of pattern. He was smaller than the others around them—though that was saying very little, given their present company. He was also a sporadic client of hers. Though he’d always been an extremely quiet one, polite but aloof. His only oddity had been a locked room he’d asked her not to bother with. It was hardly the weirdest request she’d received in the life of her career, so she considered him one of the good ones.

  Aileen waved in acknowledgement.

  “Freckles! Get over here and help me out! If I can’t kick Lambert’s ass, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Quiet might not be the right word for him anymore.

  Aileen grinned. “Aw, kicking ass. My favorite. Wish me luck, ladies!” She clapped her hands together, rubbed them, and jumped up to race down the deck steps and jump onto the back of the man who had summoned her. “Let’s do this!”

  “You and Aileen hit it off,” Cassie said in an offhand manner, watching the lawn.

  “I recognize her, though I doubt she knew who I was. I clean for Killian.” Or she had, until she’d quit the agency.

  Cassie took a sip of her frothy drink and moved over to the seat Aileen had vacated, so they each had their own lounger. “Those two are insanely perfect for each other. She’s so sparkly and chatty, and he’s so reserved and introverted.”

  As Cassie said so, they watched while Aileen pointed, and Killian scooted another block of wood against the already-formed line. Aileen pumped her fist in the air. He gave a whoop of excitement and spun them around, making her cling to his neck and laugh.

  “Oh, yeah,” Margaret said. “He looks like a real hermit.”

  “Well, love changes a person.” Cassie looked toward the grill, a secretive smile on her lips. “Look at Stephen. He’s so . . . healthy. I mean, he’s sort of a skeleton compared to his old self.”

  “His old self was unhealthy, and he’s not a skeleton,” Mags defended. “He’s just normal-looking now, which, among this group, is rather shocking. But he’s building muscle daily.”

  “You’re quite the champion.” Cassie reached over and rested one hand on Margaret’s forearm. “I’m so glad. He’s an amazing friend, and a good guy. He needs someone like you to keep him in line and call him on his bullshit. He won’t always be easy to put up with. But he’s going to make it worth it. He’s probably the sweetest boyfriend.”

  Biting her lip, Mags nodded and took a sip of water.

  Cassie kept watching her. “It’s just so magical, how you guys knew each other for, what, years? And then he comes back from rehab and poof, you’re an item.”

  Mags made a neutral sound and pointed to the grass. “What game is this they’re playing?”

  “Lawn dominoes. Josiah rescued the lumber from somewhere and upcycled it to make a large-scale set of dominos. That’s sort of his thing, saving the environment and keeping waste to a minimum. He did a nice job, too. They’re really pretty, if you want to check them out. Do you play dominos?”

  “I haven’t for years, but I liked the game.”

  “Any other lawn games you’re into?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why are you and Stephen lying about dating?”

  “It was his . . . shit.” Mags dropped her head and took a big gulp of air. The first test of their faux-lationship and she’d crumbled like a dry cookie. “I . . . don’t know—”

  Cassie shook her head. “If you’re about to say, I don’t know what you’re talking about, please don’t. I like you. We just met, but I really like you. Don’t ruin that by making it worse.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but Margaret nodded and took a small sip of water. So, there went that plan. No money for her business, no time off to work on her future strategies . . .

  Disappointing Stephen.

  That might be the worst part of it.

  “Wow, okay.” Cassie grasped Margaret’s wrists and felt her pulse. “When they say someone goes white with shock . . . I’ve never actually seen it happen. Stay with me, now.”

  “I’m not going to faint.” Mostly because she was still sitting down. She reached a shaky hand for her water bottle and took another sip. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  Cassie looked around them, gave a smile and wave to Trey, then leaned closer. “I’m assuming there’s a reason for whatever you’ve got going on with Stephen. He’s in the loop, right?”

  “Yeah.” Not sure how much else to say, she added, “Please, don’t—”

  “Say anything to Trey or the others? No.” Cassie patted Margaret’s knee and grabbed her drink again. “Does this have anything to do with his stint in rehab?”

  “Yes.” And that, she decided, was all she would say.

  “Then I can guess. I’ll leave it there for now. He trusts you, and I know a lot of the guys on the team trust you, by hiring you. And in the ten minutes we’ve spent together, I like you. So.” Cassie tipped her drink a little in a cheers gesture. “Let’s go play lawn games.”

  ***

  Though it killed him, Stephen chose the grilled chicken kebabs. That damn bratwurst would set him back in so many different ways. So he convinced himse
lf he loved the chicken.

  It was the biggest lie of the day, and that included that Mags was his girlfriend.

  “I’m proud of you, man.” Josiah sat beside him at the picnic table on the edge of the patio, where they could watch the lawn games commence. Cassie had dragged Margaret with her to play some corn hole. Margaret, he realized, was a patently horrific corn hole player.

  “Proud of what?” He took another bite of chicken, mixing it with a green pepper to trick his taste buds.

  “You’re making all the right choices. Hitting all the steps.” When Stephen looked at him, he shrugged. “We did some research while you were gone. Went to a few AA meetings in preparation. We scoped them out so you know where you can go safely.”

  “I need you on the field,” Trey added, sitting down with his own plate piled with potato salad, a cheeseburger and a hot dog. Stephen’s mouth watered at the sight. “I mean, your ugly ass is pretty easy to have around off the field, too, but the team needs you. So we’re gonna do what we can to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

  “I got the feeling that was a big part of the plan this year from the front-office staff. Something’s brewing.” He took another bite, chewed, then pumped his fist quietly when Mags hit her target in the lawn game. “Something’s up. A big trade, maybe, or a shake-up in the coaching staff. I don’t know, but they made it sound like it was imperative that I not fuck up again because they can only handle so much drama each season. Which means drama’s coming.”

  “That’s true every year. But you won’t fuck up. Plus,” Josiah added with a grin, “you’ve got an extra incentive to keep it on point. I like Mags.”

  “Barely met her, but Cassie flashed me a thumbs-up earlier, so you’ve got our vote.” Trey bumped water bottles with him. “Nice work.”

  He could tell them the truth, and they’d support his choice. Josiah might give him shit, wondering why he hadn’t asked him to move in for a few weeks to keep him honest. Trey would have offered to let him stay with him and Cassie—as Cassie seemed to have unofficially moved into his house. And while he appreciated their unwavering support, it was difficult to explain. He just needed to separate his sobriety from his job, even from his teammates.