Completing the Pass Page 8

  Noting Herb was talking quietly with one of the assistant coaches, Josh wandered over to where Carri stood. Just as he got there, he watched Matt reach out and tug a piece of her short black hair playfully. Carri laughed again, then reciprocated with one of Matt’s beloved dreads.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, fighting back the desire to scowl at the defensive lineman. “Trading hair tips?”

  “Hardly,” Carri said. “I’d die if my hair were this thick. I don’t know how you get your helmet on over all that hair.”

  Matt gave her a bright grin. “Honey, it’s just a little extra padding. Keeps my head safe.”

  She smiled at that.

  “Remember that time one of your dreads got ripped out during a play?” Josh asked.

  Both Matt and Carri turned to look at him with confused expressions.

  That? That was your brilliant segue into getting Carri away from him?

  “Uh, you know . . . because it was funny,” he added, wanting to kick himself. “Right. Carri, I think your dad wanted you.”

  “Oh, of course.” She held out a hand for Matt and shook. “It was nice to meet you. Good luck this season with, you know, hitting people and stuff.”

  He snorted. “You know nothing about the game, do you?”

  “Next to nothing, yeah.” She lifted a shoulder in a way that told them both she’d heard it before—she had, Josh had made fun of her for it—and didn’t care to remedy the situation. “But now I know a few more Bobcats, so I’ll be paying attention to your record.”

  “What we like to hear. See ya around, Carrington.” With a wink, Matt left them and Josh took her elbow to guide her away.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Talking with one of the coaches. He’s fine.” Josh pulled her to a corner of the tent and stopped. “Are you hitting on Matt?”

  “Of course I was. And every other guy who came by me today. Then there was that cute assistant in the polo, I hit on her, too.” Carri rolled her eyes, and he had the urge to push her out of the tent and give her something real to roll her eyes at. Something like kissing her senseless. “No, I wasn’t hitting on anyone. I was making conversation. You must have heard of it. It’s this thing two people do when they’re being polite with each other and getting along. Something we haven’t done since we were in the womb.”

  He started to open his mouth when Herb walked over, Coach Barnes beside him.

  “Here’s my son!” Herb boomed. Carri cringed but Josh just kept his expression neutral. “I’ve been telling your coach about your achievements from high school.”

  He bit back a groan. “Right, well, I’m sure Coach Barnes has people he needs to get to, so—”

  “You’re my project, Leeman,” Barnes interrupted, looking perfectly happy to sit there all day and listen to stories of his youth. “I thought your dad was gone.”

  “He’s my father,” Carri said quickly, stepping between them to wrap her arms around one of her father’s, as if she could anchor him to her side and keep him from drifting away and into any more trouble. “We’re family friends of Josh’s.”

  “He and my daughter are an item,” Herb said proudly. “They’re dating, but they like to act like they’re not.”

  Carri’s face froze in place, but Josh simply smiled and nodded. “Sure are. So, Herb, you met everyone you needed to meet?”

  “I did, I did.” Looking satisfied, he nodded and held up his program, partially knocking his baseball cap askew as he did so. “Got lots of signatures. Some of these fellows are pretty young. Watch yourself.”

  “Will do, sir. I’m going to walk them toward the parking lot,” he told Coach Barnes, who was watching the encounter with eyes that missed nothing. When his coach nodded, he walked beside Carri and steered them out of the tent.

  “What is wrong with you?” she hissed as they walked toward the parking lot. “Why would you lie to your coach?”

  “Coach Barnes isn’t an idiot, he knew something was up. Just trying to smooth over an awkward situation. I didn’t think you wanted your dad to get upset,” he said under his breath. Herb seemed to be tuning them out entirely, taking in the surrounding buildings of the camp facility instead.

  “And when he goes home and tells Mom we’re dating?”

  “He won’t. Or if he does, your mom will just think he’s tired or confused. Calm down.”

  They reached Herb’s car, which Carri had clearly driven. After she waited for Herb to climb in the passenger seat and had turned on the AC, she stepped back out. “I’ll be a second, Dad.”

  He waved her off and started fiddling with the radio.

  She closed the door and faced Josh. “We’re not going to start dating just to make my dad happy.”

  “Didn’t say we were,” Josh agreed, though the more he thought about it, the less he had a problem with the idea. What was it about her that suddenly pressed every button he had in a fantastic sort-of-sexual way, rather than an annoying child-friend way? What was it that suddenly reached around and grabbed his throat, cutting off the air to his brain?

  This was Carri, for God’s sake. Carrington Gray. The girl he’d run around his backyard naked with when they weren’t even two yet. The girl he’d shared naps with in his crib when the moms had gotten together. The girl who had left him in the dust in middle school, claiming they’d grown apart, that he wasn’t even worthy to hang out with and pick on. Who had scorned every opportunity the moms had taken to throw them together . . .

  And now? Now he suddenly had the brilliant idea that they’d make a good couple? He was crazy. Insane, even.

  Her tongue moved out to lick at her lips, and he realized crazy wasn’t that far off.

  Chapter Eight

  Josh stared at her—or more specifically, her mouth—for so long Carri shifted back a step. “Josh?”

  “What’s wrong with dating me?” he asked, eyes still tracking her lips.

  “I . . . We don’t get along.”

  “Besides that?”

  Besides getting along? Wasn’t that, like, the basis for dating? The foundation for everything that came next? “I don’t live here.”

  “You’re here currently. I’m here currently. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is . . . we don’t like each other.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  That cryptic answer made her blink. “I’m not doing something because my mother wants me to.”

  “Neither am I,” he agreed.

  “Okay, so we’re on the same page.” She let out a breath of relief.

  “No,” he said slowly. “Unless this is the same page you’re on.”

  He leaned down and kissed her. Oh God, Josh Leeman was kissing her, and she wasn’t stopping him. His hands gripped her arms lightly, but not so tight she couldn’t pull away. Why wasn’t she pulling away?

  The kiss was drugging almost, holding her in place on its own merits. His lips were warm and firm over hers, and she leaned into them, smelling the grass from the field and the hot air mingling on his skin until—

  Honk!

  She jumped, jarring her mouth hard against his. He cursed and pulled away, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away smeared with blood.

  “Oh my God.” She felt her bottom lip starting to swell, and she touched gingerly at it.

  “Just a cut. I think,” he added, probing at his own bottom lip, which was still bleeding around his teeth. “What the hell was that?”

  Her father leaned out his window. “Let’s go, Maeve! I’ve got a three P.M. tee time!”

  With a sigh, Carri reached for her door handle. “I don’t know what . . . what that was.”

  “That was your dad. You remember him.” When she glared at him, Josh shrugged. “Sorry. Low-hanging fruit.”

  She had an opinion of what he could do
with his low hangers.

  He stepped toward her, and she flattened against the car. “It was a kiss. I’m pretty sure you’ve experienced one of those before. Maybe not one as good as that . . .”

  Herb honked the horn again. Her life was turning into a Three Stooges comedy. “You just . . . keep your lips away from mine.”

  Josh looked at her as if he wanted to pick holes in that statement, but he wisely kept his swollen mouth shut. Or as shut as he could without hurting his bottom lip.

  She wanted to say more—to ask more, to ask why—but her dad yelled at her to get in the car, and she wasn’t willing to risk another scene to deal with it. “Be safe on the field.”

  He nodded.

  “And have fun putting in your mouth guard.” With that final—admittedly weak—parting shot, she slid in the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking spot.

  ***

  Sitting on the couch later that evening, Carri propped her feet up on the coffee table in an imitation of her father’s posture.

  “Really, Carrington, can you avoid scuffing up my table while you’re here?” Maeve asked as she walked in carrying three bowls of ice cream. She handed the largest one to Herb, who mumbled something without taking his eyes off the screen. She handed the next to Carri, then sat between them on the couch.

  Carri eyed the scarred wood of the table, where a decade or more of wear had taken the shine down to a dull, scraped nub. “Uh, I think you’re past that point, Mom.”

  Maeve simply huffed, looked for the remote, then gave up when she saw it clutched in Herb’s hands. “Did you have a good day with your father, dear?”

  “Yup, we sure did.” She shoveled a large mouthful of ice cream in so she wouldn’t have to say more.

  “What did you two do?” Maeve asked predictably.

  Carri simply shrugged, shook her head, pointed to her mouth and kept quiet.

  “We went to training camp,” Herb said without looking over.

  Great. He picked now to be in the moment. When Maeve’s head swiveled her way, Carri gave her a weak smile and swallowed.

  “We went to training camp today.”

  “Carrington, I asked you specifically not to take your father anywhere,” Maeve hissed.

  “I’m not a child, Maeve, so don’t treat me like one,” her father snapped, standing suddenly. He walked into the kitchen without another word.

  Carri blew out a breath. “He asked, and he was having a good day. I didn’t want to say yes, but I also didn’t want to say no. He wanted to see Josh. We saw Josh. We came home, and it was pretty uneventful.” Except for the part where Josh kissed me senseless and then confused the hell out of me about it. That part was an event. But I’m not telling you any of that. Keeping secrets, just like when I was a teenager.

  Maeve watched her a moment, taking another small bite of ice cream. “I don’t like it.”

  “I didn’t really like it, either, until we got there. But he wore a hat, we sat in the shade, and he didn’t overtax himself. He even got to talk to a few of the coaches.” She leaned in closer. “Mom, he had a good day. A really good day. I don’t know how many of these good days I’ll have left with him. I was careful, I was cautious, and I kept my eye on him. It was fine. Please don’t be angry with us.”

  “Angry? No.” Her mother rested back on the couch, lashes fluttering a little. Under the harsh lighting of the family room, Carri could see dark smudges underneath her mother’s eyes. And she looked a little pale, now that she’d removed her makeup from work.

  “Mom? Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m fine, fine.” Waving that off, Maeve kept her eyes closed and her head tilted back. From the kitchen, they heard Herb puttering around, opening the refrigerator and closing it again. “It’s exhausting, I have to say. Working all day, then coming home and being on my toes again—metaphorically speaking—to keep your father in line.”

  “When’s the help coming?” Carri asked, touching on the subject both she and her mother studiously avoided when possible.

  “I don’t know.” Her mother sighed and shook her head, propping her own feet up on the table exactly as she’d scolded her daughter for not minutes earlier.

  Much as Carri wanted to spend as many good days with her father as she could, she also had a life back in Utah. A friend and employee holding down the fort who wasn’t getting any more patient about being left holding the bag of seven filled rental houses. And moving back in with her parents, even temporarily, made Carri feel a little juvenile.

  Right or wrong, she knew she needed to get out.

  “Let me help, Mom. While you’re at work and Dad’s resting, I can be calling the place and figuring out what the holdup is. Sorting out paperwork, filling out what I can, printing forms, consulting with a lawyer, whatever. Let me help.”

  “How did Joshua look?” Maeve asked, changing the subject firmly.

  “He looked . . . good,” Carri admitted. She knew nothing of football, but he’d definitely looked solid to her. Much that she knew. “Looked ready for a new season of sitting on the bench.”

  “He’s paid well to sit, so I doubt he argues with it.”

  “Probably not,” Carri admitted. “He . . . I don’t know. Something’s up.”

  “Be a friend to him, Carrington,” her mother suggested. “You were always such good friends.”

  Carri snorted. “We hated each other almost from birth. Remember my seventh birthday party when he knife-handed my cake and it landed all over my party dress? Blue icing does not come out of white organza.”

  Maeve grimaced without opening her eyes. “It would make your father so happy to see you two getting along. Would make me so happy . . .”

  “Mom, we’re not dating to make everyone else happy.”

  “What if we know what would make you happy? You’re cooped up with your father too much. You should go out. Call some of your high school friends to go have cocktails or whatever you people do these days.”

  She didn’t really have many friends from high school, and none that she regularly kept in contact with. When she’d left Santa Fe, she basically cut all ties. So she just sighed. “Sure, Mom.”

  Why was it, when she pictured who she’d rather be spending the rest of her time in Santa Fe with, the only face that floated through her mind was Joshua’s?

  ***

  “Josh, tell me, with Trey’s injury, are you ready to step into his footsteps and lead the team to an early jumpstart on the season?”

  Josh stared at the fake reporter sitting in front of him at the conference table. “Uh . . . I mean, Trey’s a hard act to follow . . . not that I’m following. I’ll be leading. Sorry. And not that he won’t return. He will, of course. He’ll be back soon. But—”

  “Nope.” Simon Poehler, the Bobcats PR man, banged a palm down on the table, shaking their fake reporter . . . who just happened to be a life-sized cardboard cutout of Josiah Walker, Bobcats running back, folded in half and seated in a chair. “You don’t apologize when you are doing an interview. You say what you mean the first time. And if you don’t say what you mean the first time, you roll with it. And you don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “What did I promise?” Josh asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “You promised Trey would be back to start the season. You can’t know that.”

  “It’s a sprained ankle.” Josh wanted to heave the packet of press information sitting in front of him against the nearest wall.

  “The odds are good he’ll return, yes,” Simon said, eyeing him like a bug under a microscope. “But what if he doesn’t? What if he trips, falls, and tears his Achilles heel during PT? Then, what?”

  “Then . . .”

  “Then your mouth wrote a check the Bobcats organization can’t cash. Look . . .” Simon leaned in, and his eyes lost a little of the hard edge t
o them. “You need to relax. When you’re tense, you say things you don’t mean. Everyone does. Nerves block the filter our mouths so desperately need.”

  Josh smiled a little at that.

  “But one way or another, you’ve got to get this right.”

  Josh stared at the smiling, flat face of Josiah. “I’m not cut out for this.”

  “Trey Owens could have handled questions like this in his sleep.” Looking disgusted, Simon sat back and adjusted his tie. For as casual as the rest of the Bobcats staff had dressed during training camp, it appeared as though Simon Poehler was going to dress up that much more. He was one of the only men Josh had seen at the home office who wore a suit and tie to work on a daily basis. “And Trey was from Minnesota. The middle of nowhere. I trained him. I can train you.”

  “I’m not Trey Owens,” Josh said quietly.

  “No, you’re not.” Simon stood suddenly. “Study the packet. We’ll try again tomorrow.” He tapped the back of Josiah’s 2-D head before leaving the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

  Josh stood, tapping the edge of the file against the table as he walked around it. Before he left, he kicked at the seat holding Josiah’s cardboard cutout. The flat man slid to the floor under the table.

  “Sorry, man,” Josh muttered, closing the door behind him. Five steps down the hall toward his room, his cell phone rang. Hoping it was something to take his mind off his apparent failures as a human and a quarterback, he answered quickly.

  “Josh, my sleeper cell. How’s training camp?”

  His agent, Sawyer Grade. Not quite the distraction he’d hoped for, but he’d take it. “Hey, Sawyer. Training camp is . . . training camp.”

  “Working ya hard, right? That’s always good.”

  “It’s not my muscles that are being tested,” he said, giving a half wave as he passed by someone’s room whose door was propped open. Music poured out into the hallway, and someone was inside, showing off their moves to blow off steam. “I’m struggling with this whole concept of being a talking head.”