Game On (3 page)

“This new guy, Carl, you hired has been a pleasure to work with—even it has all been by email,” Roscoe was saying, bringing Shane out of his reverie.

Hank chuckled and stepped aside to reveal a young woman stacking papers on the conference table.

“It’s
Carly
and we enjoy working with her, too,” Hank said with a smile.

“Wow, he’s a she.” Roscoe turned on the charm as he reached across the table to shake hands. Shane would have rolled his eyes at Roscoe, but he was transfixed by the woman in front of him. She lifted her head and their eyes met. Almost as if he had conjured her up in his mind, Dorothy stood before him. Her once wild hair was pulled up in some fancy knot. A conservative pale gray pantsuit and pink blouse covered up the soft glowing skin he remembered. Shane’s pulse rate shot up as her cool blue eyes stared into his. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a look of wariness pass through them before she quickly looked at Roscoe and smiled.
Don’t smile at him! The guy’s happily married with twin toddlers at home!

“Shane Devlin, this is my assistant, Carly March,” Hank said. He placed his hand on Carly’s shoulder to propel her forward.

Shane waited to see if she would own up to having met him before. When she didn’t, he raised an eyebrow at her. She lifted up her chin, offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

Her soft, precise speaking voice unnerved him. Two can play at this game—whatever it was. Taking her hand in his, he brushed his thumb over her delicate wrist. She barely flinched before pulling her hand away quickly.

“Likewise
, Miss March.
” He carefully enunciated her name.

They took their seats around the conference table, and for the next hour or so Shane barely heard a word as the GM and Roscoe went over the final details of his contract. Members of the coaching and training staff came by for introductions, but Shane couldn’t remember a single name or face. His mind was racing as he stared across the room trying to figure out what Dorothy was up to. Or Carly. Or whatever the hell her name was. She’d known who he was all along.
Christ, he’d been nuzzling her neck!
He’d spent the last several days in a constant state of sexual frustration, ready to hunt down a certain fashion designer who’d ruined the evening.
Shane should have felt relieved that he’d managed to avoid breaking a fundamental rule he had: don’t screw with the staff within the team’s organization. He’d learned that one the hard way.

But he wasn’t relieved. The sexual tension was still there, sitting between them in the room like a giant linebacker. It was all Shane could do not to break out in a sweat. History was
not
going to repeat itself. He’d been falsely accused of sexually harassing the daughter of the San Diego Chargers’ owner, when the truth was, it was she who’d been harassing
him
. In her capacity as the team’s travel coordinator, she’d constantly made sure her room adjoined to his when the team stayed in a hotel the night before each game. When Shane had rebuffed her advances enough times, she cried foul, claiming he’d been doing the harassing. The problem was, he didn’t feel a breath of the attraction to her that he felt for Dorothy. If she came on to him, he wasn’t so sure he could resist.

“I think that does it,” Hank was saying. “Asia Dupree, our media relations director, suffered a little mishap on the ski slopes last week and tore her ACL. Despite that, she’s put together a fairly intensive media campaign to help turn you into a household name here in the Baltimore area.”

“Ahh, damage control for my image.” Shane leaned back in his chair defensively.

“Are you suggesting your image couldn’t use a little public relations help?” Hank challenged.

Roscoe answered before Shane could damage his image further. “He’s suggesting nothing of the kind,” his agent said as the heel of his shoe made contact with Shane’s shin beneath the table.

“Good,” the GM replied, leaning back in his chair, one ankle propped over the other knee. He peered over steepled fingers at Shane. “We take our responsibilities for encouraging proper values in the community very seriously. Every member of the Blaze family is expected to adhere to a certain standard of conduct both on
and
off the field. You’ve had some very negative publicity with your off-the-field antics lately. You also have a reputation of bucking the team’s system when it comes to dress codes and curfews. Everyone on this team follows our rules, Devlin. No exceptions.”

Shane resisted the urge to squirm in his chair, instead maintaining an insolent slouch. He’d spent years cultivating his renegade reputation. Most of it was an act; a shield to keep people from getting too close. Best of all, his so-called bad behavior helped to wipe a bit of the sheen off the Devlin name. Shane meant to bring down his father any way he could.

Hank lectured on: “As a team, we believe we have everything in place to win the Super Bowl this season. Gabe Harrelson’s little honeymoon mishap may have been unexpected, but there are still a few months until the season starts. Time enough for you to learn our system and lead us where we need to go. You’re smart. You’re talented. And you’re here because everyone in this organization believes you can do the job. Leave the bad-ass behavior on the West Coast and come here to play and we’ll be fine. Are we clear with this?”

“Well, of course,” Roscoe said, again not giving Shane a chance to speak. “Gabe Harrelson was well liked by folks in the area. Shane wants to do everything he can to earn the respect of all the Blaze fans, too.” Roscoe finished his sappy speech by shooting Carly his Boy Scout grin, which was beginning to piss Shane off.

“Excellent,” Hank said, placing his hands firmly on the table in front of him. “Asia will put the wheels in motion. While she’s recovering, Carly here will accompany you on the press tour around town.” With that declaration, Hank Osbourne stood, putting an end to the meeting.

Shane was still reeling over the fact that not only was he going to have to pander to the media, he’d be doing it with Dorothy by his side. Not a good scenario. Sure his image wasn’t the most pristine. He’d been wild in his younger days. But lately, he’d managed to stay out of trouble, just not out of the tabloids. Thanks to his celebrity, every move he made, every relationship he had, was chronicled at the supermarket checkout lanes, further fueling his bad-boy image. He hadn’t done much to refute that image. It hadn’t mattered to him what people thought.

Until now.

He wanted to tell Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz exactly where they could shove their image makeover; he would do his job as the team’s quarterback, and they could leave his moral compass the hell alone.

But they had him where they wanted him. Shane knew if he wanted to play football, he’d be expected to adhere to the prescribed “values.” Otherwise, he was screwed. He needed the Blaze as much as they needed him.

Roscoe quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything. They’d known each other too long for Shane not to know what he was thinking. He’d get the speech about being reckless and disrespectful later. He’d heard it so often, he could probably give the speech to himself. Still, he was peeved and he needed some breathing room.

“Well, I guess that covers it,” Roscoe said, clearly wanting to get out of the room before someone on the Blaze changed his mind about Shane.

They all stood to file out of the conference room. Carly hung back to gather her documents. Slender fingers stacked and restacked them into a neat pile. Shane leaned in as he passed her and murmured, “We’ll catch up later to discuss my world tour,
Dorothy
.”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought she flinched as he brushed by her.
Good.

* * *

Carly let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d
been holding and quickly collected her papers.
That didn’t go well at all!
She was still mortified by her near encounter with Shane in Cabo. It didn’t look like he was going to go easy on her, either. She’d wanted to come clean to him before the meeting, but there hadn’t been time. It would have been awkward to do it during the meeting. Sure, maybe she and Shane would have laughed about it, but Hank? Probably not. She needed to apologize to Shane and clear the air. He probably thought she was some crazy tease. Not that she’d blame him. Maybe she could catch him before he got to the training wing.

As she hurried through the door, she collided with a broad, muscular chest. Strong arms enfolded her in a tight hug and she let out a squeal.

“Hey, gorgeous. Where’s the fire?”

“You mean the fire
works
!” She buried her face against his fleece Blaze sweatshirt, her body beginning to relax after the meeting she’d been dreading for two days.

Two strong fingers brought her chin up and she looked into the smiling green eyes of the Blaze head coach, Matt Richardson. A former NFL player, Matt was tall and well built. His sandy brown hair was damp from the rain. He was dressed in his “uniform” of white athletic shoes, khaki pants, and a gray sweatshirt. The trademark smile he greeted Carly with had, at one time, endorsed everything from soup to athlete’s foot cream.

“I take it my new quarterback was a bit of a hothead?” Matt released her, taking a step back to get a better look at her. “I hope that’s sunburn making you so red and not Devlin’s bad attitude.”

“No, he was fine. I’m sure we’ll have no problem working together.” At least she hoped there wouldn’t be a problem.

“Good.” Matt pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Because if he gives you any trouble, he’ll have to answer to me.” He gave her arms a gentle squeeze before releasing her fully.

“Can you still get away this afternoon?” he asked softly.

She nodded.

“Great. I’d better get over to the training facility and meet our new addition. I’ve got some ground rules I want to lay down as well.” He walked toward the conference room door, but before leaving, he lifted his hand to gently brush her cheek. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I feel really bad Asia’s injury cut into your trip. You needed the rest.”

“I’m fine.” She tried to infuse as much reassurance into her voice as she could.

“All right then. I want to hear all about Mexico over dinner. Deal?” he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

“It’s a date,” she replied with a smile, knowing full well she wasn’t going to tell him
all
that went on in Cabo.

Sighing, she picked up the last of the paperwork. She’d barely made it out of the conference room before colliding with another hard body. This time, she looked up into the stormy eyes of Shane Devlin.

“Shane, Coach is on his way to the training facility to meet with you.” She took a step back, clutching her paperwork to her chest.

“Yeah, I forgot my umbrella. It belongs to the car rental company and I wouldn’t want to read in the tabloids I’ve taken to petty theft.” Efficiently using his large body, he maneuvered her back into the conference room, quietly closing the door behind them.

She rolled her eyes at him as he circled the table to retrieve the umbrella from the floor beside his chair. Laying her papers back on the table, she took a deep, fortifying breath. It was time to clear the air.

“As long as we have a moment of privacy,” she began, “I want to apologize for the other night in Cabo. I . . .”

“Save it, Dorothy. I caught the tender moment between you and the coach. Your friend the wedding planner did us both a favor back there in Mexico.” He stood inches from her. “What’s the matter? The coach’s wife is recovering from her cancer, so you figured before he dumped you, you’d make the moves on the future quarterback? Is that how it went?”

He was so close she could see the black rings around his gray irises. His eyes were sparkling with anger. Confused, Carly tried to gather her breath.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” She braced her hands on the table, hating the way his menacing stance affected her.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He stepped even closer. “Chicks like you are all over this league. Playing hard to get, always trying to find the best deal for themselves. Well, news flash, honey. I’m not playing. If the coach wants to dip his stick into you, that’s his business, not mine.”

What?
She was no longer confused; she was incensed.

“That’s disgusting!” She reached up to push him away, but he was already at the door.

“Save it, sweetheart. What you do is your business. Just don’t let me hear any rumors about you and me in Cabo because
nothing
happened. Thank God! You try to say something did and I’ll rat you and the coach out to the Wizard of Oz in a heartbeat.”

He stormed out of the conference room before she could get a word in. Standing there with her mouth gaping open, her hands once again braced on the table, she was unsure whether to laugh or cry. Carly had had worse things said about her. The press—and people she thought she trusted—had certainly bested Shane Devlin’s accusations. But that didn’t mean his words didn’t hurt.

Hank’s secretary stuck her head in the room, startling her out of her shock.

“Gabe Harrelson’s wife is on the phone again. She’s not happy Gabe’s signing bonus is revoked because of his fall. Hank asked if you could reason with her.”

Great. Now she had two irrational people to deal with.

Three

It was still drizzling several hours later when
Shane walked from the practice facility back to the main office complex of the Blaze. Earlier, he’d managed to endure the press conference, followed by a meet and greet with trainers and coaches who hadn’t been paraded through the conference room that morning. Fortunately, Roscoe had taken off shortly after the media session. But not without a lecture.

“I know it’s asking a lot, but try to play nice, Shane,” Roscoe had chided him. “Smile for the media and suck it up. And, Hank’s assistant is off-limits, if you know what’s good for you.”

There was no way Roscoe could have picked up on the sexual tension between Shane and Carly. It was just typical Roscoe, practicing damage control. But Shane knew enough to steer clear of her.

“Don’t worry, I learned a valuable lesson in San Diego,” Shane said. Roscoe just grunted, slapping Shane on the back before heading to New York.

Locating his locker, he unpacked the few things he’d brought with him on the plane. A three-day mini-camp began in the morning, and he’d finally get an opportunity to let his arm do his talking. Shane was always more comfortable dealing with adversity on the field than off.

The drizzle cooled him off as he walked. Next on his schedule was a private meeting with Coach Richardson. Something he was not excited about. Up until this morning, Shane had been looking forward to playing for the man. Richardson had been a pro-bowl player in his day and had evolved into a top-notch coach, one who was known and respected for his fairness and integrity. That image was destroyed this morning.

The guy was married to a woman with cancer, for Chrissakes.
Shane shook his head in disgust.

The same disease that had taken Shane’s mother’s life some twenty years ago. Thinking of the coach’s three children, he grew angrier. That anger certainly had nothing to do with the fact that the coach’s hands had been all over Carly. No, he was upset that both Carly and Coach Richardson had somehow disappointed him.

Shane was someone who expected very little from people. Most people betray one another. It was a fact of life he’d grown up learning the hard way. It was the reason he didn’t let anyone close to him. Let them in, and they’d just screw you over later on. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into the particular reasons for his disappointment with the coach and Carly, however. That would only lead him to admit to feelings he didn’t want to feel. He needed to forget about the Blaze’s sexy siren and concentrate on learning the team’s system so he could play football.

Stepping into the main office building, he combed his fingers through his hair, trying to dry it. Not knowing where the coaches’ suite was located, he stopped to ask at the security office just inside the front doors.

“Shane Devlin, as I live and breathe,” a voice called from the back of the office.

Shane looked up to see a shiny-headed African American man striding across the office, smiling with his hand extended in greeting.

“Donny Carter?” Shane smiled his first real smile in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

The two men clasped hands and then leaned in to tap each other on the back.

“Been here for a year now. You’re looking at the head of security. So watch your ass!” Donovan teased.

Donovan Carter grew up in the same small Pennsylvania college town as Shane. Donovan’s father had been the chief of police back then. Chief Carter probably had done the most of any adult to keep Shane from ending up in jail—or dead. In return, Shane let little Donny shadow him around the football field, picking up all the right moves to earn a commission to the Naval Academy as a tailback on its football team. His senior year, Donovan blew out his knee in a game against Michigan, ending his dreams of playing in the NFL.

“I told you I’d make it to the pros somehow.” Donovan smiled as he leaned his hip against the desk behind him.

“What were you doing before this?” Shane was a little ashamed that he had lost touch with Donny over the years. But then again, Shane had put much of his past behind him.

“Oh, I did my stint in the Marines, working for Naval Intelligence. And before you say anything, I’ve heard all the jokes about me not having enough intelligence for the job.” He put his hands up and laughed.

“How are your parents?” Shane propped a shoulder up against the wall, relaxing for the first time that day.

“Mama’s good. She’s already called this morning. It’s all over ESPN about you signing with the Blaze. She’s sending a box of cookies later this week. She made me promise to share.”

“I always knew I loved your mama. How about your dad?”

Donovan’s smile dimmed a bit. “Oh, he passed a few years ago. He had a heart attack in his sleep. Mama was just glad he died peacefully and not by a bullet.”

Shane felt his chest tighten as his shame grew. Donovan and his family had been a lifeline for him while growing up, and Shane hadn’t even bothered to keep up with them after going on to college. He should have. But that was his father’s hometown now. Not Shane’s. He didn’t
want
to know what was going on there.

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded hollow, even to Shane.

“Hey, he’s in a better place.” Donovan jumped off the desk, quickly changing the subject. “You got a place to stay? I’ve got a two-bedroom condo I just bought down in the warehouse district on Federal Hill. You’re welcome to crash there ’til you find some place.”

“Thanks, man, but I think the brass wants to keep an eye on me. They’ve leased me a place in some gated community a few miles from here. I’m sure it’s a good distance from any decent nightlife.”

“Yeah, that may be a little tame for a player like you, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, right?” Donovan teased.

They both agreed to catch up over dinner and a few beers at the end of the day. Donovan pointed him toward the coaches’ suites in the other wing of the building. Shane made his way to his meeting with Coach Richardson feeling a little better about his day.

The feeling was short-lived, however.

“Coach Richardson had some pressing commitments outside the office this afternoon, but he’d like you to meet him at his house,” the coach’s secretary told him. “It’s only about ten miles from here, hon. Here’s the address. Just plug it into the GPS in your rental car and you should find it without a problem. The guard at the gate knows Coach is expecting you.”

Shane could only imagine what the coach’s pressing commitment was this afternoon. Getting down and dirty with the GM’s assistant. His gut clenched again at the thought. He was just about to ask if he could reschedule the meeting for the next morning, when a young woman he’d seen hovering outside the conference room earlier in the day raced into the office.

“Amy, what’ve you got there?” the coach’s secretary asked.

“Has Coach left for the day?” Nearly out of breath, she peeked into the coach’s darkened office.

“Yeah, hon, he has.”

Amy swore, then colored brightly as she saw Shane standing there. She turned back to the coach’s secretary.

“Carly left these forms and she needs to review them and send them off to the commissioner’s office first thing in the morning. I was hoping Coach could give them to her. I know they’re getting together tonight.”

Jeez, did everyone on the team know they were having an affair?

“No problem.” She plucked the envelope from Amy’s hand and handed it over to Shane. “Shane is headed to Coach’s house. He’ll take it.”

Was she kidding? Take something for the coach’s girlfriend to his house? Where his wife and kids lived?

Shane was about to tell them both what they could do with their envelope when his agent’s parting words from earlier echoed in his head: Play nice.
Right
.

These people were just a means to an end, Shane reminded himself. So what if they weren’t who he desperately wanted them to be. Nobody ever was. Wasn’t that the main reason he kept to himself and trusted no one? The only thing he should be focused on was playing every game and breaking every one of his deadbeat dad’s records.

Flashing both women his most charming Devlin grin, he took the envelope and headed for what would certainly be an interesting encounter. On his way out, Shane stopped at Donovan’s office and left him a note rescheduling dinner for the next night. There was no telling what was waiting for him at Coach’s house.

Twenty minutes later, Shane pulled into a long driveway that wound back behind a massive stone home. The plush front lawn was meticulously manicured, lovingly kept up as if the Blaze were going to play their opening game on it. He pulled back behind the house, toward the three-car garage. A carriage house stood farther back, with a basketball court and a swimming pool beyond that. The Richardsons lacked for nothing, it appeared. Shane parked the car in the roundabout in front of the garage. One of its doors stood open, revealing a veritable sporting goods store: bikes, scooters, Rollerblades, hockey sticks, and every type of ball imaginable were strewn across the floor.

The windshield wipers squeaked to a halt as Shane turned off the ignition. Getting out of the car, he noticed a large, dark-haired woman, dressed in jeans and a chamois button-down shirt, standing at the trash cans just inside the garage. Her hands went to her hips as she greeted Shane with a smile that seemed to encompass her entire face.

“You must be the new guy,” she called out. “Come on in out of the rain. Your California blood can’t be used to this cold.” She waved him through to a door in the back of the garage. Shane followed her into the garage, not bothering to dispute her assumption he was Californian by birth. What did he care what these people thought of him. He just wanted to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible.

“I’m Penny, the housekeeper,” she prattled on, her back to him as she led the way. “Coach said to expect you. He and his family always like to welcome the new players their first night in town. The Richardsons are good people.”

He thought Penny might be singing a different tune were she aware of the coach’s fling with the GM’s assistant. But, Shane figured it wasn’t his place to burst that bubble. They entered the house through the mudroom. A row of floor-to-ceiling cubbies similar to those in the training facility were lined up along one wall. Each contained assorted jackets, more sporting equipment, backpacks, and shoes. Stepping over a pile of hastily discarded shoes scattered about the doorway, he carefully dodged two umbrellas drip-drying on the floor.

The conflicting aromas of garlic and freshly baked brownies greeted Shane when they stepped into the kitchen. The room was massive but homey, richly adorned with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, and warm walnut cabinets. CNN droned on a flat-screen TV mounted above a gas fireplace, lit to ward off the chill brought on by the spring rain. A bulky sofa and two chairs took up the area in front of the fireplace, while a large farmhouse table occupied the spot in front of a huge picture window. Three teenage girls were spread out at the table, a laptop and notebooks covering its surface. They giggled as Shane walked in.

“Ignore the coven over there,” Penny said, her tone admonishing the girls. “They’re supposed to be working on a presentation for school.”

Penny motioned for him to have a seat on one of the stools parked along the island at the kitchen’s center.

“Coach will be here any minute. He just ran out to pick up some softball cleats for his youngest,” Penny said.

Shane suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the coach’s house, surrounded by his family. He knew what the coach was doing and he didn’t think it had anything to do with cleats for his kid. He remained standing in hopes of making a quick exit as Penny set a plate of brownies on the counter, still smiling at him. She took another plate over to the table where the girls were seated.

“Where’d Emma run off to?” Penny asked.

“She’s in the other room printing,” one girl managed to get out before shoving an entire brownie in her mouth.

The garage door opened as Penny headed for the back stairs. “Shane, I’ll be right down. I’m going to check to see if Lisa is awake. I know she wants to meet you.”

Shane could feel his palms begin to sweat. He had to get out of there. He had no intention of meeting the coach’s wife. The warm domesticity of this house was suffocating him. With the exception of his buddy Roscoe’s house, Shane didn’t do the family thing. It was all too unnatural for him.

He turned toward what he thought was the back door, only to collide with a teenage girl—Emma, he assumed. Papers she’d been holding went flying across the floor and she quickly bent down to retrieve them. Wavy strawberry blond hair hid her face as long, slender fingers efficiently snapped the papers off the floor. He was reminded of Carly and her long fingers passing over her reams of paperwork earlier that morning. God, he had to get out of there! He felt as if the pocket was closing in around him.

“We’re hooooome!” a young girl’s voice sang out.

Emma looked up at the same time. Shane felt as if he’d been blindsided and thrown to the turf for a loss. Blue eyes eerily similar to the ones that captivated him in Cabo San Lucas stared at him. A soft, shy smile adorned a face with a familiar smattering of freckles across her nose.

“Sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

Shane felt the air leave his lungs as they both found their feet.

“Look, Em,” the younger girl cried. “Daddy got my ruby red cleats! Aren’t they the bomb?” A pixie version of the coach danced around the kitchen, bright green eyes shining as her ponytail flounced behind her.

“Molly, your uniform is bright orange. Have you no fashion sense at all?” Emma practically wailed at her sister.

“Who cares! I like ’em. I’m going to go show Mom. I know she’ll love ’em.” Molly bolted for the stairs, grabbing a brownie as she went.

“Dad, how could you? She’ll be a fashion don’t!” Exasperation adorning her face, Emma stood facing her father.

Matt Richardson smiled, leaning down to kiss his middle child on the forehead—much as he’d done with Carly earlier in the day. Shane’s gut clenched even tighter.