Game On (7 page)

“Call me if you want someone to show you around Baltimore, Shane,” she said, tossing her hair for effect.

Shane gave her a noncommittal smile before quickly heading off the set to find Carly. She’d be hard to miss. Dressed for the spring weather, she’d arrived at the studio in a clingy blue dress, showing off toned, bare arms and legs. Normally, Carly wore her hair done up in some conservative style, but today she’d left it cascading down her shoulders. Every man with a pulse stopped to stare as she wandered about the set offering a cheery hello to the show’s staff.

Shane wasn’t immune, either. His pulse had been racing since he’d laid eyes on her earlier; the effort to keep their relationship strictly business was making him testy. In fact, these last few weeks as “friendly coworkers” had been torturous for Shane. As much as they both tried to will it away, the sexual tension still burned between them. By sheer will, Shane kept it professional. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He had records to break.

Despite the daily punishment of looking but not touching, Shane was grateful for Carly’s help “working” the media. In fact, he was a little in awe of her skill. Putting aside her tenuous relationship with the reporters, Carly managed to carry out Asia’s media plan without any glitches, always remaining poised and professional. Her tactic seemed to be to kill them with kindness, ingratiating herself with everyone she met. Shane found himself looking forward to his scheduled interviews—if it meant he could spend time with Carly. The “no touching” rule was still in place, but he discovered that on the occasions when she gifted him with a smile, it was almost as good as a touch. Almost.

Searching the studio, he finally found her standing alone back against one of the movable set walls, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

“Hey, the Hostess with the Mostest was coming on to me with the whipped cream. You wanna go take her down? You know, one for the team?” Shane teased.

Carly looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and frightened.

“Whoa, Dorothy, that was a joke,” he said, bending down so he could peer into her face more closely. She was trembling.
Jesus!
Gently taking her by the elbow, Shane steered her off the set and out into a blessedly empty hallway.

“What gives?” he asked, reluctantly releasing her elbow. As soon as he did, she turned and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without conscious thought.

They stood there for a few moments, her taking deep breaths against his instantly aroused body, him slowly rubbing her back as he breathed in the distinctly sunshiny scent of Carly. His lips itched to brush over the top of her head, but he knew not to go there.

What the hell had happened to her in there?
Had someone said something about her past? Her ex-fiancé? Whatever had happened, Shane was going to kill the offending sonofabitch with his bare hands.

Releasing a breath, Carly took a step back. She patted her hands against his chest—almost as if to assure herself he was real—before slowly raising her eyes to meet his. Instead of being wide with fear, they were know tinged with the same smoky passion he was sure was reflected in his own eyes.

God, he wanted to kiss her. Right there in the hallway of the Channel Three studios. At that moment, he didn’t care about his career with the Blaze. Or about breaking Bruce Devlin’s remaining records. All Shane cared about was sinking into her luscious mouth. Carly gnawed on her bottom lip and Shane would have kissed her had she not taken another step away from him. He fisted his hands at his sides to keep from dragging her back into his arms.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s got you so upset?” Shane hadn’t intended for the question to sound so terse, but he was feeling pretty charged up.

Carly took another step back, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the studio behind them. “It was nothing,” she said, lifting her chin up a notch.

Nothing my ass.
Shane arched an eyebrow at her, his hands now on his hips. “Carly . . .” he said. But she was backing away from him.

“I need to get my bag out of the station manager’s office and you need to be back at the training facility for the mandatory conditioning session,” she said as she backed down the hallway. “I’ll see you back there.” With a wave, she disappeared around the corner, leaving Shane standing there wondering—not for the first time with Carly—what exactly had just happened.

* * *

Kids were running amok in the Blaze offices.
Shane watched from his table as Carly shepherded a group of toddlers through the Blaze commissary, clutching their tiny hands as another Blaze staffer dispensed frozen yogurt into cups for the kiddies. Their precious treat in hand, Carly led them to a table overlooking the Blaze practice field. The chairs—built specially for large athletes—were so enormous, she and her partner had to lift each child into a seat, their stubby legs dangling precariously above the floor. The sight looked as ridiculous as the time he and some teammates struggled to fit into the tiny chairs in a kindergarten class his former team had forced Shane to visit.

Leaning back on the two back legs of his chair, Shane took in the scene. Carly was dressed in khaki shorts and a fitted Blaze golf shirt, her hair neatly pulled back in some kind of braid. He hadn’t seen her since the incident at the television studio earlier in the week. The remaining media commitments were national and Asia was handling them now that she was back at work full-time. Fortunately, the major sports writers focused most of their questions on the
x
’s and
o
’s of football, steering clear of his personal life. The final stages of the Blaze media campaign had been easy for him, in more ways than one.

Carly was all smiles dealing with the kids, handing out napkins and dispensing spoons and sprinkles. She looked like she was actually enjoying catering to the little ankle-biters. Shane wasn’t much for kids. His agent, Roscoe, had a pair of twin boys aged somewhere between diapers and kindergarten. The few times he’d been around them, he’d ended up with some sort of food product or worse stuck to his clothing. Shane shuddered at the thought. Although, watching Carly gently stroke her hand over a little towheaded boy stirred something inside him.
Probably just feeling jealous of the little bugger
. Shane took a pull from his protein shake as Carly walked over to his table.

“Can I grab this chair?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. You running a day care now?”

“Well, after working with you for two weeks, how hard could an afternoon with seven preschoolers be?”

“Nice one.” He saluted her with his drink.

Carly grinned at his compliment. “We do this most Fridays, especially during the season.”

“You bring in kids to play? Here? During the season?” he said, not bothering to hide his shock.

“Not just any kids. Children of the players and coaches. We also have a family dinner on Wednesday nights. The coaches and players spend so much time here during the season that we try to give them an opportunity to see their families, too. It makes for a stronger team. One big, happy family.”

In Shane’s experience, families weren’t generally happy, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. She looked so proud of the concept that he figured it had to be her idea.

“It works pretty well, if I do say so myself,” she said, notching her chin in the air.

Yep, definitely her idea.
One thing he’d learned about her these past few weeks: Carly would do anything for her family. In fact, her life outside the office pretty much revolved around helping out her half sister, Coach, and their kids.

“As long as I don’t have to play the family game,” he said.

Carly tilted her head to the side, studying him for a long moment. “What’s your problem with the concept of family?”

Shane thumped the front legs of his chair back down. “I don’t have a problem.”

Placing her palms flat on the table, she leaned in front of him, giving him an excellent view down her shirt. His groin grew tighter beneath his workout shorts.

“Okay, then, if you don’t have a problem with families, why do you clam up every time an interviewer asks you about your father? Or your brother?” she demanded.

Shane’s eyes shot from her breasts to glare at Carly’s face. He was so
not
having this conversation with her. His father was not up for discussion with anyone. Period.

Bruce Devlin might be his father, but he was not Shane’s family. The man everyone was so interested in was on the upside of life again. He’d landed on his feet after conquering his addiction and was now regarded by many as one of the top coaches in college football. After dragging himself from the gutter, he’d found religion and was now leading his alma mater to bowl game appearances while lecturing at faith conferences for athletes across the country.

Further aggravating Shane, Bruce Devlin also managed to acquire a hot new wife half his age. A former Miss South Carolina, Lindsey Devlin was everything Shane’s own mother had never been: beautiful, well educated, and possessing enough social graces to charm the shit off a man’s shoes. Shane had taken an instant dislike to the green-eyed, statuesque brunette who was his father’s young wife. The few times Bruce and Lindsey had invited him to visit when he was a teenager, Shane took every opportunity to demonstrate that his soul was beyond redemption—including propositioning his father’s wife.

Looking back, Shane was ashamed at his childish behavior. Bruce and Lindsey—especially Lindsey—had treated him with extreme patience. She continued to invite Shane to family events despite his staunch refusal to attend. He chalked it up to her doing her “Christian duty.” Making the effort to include Shane probably allowed her to sleep at night. He assumed his father was glad he stayed away so as not to poison the character of his other son.

The one Bruce Devlin stuck around to raise.

When Shane continued to glare at her, Carly stood up crossing her arms under those problematic breasts. “Seriously, Shane? Not even a smart comeback to my question?”

“I’ll answer your question when you answer one of mine.”

She annoyingly arched an eyebrow at him, refusing to back down.

“What was the problem at the television studio the other morning?” he challenged.

For a moment, he didn’t think she’d answer. In fact, he was counting on her not answering and stalking back to her charges and leaving him the hell alone. Instead, she surprised him, sinking down into the chair next to his. He watched her, curious, as she picked up the wrapper from his straw and silently twisted it around her finger. After a quick glance over her shoulder at the little ones still enjoying their yogurt, she finally looked at him.

“That guy who was outside my home a few weeks ago when you and Donovan ran by—Joel Tompkins—he works at the station. He’s very . . . eager . . . for a date with me, even though I’ve told him no a couple hundred times,” she said.

From the look on Carly’s face, Shane knew there was more to it. “What. Did. He. Do?” he demanded.

Carly took exception to Shane’s tone, stretching back in her chair to put some space between them. The move made Shane angrier.

“I’m serious, Dorothy. If the guy’s a problem, you need to let Donnie or Coach know. One of us can handle him.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she let out a huff. “Donovan has already
handled
him. He and Asia had Joel reassigned from the Blaze complex, but Donovan has no jurisdiction at the television station, although he’s tried.” A chagrined smile quickly came and went from her face. “Donovan had him banned from my neighborhood. Now that I know where he works, I’ll definitely boycott Channel Three. Problem solved.”

Shane banged his head back on the wall behind him and closed his eyes in frustration. “I hadn’t figured you to play the victim.”

“Been there. Done that,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to play the victim ever again.”

Opening his eyes, he looked into her determined face. He sighed. “Just promise me you won’t be a hero?”

A slow grin spread across her face. “I promise.”

They sat there staring at each other like two idiots for who knows how long, until Asia hobbled up. She thumped something that looked like a seating chart onto the table between them.

“Just the two people I’ve been looking for,” Asia huffed, pushing her crutches aside to slide into the other empty chair. “I need to finish this seating chart for the gala tomorrow night and you two are the last singles I need to seat.”

Shane had bought his ticket for the thousand-bucks-a-head gala, but he hadn’t actually planned on attending, so he really didn’t care where Asia sat him. Looking at the faces of both women, Shane decided it was best to keep his planned no-show a secret.

“I’m sitting at the kids table,” Carly said, pointing to a spot on the chart.

“Shocker,” Asia said.

“There’s a kid’s table?” Shane asked.

“Yes, Shane, there is,” Carly said. “Since this is a foundation for kids, Lisa and Matt want their children there for the fund-raising launch. They want to share the moment with their fam-i-lee.” She shot him a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, and you’ll be the babysitter.” Asia rolled her eyes at Carly. “And, to make your evening more enjoyable, I’m putting the punter, Tom Rakowski, next to you since he’s coming stag. Seriously, you guys are professional athletes. Why is it you can’t get dates?” she asked, looking up at Shane.

“Kickers are dweebs,” Shane said. Still, he was a more than a little bothered by the fact that the Blaze’s punter would be spending tomorrow evening making nice with Carly.

“While you, Shane Devlin, have star quality. I’m putting you at one of the big spender tables. Most of the men are in their seventies, but their trophy wives will appreciate the view you bring,” Asia said. Something about her tone gave Shane the feeling she might not be joking.

“Hey, why can’t Rakowski man the cougar table?” Shane asked.

“Dweeb, remember?” Asia said, penciling something on one of the circles on the chart.

Carly laughed, her eyes sparkling at Shane.