Impulsive (17 page)

The master bedroom was the rearmost, farthest removed from any
annoying street noise and offering the best scenery. A king-size bed dominated
the room, matching mahogany bed-stands flanking it. Along the wall opposite the
bed was a mirrored chest of drawers. In one corner, a portable TV rested atop a
highboy. The furniture, while beautiful, was also massive.

Jess stared at it in wonder. "How in the world did you get
this bedroom suit up that skinny spiral staircase?"

"We didn't," Ty said with a wide grin. He gestured
toward the over-sized bay window taking up most of the far wall. "The
architect allowed for that problem, thank goodness. That center section of
windows opens like French doors. Of course, we had to remove the screen and
stand on the patio roof to haul them up here, but it worked."

Jess ambled over to the bed and made a production of inspecting
the bedpost.

"Just what are you doing?" Ty questioned, though he
already suspected what she was up to.

"Just checking for notches," she admitted readily.
"Curiosity, you know."

"Wondering how many women slept in that bed before you?"
When she nodded, he added, "None."

She glanced at him through her lashes, saying nothing, but her
expression was dubious.

"No, I'm not a monk. Never have been, never will be. The
bedroom suit is new, Jess. Bed, mattress, the whole shebang." Now it was
his turn to gaze at her askance. "Care to initiate it with me?"

"I don't know, Ty," she hedged, even as a smile began to
blossom. "I was rather hoping we could do that in the hot tub."

"Why stint?" He walked toward her, slowly but
determinedly, as if stalking her. His eyes gleamed wolfishly above a devil-may-care
grin. "We'll do both. And afterward, we can make love on the kitchen
island, in front of the fireplace, on the staircase, in all the closets, and on
top of the washer and dryer. Who knows? We might get really daring and try the
laundry chute!"

Though both worked hard at their separate and joint commitments,
Ty and Jess were basically inseparable in the following days. If she didn't stay
overnight at his place, he turned up at hers, carting a clean set of clothes
and an extra toothbrush with him. Gradually, her laundry hamper came to contain
as many of his clothes as it did hers, and vice versa. His toiletries found
space in her bathroom, as hers did in his. A portion of their closet and
dresser space was now allotted to the other person. Preferred foods were
stocked in each kitchen. They were now actually and officially a couple, no
longer having to pretend to be.

They worked, played, ate, and slept together. They even went
shopping together—for food, items for Ty's town house, clothing. When Jess put
off buying high heels, Ty dragged her into a mall shoe store and helped her
select a few pair in the newer and wider-heel styles, which would go with
almost any outfit she might choose to wear.

"If I break my neck trying to walk in these things, my death
will be on your head," she warned him.

"Bull crap!" he retorted. "Those saleswomen claimed
these are more stable than those spike jobbies, and you hardly wobbled
at
all in them. A little practice, and people will think you were born with them
on your feet."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Right. And stink doesn't draw
flies." Actually, Ty and the ladies were right. The wider heels were
better for balance, and they looked really great. In them, her legs and ankles
took on a more alluring shape, with curves never before accented.

Ty maintained they made her legs appear a mile long. "If I
didn't know better, I'd swear those gorgeous gams of yours go all the way to
your armpits."

Thus prompted, Jess found herself shopping for skirts and dresses,
the better to display her newfound assets. To her amazement, it was actually
enjoyable, especially with Ty tagging along, alternately poking fun and stating
his preferences. Surprisingly, he had very good taste in fashions and wasn't
shy about voicing his opinions, as many men might be.

"Be bold, Jess. Go for the red number," he'd say. Or,
"Get that sexy black dress, the one with the low top and the scarf hem
that flares out when you whirl around. I want to take you dancing in it."

Jess threw him a wink. "I'll see if they have it in your
size, dear," she teased.

Jess continued interviewing and video taping various team members
for her article. She also talked with their wives, their children, the coaches,
and the team manager. She had yet to
corner
Tom and the other two owners to get the story from their perspective, which
would round out her report.

Obtaining Alan's input was especially easy, since they practiced
together nearly every day. Spending so much time together, the two of them soon
became friends, as well as coworkers. He was quickly learning to heed her
advice and was improving by leaps and bounds.

In a home game the following Sunday, Alan added nine points to the
scoreboard, assisting the Knights in their sound defeat of the visiting
Bengals—though he still missed one field goal and a point-after attempt, which
was blocked. Ty, however, was spectacular, throwing pass after perfect pass,
and nary an interception. Unfortunately, his target didn't always catch the
ball, or hold on to it. One receiver in particular seemed to fumble the ball or
run the wrong pattern almost every time the ball came his way. Contrarily, Gabe
had several good runs and made two touchdowns.

"That's my man!" Corey gloated, leaning over the barrier
separating the team from the spectators to punch Jess on the arm. "He's
got great hands, doesn't he?"

Jess grinned and yelled back. "You should know, Corey! But I
have no idea what Butterfingers Baker's problem is. He's so good in practice
that it's almost inconceivable that he'd be so lousy tonight."

Corey shrugged. "Who can tell? Maybe he laced his shoes too
tight and cut off circulation to the rest of his body."

Since it was Labor Day weekend, and Josh had come to stay with his
dad, Jess did not spend Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night at Ty's. Both she and
Ty agreed that, for now, it was best not to do so while Josh was visiting. Jess
spent part of Saturday with them, and most of Monday. Familiar now with Ty's
kitchen, Jess prepared the side dishes for their Labor Day cookout while Ty
broiled hotdogs and hamburgers over the outdoor grill. They all trooped down to
the playground for a while. Then Jess, who hadn't brought her swimming suit and
wouldn't have been seen in public in it anyway, opted for KP duty while Ty took
Josh to the pool for a swim.

All too soon, it was time to drive Josh back to Indianapolis.
Despite her protests, Jess was persuaded to ride with them.

"But, I have a ton of laundry to do, and umpteen million
other chores I've let slide," she argued.

"They'll wait," Ty countered. "Besides, you can
help keep me awake on the drive back. Six hours behind the wheel, after a busy
day with Josh, and I'm all but comatose."

That convinced her. She certainly didn't want to be accountable—in
any way, shape, or form—for Ty having an auto accident. She didn't stop to ask
herself why she should feel responsible for his welfare, when a few weeks ago
the notion wouldn't have entered her mind. Now, it was either go with him, or
worry herself silly until he returned.

They arrived back at Ty's house shortly after midnight, both of
them thoroughly exhausted. Both fell into bed, thankful to have the long day
behind them. Ty drew her next to him and dropped a kiss on her drooping lids.
"I hate to admit this, but now that we finally have the place to
ourselves, I'm too pooped to pop."

Jess cuddled close, stifling a yawn. "Me, too. Let's just
snuggle tonight, and forgo the bedroom calisthenics. Maybe we can conserve
energy and get together in our dreams, instead."

"Only if you don't mind making love in the middle of the
highway, darlin'," he told her with a weary chuckle. "I stared at
that road so long that every time I close my eyes, I see white center lines
whizzing across black pavement."

Jess first noticed the strangers that week at practice—two men at
first, sometimes a third, lurking on the sidelines. Why she decided they were
"lurking" and not just observing she couldn't say. It was just
something about them—the way they stood, the way they dressed—nothing specific
she could put a finger on, but there nonetheless.

"Who are those guys?" she asked Alan on Friday.

The kicker shook his head. "I don't know. I think one of them
might be dating Bambi. Why?"

"Because they have no business being here, that I can see.
How interesting can it be to watch a team practice day in and day out? And why
would they bother? Besides, they give me the creeps."

Alan frowned at her. "Why do you say that? They're not doing
anything wrong, that I can tell."

"I know. It's just a feeling I've got."

"Women's intuition?" he teased.

"More like 'reporter's nose,' " she said. "They
just seem sort of disreputable, bordering on nefarious, don't you think?"

"Nefarious?" Alan echoed on a chuckle. "Like
someone whose picture you'd find on the post office wall?"

"Or on 'America's Most Wanted' or 'Unsolved Mysteries,'
" she added with a nod. "They even dress oddly. It's entirely too
warm to be wearing sport coats. Why aren't they wearing jeans or Dockers or
something more casual?"

"Maybe they're businessmen."

"In what kind of business?" Jess wondered aloud.
"They look like goons, for crying out loud. Or drug dealers."

"Goons?" Alan hooted. "Geez, Jess! You've got to
stop watching those old gangster movies, or whatever you're doing."

Jess cast him an annoyed look. "Go ahead, laugh. But those
men are not Bible salesmen, dammit. More likely, they're as crooked as a dog's
hind leg. Really shady characters."

Alan did laugh. "So define shady, Jess. And describe a
criminal for me while you're at it. For all you know, those guys might be so
clean they squeak. On the other side of that coin, I've heard Ted Bundy looked
as normal as you or me."

Jess threw up her hands. "Okay. You've made your point. But I
still don't like them hanging around all the time, watching us like
vultures."

Alan gave her a congenial clap on the back. "Not to worry,
Jess. With no more meat than you have on your bones, you'd be slim
pickings."

Jess stuck her tongue out at him. "Wagara."

His brow wrinkled. "Warranty And Guarantee Are Revoked
Again?"

That night, Ty stayed overnight at Jess's. Because Sunday's game
was in Phoenix, Ty would not be taking Josh for the weekend. Nor would he be
able to attend Josh's first soccer practice, much to his son's disappointment.
The team was flying out to Arizona late Saturday afternoon.

Saturday morning brought a surprise. It was nine-thirty, and Ty
had just finished his turn in the bathroom. Jess was in the shower, singing
off-key. When the doorbell rang, Ty yanked his jeans on his still-damp body and
hollered, "I'll get it." He doubted Jess even heard him over the
racket she was making.

Loping down the hall in nothing but his Levi's, he was still
tugging the zipper up when the doorbell chimed again—and kept ringing as the
caller leaned on it nonstop. Ty pulled the door open to find a middle-aged
woman glaring with impatience. Upon seeing him, her expression swiftly changed
to befuddlement.

"I... uh... is Jessica..." she fumbled.

There was some resemblance, and given the age difference Ty
hazarded an educated guess. "You must be Jess's mother. Come on in."

He stood aside, letting her enter. "Jess is in the
shower." He waved her toward the living room. "Why don't you make
yourself comfortable, Mrs. Derry? I'll go tell her you're here."

Claudia started forward, then changed her mind. "Excuse me,
but I don't believe we've ever met," she said, her brows knitting as she
assumed her parental/investigator role.

"I'm Tyler James." Ty elaborated no further, not sure
how much, if anything, Jess had told her mother about him or their
relationship.

"Oh. The quarterback," Claudia commented. "Jess has
mentioned you, but... well, I hadn't realized the two of you were so... involved."
Blushing madly, her gaze traversed him from
head
to toe, noting his bare chest and feet, and his towel-dried hair.