Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (8 page)

“I want to do that,” he said hoarsely. Then he restored her gently to her seated position. “But think about it. You don’t need rescuing. The guy cheats on you. Neglects you. So divorce him. Then we can spend some time together and see where this goes.”

“Because you’re afraid that once you get to know me, you won’t like me?”

“Hardly.” He touched her cheek. “I’m crazy about you, obviously. But it’s going to be tricky even
after
you’re divorced. Dating my coach’s ex-wife? Even if we handle it delicately, I might not be able to stay with the Lancers. Which would be—well, unthinkable, really.”

She seemed troubled by that statement. “Why? Another team might pay you more money. You’re the best kicker in the league. You can name your price.” Before he could answer, she added with an apologetic smile, “I believe you. Just help me understand.”

Her sincerity touched him, and so he was gentle when he explained, “It’s not about money. It’s what we’ve built together. Me and the team, especially John and Bam.”

“The Triple Threat?” Her amber eyes flashed with understanding. “You’re right, it’s unique. I wouldn’t want you to give that up. It’s your ticket to greatness.”

“It’s not just football, Kerrie. They’re like brothers to me.”

She winced. “They’d still be your friends, wouldn’t they? Even if you were on a different team?”

“I can’t even think that way.” His nerves jangled with frustration. Why was he having this conversation? He barely
knew
this woman.

“Sean?” She slipped her hands behind his neck and stared into his eyes. “We’re never going to let that happen.
Never
. When I hear you talk like this . . . when I see the kind of friendship you have with them . . .” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’ve never been close like that with
any
one. It’s crazy, right? I have an identical twin, and we barely speak to each other. And my friends are all—well, they’re wonderful but there’s no ‘there’ there. And my husband? I’m invisible to him.”

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“I’m not sad, I’m happy. For you. That you have friends like that. I just wish I had someone who cherished me that way. Not
you,”
she added quickly, batting at her tears and trying for a smile. “I want you to cherish me a whole
other
way. And maybe I’ll have a real friend someday. But for now, our first priority is making sure nothing happens to the Triple Threat.”

“God, you’re sweet,” he whispered, kissing her gently. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Make love to me, Sean.” She pulled back enough to touch one eager nipple to his lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “We’ll talk later.”

“What more is there to say?”

“Huh?”

Her words made no sense, but she was already reaching inside his boxers and stroking him, and he couldn’t think. So he gave up and joined in, reclining her into the pillows. When she giggled in anticipation, he chuckled and went to work.

• • •

Sean didn’t actually think he was in love with Kerrie Cosner. It was too soon, not to mention too scary. But there was one thing he
did
know. He would never meet another girl like her. Hot and sweet at the same time. Wild in bed to the point of crazy, yet amazingly insightful and tender.

They hadn’t had time for another talk, so they had scheduled another non-date for Thursday. He couldn’t believe he was sneaking around with her after all his tough talk, but one more meeting seemed defensible. He would insist they resolve things before they touched each other again. Maybe he would forbid any touching until she was legally single.

But that wasn’t likely.

He wanted her to get divorced right away. But was that fair? They had focused on protecting Sean’s friendships and career and reputation, but what about Kerrie’s? Didn’t they need to find a solution that worked for both of them?

Football had trained him to respect the fundamentals, so he tried to do that now. Fundamental number one: he was morally opposed to dating a married woman. He had been correct to call that a deal breaker. So getting her divorced had to be the top priority.

Fundamental number two: the Triple Threat must be preserved. The three of them had poured their hearts and souls into creating that phenomenon, and so had Sean’s agent. And to her credit, Kerrie had embraced this fundamental with the tenacity of a mama grizzly.

Fundamental number three: he needed to slow things down. Even once she was divorced, they needed to explore these feelings, sort the real ones from the erotic buzz. If they ended up together, that would be awesome. But if they didn’t, he couldn’t feel guilty about all the crazy sex and hurt feelings.

Which circled back to fundamental number one, but with a twist. She didn’t just need a divorce because of Sean’s moral code. She needed to free herself from a neglectful, maybe cruel, husband. Once on her own, she’d find love again. Given her nature and her hot rack, it was a given. If she found it with Sean, great. But somehow he had to convince her that the divorce was for
her,
not for him. Because that was the only way it made sense.

He had to smile at that logic, because Kerrie Cosner didn’t need things to “make sense.” She just wanted
him
. It was flattering. Almost irresistible.

And if he wasn’t careful, it would be his undoing.

Hadn’t she said it earlier? He had wanted to make her happy that day in Jacksonville when he saw her sweet, wistful face. To save her from whatever was bothering her. He had to be alert to that, or he’d end up in a lifelong, secret love affair with his coach’s wife.

The NFL equivalent of hell.

Or at least, one of them. The other NFL hell was Bam Bannerman, and while Sean usually got a kick out of his antics, he had grown too fond of Rachel Gillette to laugh at this one. And so when he left the motel, he drove toward the halfback’s house, then on impulse turned onto the road leading to Johnny and Erica’s home, suspecting his lunatic friend would be there, ransacking the place in the couple’s absence.

It was vintage Bam, wasn’t it?

Chapter 4

Johnny Spurling had asked Sean and Bannerman to look in on his house during the three-week honeymoon and had also given them permission to use any of his stuff. The whirlpool tub, the swimming pool, the pool table, the video games and equipment, the virtual driving range on the redwood deck, and the list went on. The only ban—a prudent one—was that they shouldn’t bring anyone else. Especially not any females.

Sean was sure this last prohibition had come from Erica, who would be rightfully freaked by the thought of Bam cavorting on their bed with a bunch of Lancer groupies.

You’re one to talk, screwing the coach’s wife,
he reminded himself as he activated the security gate, then drove down the long driveway to the Spurling home. As suspected, Bannerman’s fire-engine red X5 was parked right in front.

Predictable,
he decided with a laugh.
But at least there’ll be food
.

Sean hadn’t realized how hungry he was and knew he could count on his buddy to stock the place with ribs, wings, pizza and chili, not to mention chips and beer.

Striding up the steps, he entered the pass code at the door, then hesitated in the entryway to determine the halfback’s location. It wasn’t easy, since rock music was blaring on every speaker, so he headed for the living room and laughed to see him on the sofa, leaning forward and growling encouragement at the Lakers.

Luckily he had the sound muted on the TV so Sean could walk over to the audio system and push the Off button to get his attention.

“Hey! What gives?”

“Nice job protecting the place,” Sean said with a laugh. “Is that barbeque sauce on the rug? She’s gonna kill you.”

“Decker, my man!” The halfback jumped to his feet. “Come and eat. We’re behind by four, so it’s a ballgame.”

“I need to talk to you,” Sean told him briskly. “Then we’ll watch the game.”

“Let me guess. You’re missing her already?” Bannerman grinned. “Give it up, dude. She’s married.” Crossing to him, he pounded him on the shoulder and said with mock sympathy, “I always thought you had a chance. But John’s the big dog for a reason.”

“Fuck off,” Sean warned. “I want to talk to you about the schoolteacher.”

“Oh, man, don’t get me started. What a babe.”

“She’s a nice girl. I can’t believe you called her.”

Bannerman chuckled. “She went running to you? What does she think you’ll do? Kick me to death?”

“It worked once,” Sean reminded him, glancing at the halfback’s right hand. Sean had broken it recently with a poorly executed kick, and while he regretted it, it had its uses.

“That’s cold.” His friend eyed him curiously. “You’re not in love with her, are you?”

“No. But we’re friends. And she wants you to stop.”

Bannerman pretended to ponder this. “Remember the big dog’s theory? You only like ’em when they’re taken? So maybe seeing her kiss
me
got you going.”

“Fuck off.”

He grinned. “Your heart belongs to your married girlfriend, right?”

Sean’s head almost exploded at the thought he knew about Kerrie. Then he realized he meant Erica and glared. “That’s not funny anymore.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. You’ve got my word. I won’t call the schoolteacher again. Even though she’s hot as hell.”

“Thanks.” Sean relaxed. “You wouldn’t believe how mad she is. At
me.”

“Yeah, I got an earful too. It was fun.”

“But she’s not an option,” Sean reminded him firmly. “Agreed?”

“Definitely not an option. So stop talking about her. Let’s pillage.”

Sean chuckled. “He’s gonna kill you, you know. We’re supposed to be guarding the place. Not ransacking it.”

“I’ve got more ribs coming. And an extra-large pizza too. So? Are you in or out?”

Sean glanced at the TV screen and was jolted into action.
“Damn,
we’re down by eight. So hell yeah, I’m staying. Just use the TV sound, not the music. I want to hear the announcers.”

“I’ll do the play-by-play for you.”

Sean couldn’t help but grin.

X-rated play-by-play? Plus ribs?

No way would he miss
this
party.

• • •

Monday mornings were always tough on Rachel, and since she was still tired, frustrated, and had a headache, this one loomed like a bear. But at least her period had shown up in the middle of the night, assuring her the headache wasn’t due to impending motherhood.

Considering the dimensions of the would-be baby, that was quite a relief.

And at least it was easy to get dressed on Mondays, since it was show-and-tell and she always wore jeans, never knowing what would land in her lap, sometimes literally. A few of the parents wanted to move it to a different day, insisting they had too much to deal with on Mondays and couldn’t remember to furnish their children with interesting items. To which Rachel always replied, “My goal is for the children to look forward to Monday. And they do. Because it’s show-and-tell. I’d be happy to send you an email reminder.”

After six years teaching kindergarten, she had a pretty good idea what worked. Especially for this particular class. They were adorable, bright, and emotional, which meant they needed lots of stimulation combined with lots and lots of regimen. And so, along with frequent segments outside every day, which she called Vitamin D time, and fresh fruit snacks and lots of breaks for “social chatting,” she had arranged their week to fit her philosophy.

Mondays:
Show-and-tell, along with reading and language, stretching and story time.

Tuesdays:
Guest speakers, foreign language, song and dance, and story time.

Wednesdays:
Field trips, or at least a walk to the park, stretching and story time.

Thursdays:
Numbers, cooking project or science and story time.

Then there was
Friday,
the day Rachel transitioned the children to the weekend so they could enjoy their time with their parents or guardians. So it was all about arts and crafts, stretching, catching rays, practicing their reading, and of course, story time.

She arrived at school extra early, even though most of the children would stumble in late. But for the unlucky few whose moms and dads were hyper-vigilant, Mondays were a nightmare. Those parents wanted to start the week off right by getting their children to school far too early, then pacing until Ms. Gillette took over.

It was worth Rachel’s time to ensure that no one, especially the child, experienced that kind of stress.

Plus, she
loved
show-and-tell. Of her twenty students, ten of them had remembered to bring something every single week without fail, while the rest had spotty records. She didn’t judge, but observed with pride that, as the year went on, more and more of the “spotty” ones began bringing something without fail.

And the ones who stayed spotty? They were her laid-back students, happy when they brought something, sheepishly laughing when they didn’t.

God, she loved these kids.

And so, even as she dragged her ass out of her aging Civic Hybrid, she knew it would be a good day. And when she saw Kyle Abrams jump out of his mom’s BMW and grab a pet carrier with both hands, she knew it would be both good and hilarious. He had brought Mr. Whiskers again. The huge orange cat was the class’s unofficial mascot, and even though Rachel had cautioned Kyle and his parents about the no-repeat rule for show-and-tell—every item had to be unique—the family found clever ways around that.

Mr. Whiskers as the family cat.

Mr. Whiskers as an example of a mammal.

Mr. Whiskers as an example of a natural predator vis-à-vis rodents, dead rat included.

Mr. Whiskers with a top hat in honor of Presidents Day.

And so on. Not that the family had abused the privilege. Kyle had brought quite a few other items to display. But he adored that cat and yearned to show him off, and since Rachel and the other students loved Mr. Whiskers too, it all worked out somehow.