Playing for Hearts (88 page)

“Seriously?” Gary whispered, tightening his arm around Angie.

She glanced at Gary and back to the coach. “I get my job back?”

Coach ignored her question and focused his attention on Gary. “Can you keep your pants up while you're on Seahawk property?”

He bit down his grin and nodded. “Yes, Coach.”

“Then shuttup and let's play some football tonight.” Coach threw up his arms. “Get out there and kick ass. Make us one more game closer to the Super Bowl!”

Ten minutes later, Gary kissed Angie on the way down the tunnel to the field. “See you after the game.”

“I'll be waiting.” She swatted his ass. “Go win.”

He jogged backward, not ready to look away from her yet, feeling truly alive for the first time in his life. “I already won.”

She blew him a kiss. He turned and ran out into the field to the cheers of the fans. He glanced back at the tunnel and laughed. Angie, already bending the rules of her job, had followed him outside. Her fingers were in her mouth, and he swore he heard her whistle.

Top selling romance author Debra Kayn lives with her family at the foot of the Bitterroot Mountains in beautiful Idaho. She enjoys riding motorcycles, playing tennis, fishing, and creating chaos for the men in the garage.

Her love of family ties and laughter makes her a natural to write heartwarming contemporary stories to the delight of her readers. Oh, let's cut to the chase. She loves to write about 
REAL MEN 
and the 
WOMEN
 who love them.

When Debra was nineteen years old, a man kissed her without introducing himself. When they finally came up for air, the first words out of his mouth were, “Will you have my babies?” Considering Debra's weakness for a sexy, badass man who is strong enough to survive her attitude, she said yes. A quick wedding at the House of Amour and four babies later, she's living her own unbelievable romance book.

Avon, Massachusetts

Copyright © 2014 by Debra Kayn.
All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

 

Published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

www.crimsonromance.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-6655-0

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6655-4

eISBN 10: 1-4405-6656-9

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6656-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art © 123RF/Andrey Tsidvintsev

 

1. Title Page
   
2. Copyright Page
   
3. Chapter One
   
4. Chapter Two
   
5. Chapter Three
   
6. Chapter Four
   
7. Chapter Five
   
8. Chapter Six
   
9. Chapter Seven
   
10. Chapter Eight
    
11. Chapter Nine
    
12. Chapter Ten
    
13. Chapter Eleven
    
14. Chapter Twelve
    
15. Chapter Thirteen
    
16. Chapter Fourteen
    
17. Chapter Fifteen
    
18. Chapter Sixteen
    
19. Chapter Seventeen
    
20. Chapter Eighteen
    
21. Chapter Nineteen
    
22. Chapter Twenty
    
23. Chapter Twenty-One
    
24. Chapter Twenty-Two
    

Crista Johnson gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on what Janelle, her next door neighbor, had been droning on about for the last fifteen minutes. Paisleys were coming back? Summer colors were darker and brighter? Janelle's endless talk about her modeling career and fashion statements bored her. Crista only required breathable material that hugged her body and moved with her. She wasn't dressing to please others; she had to compete with other athletes.

She still hadn't figured out what her neighbor saw in her and kept her coming over all the time. Crista wore yoga pants or bicycle shorts most days, and her swimwear consisted of a crossback one piece designed for speed and comfort. Obviously, none of that mattered to the high fashion-conscious Janelle.

“What do you think?” Janelle set down her ice water on the patio table between them and instantly studied her pink manicured false fingernails.

Crista looked down at her own blunt cut bare nails. She had no idea what the woman was going on about because all she could think of were a million ways to get Janelle to go back to her apartment. “I'm not sure.”

“Exactly. I told Devon, my manager, it was impossible to lose two pounds by Friday. Not even if I took the pills to speed up my metabolism. I'll have to wear the wrap during the whole group bikini shot … like you would if you had to wear a swimsuit in public.” Janelle leaned her six-foot tall body back in the chair and crossed her long, slender legs. “I'll be blacklisted from ever working with this magazine ad again, and the other girls will talk in the dressing room about the lard ass … me.”

Crista glared. One more insult and she'd slap the bitch. That would end Janelle's habit of always invading her apartment.

The doorbell rang. Crista jumped out of her chair, relieved to have an excuse to walk away. “Excuse me. That's my friend Bruce. He's in town, and I promised him he could stay with me.”

“Mm … details, girlfriend.” Janelle sat up straighter.

Crista paused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—his occupation, his rating, and his reputation with women. I want to know everything.” Janelle fluffed her hair and shifted her breasts in her bra. “Don't leave anything out.”

Crista stood at the sliding door wanting to escape, but she knew Janelle well enough to know she wasn't going anywhere until Crista provided all the juicy details. The supermodel hunted men for sport.

“I guess he's around six feet four inches tall, rugged, um, blond—” The doorbell rang again, and she cleared her throat. “Two hundred and twenty pounds maybe, I'm not sure.”

Janelle sighed and waved her hand in front of her. “Never mind. You lost me at rugged.”

“I'll be right back.” Crista disappeared inside the house and skipped to the door, glad to avoid telling Janelle her best friend was a world-class bass fisherman. For some reason that attracted all the women, and she'd never get Janelle to go home.

She hadn't seen Bruce for four months, since they'd gone to watch their mutual friend, Juan Santiago, win his third gold in the Winter Olympics for downhill skiing. Afterward, Bruce had flown to Venezuela for a fishing tournament, and she'd come back home to California to train for the Ironman in October.

She opened the door, smiling. “You're here.”

“Hey.” Bruce scooped her drink out of her hand and took a sip. “That's what I call service, sweetheart.”

She fisted her hands on her hips. “Greedy.”

“I'll share.” He handed it back after draining half the glass. “Are you sure it's okay if I crash here?”

“You don't even have to ask. You're my best friend.
Mi casa
and all that.” She motioned him inside and shut the door behind him. “I even made us reservations for tonight. Does seafood sound good?”

“Down at that little restaurant on Fisher's Bay?” He threw his bag beside the couch.

“Yep, that's the place. I remembered you enjoyed it last time you were in town,” she said. “They have the best shrimp out of all the restaurants in town.”

The sliding door opened. She caught Bruce straighten and take in her neighbor. Men. They were all the same. See a supermodel, and everything and everybody else ceased to exist.

“Janelle, this is my friend Bruce Coldwell.” She turned to Bruce. “My neighbor, Janelle Langdon.”

Bruce glided in front of her, and lifted Janelle's hand. “It's a real pleasure to meet you.”

Crista watched the exchange and wrinkled her nose over Bruce patting his stomach as if Janelle would faint at the sight of his six pack.

“Uh huh.” Janelle dismissed him and looked at Crista. “I'm leaving. You'll come Friday, right?”

Friday? Friday? What did Janelle say she wanted me to do?

She shrugged. “I don't know … ”

“Please come.” Janelle towered over her, bouncing on her toes. “Everyone who is anyone will be there. It's the function of the season, and it's not all supermodels. The press and photographers will be there too, and the timing is perfect for you. You want opportunities for that … race thing you do, so you have to come.”

The motion of Janelle's boobs dancing in the halter top made Crista motion sick. She grabbed her friend's arms, stopping her from moving. “Yes, I'll be there. I'll call you Friday to get more information.” Janelle clasped her hands to her perfect chest. “Goody. Except, I'll call you. I'm supposed to have my nails redone that day, and I don't want to answer the cell if I'm sitting in the chair at the salon. Then later, I'll help you pick out something sexy to wear.”

“That's okay. I'm sure I can figure out something to wear on my own.” She glanced at Bruce and found him grinning.

Kill her now
. Bruce would never let her hear the end of her girly adventure. She'd rather gain attention for being a trainer, an athlete, competing in long distance running or swimming, not for showing up to flaunt her body and get her picture taken on the off chance she hit the middle pages of a magazine somewhere.

“No way.” Janelle air kissed her cheeks. “Friends help each other, and I want you to look beautiful. We need to get rid of the athletic look and start making you look like a real woman. A single, feminine woman who is open and available to men.”

“I'm not in the dating market,” Crista said.

Janelle waved her hand, dismissing Crista's statement. “That's why you need to have a fling. There will be plenty of married men at the party, alone and desperate, and looking for someone like you.”

“Absolutely not.” Crista clenched her teeth. Janelle's habit of only going after men who were taken disgusted her. “I think it's time for you to go, so I can catch up with my
friend
.”

Janelle bounced past without saying goodbye to either her or Bruce. When the door shut, Crista flopped down in the chair and groaned. She needed to nip her friendship with Janelle to casual status before she ended up saying something rude and causing a catfight.

Bruce sat down on the couch. “Who was that gorgeous friend of yours?”

“My bubble-headed next door neighbor slash supermodel slash pain in the ass,” she muttered. “I can't stand her, so if you have an idea on how I can distance myself from someone who likes to Velcro themselves to my back, let me know.”

“Set us up.” Bruce inhaled deeply. “I want to get to know her better.”

“You're kidding. Dating her would be suicide.” She stuck her lower lip out and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “She eats men like you for breakfast and then runs into the bathroom to make herself throw up so she doesn't gain weight. It wouldn't be pretty.”

“Who cares?” He propped his feet on the coffee table. “I'm not planning on a long term relationship. It's all about the sex for me nowadays.”

“Ugh.” Crista held up her arms and waved her hands side to side. “Spare me the details. What you do on your own time is your business.”

“So, you'll set us up?”

She sighed heavily on a groan. “Honestly, Bruce. She's … complicated. Since I've known her, she has a thing for men who are already attached to other women. She enjoys the chase. Married, engaged, serious relationship, it doesn't matter. She wants to one-up any woman and prove she's all that with a topping of sprinkles.”