Slow and Steady Rush (12 page)

Darcy made him feel all messed up. If the women he dated in the past had noticed his walls, then Darcy would call him on his bullshit in about two seconds. But she had a way of making him feel not so lonely that drew him like a dog begging for a pat.

She had no clue of the kind of shit that battered around in his head when he allowed himself to enter his memories. If he felt disgust, shame, disappointment … how would she look at him if she knew his secrets?

No, he was methodical, logical. He could predict with utmost certainty how a real relationship would progress between them. Yes, the sex would be mind-blowing. Her fire mixed with her sweetness would crack his heart open. The blackness she found would convince her that he was unlovable, and they would flame out with the same intensity. She would hate him. And, as a final indignity, she would move back to Atlanta and leave him in the rubble.

He was happier than he’d ever been in Falcon. The last thing he needed was a sweet little wildcat ripping through the uncomplicated life he was building. He was a fucking expert at keeping people at arm’s length. How hard could it be to take her out twice and play a part, keep things superficial and light?

A stew of dread and anticipation swirled. He had a feeling keeping his distance from her might be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

Chapter 8

Darcy had changed clothes a half-dozen times. Never had she been so nervous about a date that wasn’t even a date. What did one wear on a fake date? Did Emily Post cover such topics?

A modest A-line skirt that hit above her knees and a light summer sweater was her current choice. She slipped on a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals and examined herself in the mirror. A string of pearls and she’d be ready for the Junior League ice-cream social. If Robbie showed up in jeans and a baseball cap, she was going to feel like an idiot.

Before she could change again, the doorbell rang, and Kat’s voice echoed upstairs. “Darcy! You about ready?”

Kat examined Darcy head to toe on her plodding descent to the foyer.

“Wow-wee. You look nice. Are you sure this is a fake date?”

“It totally is.”
On his part.
Darcy’s stomach bottomed out. The anticipation of spending the evening in his company was frighteningly real for her.

“You’re nervous. Look, it’s dinner. He’s not going to dump you in the middle of the bottoms to find your way home.”

“I’m not scared of him. It’s everyone else. All those eyes.”

“All those eyes and flapping lips are kind of the point, aren’t they? Let me get Ada her food before it gets cold, and then I’ve got something that might help.”

After settling Ada in the kitchen with take-out lo mein, Kat steered Darcy outside with a comforting arm around her shoulders. Retrieving a label-less Mason jar from her car, Kat led the way around the back of the shed. Darcy kept her gaze fixed on the lane from Robbie’s house.

Kat wore a pair of frayed khaki shorts and a red concert tee Darcy remembered from high school. After a struggle, the lid released with a pop. A distinctive sweet pungency filled the air.

“Kat Renshaw. Is that homemade moonshine?” Darcy whispered, looking to either side as if the police might stage a sting at any second. “What if we get arrested? You’re the best lawyer in town. Who will post bail and defend us?”

“One shot apiece. I’m grandmother-sitting, and you don’t want to end up so blitzed you throw yourself at Coach Dalton. Right?”

Darcy stared down the deserted lane.

“Right?” Kat asked again with emphasis and elbowed Darcy in the arm.

“Geez. Of course not.” Darcy took the jar and tipped it up. The moonshine burned a path down her throat followed by a sweet-tart aftertaste of blackberries.

Kat took her turn. Her face initially screwed into a grimace but relaxed into a grin. “That is good stuff.”

The maelstrom in Darcy’s stomach settled into a mere nuisance under the heat of the alcohol. “Where’d you get it?”

“Laurence Malone. You would not believe what he said when he dropped it off.” Kat chuffed, but a nervous pat of her hair and girlish squirm tempered the outrage. “I quote ‘The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’ Can you imagine?” Her voice rose an octave at the question.

“Sounds to me like he meant it as a compliment, and you didn’t throw it in his face.” Darcy pointed to the jar. “What did you say?”

“I got all hot and stammered a bunch of crap about equality and human rights. I am such an idiot.” Kat knocked the back of her head onto the tin side of the shed a few times.

“Why don’t you ask him out?”

“I can spout about equality all I want, but the truth is—I want a man to be a man. He needs to make the first move.” Kat screwed the top on the jar.

Still no movement from Robbie’s house. Darcy said, “This is pathetically close to a Disney movie. The studly jock forced to date the mousy nerd. The football god squiring around the bookish librarian to repair his reputation.”

Kat hip-bumped her. “First of all, you are not mousy in the least. Secondly, there is nothing wrong with being intelligent. And, thirdly, I’m sorry to inform you, but you are a decade too old to star in a Disney movie.”

“That’s depressing. What would we qualify for? A Lifetime special?”

“Too young. That’s for the fortysomething set. You two are the prime age for a porno though.”

“A
porno
.” The laughter bubbling through Darcy’s body erased a good portion of her nerves. “Lord help us. What would we call it?
The Coach’s Concubine
?”

“
The Lusty Librarian,
” Kat said. More teenaged giggling ensued.

“
Sacking the Coach.
”

“
Fourth and
Extra
Long.
”

“
Unsportsmanlike Conduct.
”

“
First … Down on the Coach.
”

“
Indecent Interference.
”

“
Freaking in the Fourth Quarter.
”

“
Foot Balls and Dicks.
” Darcy’s voice barely squeaked past laughter.

“You about ready to go?” A deep voice rumbled.

They both screamed. Kat tossed the Mason jar over her shoulder. It shattered against the tin wall, and rivulets of moonshine trailed squiggly lines through dirt and pollen.

In dark brown pants and a green checked button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, Robbie stood propped against the corner of the shed. His hands were tucked into his front pockets, and one foot was crossed over the other. No hat. A comb had tamed his hair, and he’d shaved recently. He looked ridiculously handsome.

Had he heard? Of course, he had. “I didn’t see you pull up.” Darcy gestured vaguely toward the road to his house. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure if she looked down she’d see it trying to claw out her thin sweater to commit a kamikaze-style suicide at their feet.

“Nope. Came from town.”

“Well”—the word drew out as Kat backed away—“I’ll be getting something to clean up my little mess. You two have fun.” She waggled farewell fingers at Darcy and mouthed
I’m sorry
before scampering inside.

Robbie ushered her to his black truck and opened her door as if it was a real date. He’d washed it and cleaned out the football paraphernalia. His hand circled her forearm, steadying her as she stepped onto the running board to climb in. He slid behind the wheel and threw the truck in reverse so suddenly it jerked her into the window.

Not even the radio broke the thick silence. His gaze on the road, adeptly dodging holes, he said, “For the record, I prefer
The Lusty Librarian
.”

Heat burned up her cheeks. “It was a joke. I’m not suggesting we make a porno together. Not that you wouldn’t be great in one. I’m sure you’d make an excellent porno. I mean, look at you.”

Dear Lord, she needed an industrial-sized filter from her brain to her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she stared out the windshield and pressed her lips together. If she didn’t speak, nothing embarrassing could come out.

“Malone’s moonshine is pretty good, isn’t it?” His gaze flicked to her face before dropping to her legs and then back to the road. “What’s the matter? You nervous?”

“Of course I am.” She tucked her hands under her thighs. “Everyone will be staring at us, whispering.”

“You don’t have to do this. I won’t force you to go on a date with me, not when there’s plenty that would go willingly. I’ll turn around and take you home.”

Was that hurt or anger she heard? “You’re not forcing me. This situation is mostly my fault.”

“Mostly?” he said dryly.

“All right, completely and totally my fault. Although, not on purpose. I don’t want you to lose your job, and I want the team to win.”

He shifted, and a portion of the tension in his body ebbed. “For a while, I thought maybe you wanted me run out of town.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You pretty much accused me of buttering up Miss Ada to get land.”

She waved her hand between them. “That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I saw how much you care about the boys on your team. Before I realized how much you’ve helped Ada the past couple of months.”

He glanced from the road to her face and back again but didn’t respond. The silence was unnerving, but she didn’t have to endure it for long. Their destination was an Italian-style bistro that sat between the doctor’s office and the bank on Main Street. At least the high-backed booths offered an illusion of privacy.

The burn of eyes following their short walk across the restaurant was worse than she expected. She slipped into the booth, but instead of sitting across from her, he scrunched her down the seat to settle next to her. They both looked to the back wall.

“What are you doing?” she whispered with a fake smile for their audience.

“This makes it look more authentic. Plus, everyone staring will give me indigestion.”

Tyler Buchanan hustled over with two menus. A white apron with an order pad stuck in the pocket covered his polo and jeans.

Glad to see a familiar face, Darcy took a menu and smiled. “I didn’t know you worked here, Tyler. How do you find the time?”

“Got to pay my car insurance somehow. I take weekend shifts usually, but I’ll pick up some hours during the week once football starts next weekend.” She’d never seen Tyler look anything but carefree. Tonight though, red stained his cheeks, and he chewed on his lip as his gaze darted between her and Robbie.

“How about some wine?” Robbie asked.

She shrugged, and he ordered a bottle of house Chianti. They silently watched Tyler pour two glasses. She took a tiny sip for show, feeling the need to keep her wits present and accounted for. Tyler stared at them as if he were trying to fit together the pieces of a puzzle.

“Could you give us a minute to look over the menu?” This time her smile was strained, the boy’s intense scrutiny making her uncomfortable. He nodded and left to watch them from the server’s station.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and studied the menu. Robbie followed her lead but made no effort to keep to his side. His legs splayed wide, and her calf was plastered against the soft twill of his pants.

Tyler returned to take their orders. He was all business and unusually quiet. Without the menu to occupy her, she didn’t know where to look or what to say. She twirled her wine glass, and Robbie tapped a forefinger on the plastic red-checked tablecloth. Whispers bearing their names drifted.

“So,” she drew out, “I saw the diploma in your office. Where’d you go to school?”

“Vandy,” he said.

“Vanderbilt? Really?”

“On a football scholarship.”

“Of course,” she said.

Her initial astonishment and subsequent understanding apparently didn’t sit well. He shifted to face her. The crinkles on his forehead and between his eyes broadcasted displeasure.

“Why, ‘of course’? I had the grades to get in even without the football angle, but they offered a full ride. Why wouldn’t I take it?”

“I didn’t mean …” Her foot seemed poised near her mouth whenever they were together. “What was your major?”

“Mathematics.”

Another astonished “Really?” popped out before she could stop it.

“What did you expect? Sports Management? Basket-weaving?”

She powered past the much-deserved sarcasm. “I loved math.”

“But you majored in English, right?”

“My guidance counselor pushed me to go into something technical like engineering. In the end, my heart was in books. My focus is research-oriented. I work mainly with doctoral candidates at Emory University.”

“You really hate reading to the kids?”

“Yeah, not my thing.” Her gaze coasted to the ceiling. No way was she going to admit she thoroughly enjoyed story time and had already planned the next one, which included a costume change.

Tyler returned with their food. The massive pile of lasagna looked as unapproachable as Everest. She powered a forkful past her nonexistent appetite and into her mouth.

“What position did you play at Vandy? Wait.” She held up a hand. “Let me guess. Not offense, something on defense, am I right?”

A half-smile and raised eyebrows accompanied his nod.

“Obviously not defensive line.” She flicked a finger up and down his frame. “Cornerback?”

“Outside linebacker. I started my last two years, but I was undersized.”

Incredulity crept back in her voice. “Undersized? Seriously? You’re huge.”

“Not for the South Eastern Conference.”

“You didn’t want to go pro?”

“No chance of that. After I graduated, I considered coaching, but … I don’t know. I bounced around awhile, did some bartending, worked for the Tennessee state park system, then enlisted.”

“You could have gotten a high-paying desk job with a math degree from Vandy. Why the army?”

He delved a hand through his hair, undoing the comb’s work. “Duty to country, protecting freedoms.”

The evasive, trite answer was a red flag. She’d gotten the same sort of treatment from Logan enough to recognize it. “Where’d they send you first?”