The Soccer Player and the Single Mom (Quail Hollow)

by Kyra Jacobs

  “Or else, what?”

  Or else you’re going to end up a human thermometer.

  Her smile widened at the thought. She tipped her head, daring him to push her for an answer, then spun on her heel and left.

  Victory never felt so good.

  Chapter Seven

  “She has to go.”

  Scott lasted until 3:05 that afternoon, when he heard the sound of Felicity’s aging muffler leave the drive, before calling J.B. After her ice-in-the-lap stunt, he’d shut himself in the den and locked the door. A wasted effort, as she hadn’t returned to check on him again—possibly the only smart move she’d made today.

  “Why, what happened?”

  Should he tell his agent about the ice? Probably not. J.B. would enjoy it too much.

  “It’s just not working out.”

  “What’d you do now?”

  I kissed her. “Nothing! Why do you assume this has anything to do with me?”

  As rebuttals went, it was a weak one. But in the midst of him reliving Felicity standing before him earlier, her face a whisper away while licking those soft, sweet lips of hers, that was the best he could do. Because not only were they not working out as coworkers, but she was getting harder and harder to resist as a roommate, too.

  “Because you’re the one calling and whining to me about it. So I’m gonna ask you again: what did you do?”

  Scott raked a hand through his hair. “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh. Are you even utilizing her as your assistant? Maybe she’s bored.”

  “Oh, she’s not bored.”

  Angry? Yes. Conniving? Absolutely. Bored? Not a chance.

  “Well, if nothing happened, and you haven’t done anything to make nothing happen, then I’m a little confused as to why I’m getting this phone call.”

  “Because it’s—”

  “Not working out. Yes, you said that already.” J.B. sighed. “Did you at least get my list finished? I’ve been waiting to hear something for two days now. You stall much longer and we’ll run out of time to do any of them before you’re released.”

  And wouldn’t that be tragic?

  “I’m working on it,” he lied, reaching for the blasted paper Felicity had been hounding him about. Apparently, she’d been getting hounded herself. Didn’t make what she did with the ice any more acceptable.

  She only did it because you were being a royal pain in the ass, whispered his conscience.

  Yeah, he was being a pain. But it was only to try and make her mad enough to leave him be. Now that he thought about it, it’d worked. So why was he wishing it hadn’t?

  “Good. Then keep working on it so Felicity can get some appointments made. And don’t make me drive out there and have to break up any fights between you two, got it?”

  Scott rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You hear the rumors flying about Herrera?”

  “The ones about him getting ready to win your starting spot? Nope, haven’t heard a thing.”

  Always such a smart aleck. “Should I be worried?”

  “Not yet,” J.B. said. “But you’d better stock up on Tylenol.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because the minute you get released, you’re gonna have to hit the ground running. Hard.”

  Acute pain flared in Scott’s knee as if it’d heard what was coming. The injury had been painful, but what’d scared him most on his stretcher ride to the locker room had been the looming road to recovery. He’d suffered smaller muscle tears over the years, and each had taken weeks to mend. Long, painful weeks. This deal with his knee was bigger, a tear and a hairline fracture; he’d be a fool to think the pain wouldn’t get worse before it got better.

  “Great, I’ll make sure Felicity stocks up for me.”

  “That’s my boy. Now go finish that list so I can get back to work.”

  J.B. clicked off without saying goodbye, and Scott tossed his phone aside. He hadn’t held out much hope that this thing with Felicity could be undone, but a little sympathy from his agent would have been nice. Some sympathy from anyone would be at this point. Then again, if he kept acting like a jerk to everyone, he wasn’t likely to get any.

  With a sigh of defeat, he turned his attention to the list in his grasp. The brief instructions at the top suggested Scott start small, picking four or five tasks to focus on. None of them were things he’d do without prompting, but if it’d keep him from getting more ice dumped in his lap, then it was worth a try. Pencil in hand, he began ranking them from least to most painful.

  TV interview? Rather chew his arm off.

  Pep talk for his old high school team? Rather swim with sharks. He hadn’t been around teens since he was one, no way would they be able to relate.

  Radio pre-game show for local university? Doable.

  Scott ripped through the rest of the list fairly quickly, wishing he’d done so from the start. Then maybe there wouldn’t be so much friction between him and his assistant. Though, without the friction, and unable to get back to his training, he might be tempted to do something else. Something both of them might grow to regret—like kiss her again and see where that kiss might lead them.

  Because, angry or not, whatever was going on between them, she felt it, too. He was tired of fighting it. Hell, tired of fighting with her. Maybe if he did some of these ridiculous public appearances, it would get them out of the house and room to breathe.

  Yes, a bit of fresh air would probably do him a world of good. He tucked the list into his notepad and dropped both on the coffee table as he rose to stretch his legs. He’d surprise her with the list tomorrow, along with a pledge of cooperation. Hopefully, that’d help to smooth her ruffled feathers and start the weekend on a high note.

  Something told him it’d be wise to give Felicity a wide berth until then. The last thing he wanted was to end up with anything more damaging dropped in his lap.

  …

  Felicity slid into a seat across the table from Scott at dinner that night, expecting dark looks and an overabundance of glowering. Instead, he greeted her with a nod and a smile.

  A smile?

  He was up to something, she just knew it.

  “So, Tyler, dear, anything exciting happen at school today?” Edna asked as she loaded a small mountain of spaghetti onto his plate.

  “Exciting? No. Oh, wait! At lunch, Sammy Simmons shoved green beans up his—”

  “Tyler.” Felicity shook her head. “How about you tell us something else. Something you learned today.”

  His shoulders fell. “Well, I learned I really stink at…”

  “At what, sweetheart?”

  With a shake of his head, Tyler’s gaze fell to his lap; the sight nearly broke her heart. It was rare to see her sweet little boy clam up like that, especially before the Gillies. She reached over and put a hand on his knee as Edna finished serving dinner. “Maybe I can help you later?”

  Tyler inched his leg out from under her touch and shook his head again. The brush-off stung, but not as much as the knowledge that he was hurting. She’d give anything to take it away, but clearly it was going to have to wait until later. Maybe he was too shy to talk about it in front of the others. That, or he was still upset about having to get glasses. She’d hoped getting to pick out his own pair that afternoon would soften the blow, but the minute they’d gotten in the car, he broke into tears. She prayed it would go better for him when they picked up the finished pair.

  “Okay, then. So, um, Edna—how was Pinochle?”

  “Fun as ever,” she said, not missing a beat with the intentional change in subject. “Norman got us there late. The dimwit forgot to fill up his tank before we left and insisted we stop at the Shell station on the way.”

  “Norman?” Felicity asked, looking to Scott.

  He flashed her a conspiratorial grin. “Her suitor.”

  “Her what?” Tyler lifted his head just enough to peek through his mop of bangs.

  Scott leaned toward him and whispered, “Her boyfriend.”
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  Tyler wrinkled his nose, and Scott offered him a soft fist bump under the table.

  “Hardly.” Edna rolled her eyes. “The man is far more worried about playing the Daily Three than anything.”

  “Sure,” Scott said. “Because if he hits the numbers, then he can whisk you off on some romantic getaway.”

  “I raise you under my own roof, and this is the thanks I get?”

  He tipped his head ever so slightly in Tyler’s direction, and Edna’s dark look softened.

  “I suppose a trip to Jamaica would be better than a stick in the eye,” she said. “I’d just have to take extra-dark sunglasses. Can’t even imagine that man without his shirt on.”

  Felicity couldn’t help it, her gaze shot directly to Scott’s chest. She lifted her focus higher and found him wearing an ear-to-ear grin, the big jerk.

  “Still, Norman is a hundred times better prospect than that girl you took to your junior prom.”

  Scott’s smile slipped; Felicity’s grew.

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  “Sarah Ann Miller, Miss Junior Allen County.” Edna ignored his glare as she speared a forkful of noodles. “Of course, the judges were apparently blind that year.”

  “Grandma,” Scott whispered sharply. “There’s more than looks that go into the crowning selection. It’s the 4-H fair, for Pete’s sake.”

  “She could have been Miss America, for all I cared. I didn’t want her bearing my grandchildren. It’d have been the scariest display of buck-toothed redheads ever seen.”

  Scott dropped his head into his hand with a groan, and Tyler burst out laughing.

  “Still, it was kind of you to take her.” She leaned toward Felicity and added quietly, “Since no one else would.”

  “Okay, that’s just not true. Sarah Ann was very popular and could have had her pick of dates. She just chose me.”

  “Lucky you,” his grandmother said under her breath.

  Felicity laughed, trying to picture Scott with the redheaded nightmare Edna was describing. It didn’t surprise her to hear he’d been dating someone from the popular crowd. His gaze caught hers then, right brow rising in a challenge.

  She hated when he looked at her like that, because the woman in her loved when he looked at her like that. Like she wasn’t just the queen cleaner of runny noses and kisser of boo-boos, but something more. Something she’d buried when John died to focus on Tyler. Looks like that threatened to dig up that lost identity…but she wasn’t ready for that. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

  Alone was safe, comfortable. Alone meant not worrying about others letting you down, because the only person who could fail you was you. When that happened, you shook it off and went on your way. To let someone else in meant giving up control, takings risks.

  And goodness knew, with her horrible luck, taking risks was the last thing she should do.

  “We don’t do dances at our school, but two Fridays from now is Bring Your Hero to School day. Would you come, Scott?”

  Felicity watched Scott’s chest puff with pride and worked not to roll her eyes. Then again, she might have done the same thing if Tyler had picked her. His mother. The one who had brought him into this world.

  “Sure, sport. What time do I have to be there?”

  “Scott,” Felicity said from behind a tight smile. “We don’t know if you’ll even be here next Friday.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure we can work something out. So, what do I have to do for Hero Day?”

  “Just talk about your job and how cool it is and stuff.”

  Now Edna did roll her eyes. “Scott doesn’t have a job. He just plays with balls all day.”

  “Thank you, Grandma. I’ll make sure to say it exactly like that when I go speak to Tyler’s class.”

  Bruno came trotting into the room, probably curious about all the talking and poking fun going on around the table; this was definitely the most engaged they’d been thus far. And though the dog had behaved himself during mealtime the past few days, tonight his ornery streak seemed a mile wide. Quick as a flash, he sprang onto Tyler’s lap, snatched a dinner roll off the table, and dashed from the room.

  “Bruno!” Edna roared. “Get back here with that. You know you’re on a diet.”

  “I’ll get him!”

  Tyler jumped down and took off before Felicity could stop him. Though the Pom had been gentle with her son so far, she didn’t want Tyler getting bit trying to take food from him. She tossed her napkin aside and offered a hurried apology as she hurried after them.

  Just as she suspected, growling sounded down the hall. She burst into the den to find Tyler walking cautiously toward Bruno, whose snout was curled up to expose a mouthful of tiny white teeth.

  “Honey, don’t try to take it from him. He might bite.”

  “But Bruno wouldn’t bite me, Mom. We’re buddies.”

  Felicity eyed the dog, whose growling intensified. “I’m thinking we should let him have it this once.”

  Tyler took another step closer, and Bruno shot off again in a blur of orange.

  “I guess he really wants the roll.”

  “Seems that way,” she said with a wink. “We should get back to the table before he tries to steal anything else.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He ran from the room, and she turned to follow. But the edge of a familiar paper, sticking out from the pages of Scott’s notepad, caught her attention. With a quick glance toward the door to make sure no one was watching, she lifted the pages of his notebook to reveal J.B.’s list of PR opportunities.

  The completed list.

  “That little sneak,” she muttered to herself, snapping a picture of his marked options with her phone. He’d been holding out on her all along, sitting there at dinner tonight looking like an angel. Too bad for him, she knew better.

  With a satisfied nod, she put things back the way she’d found them and headed for the kitchen once more. After dinner, she had some texts to send out. Hopefully Lauren’s local contacts had flexible schedules, because their celebrity interviews were just a phone call away.

  Chapter Eight

  Scott went through his usual morning routine Friday—alarm, one snooze, bathroom, workout—and did his best not to think too much about the woman working out across the hall. Saying good night to her yesterday had been an exercise in restraint after sitting across from her at dinner. In the early hours of the day, the temptation to find her niggled at him relentlessly.

  He’d thought he’d go mad if he didn’t get one kiss. Now he was starting to think he’d go mad if he didn’t get another.

  Instead, he did an extra rep of each exercise, trying to keep himself preoccupied until she and Tyler had walked out the door to meet the bus. Then he hobbled his way downstairs and made his way to the kitchen. He’d promised himself he would play nice with Felicity today and present her with his completed list. Hopefully it would help smooth any tension left between them. Though, what he really wanted was to take her back to his room and work out the tension in an entirely different—and far more physical—way. Thankfully, the view of Edna standing at the sink in hot pink yoga pants, shaking her hips to whatever tune she had playing in those earbuds of hers, did a sufficient job of killing his libido.

  Possibly permanently.

  Why was she so happy today, anyway? Those kinds of moves were rare at this hour, even for her. A quick check of the calendar as he passed by to grab a cup of coffee provided the answer.

  “It’s Friday.”

  “That it is.” Edna plucked an earbud from one ear and motioned toward a collection of cinnamon rolls and sausages on the table. “Shall I give you a gold star?”

  “No. And no bingo for you today.”

  “No bingo? Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  Scott leaned against the countertop and ran a hand through his hair. “Grandma, we’ve talked about this. Gambling is a vice.”

  “So is coffee, which you have a cup of every morning. Wanna try a different angle, Mr. Hypocrite?
”

  “Coffee won’t take all your money. I know how competitive you are. What if you spend too much? What if you gamble away your grocery money for the week? Or the month?”

  “When did you become such a wet blanket?” At his scowl, she added, “Look, I’m not an idiot. I don’t spend beyond my means. Usually, I come home with more in my pocket than what I left with. It’s these cat-like reflexes.” She reached out with one hand, then yanked it back and reached out with the other. “I can mark my board and call out a winner before half the old cronies in town have adjusted their hearing aids.”

  He wanted to point out that she’d just insulted her entire age group, but it would have to wait. Bruno had heard footsteps on the front steps and gone from lazy mutt to the old Road Runner cartoon in zero point two seconds, his feet moving but body staying in place until momentum caught up. Then he peeled out of the kitchen in an orange blur, all sneezing and snarling in as unintimidating a way as possible.

  “You could have gotten yourself a real dog, you know.”

  “Could have told my one and only grandson to get himself a damned hotel room, too, but I didn’t.” She rose from the table and gave his ear a not-so-playful tug. “Now, behave yourself. I have laundry to do. Or better yet? Don’t behave yourself. Might do you some good to live a little for once.”

  I am living, he wanted to say as she shuffled off, but refrained. This wasn’t living—it was his life on hold. On hold because of a greedy goal attempt stopped by a stupid freak tackle. Once his restrictions were lifted, he’d gladly go back to his kind of living.

  On the soccer field.

  Felicity strode into view looking beautiful as ever, though a bit different today. He watched her approach, angling for a half-filled coffee mug on the table. She’d left her hair down again, but her hairstyles seemed to change throughout the day. And her clothes were a little less casual than yesterday, but nothing overly formal. So what had changed?

  She was wearing more makeup. Women only added more makeup for one of two reasons: to impress a man or to impress other women. Maybe he should have tried sneaking across the hall this morning after all.