Hart, Catherine

by Impulsive

  "You?" Ty exclaimed in disbelief. "My entire reputation is about to go down the tubes."

  "What reputation?" Jess scoffed. "Your status as Stud of the Month, maybe? Or Gridiron Playboy? Big whoop! It might do you wonders to be seen, for a change, in the company of a woman whose IQ is larger than her bust size."

  He slid a lingering leer over her torso, boldly assessing her chest. With a shrug, he jeered, "Well, they say more than a mouthful is a waste, anyway. I guess we're about to find out, aren't we, sweetie pie?"

  CHAPTER 3

  Ty hit the turf so hard he heard his teeth rattle, despite the protection of his mouth guard. This made the third time he'd been sacked this afternoon, and the team had only been practicing for an hour and a half. He couldn't blame his blockers, though he would have liked to. No, the fault lay entirely with him—and with Jess Myers. She hadn't shown up yet, but he was sure she would. Which was why his concentration had been shot to hell and back since he'd first walked out on the field. Just waiting for her to appear, even while he was hoping against hope that she wouldn't, was fraying his nerves to shreds.

  He hadn't seen her or spoken to her since they had parted company outside Tom Nelson's office the previous evening, and he was dreading the moment he'd see her again and have to begin acting as if he actually liked the smart-mouthed witch. His teammates were going to think he'd lost his mind, taking up with such a homely Amazon.

  Hopefully, he'd seen her at her worst yesterday, all sweaty and red-nosed from crying, without a stitch of makeup. Still, heaven only knew what she might look like normally, in the full light of day. He prayed she wouldn't look too awful, that she would spruce herself up a bit for her role as his girlfriend.

  But not too much. God forbid she would overdo it and show up looking as if she'd applied her cosmetics with a trowel! Or wearing some atrocious outfit and tons of cheap costume jewelry. Even mousy-drab was better, he supposed, than having people believe he'd taken up with a two-bit hooker who moonlighted as a circus clown! If she was plain as a mud fence, he could at least claim he was attracted to her personality or her intellect or some such foolishness. And later, he could claim temporary insanity, or the phase of the moon, or the peculiar alignment of the planets, or one concussion too many.

  "How many fingers, T.D.? C'mon, Ty, blink or something, will you?"

  Ty jerked back to reality to find himself still prone on the ground, his coach leaning over him with a concerned frown. "What?"

  "Fingers, big guy. How many?" the man repeated, holding his hand in front of Ty's nose.

  "Three. Why?"

  "Why? Shit-fire, man! You been lyin' there staring at the clouds for five minutes. We thought you'd been knocked clean out, but for the fact that your eyes were wide open. Now, where does it hurt most?"

  "Nowhere but my pride, and my tongue. I bit it."

  "What about your neck? Are your ears ringing? Twiddle your fingers for me."

  "Dammit, coach, I'm fine. Just got my bell rung a little, that's all. Nothing serious."

  "You're positive? Your timing's been off all day."

  "I know. It happens sometimes, okay?"

  The coach nodded. "Sure, but that being the case, why don't you take a breather and let Jack get in some practice?"

  "Suits me," Ty agreed, as he allowed the man to help him to his feet. "Let Hays enjoy a little abuse for a change. Maybe it'll wipe that smug expression off his face. Besides, he's looking entirely too spiffy and spotless over there. It's like playing with Mr. Clean, for God's sake!"

  "Don't worry, T.D., we'll muss him up good for you," Dean "Dino" Sherwood promised. "Sorry about hittin' you so hard, man. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

  "No," Ty assured him. On a laugh, he added, "But if you find any marbles or teeth rolling around out here, don't throw them away. They're probably mine."

  He had his helmet off, and his water bottle halfway to his mouth, when he spotted her. She was in the lower section of the stands, sitting next to her devious-minded godfather, who was obviously not above a little bribery to get his dowdy goddaughter a steady date. From this distance, she didn't look too bad. She was wearing cut-off shorts and a sleeveless blouse knotted beneath her breasts, what there were of them, to leave her midriff bare. Her mouse brown hair was parted in the center to fall in a sleek bob that curved along her jawline, with a fringe of bangs cut straight across her forehead. Not a great style for her—it reminded Ty of the little Dutch boy on the paint can—but at least it appeared neat and clean this afternoon.

  As Ty had feared he would, Tom waved for him to join them. Grudgingly, all but dragging his feet with every step, Ty made his way to the stands and trudged up the few rows of seats.

  As he drew nearer, he was glad to see his worst fears laid to rest. She hadn't lathered on the makeup. In fact, she didn't seem to be wearing any at all, other than a bit of mascara and a hint of lip gloss. Now that she wasn't ready to faint or keel over from heat exhaustion, her natural complexion was neither pale nor ruddy, but lightly suntanned and blemish-free, discounting the spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. If she'd been shorter, and several years younger, she would have been the perfect Norman Rockwell picture of the ail-American tomboy. Or, in Ty's opinion, a female version of Tom Sawyer.

  Ty was still a few feet away from them, morosely contemplating his misfortune, when Tom leaned toward Jess and said something that must have struck her as terrifically funny. In an instant, her entire expression was transformed as she tossed her head back and let loose a laugh. Even as he witnessed it, Ty couldn't believe it. Her hair fell away from her face, revealing high, strong cheekbones that would have been the envy of any fashion model. Her eyes lit up with delight, and suddenly they weren't just a nondescript hazel, but an intriguing shade of golden-brown, ringed by a wide band of green. Straight, pearly white teeth came into view as her lips curved upward and parted on the most enchanting smile Ty had ever beheld.

  She still wasn't beautiful, not in the usual sense of the word. But "pretty" didn't quite measure up, either. "Striking" was the term that came immediately to Ty's mind. Followed by "stunning," which was precisely how Ty felt. Stunned. That a mere smile could change a common plain-Jane into a downright attractive female, all in the blink of an eye. It was akin to watching a magician perform one of those sleight-of-hand maneuvers that left you shaking your head in amazement.

  Okay, so maybe the boobless wonder isn't a total zero after all, Ty thought to himself. The tricky part is going to be to keep her amused the majority of the time. At least when we're out in public together. As long as she smiles like that, maybe no one will find it odd that I supposedly find her appealing. And if I can talk her into stuffing a pair of falsies in her bra, her figure wouldn't be bad, despite her height. Lord knows she has the longest legs I've ever had the privilege of ogling! Add a touch of eye shadow and some makeup to cover her freckles, and a new hairdo, and who knows, and she could turn out to be rather alluring, in her own way.

  Tom's greeting drew Ty out of his private musings. "Hey, boy! Are you okay? You had me worried for a minute or two there."

  "Yeah. Coach Danvers just thought I could use a break, that's all."

  Jess's lovely smile converted itself into a smirk. "I'd be pleased to oblige, now that you're all rested up from your little siesta out there on the field. What would you like broken first? An arm? A leg? How about a kneecap, for starters?"

  Ty returned her look with a false smile of his own. "Now, is that any way to talk to your main squeeze? You might actually hurt my feelings with that sharp wit of yours."

  "I doubt it," she rebutted. "You've got the hide of a rhino, and the disposition to match."

  "Be still my heart! The woman's mad about me!" Ty quipped.

  "You're supposed to like each other, remember?" Tom growled, rolling his eyes. "So shape up and behave like adults, if that's possible."

  "Consenting adults, I hope," Ty amended in yet another attempt to get Jess's goat.

  "I wo
uldn't hold my breath if I were you," she informed him. "Or maybe you should, just for the fun of it."

  "I'll pass, thanks."

  She faked a simper. "Pass? Oh, golly gosh! Do you really know how to do that? And here I thought all you could do was get knocked on your backside and count stars every couple of plays. My grandmother could dodge a sack better than that."

  "Your grandmother's dead," Tom reminded her dryly.

  Jess nodded. "Then I guess that says it all."

  "Not quite." Tom directed his next mandate toward Ty. "After practice, you can introduce Jessie to the other players. The sooner they meet her, the sooner she can start interviewing them for her story."

  "Sure," Ty agreed, with a grin. "I'll march her straight into the locker room as soon as practice is over. You'll be right at home there, won't you, Jess? Surely it won't bother a seasoned reporter like you if the fellas strip down to their skivvies in front of you. No doubt you saw more than that yesterday while you were hiding out in that locker."

  Jess's face flushed guiltily, but she managed a fair retort. "Whether I did or not, I have to assume there's less blubber on a pod of whales than on several of those guards and tackles. It thoroughly amazes me that any of them can walk upright, let alone run."

  "That's beside the point," Tom put in. He leveled a hard look at Ty, jabbing a finger at the quarterback's chest. "Listen up, James. You will introduce Jessie to the team outside of the locker room, just as you would any woman for whom you had the highest regard. Say, your mother, for instance. You will continue to treat her with the utmost respect for the entire time you two are dating. She's not some floozy you picked up on a street corner. She's a lady. I trust you know the difference?"

  "Loud and clear, boss. I'll treat her like my kid sister. Just don't blame me when this farce you've cooked up doesn't fly. I can't pretend to be bonkers over her and keep her at arm's length, too. The guys simply wouldn't buy it."

  "I realize that. Just know where to draw the line."

  "Better yet, let me draw the line," Jess proposed. "You two seem to be forgetting that I have a say in this as well."

  "Hardly," Ty scoffed. "Not with you running off at the mouth every two seconds. Tell you what, sugar plum. We'll just play this thing by ear, and if you're real lucky, I might let you seduce me."

  Jess laughed outright. "Are you kidding? You can't even score on the football field."

  He sent her a decidedly salacious wink. "Lady, you just watch and wait. They don't call me T.D. for nothing."

  Jess had the horrible feeling she was heading for deep trouble with this pretext of being Ty James's girlfriend. The primary problem, other than trying to fool everyone else, was that she found the smart-ass quarterback altogether too attractive for her own good. Moreover, he was a "toucher." As he led her around, introducing her to his fellow team members, his arm was either slung across her shoulders or around her waist, holding her close to his side in a none-too-subtle signal to the guys that she was his exclusive property.

  Jess's skin positively tingled in every place he'd touched; and foolish as it was, each time he tossed a false endearment her direction, accompanied by a smile that could have charmed a cobra out of its hide, her heartbeat jolted into double time. Worse, she had the awful suspicion that he knew exactly what his actions were doing to her, and was enjoying it immensely. The best clue, no doubt, was the big goofy grin she couldn't seem to wipe off her face the whole while.

  Then, just as she thought this first ordeal was over, one of the guys suggested they all go out for pizza. Naturally, the invitation was extended to Jess, since several of the others intended to call and have their wives and "significant others" come, too. Before she could politely decline the offer, Ty accepted for both of them.

  In an evasive move, Jess told Ty she would meet him there, since they both had their own cars, and she didn't want to leave hers in the stadium lot. Besides, she had a couple of errands to run first.

  Ty responded by giving her a look that said, without words, that he knew she was trying to give him the slip and wouldn't show up at the restaurant if she drove away by herself. "That's okay, honey," he said, loud enough for the others to hear. "We'll take your car, and leave mine here for now. But hand over your keys, because I'm driving. Not that I have anything against women drivers, you understand," he added with an ingratiating smile. "I just trust my own driving skills over anyone else's."

  Drat! She'd been outflanked before she'd gotten off the line of scrimmage! Jess fished her keys out of her purse and slapped them into Ty's outstretched palm, aware that without them she couldn't leave while he was showering and changing into his street clothes, which she most certainly would have done otherwise.

  To further push her off-stride, Ty leaned over and planted a swift kiss full on her lips. "Miss me while I'm gone," he told her with a devilish grin. He sauntered off to the locker room, whistling a merry tune—and leaving Jess breathless and fuming at his sneaky tactics.

  Half an hour later, in the close confines of her little Honda Civic, Jess marveled at how much smaller the interior felt with Ty crammed into it. His shoulders took up two-thirds of the front seat space, for crying out loud! If that wasn't enough, he had the nerve to criticize her choice of transportation!

  "How can you stand driving this sardine can?" he complained. "Where's your sense of national pride, woman? Couldn't you buy American-made, at least?"

  "For your information, smartzenheimer, this car rolled off an assembly line here in Ohio. Therefore, I do not consider it a foreign model," she informed him stiffly. "Moreover, I'm thoroughly satisfied with it. It gets super gas mileage, and has a terrific warranty."

  "I'll take my Trans Am over this, any old day."

  Jess gave a haughty sniff. "Figures, the pro player has to have his sporty hot wheels. Well, I've got news for you. Your big old gas-guzzler cost you twice the money on the lot and the road."

  "At least when I hit the gas pedal, I've got some horsepower under me," he pointed out in a superior tone. "It's a wonder you haven't gotten yourself killed just trying to pedal this Tinker Toy across the street before the signal light changes four times."

  "Ha-ha. I did my research, buddy, and let me tell you something. This 'Tinker Toy' has more leg and headroom than your big bad Pontiac, a wider wheel base, and the resale value over a four-year span is significantly higher. Not to mention that it corners tighter and probably has a lower insurance rate."

  Ty's eyebrows rose. "Hey! I'm impressed! You really did your homework. But you're still not going to convince me your car is better than mine. I've definitely got more elbow room, and as for headroom, I've also got you beat there."

  "How do you figure that?"

  Ty laughed. "Mine's a convertible."

  She wrinkled her nose at him. "I should have known. I'll bet you bought a bright red one, too. The better to be seen by your adoring public."

  "Nope. Teal, with an ivory interior and the gold package. Now, aren't you sorry we didn't take my car?"

  "No, I simply regret we had to ride together at all. Or that we have to eat together and paste phony smiles on our faces while we do it. I can feel the indigestion building already."

  "Speaking of phony smiles, keep yours in place if you please," he suggested bossily. "It vastly improves your appearance. And remember to stand up straight. I'm half a foot taller than you are, so you don't have to slouch."

  "Five inches, tops," she amended. "I'm five-ten, and you're six-three, if your stats are accurate. I pulled your file, by the way. I know all kinds of facts and figures on you."

  "While I know next to nothing about you, except that Tom Nelson is your bulldog godfather. So tell me a few things about yourself. Stuff a guy should know about the woman he's dating."

  "Like what, my measurements?" she sneered.

  "Nah." He shot her a grin. "I like to find that sort of information out for myself. For starters, despite the lack of a wedding ring, I hope you're not married. For all my faults, I
don't mess around with married women."

  "No. I came close a couple of times, but I managed to avoid the matrimonial pit."

  "I fell smack into it," he told her. "I've been divorced for three years now. My son, Josh, is five years old. How old are you, by the way?"

  "Twenty-seven," she admitted readily.

  "Birthdate?" he pressed. "God forbid I should miss your birthday while we're 'dating.' "

  "You won't. It's May 8th. You'll be history long before then."

  "Mine's November 12th, so you have three months if you want to knit me a sweater."

  "I know, and I don't knit," she said smugly. "You'll be thirty-two. That's getting rather long in the tooth for a starting quarterback."

  He zapped her with a dark look. "Gee, I guess somebody ought to let Young, and Elway, and Marino in on that tidbit of news, so they can order their rocking chairs and stock up on Geritol. In case you missed the punchline, sugar dumplin', they're all older than I am, and I haven't even hit my prime."

  "Your conceit is showing again, not that it ever fades completely, I assume. Rather like that Southern drawl of yours."

  Ty contemplated this with some surprise. "There are folks who would differ with you there, and claim that Kentuckians don't have a true Southern accent. Not like people in the deep South, anyway. So, where are you from?"

  "Originally, from Dayton. But I went to OSU for my degree, and Columbus seemed to suit me, so I stayed."

  "Dayton's only a little over an hour away, isn't it? I suppose you get home to see your family fairly often."

  "Mom, yes. Dad died when I was in high school. He and my older brother were killed in a boating accident when I was sixteen."

  He grimaced. "Sorry. That must have been tough. Any other siblings?"

  "Not unless you count my stepsister, Allison, but we're not close. Mom married her father four years ago. To this day, at twenty-two years old, Ali resents having to share her daddy's attention with anyone. She's such a pita!"

  "Pita?" Ty echoed. "Like in pita bread?"