Why did I get the feeling he wasn’t telling me the whole truth?
“I’d like to go to the game.”
“Then I’ll get you tickets. How many do you need?”
“I think three.”
“Done.”
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
The silence hung between us a moment. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. Ted cleared his throat. “Ah, goodnight.”
“’Night.” I hung up the phone and stared at it. I had a strange feeling of déjà vu, as if I’d had this conversation with him before – which was ridiculous.
Trying to push those odd feelings aside, I texted Casey to ask if she and James wanted to go to the game on Sunday.
8
Ted
I plucked the ball from the air as if it were a stray thought, tucking it under my arm. I faced down the huge safety before me. Dancing to my left, I shot forward. I could feel the Giant’s left tackle to my right. I dove, stretching out my hands to make the down.
He hit me like a ton of bricks, sending both of us crashing onto the turf, the wind bursting from my lungs. I lay there a stunned moment, sucking air back in, and accepted the guy’s hand. He hauled me to my feet.
Grinning, I headed back to the huddle. I was fucking killing it. I’d taken a pretty heavy hit in the first quarter, and my shoulder was going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow, but I had great energy and hands like flypaper. Nothing was getting past me.
“Someone’s on his shit today,” muttered one of the linemen as I approached. The refs were measuring the down – like they needed to. I’d made it. I knew I’d made it.
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with Sleeping Beauty sitting over there in the stands, would it?” asked Caz Woods, coming up next to me, breathless. Caz was the other wide receiver and had rushed almost all the way down the field but couldn’t get open.
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t noticed Erin on the jumbotron. The first time they’d panned to her, the entire stadium had stood on its feet and cheered her. She looked like a survivor of domestic abuse. Her bruises weren’t nearly as bad as they had been a few days ago in the hospital, but they were still there, and her lip was still healing from where the airbag had split it. She’d blushed an attractive shade of pink and thanked the guy behind her, who’d leaned down to say something.
“Listen, she’s cute, man. I might have done the same thing,” said Caz, grinning. “You know her?”
“I know your mom,” I said casually.
Caz grinned.
“You idiots want to focus?” snapped Dash. I shut up, giving him my attention. I don’t understand why the world thinks the sun shines out of Dash Barnes’ asshole. He’s a dick. Way too full of himself.
“Post route,” Dash snapped. He pointed at Caz and me. “Middle, middle.” He turned to Burke Tyler. “I want you shooting up the left. Got it? Get open.”
Burke nodded once. I grinned. No way he and Caz were getting open. They’d been double-teaming Burke all night. And Caz was quick, but they had Damonte Thomas covering him – no chance Dash was going to throw a ball anywhere near Damonte. That guy had an amazing reach. He was leading the league in interceptions.
We lined up. Sure enough, when Dash put the players in motion and Caz jogged to left field, Damonte followed. I watched Caz glance over to Burke and saw his finger twitch on the ball. A signal. He didn’t want me going middle near Caz. I was going to charge up the right field and hook in.
“Red 57!” Dash hollered. Just as I thought. Play change.
“Red 57! Set, hut!” The center snapped the ball back, and I charged. Nobody had me on man-to-man coverage, but they had a few guys on the right side. I shot up the line with a safety hot on my heels, keeping my eyes toward the free safety, who’d played back toward the goal line. If I caught the ball below him, he’d tackle me before the line. I glanced back and saw Burke unable to shake his defenders. Dash was eyeing the field, looking for me. I hooked in, and he let the ball fly, throwing it to where he knew I’d be.
I saw the free safety eye it, but Dash has wicked aim. The ball sailed into my fingers, and I tucked it to me, planting and whirling. For a moment, I thought I was a goner, but I could see the two safeties, watch them focus in on me, leaving a gap between them. I raced right and shot forward, feeling the fingers of the free safety skate across my jersey. He wasn’t stopping me. Ten yards, five yards. I could see a Giant’s defensive back coming up on my right, but he was too late. I leapt, sailing across the goal line and into the end zone.
The crowd erupted.
I lay on my back, staring up at the jumbotron, which had flashed to an image of Erin on her feet, laughing and throwing her hands in the air. Then, Burke’s shoulders filled my vision.
“That’s how you fucking get it done!” Burke hollered, reaching down and hauling me to my feet. I was moving before I could stop myself. I reached down, pulled a marker out of my sock and scribbled a note across the football. Hurrying over to the stands, I leapt up, passing the ball to someone in the front row.
“Give it to the girl in green!” I hollered, pointing three rows back to where Erin’s eyes were on me, wide and disbelieving.
A few fans reached down to pat my back and grab my jersey, but I fell backwards, relieved when the football made its way back and into Erin’s hands. I knew that when I turned around, she’d be all over the screen.
9
Erin
“So, what are you going to do?” demanded Casey when the fury around us had subsided. People kept asking to see the ball. They were taking pictures of the word “Dinner?” scrawled in an almost illegible silver sharpie across the smooth side of the football. My heart was hammering in my chest. My adrenaline was pulsing. I had to admit, I was having a good time.
“Tell him to fuck off,” James muttered. “It’s a fucking publicity stunt.”
I rolled my eyes. James was a Giant’s fan and was annoyed that Casey hadn’t let him wear his Manning jersey to the game. He was even more annoyed now that the Giants were losing 17-6.
“Who cares? He’s hot, and Erin is single,” argued Casey.
“Plus,” I said, “I work at Beezeness. How hypocritical would it be if I spend all day writing how-to romance articles and I don’t accept a dinner invitation from football’s most eligible bachelor?”
“I wouldn’t call Ted Schnieder football’s most eligible bachelor. Football’s most notorious player, maybe…”
Casey and James were content to wait with me until Ted showed up, but I knew they had dinner reservations. I assured them that I’d be fine and that I’d text them when I got home. They left me reluctantly.
* * *
After the game, a stadium attendant brought me upstairs to wait for Ted in the green room. I waited almost forty-five minutes before the door opened and Ted Schneider stood in the entry, looking breathtakingly gorgeous. His dark blond hair was wet and combed back off of his face. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and a pair of slim-fitting, pale gray pants. He looked expensive. I felt suddenly entirely inadequate in my bruises, my Loft sweater, and my jeans. I had sudden, vicious, second thoughts: What are you doing? You were in a coma five days ago! You’re suffering from amnesia, not insanity! What are you thinking?
“Sorry about the wait,” Ted said, smiling. “There were reporters in the locker room, and they were eager to talk to yours truly.” He stuck a thumb out at his chest and winked, all cockiness and triumph. And why shouldn’t he be? He’d had an amazing night tonight.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“So, dinner?” Ted ran a hand through his wet hair. “I was thinking somewhere private-ish. I belong to the Tournament Players Club. It’s a golf course about five miles from here. They have a nice dining room. Is that all right?”
“Sure,” I said. “You’re driving, I hope? I came with my friends, and they left about an hour ago.”
“Of course,” said Ted. He took a step back and gest
ured for me to precede him. I did and then waited while he led the way to his car.
True to his word, there were no paparazzi in the parking lot, and Ted led us to a sleek, black Mercedes Coupe that I was willing to bet cost twice as much as my yearly salary. He opened the door for me, and I felt my heart leap into my chest as I slid in. I closed my eyes a moment as he walked around to the other side. I needed to calm down.
For a moment, I wished that I truly had lost my memory. Then I might pretend I was someone urbane and sophisticated – someone who might feel comfortable driving around in a car like this with a guy like Ted.
Ted opened the door and slid behind the wheel. As he turned the key in the ignition, the car roared to life, and soon we were sliding through the remaining Foxboro traffic and into the night.
Strangely enough, Ted didn’t speak for a few minutes. The cockiness I’d seen inside the stadium had mellowed in the silence of the car. He seemed tense, his hands gripping the wheel, and I felt the need to say something to break the tension.
“So,” I said, “have the reporters been all over you, too?”
“Like white on rice,” Ted murmured. “But I’m used to it. I think it might be a bit more daunting when you’re recovering from a car accident and severe brain trauma. How much of your memory did you lose, by the way?” He shot a quick glance at me.
“A lot of it,” I said. “I can remember most things that happened in the last two years clearly. I know, timeline wise, what happened after that, but not a lot of details. It’s weird – every day, I see something that brings back a memory. I guess my brain is healing.... But my early childhood is a blank, and high school’s a big blur. I had to look up the name of my high school – that helped put those few years into context. But the specifics? I don’t have much.”
As we pulled into the country club, Ted stopped the car, and a valet came over to take the keys. As we walked inside, Ted’s hand lowered to the small of my back, and he gently guided me through the club doors and toward the back dining hall. He was smooth. The gesture was intimate, and I felt heat pulse between my thighs.
After Ted had invited me to the game, I had done some research. I’d scanned gossip magazine articles that painted him as an ARod-esq womanizer: he’d date a girl for a month or two before dumping her and dating another one. Good looking, talented, and wealthy... That he might date me seemed a bit far-fetched. I was sure James was right, and that this was a publicity stunt. And yet, there were no cameras present.
Maybe I could be one of the girls that Ted dated for a month. That thought made me smile. I might have spent a few hours examining last year’s Body Issue. I didn’t need to imagine what he looked like under those clothes – I knew.
And knowing was making it difficult to focus.
The club was quiet, with only a few families dining. We sat in the corner, near a window overlooking the eighteenth fairway. “So…” he said, clearing his throat. “I feel like I should tell you…”
“Can I get you both something to drink?” asked the waitress, coming up and smiling at both of us professionally.
I looked at Ted, who closed his eyes a moment before saying, “I’ll have a Heineken.”
“Same,” I said. No need to get fancy. As the waitress left, I looked at him. What was it he’d wanted to tell me? He looked uncomfortable. His jaw was clenched, and his fingers were pressed into the table, as if to hold himself in place.
“Your amnesia,” he said. “You don’t… you don’t remember me, do you?”
I blinked, staring at him. Remember him? No! I didn’t know how him. Did I?
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. There was something familiar about it, but I’d chalked it up to the fact that he was a famous personality. But was it something more?
“I see,” said Ted. “Well, I know you. Or rather, we know each other. We knew each other,” he amended.
The waitress came back with our beers and made a big show of pouring them into glasses while I stared, trying to process what Ted was telling me. How had I known him? Where had I known him? Certainly not from Boston. I’d been here five years. He’d just moved here six months ago.
“How do we know each other?” I demanded as the waitress strode off. There was no way. No way I had known Ted Schneider and forgotten about him. Not even amnesia should be able to wipe away someone so…so…
“We dated in high school.”
Um. What?
“Junior summer into senior year,” he added.
I’d dated Ted Schneider in high school? Me? No. No way. I didn’t remember high school, but there was no way I would have dated a football player. Not in Texas. Football players were treated like gods in Texas. And while I didn’t remember much, I hadn’t been a cool kid. Had I? No. No way. If I’d had a good time in high school, I would have stayed in Texas. And I’d left the minute I’d graduated.
I was staring. And I knew my mouth was hanging open because Ted was rubbing at his chin ruefully. “For the record,” he said wryly, “you broke up with me.”
Not only had I dated a football player, but I’d broken up with one? What the fuck was happening? Was this the Twilight Zone? I swear, I might not have been able to remember my past, but I didn’t feel like I wasn’t myself. And there was no way I would have dated and broken up with a football player. For fuck’s sake, I’d gotten my heartbroken by a beat-cop.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I knew I was still staring. “I just…I don’t remember that at all.” Not at all. Not one little bit of it. And so far, everything that I’d encountered from my past had jogged a memory. But this jogged nothing.
“I know,” said Ted, sighing. He smiled, and it was self-mocking. “And to be honest, it’s all a real ego blow. I was thinking about not telling you at all, and pulling some real dickhead move like taking you back to my place and getting you into bed… Who doesn’t dream about giving it good to the girl who broke your heart…?”
Ted. Giving it to me good. I had the sudden image of him in the Body Issue, crouched on the line of scrimmage, his shoulders bulging with muscle and his eyes staring intently out of the page. I almost squirmed in my seat with the intensity of lust that shot through me.
“…but apparently, even I’m not that big a dick,” he finished
“I broke your heart?” Oh come on, Erin! Why couldn’t I stop fishing? Where was my self-confidence?
“I guess not technically,” said Ted, shrugging. “But I was into you.”
“So then, why did we break up?”
“We didn’t,” said Ted. “Like I said, you broke up with me. And I don’t know why.”
Oh, yeah right!
“You’re saying I broke up with you ‘because’ and didn’t give you a reason?”
“You said something about needing to go our separate ways for college,” said Ted. “Made sense at the time.”
No. No, none of this made sense. I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just… I don’t believe you. There’s no way I know you or that we dated. I’d remember you. You’re just trying to save face and not seem so creepy after kissing me in the hospital.”
Ted laughed. “You don’t believe me? I can prove it. I have a few photos of us together back at my place.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, there’s one I haven’t heard before.”
Ted laughed again and reached across the table, his hand covering mine, his thumb skating over my wrist bone and sending shivers up my spine. “Always quick with a comeback,” he said. “I’ve missed that about you.”
I didn’t know what to say. The mere touch of his hand on mine was sending my hormones into a tailspin. I might not remember what high school felt like, but I bet it felt something like this.
“Would you like to come over and look through my stuff?” asked Ted, his voice deep and suggestive, not trying to hide his intention. “I’ve been reading a bit on amnesia, and they say that looking at images helps.”
He’d been reading up on amnesia? Did that mean that he cared
about me? Or was he just curious? There was only one way to find out.
“Can we eat dinner first?” I asked him sweetly.
Ted’s lips twitched into an acknowledging smirk. He sat back, holding up his hands. “Come on, Schneider,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “Never get between a lady and her dinner.”
10
Ted
To be honest, I hadn’t expected her to agree. I had a whole song and dance planned to convince her to go back to my place. I knew it made me a bad person, but I’d wanted to sleep with Erin Duval since the moment I saw her bent over behind that hostess stand at The American Taproom. We never had.
Honestly, I’d forgotten how much fun Erin could be. I’d worried about her amnesia. If you don’t remember your past, don’t you become an entirely different purpose? Aren’t our pasts what shape us?
But Erin was the way I remembered her. She was funny, fun, and talkative, and when she smiled, those dimples popped out. There’s something to be said about tight-body blondes with big, fake tits. There’s also something to be said about a homegrown Texas girl with thick, chestnut brown hair and a beauty-queen smile.
As we left the restaurant, I had no issue sliding back into my familiar Lothario role. The cat was out of the bag. I didn’t need to pretend to be anyone I wasn’t. And I was damn good with women. Reading women was a lot like reading a football field. You just had to know what signals to look for.
I could read Erin: like most women I encountered, she was interested in me. I could tell that in the way her eyes kept flickering over my face and my shoulders. When I’d stood up from the table, her eyes had landed on my dick and stayed there a moment before darting away.
When I offered her my elbow, she took it automatically, falling into step with me as we headed out toward the car.
“Tell me more about high school,” she said as she settled into the passenger seat. She’d asked a ton of questions about us during dinner, and I’d tried to tell her what I could without going into too much detail. There was a lot about my relationship with Erin that I wasn’t proud of, that I didn’t want to rehash.
Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set Page 53
