Scrimmage Gone South (Crimson Romance)

by Pace, Alicia Hunter

  He caught that smell again — Townshend’s smell. Why hadn’t he showered last night? Now she was all over him, all in his hair, and all over his bed. He’d have to change the sheets again. Only he couldn’t, not without doing laundry. He only had two sets. Now they were both dirty. Well, one was dirty and one was tainted.

  His plan to purge Townshend from his system had been a bad one, not to mention futile. She loomed over him like a soul sucker in silk and high heels. Only now it was worse. Now, he knew what she looked like without the silk and high heels. He knew her body, her touch, how he could make her his, make her come, and the sweet way she had clung to him after.

  He knew. It hadn’t been good enough to just memorize her like names and dates for an eighth grade history test. And he would take that knowledge to his grave.

  He got to his feet, gingerly testing his knee. Okay. Looked like he’d be able to walk on it at least one more day.

  If he’d been living in Townshend Hell, now he was in the deepest, blackest most vile part. Not the Dante version or the Baptist one either; that was going light. This was the late night cable channel evangelical television hell. “Send five thousand dollars and Townshend Harris Lee won’t eat your soul for breakfast anymore.”

  If only. It would be cheap at the price.

  Game film. That’s what he needed. He wasn’t hungry. He’d gotten up and eaten Chips Ahoy at two A.M. and cold pizza at four. He would shower first. Hot water to loosen his knee and wash her scent away. With any luck, she’d go right down the drain and he’d be free of her.

  Who was he kidding? There wasn’t any luck. Not for him, where she was concerned. But there was game film. There was always game film.

  He was just pulling on his clothes when the bell rang.

  He knew it was her even before he jerked the door open. The Townshend detection system probably came with entrance into the deepest part of Townshend Hell.

  Gone was the girl from last night, with her face devoid of make-up and her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. She was wearing nice pants with a starched white shirt tucked in and her sleek hair was held back with a silver headband. She’d used her war paint — probably because she had come for war. Though you wouldn’t know it from her expression. Cold. Neutral. Everything about her said, “I don’t give a shit about this planet or anything on it — especially you.”

  Yet, she was here.

  • • •

  Tolly thought he might still be in bed, but not only was he awake, he didn’t look like he’d been asleep. There were bruises under his eyes, and though his hair was still wet from the shower, he hadn’t shaved.

  He leaned on the doorframe and put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

  “This is not a church,” he said.

  That threw her off. “What?”

  He gestured to her. “You’re all tricked out like you’re going to church.” He pointed upward. “See. No steeple. No bell. You took a wrong turn.”

  “I know where I am, Nathan.”

  “Yeah?” He put some more energy into leaning on the doorframe.

  “You stole my jersey. I want it back.”

  He acted like she hadn’t spoken. “Where’s Seven?”

  “At home. Texting. Eating blueberry muffins. Watching ESPN. And I don’t want to leave him alone too long. So give me my jersey. Right now.”

  “What makes you think it’s yours?” he asked.

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” That wasn’t true, but Nathan didn’t know that.

  “Yet you don’t possess it, do you? I do. I have re-possessed it.”

  Damn. He had a point. “I’ve had it for thirteen years, Nathan. Just give it to me. It’s mine and you know it.”

  “You don’t even want it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You just want to see if you can make me give it to you.”

  Her mouth went dry. And the ice started to melt. She had never entertained the thought that he wouldn’t give the jersey to her, if for no other reason than to get rid of her. After all, he’d left without a word.

  “Admit it,” he said. “Admit you don’t want it. You know you don’t.”

  “I do.” Her voice came out in a whisper, probably because her throat was so dry. She let her chin drop to her chest. She didn’t really understand why she was here. She’d fought coming, tried to tell herself she didn’t need the jersey. But here she was, close to begging. Well, for whatever reason she had to have it. Had to. She’d beg if that’s what it took.

  “What? Louder. I didn’t understand you.” He was taunting her and she hated him for it, hated him even more than when she’d gone downstairs last night expecting to go back into his arms, but instead found him gone — and her jersey with him.

  “I do. I do want that jersey.”

  “Why?” His voice had a different tone now and she looked up to find that there was no taunting in his face. He was asking a raw, simple question, maybe one that he deserved an honest answer to.

  She swallowed and met his wide eyes, met them full on. “It was all I had left,” she whispered.

  Moments passed. No blinking. No breathing. No moving at all, not from either of them.

  “Then I guess you’d better come on in.” And he moved away to admit her.

  She stepped into what should have been a living room, but it didn’t have much life to it. A home theater system and the biggest television she’d ever seen dominated one wall. Facing it, two sofas flanked a brown leather recliner that could only be described as a throne for a god of the gridiron. She could see him in the chair, barking orders to assistant coaches lined up on the sofas.

  “Sit down.” Nathan gestured to one of the sofas. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

  Maybe he intended to sit in the recliner and bark orders at her. “I’ll help you,” she said and made to follow.

  “No. You stay out here. I mean it, Townshend.”

  What was that about? Instead of sitting, she stepped closer to examine the enormous recliner. It had cup holders, slots for remotes, and pockets on the sides for play sheets and DVDs. There was a swing out lap desk where a playbook lay beside a pad of paper where he’d diagramed plays with X’s and O’s. Best of all, there was a control panel with a dozen buttons and a joystick. When she leaned in to look at the controls, she tripped over something laying on the floor — a heating pad and an ice pack.

  Not wanting to think about why he needed a heating pad and ice pack, she began to play with the chair’s buttons. Vibrate. Heat. Recline prone. Dear God. There was a built in light.

  “Here’s your coffee,” said a voice behind her. She expected it to be black like his, but it was just like she liked it, with two creams and one sugar. How did he even know that?

  She turned the chair off and it snapped back to its original dormant state.

  “Will this thing transport you to the Super Bowl?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the sofa and waited until she sat to let himself down beside her. “Or really to any bowl — Sugar Bowl, Cotton Bowl, Rose Bowl. And its magical powers are not limited to Bowl games. It will take me to the Manning Passing Academy and to the lounge of the ESPN offices. But, Townshend, there is a place it will not take me, the same place nothing will ever take me — the past.”

  She turned her mug in her hands and considered this. “I wish it would. If we could work though what happened, we might find ourselves able to have a conversation. All we do is snipe and argue.”

  “We can talk without all that.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But we can’t talk about the past. It’s over and I will not wear it out.”

  “I see,” she said, though she did not.

  He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed deeply. “I give up,” he said.

  “What are you surrendering to exactly,
Geronimo?”

  “I thought sex was just an unfinished piece of business between us. I thought if we did it, I could move on. But I can’t get you off my mind.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said and she truly did not.

  “I have thought of this from every angle I can. I could leave town, but it wouldn’t help. We could be friends with benefits. Or maybe enemies with benefits, more like. But that’s not what I want. For whatever reason, no matter what happened, I want you. I don’t care what you did. I want us to try to — ” His voice hung in the air.

  “Try what?”

  He took a drink of his coffee. “Hell if I know. Just try. See what happens.”

  Could he possibly mean — ?

  “See what happens? With you and me? As in try to have a romantic relationship?”

  “I damned sure can’t have one with anyone else.”

  All of a sudden she was a little mad. “So you want me because you can’t have anyone else? So you are surrendering to me? How flattering. And you are mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, come on, Townshend. I wasn’t the only one in that bed last night. And I may not be the Grade A piece of prime rib that I once was, but I could get someone else. I put a perfectly nice woman on the road last night because she wasn’t you. That was after I asked her out because she looks like you — though I didn’t realize it until Harris saw her from behind and mistook her for you.”

  “What? That’s just crazy.”

  “My point exactly. And I am not the only one. I think you came over here today for more than that jersey.”

  She couldn’t deny it. “I don’t see how we can try anything without talking about what happened.”

  His mouth went hard. “Well, it’s that way or not at all. I can put it behind me but I can’t dissect it.”

  “So you aren’t saying you forgive me and you aren’t willing for me to explain?”

  “None of that would change anything.” He set his coffee on the floor. There was no table. “I want you. I think you want me. Can’t we see what happens?”

  Every bit of good sense she possessed warned her against this. The best thing would be to clear the air, make amends, and then see what could happen. But the best way didn’t have to be the only way. She’d learned that in the courtroom.

  And he was so right. She did want him, so much. She wanted to kiss him, make love to him, and make sure his clothes were ironed. She wanted to curl up under a blanket and watch a movie with him at the end of a good day and rub his back and bring him his favorite ice cream on a bad day. She wanted to make sure he had birthday cakes and a Christmas stocking with his name spelled out in sequins, filled with candy and silly little wrapped gifts.

  She wanted to make up it up to him.

  “Can you do it, Townshend? Can you just look forward?”

  “Yes,” she said and she hoped it was true.

  “All right, then.” He smiled. It was a real smile, the first one she’d seen since she’d walked away from him that day in Tuscaloosa when he was so sick. That day, he’d smiled because he was sure she was coming back. He rose and pulled her toward the recliner. “I’ve never tried this but I think it could be very rewarding.” He sat, pulled her into his lap, and fiddled with the joystick until she was lying in his arms and their pelvises were slightly elevated. Then he a pushed a button and the chair began to vibrate.

  “Nathan,” Tolly said. “There’s something I need, too.”

  “No doubt.” He kissed her and started to unbutton her blouse. “Last night I learned a little about your needs.” He captured her mouth and caressed her bottom lip with his tongue for so long that she would have forgotten what she was going to say if he had not pulled back. “I think I am pretty good at meeting your needs.” And he smirked. Usually she hated a smirk, even worse than eye rolling, but it looked good on him.

  “I can’t deny that,” she admitted.

  He smirked some more and pushed her blouse off her shoulders.

  “But I am not the opposing team that you need to conquer. I need for you to talk to me and make love to me, not rack up points. Can you do that?”

  He could have pretended not to understand what she meant, but he didn’t.

  “I can do that,” he whispered. And though she had almost forgotten how it looked, and would have never thought she’d see it again, he gave her that sweet misty look, the one from so long ago. It was laced with a little pain and a little living, but it was sweet and misty all the same. Her stomach turned over and she was sixteen again, so in love, lying in the only strong arms she would ever want to know.

  “I still want my jersey back.”

  “My jersey. But yes. You can have it back.” He pulled her tight against him so that his swollen groin filled the apex of her thighs, maybe like they’d never been filled before. And then he cranked up the vibrating function another notch.

  Rewarding indeed. She slipped into her first orgasm.

  He let out a satisfied little laugh. “Double points if you aren’t naked.” And he reached for the opening of her pants.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tolly arranged the cupcakes decorated with marzipan tiaras and ballet shoes on a silver rack on Lucy’s coffee table. They weren’t even going to pretend to talk about a book tonight. They were having a little party to celebrate Missy’s forthcoming baby girl. It wasn’t a shower. They wouldn’t dare call it that. Everyone knew it was tacky to have a shower for a second child, but they weren’t ones to let a milestone pass without some sugar and champagne. Except tonight the champagne was a mixture of ginger ale and white grape juice. No alcohol for pregnant girls. The party was supposed to be a surprise, but Tolly suspected Missy knew about it, like she seemed to know about everything, except what was really important.

  But Tolly hadn’t shared her suspicion with Lanie and Lucy, and they were giddy with anticipation.

  “Is she here yet? I thought I heard her car,” Lanie said as she fluffed her tutu over her little baby bump. They were all wearing blush colored leotards, pink tutus, and tiaras. This party had a theme.

  Lucy, who was peeping out the side of the curtain said, “She’s here. But she’s standing on the sidewalk talking to herself.”

  “She’s not talking to herself.” Tolly arranged the pink and silver wrapped packages in a wicker basket. “She’s talking to that baby. She thinks no one knows she does it but I heard her say the other day, ‘Baby Girl, if you want to be Homecoming queen you have to be nice to everybody. And don’t wear flannel pants in public — even if you are a thousand months pregnant and you are only going to The Big Starr for a gallon of milk.’”

  Lucy laughed. Lanie just bit her lip and looked at the floor. Ah, so Lanie had her own little monologues of the in vitro variety.

  “Here she comes!” Lucy said.

  “Okay, everyone ready?” Lanie asked. They went to their prearranged hiding places.

  “Knock, knock,” Missy called because Lucy had left the door ajar. “Anyone home?”

  Tolly had been entrusted to turn on the light and they all jumped out and cried, “Surprise!”

  Missy threw up her hands and plastered on her I am so surprised game face. Tolly had seen it before and knew it for what it was. Lucy snapped pictures. Lanie held the largest tiara Tolly had ever seen. Not that she had seen that many.

  “Oh! Y’all should not have!” Missy said, not meaning a word of it.

  “Don’t worry,” Lanie said as she settled the tiara on Missy’s head. “It’s just us. We knew better than to do a shower. This is just a little bit of joy, joy.”

  They settled down in the living room and Lucy handed Missy a plate of crab au gratin, steamed asparagus, and cold pear salad with candied walnuts. “Just think — this could be one of you this time next year,” Missy said to Tolly and Lu
cy.

  “Don’t look at me,” Lucy said. “There’s nothing on the horizon. Tolly’s our best bet. And if she and Nathan got married we would get to meet the famous Arianna.”

  Tolly wanted to bolt. She knew she needed to lighten up, to remember that they didn’t know about everything that had happened between her and Nathan. To them it was a brand new relationship where nobody’s heart was at risk. And as far as Arianna went, she had no idea if Nathan ever even talked to her. Her gut told her that was a subject not to be brought up. He would eventually mention her or he wouldn’t.

  “Well,” Missy said. “Let’s let her get through Homecoming first. And Halloween.”

  Glad for the change of subject, Tolly gave Missy a grateful look. “Homecoming? What’s to get through?”

  Missy, Lanie, and Lucy laughed in unison.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Lucy said. “You know how this town is during Homecoming week.”

  “No,” Tolly said slowly and tried to dredge up a memory. “I really don’t. Last year was my first fall here and I don’t remember anything.”

  “How can that be?” Missy asked. “I don’t know how you missed it, since you aren’t blind or senile.”

  “Wait,” Lanie said. “She wasn’t here. You were at that conference in St. Louis.”

  “I guess.” Tolly took a sip of her drink and wished it was a glass of chardonnay. “I did go to St. Louis. Harris didn’t want to, so he sent me. I still don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Oh, you are in for it.” Missy rubbed her hands together. “There’s not a town in this nation that loves Homecoming like Merritt.”

  Lucy nodded. “I’ve lived all over the southeast and I’ve never seen anything like it. The whole downtown decorates, but there are very strict rules. We’ve already had two Downtown Merchant Association meetings about it and there’s another one in the morning. We can’t start decorating until after the game Friday night. That’s when Homecoming week officially begins.”

  “Right.” Lanie nodded. “I’ve got a crew coming at ten tomorrow night to decorate Heavenly Confections so everything will be ready when we open Saturday morning.”