Rough & Ready

by Tracy Wolff

  It’s just a feeling I’ve got, considering her preoccupation with him rivals the one I’ve had for Elara since she barged into my locker room…and look how that’s turning out.

  “Hey.” I break into Tina’s diatribe against Rodrigo’s sins when she finally pauses to take a breath. “If a guy wants to convince a woman to take a chance on him, how does he do that?”

  Tina freezes mid-breath, her mouth moving up and down like a guppy’s for several seconds as she stares at me, wide-eyed. “You mean, just being a pro football player isn’t enough to have her falling at your feet?” she finally manages to get out.

  “Shocking, I know.”

  “What’s shocking is I’ve never seen you care about attracting a woman’s attention before. At least, not since—” She freezes, snaps her mouth shut.

  “You can say her name, you know.”

  “I know. It’s just, you never do, so—”

  “Sure, I do.” Though, now that I think about it, I’m not sure that’s exactly the truth. Because I can’t remember the last time I actually did say her name out loud, I do now. Just to show the both of us that I can. “Allison. See? You can say her name. It doesn’t hurt me anymore.”

  That, too, isn’t exactly the truth. But I don’t think it ever will be and there’s nothing I can do about that fact. Nothing anybody can do, which means nobody needs to know it but me.

  Tina still looks suspicious, but she lets it go. Focuses instead on the woman who brought up this line of questioning to begin with. “So, who is she?”

  “Nobody you know.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “I can be sure.”

  “No, you can’t,” she argues with the logic of little sisters everywhere. “I know a lot of people in this city. And unless you tell me her name, you won’t know for sure. Besides, you’re obviously struggling if you’re talking to me about her. What if I do know her and could grease the wheels for you? You know, tell her what a great guy my big brother is—”

  “Oh God. Please don’t do that.” I merge onto the freeway and head up the coast toward home.

  “Tanner, come ooooooon. You have to tell me.”

  “Actually, I don’t.” I switch lanes and turn on the radio, hoping Jay-Z can drown her out. But no such luck.

  She keeps whining for the next twenty minutes, until I finally pull up to the gate to the compound, as my friends like to call it.

  I click the button to slide open the gate, then drive straight up the driveway to the first of the three guesthouses behind the main house. Usually, I’d just park in the garage and Tina would make the short walk to her house, but that means more time listening to her try to wheedle Elara’s name out of me and I’m so done with that.

  Note to self: never, never, ask Tina for a suggestion again.

  She rolls her eyes when she realizes what I’m doing, but she doesn’t say anything else. At least not until she opens the door of the SUV and starts to climb out. “Since I am a much better person than you are, I’ll answer your original question,” she says as she climbs down. “You should find out what’s important to her. Then do something to show you care about whatever that is.”

  I think about the hundred-thousand-dollar check I wrote to Rebound this morning. I gave the money because I really do believe in what Elara is doing with that center—and because I want to help out after the mess I inadvertently caused with Jack Reilly. A hundred grand is only a fifth of what she needs, but—

  That’s it! The idea hits me as I turn the SUV around and head toward the garage. I’ve got an invitation to the Save San Diego gala tomorrow tonight. I hadn’t planned on going because I have more than enough funding for the Green Foundation right now and—after seeing what it means to Elara and Rebound—the last thing I want to do is risk taking more funding from programs that really do need it right now.

  But Elara’s going to be there looking for funding and I’m really good at getting funding…why shouldn’t I go and try to help her get the money she needs while also showing her that I’m willing to “work for it,” as she suggested.

  For a second, I worry that I’m veering into creepy territory by showing up at this thing—the last thing I want to do is freak her out by showing up somewhere that she is. But this isn’t me stalking her at the grocery store. This is a legitimate invitation to a legitimate gala. Besides, she’s the one who threw down the gauntlet. If she didn’t want to see me, she should have said so when I asked for her number instead of issuing a challenge that I’m more than happy to accept.

  I almost get hard just thinking about those seconds in the kitchen—and what would have happened if Tina hadn’t chosen that moment to call and cock block me. If she hadn’t…I don’t know how far things would have gotten, but I know for damn sure that I wouldn’t be standing here wondering what Elara tastes like because I would know.

  I really, really want to know. Just like I want to know what color her nipples are, and if those crazy long legs of hers will feel as good wrapped around my hips as I think they will.

  I haven’t wanted a woman like this in a long time, and if Elara wants me to put some work in to get her, then I’m more than happy to do just that. If she ends up shooting me down in the end, then at least I’ll have tried. And until she does shoot me down, I can spend as much time as I want to thinking about kissing her and touching her and—most important—fucking her until she screams in all the best ways.

  I’m still thinking about Elara and all of that even after I park the car and walk into my house. I’m expecting it to be quiet, thinking about working out some since we spent the whole morning inside looking at film instead of on the field. But the moment the door closes behind me, I know that idea is out the window.

  Music is blasting through the intercom center, Pharrell’s “Get Lucky” blaring into every room in the house. Which means Imani is definitely around. If it was Gabi, some former member of One Direction would be blasting loud enough to shake the walls, because that’s how my baby sister rolls, no matter how much the others razz her about it. And Alia would go the opposite way and have Beethoven crashing through the place.

  Never a dull moment around here, that’s for sure.

  Shaking my head, I make my way into Imani’s favorite room. Sure enough, she’s in the kitchen, pulling chocolate cookies out of the oven. I snatch one as soon as she puts the tray down on the counter, then curse as I burn my fingers.

  She shoots me a superior look, her long braids clicking against one another as she shakes her head at me. “That’s what you get for not waiting, moron.”

  I pop the cookie in my mouth just to prove to her it can be done, then chew really fast because shit, it’s hot. She just rolls her eyes at me and goes back to scooping cookie dough onto an empty tray.

  More to tease her than because I want any more, I sneak two fingers into her bowl and swipe a dab of cookie dough. Imani squawks, just like I thought she would, then smacks my hand with her spoon.

  “You’re gross!” she tells me, shooting me a glare as she picks up her bowl and her tray and moves them to the counter on the other side of the center island from me. “Are you trying to get me in trouble with the Health Department or something?”

  “Are you planning on heading down to the corner to sell these or something?” I answer, right before I lick off the smear of cookie dough she left on the back of my hand.

  “I could be. You don’t know.”

  “Pretty sure you didn’t make my favorite cookies just to go sell them to strangers.” I snitch another one from the tray, just to make her crazy. And because they really are my favorite. Elara’s snickerdoodles were all well and good, but these are real cookies. Chocolate cookies.

  Imani’s only seventeen, but already it’s insane what she can do in a kitchen. Then again, it always has been, ever since she was young. Her goal is t
o go to culinary school, maybe become a pastry chef and open a bakery. I have other ideas though…ideas that include opening a restaurant or two for her to run once she’s made it through school.

  I snitch one more cookie, juking to the side when she comes after me with her spatula. I start to head out, then remember…

  “Hey, how are things going with that guy you’ve been seeing?”

  She beams. “Marquis? He’s great.”

  “Yeah? He treating you right?”

  This time the eye roll is so exaggerated that I’m a little offended. Or I would be if I didn’t know she was just messing with me. “He treats me fine, Tanner.”

  “Fine, huh?” I’m not sure I like the sound of that, so I lean back against the counter . I grab another cookie with one hand, even while I tug a couple of her braids with the other. “What’s that—”

  “Good. He treats me good. I swear!” She’s blushing now and that makes me think I need to push Tina to have another talk with her, just to make sure she’s taking care of herself. I’d do it myself, but the last time I tried she freaked out completely.

  Still, there are things I can handle—including making sure my baby sister knows she doesn’t have to take any shit off a guy just ’cuz she likes him. “He calls when he says he will? Does nice things for you? Listens when you talk?”

  “First of all, we text, we don’t call. And second, yes, he does all of that. He even brought me flowers at school today. Daisies.”

  “Daisies, huh? Not very extravagant on his part—” I start to tease, but she shuts me down hard.

  “Daisies are my favorite flower. And the fact that he remembers that, and gets them for me because he wants to make me smile, is worth more than all the roses in the world.”

  Then she gives me the look she’s been using on me since she was a baby, the one that melts my big-brother heart and turns me to putty in her hands, even though I know what she’s doing. “Trust me, Tan. I know how a guy should treat me. You’ve always been very clear on that. Plus, you’ve always set a pretty great example.”

  And yep, I’m pretty much a puddle of goo right about now. She knows it, too. I brace for some crazy ask on her part—like Marquis’s parents are out of town and she wants to spend the night at his house or some such shit—but she just puts down her spatula and gives me a hug, her head barely coming up to the center of my chest.

  I hug her back, lifting her off the ground just to hear her squeal like she used to when she was little and I’d throw her in the air. She does, and holds on even more tightly. When I finally put her down, she shakes her hair back so that I can get a clear look at her eyes. And then she says, “You’re a pretty great big brother, you know that?”

  I gently tug on her braids again. “You’re a pretty great little sister.” Then I snitch a couple more cookies and head up the stairs to my bedroom to change.

  As I do, I can’t help thinking about Elara. Can’t help wondering what it’ll take to get past her defenses and convince her to give me a real chance. Because I’m smart enough to know—despite what we almost shared in that kitchen— she’s far from sure of me. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have felt the need to issue her challenge.

  Not that the challenge bothers me. I just want to know what’s behind it. Just want to know what’s happened to her that makes her so tough and slow to trust. And I’m not going to lie. There’s a part of me that wants to put the guy who made her like that through the nearest wall.

  Which is some kind of overreaction, I admit. But then again, this whole thing with her is strange. It’s not like I’ve been abstinent since Allison died—not by a long shot. But I haven’t given much thought to women, either—not to what makes them tick, what makes them happy. The few relationships I’ve had have always been pretty superficial—fun while we’re together, but the second I walk out the door, they’re off my mind. I don’t spend time thinking about them and I sure as shit don’t have to work my ass off to keep up with them.

  Is that why I like Elara? I wonder as I change into athletic shorts and head to my workout room. Because she challenges me? Because my pro athlete status doesn’t mean jack to her? Or is it because she’s made it very obvious that she can take me or leave me?

  It’s a novel idea, one I’m not sure how I feel about. My whole life people have needed me, have depended on me. The idea that Elara doesn’t is as strange as it is intriguing.

  I’m so busy thinking about her that I nearly kill myself getting on the damn treadmill. Which isn’t going to work two weeks into training camp, when I’ve got crazy new plays to learn. Plus, Hunter’s such a damn prima donna on the field that I’ve got to be in tip-top shape to keep his ass safe. An unfortunate treadmill accident would definitely put that in jeopardy—not to mention give the guys a whole new reason to ride me.

  So I do the only thing I can. I banish Elara from my mind for the duration of my workout. It’s harder than it should be—harder than it’s ever been before, even with Allison. And that tells me everything I need to know.

  Chapter 10

  Elara

  “Hey, Elara, your mom called,” Vivi, the center’s morning receptionist, tells me as I make my way into Rebound, my arms filled with groceries from Costco. “Twice.”

  “Of course she did.” I bite back a groan—though it’s a close thing—and keep moving. “Thanks. If she calls again, tell her I’ll get back to her when I’ve got a free moment.”

  “Sure thing.” She’s grinning like something’s up, but since I’m deathly afraid it has something to do with my mother, I don’t bother asking. When it comes to her, there are some things I’m better off not knowing in advance, especially if there’s nothing I can do about them anyway.

  “Hey, guys. Can you pause the game and help me carry things in?” I ask Miguel, Sahil and Marlowe, all of whom are currently crashed out on the couches in the commons room, Wii remotes in their hands.

  “Yeah, sure.” Miguel jumps to his feet and heads for the door I just came through, leaving the others to follow suit. “Where’d you park?”

  “In the loading zone out front. The trunk and backseat need to be emptied.”

  He grins at me. “I’m on it.”

  As the three of them—along with the two kids playing Ping-Pong—head out to my SUV, I can’t help grinning. Because Miguel’s not in a corner somewhere trying to make himself as small as possible. Instead, he’s in the middle of a loud, boisterous group that’s playing video games and trash talking each other as hard as anything Tanner might be getting from his teammates.

  Looks like my whole plan to use basketball to get him involved worked wonders.

  The thought has me practically dancing up the stairs despite the heavy box in my arms. In my opinion, that’s the whole point of Rebound. To give kids a safe space to be themselves, yeah, but also to help them form bonds that will last when they leave the center and head back to their real lives. It’s those bonds that will get them through the tough times and, I hope, will act as barometers for me and other adults in their lives if and when our kids are in trouble.

  Once I reach the kitchen, I dump the box on the counter and then head back to the street to get another load. But Miguel’s already upstairs, his scrawny arms carrying a surprisingly large and bulky load. “Don’t worry about it, E,” he says, blowing past me. “We got the rest.”

  “You sure?” I ask, eyebrows up. “There’s a lot.”

  He grins, and—next to the smile he gave me when he realized who was on the basketball court with him yesterday—it’s the first real smile I’ve ever seen from him. It warms me all the way through, has my heart expanding in my chest just a little more.

  Because something tells me this kid is really special, and the rest of us are finally going to get a chance to see that.

  “We got this,” he repeats.

  “Okay, then.” I reach for th
e box he’s carrying. “Give me that and I’ll start unpacking while you guys carry in the rest.”

  Forty-five minutes later, I’ve got all the groceries put away and am making myself a cup of coffee before heading downstairs to move my car and get to work for the day. As I make the coffee, I can’t help thinking about how I brought Tanner up here for a cup yesterday and everything that happened after I did. Including the way his lips brushed, so feather light, against my own. And the wicked gleam in his eyes when he admitted that he hated coffee.

  My whole body warms when I think of that look, that kiss, and that’s a problem. Because I’m not doing this with him—I can’t. No matter how decent a guy he is, and I’m not going to lie—he seems pretty decent—I’m not going to get involved with another player. Certainly not one of Tanner’s caliber and fame.

  It’s not that I’m bitter about how things went down with Jeremy, although there’s a part of that in the mix, too. But the real problem is everything that came with Jeremy. The constant scrutiny from the press, the way my identity got sublimated to his, the way I suddenly ceased to be anything but Jeremy Barker’s girlfriend.

  Maybe that sounds arrogant, but I’ve worked too hard for the life I have—fought too hard for the right to be who I am instead of who others want me to be—to just give it up for some man. Been there, done that. Not going to happen again. Especially not now when I’ve got so much more than a basketball career on the line.

  Not now, when everything I do—everything the press writes about me—reflects on Rebound.

  It’s that thought that’s in my mind when I jog down the stairs to my office. And that thought that slips right out of my mind when I see the gigantic—and I mean gigantic—vase of flowers on my desk. So gigantic, in fact, that the base of it takes up half my desk.