Rough & Ready

by Tracy Wolff

  “Damn straight,” Shawn agrees.

  It’s not enough. It’s not near enough. Nothing is. But it’s better than him getting off scot free like he has for so many years.

  Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

  Chapter 21

  Elara

  “Are they still out there?” I ask Vivi when she comes upstairs to the bathroom, where I am currently trying to unclog a sink with a very uncooperative snake. It’s just one of the many joys of running a rec center—one that I would happily give up, considering this particular sink clogs up about once a week. But I’ve had a plumber out here three times to look at it, and he swears this shouldn’t keep happening. Yet it does, again and again and again.

  “Oh, yeah. And I’m pretty sure they’re multiplying.”

  “Don’t tell me that.” I rest my head on the cool basin of the sink for a few seconds and try to figure out how the hell to get rid of the flock of sports and gossip reporters that has descended on Rebound.

  I was expecting a couple of intrepid souls to sniff around this week, what with the induction this weekend. But being seen with Tanner at the gala two nights ago has really blown things up—especially since a couple of fans got photos of us at the valet stand, me in his jacket and him with his tuxedo shirt split wide open. Is it any wonder the reporters are salivating at the gate for a glimpse of more of that?

  “It’s your fault for being so fabulous,” she tells me. “If you weren’t being inducted into the WNBA Hall of Fame this weekend, they wouldn’t be calling you the hottest couple in professional sports.”

  “They’re not calling us that.” I lift my head up and get back to the job of rolling the snake down the pipes. When I feel it finally get to the end, I stand back from the sink and press the button that has it rolling back up.

  “They totally are!” Vivi contradicts me. “You should see what they’re saying about you on the sports gossip blogs. You even have a ship name.”

  I groan. “Don’t tell me what it is.”

  “ElTan. Pretty cool, right?”

  “If I want to be mistaken for a flamboyant English man in his seventies, then sure.”

  “It’s ElTan, not Elton. And there are worse things than being mistaken for Elton John.”

  “Yeah, like having the press camped out on your doorstep because they want to know if you’re sleeping with the great Tanner Green.”

  “Honey, if you think the press are the only ones who want to know the answer to that question, then you’ve lost your damn mind.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Oh, and Tanner sent you flowers again. I put them in your office—just thought you should know.”

  This time I don’t even try to hold back the groan. “Tell me the flower delivery guy didn’t walk them straight past the gossip police.”

  “Of course he did. On the plus side, it shows the reporters that you matter to him—that you’re not just a one-night stand.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You are lucky. I’m serious. All the paps swear it. You want me to tell you what they said?”

  “I think I’ll pass on that.” The snake finally makes its way out of the drain—with a huge hair and paper clog attached to it. To add insult to injury, it goes nuts, thrashing around everywhere and splashing disgusting water all over me.

  Because of course it does.

  “You shouldn’t. He sounds like an amazing guy.”

  “He is.” I smile despite the water…and the mob of press. “I don’t need a bunch of reporters to tell me that.”

  “That’s a good point. But still, they’re calling you guys extra talented and extra glamorous! It’s awesome.”

  I look at my dirty water–soaked tee and athletic shorts and the mess that currently doubles for a sink in the center’s boys’ bathroom. “You’re right. My life is so extra glamorous.” To prove it, I grab the nasty hair-and-other-stuff clump and wave it in her direction. Which is all it takes to have her squealing and retreating—exactly as I’d hoped.

  With a sigh, I clean up the mess, wash the sink down with bleach and then head down to my office, after putting the snake and bucket away in the janitor’s closet. I change into my last set of extra clothes—it’s been a bad week—and settle down to get some work done while, hopefully, forgetting that the reporters outside even exist.

  Except I’ve barely gotten through half of the mess that is scheduling classes for the second part of summer, when Vivi comes running through my office door.

  “What’s wrong?” I spring to my feet the second I get a look at her face and make a beeline for the door, fears of everything from a broken bone on the basketball courts to a fistfight in the commons room racing through my head. “Who’s hurt?”

  “No one. But the reporters have started hassling the kids instead of just waiting for you. They keep taking their pictures, trying to get them to talk. I knew you’d want to know.”

  “They know they can’t do that, right?” I move from speed-walking to jogging. “These are minors we’re talking about here.”

  “Yeah, but most of these reporters aren’t from the legitimate press. They’re paps from gossip sites looking for a good sound bite or a pic. And if they angle the camera just right or crop the pic, they’ll never have to worry about getting in trouble for exploiting these kids.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not going to fly. This is private property. If they don’t move their butts away from the gate—and away from my kids—I’m going to call the cops. I’m all for freedom of the press, but that doesn’t include hassling my kids.”

  When I finally make it to the front of the commons room, I realize that Vivi is right. I’d kind of been hoping she was exaggerating, that there were just a couple of paps out here with cameras and a ridiculous urge to stir the pot with an old basketball has-been. But the moment I get close enough to see through the front windows, my heart leaps to my throat. Because there are a shit-ton of reporters out there, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to them. Besides “Get the fuck away from them!”

  It may get my point of view on the record, but it won’t do much to protect my kids. And that, I’m not okay with.

  I think about calling 911, think about calling Tanner and getting his advice—ninety-five percent of this is his fault because he’s the one all the paps are interested in. Surely he’s got some suggestions on how to handle them.

  But I’ve never needed a man to rescue me before and I’m not going to start now—especially since I’ve spent the last couple of nights wrapped up in Tanner’s arms, so afraid of being alone with the memories that I convinced him to stay with me. No way am I going to show him, yet again, how completely out of my depth I am.

  “Get the kids away from the door,” I tell her as I pull my own phone out of my pocket, just in case I need to start filming in a hurry.

  “I’m trying, but some of them are as interested in the reporters as the reporters are in them.”

  “Yeah, well, tough luck.” Still, as I prepare to wade through the chaos, it’s hard to ignore the fact that she’s right. That in a number of cases the paps aren’t so much hassling my kids as being hassled by them.

  And Josie is leading the pack. Of course.

  Damn it.

  Head up, shoulders back, I march out to the sidewalk in front of the center. “I need you to back up a little,” I tell the gossip reporters. “This is private property.”

  “The sidewalk isn’t, Elara,” one of them says and he’s filming already, the bastard.

  “I know, but some of you are awfully close to this fence. Not to mention awfully close to my kids, all of whom are minors,” I tell him before turning to Josie and the posse she’s collected around herself for the day. “You need to go inside or you need to go home.”

  “Come on, Elara. You took my advice and landed Tanner Gr
een. You should be celebrating, not hiding out in your office in the grungiest clothes you own.”

  I’m more than aware that they’re filming all of this, and even though they can’t use it without Josie’s mother’s permission, I don’t trust her not to give it. So…“Josie. Get in the center. Now.”

  She looks like she’s about to argue, but then her eyes go really wide. Her gaze is locked on something over my shoulder, and I turn around prepared to blast a reporter for stepping foot on my property—and end up coming face-to-face with the man the gossip blogs have been calling “America’s favorite lineman,” all afternoon.

  “What are you doing here?” I hiss at him as he wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to make it worse.”

  “Nope. I’m going to make it better.” Bending down, he nuzzles at my ear a little and whispers, “Smile, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t want to smile,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “I want to get them away from my kids.”

  “And we will. I promise.” And with that, he moves his arm from my shoulder to my waist and turns me around. Then he propels me straight toward the cameras—exactly where I don’t want to go.

  Flashes explode as a dozen reporters call out questions—all while filming and taking video of us.

  “We are thrilled to confirm that yes, we are dating,” Tanner tells them, singling out one of the reporter’s questions to answer.

  That’s news to me since we’ve never actually talked about what we’re doing, and part of me wants to tell him so right here in front of everyone. But I’m smart enough to know that’s my temper talking, so I keep my mouth firmly shut. When I call him on that assumption, it’ll be in private, not in front of these gossip columnists who will turn it into click bait.

  “How long have you guys been dating, Tanner? And is it serious?”

  “We met about a week ago and have seen each other several times since then.”

  “So does that mean, yes? It’s serious?”

  “It means it’s new. But if you’re asking me how I feel about Elara, then I’ll tell you. I’m crazy about her.” He pulls me closer, plants a kiss on my cheek—probably because he knows I’d claw his eyes out if he tried for anything more right now.

  Another explosion of flashes, another barrage of questions and a few squeals from the girls behind me. My temper ratchets up another notch and I swear, when I get this man inside, I’m going to eviscerate him.

  “You must be thrilled about Elara’s induction this weekend. Do you two have plans to go together?”

  For the first time, Tanner stiffens against me. Good. I hope he’s totally caught off guard by my nomination and makes a complete ass of himself. Maybe it will teach him a lesson about trying to take over a situation when he doesn’t have all the pieces. Because seriously, he may be the nicest guy I’ve ever met, but this let me fix everything attitude he’s got going on has got to stop.

  “No one deserves induction into the Hall of Fame more than Elara Vance. I’m exceptionally proud of her and happy for her. As for whether or not I’ll be there?” He flashes them a grin guaranteed to melt panties all over the country—maybe all over the world—and once again, the cameras explode. “What do you think?”

  Seriously? Did the man just invite himself to my induction ceremony? I’m so pissed at this point that it’s a miracle smoke isn’t coming out of my ears. The fact that I was going to invite him this afternoon is so not the point.

  The paps ask a couple more questions, which Tanner is happy to answer. When one of them lobs one my way, I open my mouth prepared to answer truthfully, and find myself being pulled against Tanner, his lips slamming down on mine in his rush to keep me from ruining the story he’s spent the last fifteen minutes spinning.

  Heat rushes through me the second our lips meet—this is Tanner, after all, and I am crazy about the man even if I am pissed as hell at him. But just because he rocks my world by pretty much just existing doesn’t mean I’m going to be a pushover for the man. So I do what any self-respecting woman would in this situation—I bite him. Not hard enough to draw blood, obviously, but hard enough to warn him just what kind of trouble he’s gotten himself into.

  He grunts a little at the sting—since it definitely wasn’t the good kind—but he doesn’t lift his mouth from mine, like I expected. Instead, he slides a hand into my hair and cups the back of my head. Then he deepens the kiss.

  And I swear to God, it’s like NBA championship game seven meets Fourth of July behind my eyelids. For one second, two…five, before I finally find the strength to pull away.

  “That’s the first money shot,” he says to me as he gently strokes a hand down my cheek while gazing soulfully into my eyes. “And here’s the second.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, telling him without words justs how much he’s going to pay for this. The fact that he just grins back shows he’s got the self-preservation instincts of a turnip. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, now that I think about it, considering the whole point of his job is to put his body between the quarterback and absolutely everybody else.

  “Okay, guys,” he says as he finally pulls away. “Elara and I need to get going. But thanks so much for your interest in us. We’re doing great, just kind of finding our way right now. But I promise, we’ll keep you posted.”

  He gives a little three-fingered wave with his free hand, then turns me around, his arm still around my waist—almost like he’s afraid I’ll run inside the rec center and lock him out if I get too far ahead of him. Which, not going to lie, has occurred to me.

  Especially since the second we hit the door, my girls—led by Josie—are on us.

  “Oh my God, it’s so romantic!” Josie pretends to swoon. “Tell us everything, E!”

  “I’m pretty sure Tanner already took care of that,” I tell her with a smile as sweet as saccharin.

  “When did you to get together?” Aneesha asks. “You weren’t at the basketball game, right? Because you threw a lot of elbows at him, E. To be honest, I’m surprised he came back for more.”

  “Are you kidding?” Josie says, with an air of authority that no fifteen-year-old girl should have—at least not about this. “Men like it when they have to work for it a little.”

  “That’s enough!” I snap at her. “You don’t need to be talking like that. And—for the record—men like it when you’re honest. Same as women.”

  My tone shuts Josie and the others down, exactly as I intended. And if I was a little harsh with them, I’m okay with that. Maybe they’ll learn something about the rules of real relationships instead of the fictional ones they keep making up in their heads.

  I make it to my office three steps ahead of Tanner and almost get the door closed. But his giant foot wedges itself between the doorjamb and the door before I can shut it all the way.

  “Can we talk?” he asks, pretending to wave a white flag as he opens the door and steps fully inside.

  “Oh, we’ll talk,” I fume at him. “But you might want to give me a couple of minutes to calm down before you decide to take me on.”

  “I don’t know.” He flashes me that damn panty-melting grin again, but after spending a good part of last night—and this morning—with him inside me, I’m inoculated. Or at least that’s the story I’m sticking to. “I kind of like you this way.”

  “That’s because you haven’t felt the bite of my teeth in your ass yet.”

  “Kinky.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

  “Are you kidding me with this?” I demand incredulously. “You have to know that what you did out there was completely inappropriate and now you’re in here cracking jokes?”

  “It’s that or let you see how pissed I really am, and I was trying to protect you from that.”

  “You’re pissed? You’re the one who came in here and hijacked the whole story. I didn’t want to talk to the
press. I definitely didn’t want them to know about whatever this thing between us is. And I sure as hell didn’t want—”

  “A relationship,” he interrupts.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This thing between us. You should call it what it is—a relationship.”

  “Um, I don’t remember that being established any time in the last couple of days.”

  “It absolutely has been established.” He gives me a stubborn look that says he’s not budging on this.

  But I just give him one back and up the ante by crossing my arms across my chest and leaning back on my heels. “Oh, really? When?”

  “When you slept with me. When you told me about what that motherfucker you dated did to you and then you fell asleep in my arms. When you let me spend the night the last two nights. That sure as shit isn’t one-night-stand behavior, sweetheart.”

  Oh my God. I think the top of my head might actually be about to explode. “That’s not for you to decide by yourself.”

  “Well, it sure as hell isn’t for you to decide by yourself, either,” he answers, green eyes blazing in a way I haven’t seen from him before. “What did you think was going to happen anyway? You were going to open up and share with me one of the most painful moments of your life and I was just going to be like, ‘Hey, that’s cool?’ Because I’ve got to tell you, if that’s what you thought, then you were way the fuck off.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You won’t tell me who the son of a bitch is who did that to you. You won’t let me tell you how sorry I am that it happened. And now you won’t let me protect you when the press come calling because I wasn’t careful enough with you? Fuck that.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can. There’s not a doubt in my mind. But the thing about being in a relationship? You don’t have to take care of yourself all the time. Sometimes I can do it. Sometimes I need to do it. Especially—” He breaks off, clenches his jaw against whatever it was he was going to say.