by Desiree Holt
She realized with a start the taxi, which had slowed a moment ago, had come to a standstill. The driver’s two-way radio crackled in the front seat, but she ignored its staticky sound as she checked her phone again. Still no answer from Hank. She leaned forward, seeing rows of vehicles stopped in every lane of the interstate as far ahead as she could see. Shit.
“Is there an accident ahead of us?”
“Yes, miss.” The driver was nothing if not polite. “Dispatch radioed me a moment ago. Sorry, miss.”
Well, crap. Just what she didn’t need. She wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine, and pizza delivery.
She checked her watch again. Was it really only two minutes since she’d tried calling Hank? Maybe a text would reach him. Sometimes she had better success with that.
“In cab on way home from airport. What’s up? Try a tin can for reception.”
She hit Send and waited to see if he answered. In less than two minutes, her phone chimed.
“Good trip?”
“Yes. What’s up with you? What’s with all the phone calls?”
“Just wanted 2 let you know Laura had 2 vacate condo for repairs for 2 days. Told her she could stay at house. She knows where extra key is.”
That was what was so important?
Shay snorted and wrote, “I’ll bet.”
“She’ll be gone sometime 2day. Just a heads up.” Shay ground her teeth. Damn it. Why couldn’t the damn woman have gone to a hotel? And what was with giving out the location of the key? She loved her big brother and was grateful to him for sharing his house with her but she definitely needed to find a place of her own. She didn’t need his females driving her crazy when he wasn’t there.
“She’d better be out of there when I get home. Want peace and quiet.”
“I’ll text her now. Just wanted to get yr flight info.”
“On my way home from airport now.”
“Thx. I’ll tell her. How was NY?”
“Same old same old. U home soon?”
“Maybe. Don’t know. Take care.”
“You, too.”
Traffic was still not moving. Shay bit down on her frustration, sighed again, and unzipped the front pocket of her carry-on. She’d grabbed a sports magazine in the airport, planning to check the ads her company was running, but hadn’t bothered to read it on the plane. Maybe she could use it to pass the time now.
Flipping it open, the first thing she saw was Joe Reilly’s face smiling at her in full living color. Crap. Joe Reilly. Her childhood hero, her teenage crush, and the star of her adult erotic fantasies. The same Joe Reilly who’d called her squirt and pest when she tagged after him and Hank. The football idol who had been a babe magnet since his voice changed.
The man she’d been secretly in love with all these years, a love that stilted every other relationship she’d had. When was she ever going to admit that it was an impossibility? That she needed to stomp on it, bury it, and move forward?
In Texas, where football was the number one religion, high school stars wrote their own tickets. As the star quarterback for the Granite Falls High School Coyotes, Joe had had women hanging over him like so much drapery. During his outstanding career in college and then in the NFL, it seemed every time she turned on the television or checked sports online she saw his picture with one female or another. She was sure he had a black book that rivaled an encyclopedia in size. She might as well have been chopped liver for as much attention as he ever paid to her.
She’d wasted so much of her time studying football, until she could diagram games almost as well as Joe could. She could even point out the percentage of success for each play. Joe had always grinned and winked at her. Only in hindsight had she realized he’d tolerated her because she was Hank’s baby sister, with the emphasis on baby, even as she stupidly wanted him to wait for her to grow up.
She needed to find a way to get Joe Reilly out of her head. For good. Certainly her obsession with him wasn’t helping her love life. She needed to stop looking for Joe Reilly substitutes. The men she tried to build relationships with may not have been athletes, but they were ardent sports fans and that was what attracted her.
And look how far that had gotten her. One cheated on her with a coworker, one out and out lied about who and what he was, another wanted to move in with her and have her pay the rent. Thank God she’d never said I love you to any of them, probably because, in retrospect, she hadn’t. All those experiences left her with a strong distrust of the male sex, Joe Reilly being no exception.
Yeah, she was the champion of stupid. What was with her, anyway? She was smart, savvy, successful at her work. She’d braved the Big Apple and found herself a dream job she loved, which paid her extremely well. People would be lining up to be her if she let them. Now she needed to find a way to get rid of this restless, unfulfilled feeling she hadn’t been able to shake in years.
For weeks she’d been telling herself tomorrow she’d take the first step to build a new life here in San Antonio, back in Texas where her roots were. Reach out to old friends. Meet new people. Rebuild her life and shake the ghosts of the past. Stop burying herself in the house with her work and marathon sessions with old movies and popcorn. How pathetic was that?
What she needed was the right guy, one who understood emotion and who respected her. One who wasn’t a Joe Reilly substitute. It wouldn’t hurt if he was really hot and could make every one of her erotic fantasies come to life. And also didn’t lie or cheat. Time to finally put the vestiges of her crush, her childish daydreams, where they belonged—in the mental Dumpster. She was through lusting after Joe Reilly.
Enough already.
If she was going to hero worship someone she should have stuck to Joe Montana. He’d be a lot safer. And better. Yes, way better.
She closed the magazine, putting Joe Reilly where he belonged. In her carryon.
Time to get on with life.
* * * *
Joe Reilly wheeled his rental car out of the parking lot toward San Antonio. Checking his cell phone for traffic alerts, he discovered an accident on Interstate 10 that had traffic at a standstill. He programmed the GPS for an alternate route and headed out.
He could still smell the traces of a soft drink on his slacks. He’d done his best to wipe away the stains but the rental clerk had given him the fisheye, probably thinking he was a real slob. It wasn’t his fault some idiot who couldn’t walk and chew gum, or manage to hold onto her drink on the plane, had dumped its contents over the back of her seat and onto him. Just another indication of how crummy his day was going.
He’d seen this trip as a chance to spend some quality time with Hank Beckham, who, despite geographical differences, was still his best friend. He didn’t get to see as much of him as he’d like to these days. The last time had been three years ago.
Their schedules just hadn’t allowed for any time together since then. Hank was an engineer who was always being sent to some assignment for his company while Joe ran around the country for Fox Sports One and for the Coaches Conference business he’d started. The latter was an important project for him, workshops for high school coaches on how to lead as well as coach. How to teach players personal values as well as diagrams and game plans. He’d seen too many kids come out of high school without understanding that playing was only half the deal. Personal responsibility was a big part of it. His programs were geared to help coaches pass that along.
Unfortunately Hank had texted that morning he was still in Wyoming working on plans to build a bridge, but Joe should make himself at home in the house.
“I’ll try and catch a quick couple of days while you’re there, buddy,” Hank had assured him. “But if not, just make yourself at home.”
He’d also hoped to spend some time with his parents, of course, who were happy in their new adults-only community, except they were away on a trip. Bad timing, but it couldn’t be helped.
So he’d be alone in the house.
Joe shifted in his seat, trying to stretch out his left leg. The ache served as a constant reminder the glory days had come to an abrupt end.
His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at the readout and swore. Lisa Margolin. No doubt calling for his help with Gina again. God. How had he gotten himself in this pickle anyway? Because his parents raised him to take care of people who couldn’t take care of themselves. That was how. He let the call go to voice mail, not in a mood to deal with it right now.
He was aware the most recent company Gina worked for had gone out of business a few weeks ago. Employees had received a one-month severance package and Joe knew Gina was coming to the end of hers. She didn’t deal well with uncertainty. Her dysfunctional family had set off her battle with the bottle to begin with and he knew the thread of sobriety was always very shaky.
Ten minutes later the ringtone chimed again and he knew without looking who it was. She was nothing if not persistent. Setting his jaw, he pressed Accept.
“What is it this time, Lisa?”
“You know I wouldn’t call you unless it was important, Joe. Really.” She always began the calls that way.
Except it was always important. “Yeah, okay. Just tell me what’s up now.”
“I hope you aren’t mad.”
She was as good at sounding tearful as Gina always had been.
“Lisa, I’m kind of busy. What’s the deal?”
“Well, um…” She paused.
“Look.” He chuffed with impatience. “Just spit it out. How much?” It was always money. Of course.
“She’s got a few job interviews coming up and she could use a couple new outfits.”
Joe squeezed the phone so hard he was amazed he didn’t crush it. “What happened to the money I just sent her?”
Pause. “She got sick.” Lisa’s voice was very quiet. “I mean, really sick. She needed medicine.”
He could only imagine. Medicine that came in bottles of cheap booze.
“She really wants to make a good impression at these interviews,” Lisa added.
A headache began to burrow its way into his temples.
“Fine. Give me an hour and I’ll transfer some money into your account.”
“Can’t you just meet me with a check?” she whined.
“No. I’m busy. It’s the transfer or nothing.”
“Whatever.” Her heavy sigh was clear across the connection. “Sorry. I just want this to happen for her.”
“We’re coming to the end of the road here, Lisa. It’s time Gina took responsibility for her own life.”
“But you’re all she has,” Lisa protested, a familiar refrain. “You can’t let go of her now. I-I’ll make sure she stays clean. Gets a job. Goes to work.”
“Do that. I’ll check back with you to see what’s going on.” He disconnected the call in the middle of her thanks, grinding his teeth.
Gina Rivera. High school bombshell. Wild child who’d captured his virtue. He hadn’t seen her, had even forgotten about her, until his third year in the NFL. She’d shown up at a game, waiting for him at the player’s gate, all masses of blond hair and tight clothes. He’d been high enough on the excitement of the win to succumb to her sexiness and spend the night with her.
He hadn’t thought much of it, not even when she showed up twice more. Then he’d discovered her secret, answered her one plea for help and after that he was trapped, just because he was basically a good guy. Occasional contact turned into regular contact. And when he’d stopped taking her calls, she’d had Lisa contact him with a sob story that plucked at his conscience.
How long was he expected to offer aid to a raging alcoholic who didn’t help herself? He should have told Scott Manchin, his agent, about it from the beginning. By now so much time had passed if word got out, the media wouldn’t look at him as doing something kind for a friend. They’d want to know why he’d kept her hidden all this time. Did they have a child together? All that shit. He’d seen it happen to others and hadn’t been smart enough to protect himself. It would be gossip fodder for weeks and kill all the work he’d done to clean up his act. He really had to cut the cord here.
Okay, enough of that.
Following the GPS directions, he pulled off the interstate and into an attractive neighborhood of larger homes and mature trees. A little farther on and the GPS directed him to turn left into the long driveway of a two-story colonial. Nice digs, Hank, he thought. But the guy was making big bucks. He deserved a good place to come home to.
He parked in front of the garage door. Maybe when he got inside he could grab the opener from Hank’s car and use it while he was here. The key was right where Hank had said it would be. He opened the front door, pulled his suitcase inside, and headed toward the room Hank had said was his to use. On the way he passed a room that looked far too feminine to be Hank’s. He wondered briefly whose room it was. Hank hadn’t mentioned anything about sharing the house with someone.
Too much for him to think about right now. He wanted a shower, and then he’d see about ordering some dinner. Less than five minutes later he was under hot, steaming water, washing away the grime of the day.
* * * *
The taxi moved forward with a jerk and Shay’s eyes popped open. She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Did they clear away the wreck? We’re finally moving, right?”
“Yes, miss.” He shrugged. “But slowly.”
She rotated her neck, trying to work out some of the kinks. She’d been sitting in uncomfortable seats since she got in the shuttle to the airport and every muscle in her body ached. The hot shower was looking better and better. Or maybe she’d fire up the hot tub Hank had installed on the rear deck.
Hopefully, with all this delay caused by the wreck, by the time she got to the house Laura would be packed and gone. They pulled off the interstate and she mentally crossed her fingers and silently chanted, Let her be gone. But bad luck was still with her. When they turned onto her street and she spotted the car parked in the driveway, she swore under her breath. Laura Whoever was still here. Well, she’d better be getting ready to leave. Shay was in no mood to put up with bullshit. Sighing, she hauled her suitcase into the house, closed the door, and headed through the living room to her bedroom.
And stopped.
A hissing sound came from the shower in the bathroom connected to her bedroom and the guest room. Damn it! The least Hank could do was tell his little friends to use the master bath and leave hers alone. He had, after all, promised her that she’d have complete privacy.
“I travel a lot,” he’d told her. Then grinned. “And I’ll keep the sleepovers to those times you’re in New York.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
So how come this female hadn’t gotten the message she was supposed to be gone?
Crap! The door wasn’t even closed. Clouds of steam billowed in the bathroom and obscured the figure in the frosted-glass shower enclosure. Okay, enough was enough.
Shay stepped into the bathroom and banged her hand on the glass.
“This is my bathroom,” she ground out. “I’ve had a tough day and you don’t want to mess with me. Next time use Hank’s bathroom. This one is off-limits. Get your ass out of here in five seconds, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
She turned away, not the least bit interested in a glimpse of Laura Whoever’s nudity. She just wanted her out of the house.
The water stopped and the door slid open.
“Okay. I don’t want to cause you any more stress. But Hank said I should use this one.”
The deep voice shocked her and she turned around before she even thought about it. And nearly swallowed her tongue. A very wet, very naked Joe Reilly stood in her shower stall, grinning at her.
Just when she’d finally made up her mind to stop thinking about him and obsessing over him.
At that exact moment her cell phone chimed.
A message from Hank.
“BTW, Joe’s in town. Take good care of him.”
