by Tia Lewis
“Hey, guys. What are your plans for tonight?” Jared asked, walking over. I glared at him a little to get him to leave us alone, but he wasn’t taking the hint—either I wasn't clear enough, or he didn’t give a shit. I was willing to go for didn’t give a shit.
Abby looked at me, questions in her eyes. “Well, we haven’t talked about that yet,” I admitted. “We were just gonna go get some dinner.”
“Oh, dinner.” He grinned. Well, he needed to know something.
“Yeah, Abby and I go way back. To first grade,” I said.
“Oh wow, really?”
“Yep.” I nodded.
“No shit. Small world.” He waved Garrett over and told him the story. I saw his eyes light up.
“So, you must have all kinds of embarrassing stories about Max when he was a kid, huh?”
I shook my head, but Abby nodded. “Oh, hell yeah. Plenty. I’ll have to tell you guys sometime.”
“Or maybe not,” I interrupted. “Come on. We gotta go before things get even more crowded. It’s Friday night, you know?”
“Where are we even going?” she asked. I took her by the elbow, steering her toward my car.
“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out on the way. I’ll drive,” I offered. She had no choice but to agree since I was almost dragging her to my black 4x4. I didn’t want the guys knowing where we were going. They wouldn’t leave us in peace.
“I’m glad you’re driving. I’m still getting over driving on the opposite side of the road,” Abby admitted with a laugh.
“Oh, you’ve been in Europe the whole time?” I asked.
“Again—save it for dinner. I don’t have very scintillating dinner conversations, so I need to save what little I have.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, helping her into the car. I watched her as she climbed into the passenger seat, ass nice and tight in her little skirt. Those legs. She’d always been tall, of course, but she was skinny back in the day. She’d filled out a little, and I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on her body. “Oh, I have plenty to keep the conversation moving.”
“I’m sure you do.” I saw her smirk as I closed the door. She wasn’t going to be easy, but had she ever?
I tried to pretend I didn’t see Layla coming out of the stadium, watching my car pull away. I could always explain it to her later.
4
Abby
We pulled up to an upscale restaurant called The Private Harvest around seven-thirty, and Max climbed out and handed the keys to the valet like it was something he did all the time. Probably because it was. He was used to valets, Maître D' and servers treating him like royalty—maybe because he was in that city. Two-time Super Bowl champion. I learned that within three minutes of being in the car with him. Four-time Pro Bowl. I’d learned that a moment later.
He wasn’t only bragging, either. The moment the Maître D' recognized him, we were immediately ushered to a table even though at least two dozen people were waiting outside the restaurant. I heard murmuring from everyone we passed. They sounded the way I would imagine people sounding if the Pope walked in. Or somebody similarly amazing. Not a football player.
Not that I didn’t love football. Not that it should have been surprising to see people fawning over Max since people had fawned over Max for years. I’d seen it all throughout high school. Girls nearly threw themselves at his feet—a tired cliché, but true nonetheless. They loved him. Adored him. Would do anything for him.
Including me. Only he never looked at me that way.
Seeing grown men losing their shit over him was a different story. I wondered if they’d ever known real heroes in their lives, or if Max was the closest they’d ever come. It was so strange to witness this.
But not for Max. He loved it and was clearly comfortable with the fame as we walked through the dining room with its dark wood floors, tables, and chairs. It was a very dark atmosphere, but Max seemed to shine like the sun. He got the attention of even the busboys off in the corner, and he knew it. He soaked it in like a sponge. I wondered if he hadn’t deliberately taken me to a restaurant where everybody would lose it over him. Maybe he was a regular. Heck, he could have been the owner and I wouldn’t have known and better.
He grinned when we sat down. “Sorry. That was a little embarrassing,” he murmured.
“Liar.” That wiped the grin right off his face. “You’re not embarrassed by it. You love the attention.”
“Nah.” He reddened.
“It’s okay. You should. You earned it.”
He didn’t laugh right away, but when he did, he sounded genuine. “It’s like not a minute has passed,” he marveled, shaking his head. “You’re still sharp. You still don’t let me get away with a damned thing. Always keeping me on my toes.”
I blushed—I’d always blushed too quickly. He knew that. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since he’d walked into my office, either. For years I’d been a poised, self-possessed woman in a world of men. Why did he have to ruin my poise? I felt like such a nerd next to him. People probably wondered what we were doing together—the great football star and plain Jane.
So what did I do? I relied on my sharpest weapon: Sarcasm. It was the one tool that had gotten me through years of being painfully in love with a man who would never love me back. If I were witty, caustic, I could cover up the fluttery way I felt inside whenever he looked at me. I could mask the years of pain he’d inflicted without even realizing it. The years in which I’d wished more than anything that he would love me, or at least see me as something more than just a friend. I’d wished so hard. On every first star, on every coin thrown into a fountain. Every time I blew out my birthday candles.
And he fell into his old role—then again, his role required nothing but being himself. He was good at that.
The restaurant was pleasant. The atmosphere was decidedly casual. Our polo shirts weren’t out of place despite it being a ritzy restaurant. The menu wasn’t the typical fast-casual menu, however.
“From reading this menu I would think I was eating at a casual restaurant.”
“Yeah. It’s one of my favorite spots to eat. It has the right balance of everyday food but with an upscale feel, you know.”
“I see.” I nodded staring at the menu. “Oh, wow! Tuna nachos? Oh, I’ve gotta get me some of those.”
“I’m gonna get some, too,” Max decided.
“Oh, do you want to split, then?”
He smiled. “No. You don’t want to split with me unless you plan on getting, like one bite. I was out there practicing all day.”
I felt silly for asking. “Of course. You must be starving. You need your protein.” And protein he got after ordering the nachos, three steak tacos, and a platter of blackened chicken breast with sweet potato pancakes. I was impressed. I ordered the nachos as well, and a salad with grilled salmon.
I sipped my iced tea, wondering what to talk about. I guessed Max would ask me if he was interested. Why was I tongue-tied? I was an educated woman with a great depth of knowledge about my field. I’d spent nearly a decade living in Europe. I was cultured and self-assured until the split second when I saw him again.
“So. Tell me the whole story. Beginning to end.” He smiled from across the table, sitting in the chair like he owned it. Like he owned, anywhere he decided to go. He’d looked that way in the stands, too, when the coach had brought me around. That arrogant posture, his legs slightly spread, a smirk on his face. He took a long gulp from a draft beer.
“You mean that?” I asked. He nodded. “Okay. You asked for it.” I told him all about living in Germany with Dad, what a huge culture shock it had been at the time. How I’d decided to go to school in Germany as opposed to, say, Rome or somewhere equally exotic. “Though I did sometimes visit on weekends and holidays,” I added.
“Fancy,” he grinned.
“Funny, but it doesn’t feel that way when you’re there. Europeans are so much better traveled than we are. It’s amazing. Anyway, Dad was station
ed in Paris after that.”
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“That must have been incredible.”
“It was. I mean, it was just another day in the office for Dad. I loved the excuse to visit him there over my breaks,” I said with a giggle.
“Of course, who wouldn’t? You always wanted to go to Europe when we were kids. I remember that. You took French because you wanted to go to France one day.”
“Wow, you remember that?” What a strange, random memory. And he’d pulled it out so effortlessly.
“Sure. I remember a lot about you.” He made my heart race, my cheeks tingle.
I had to move on with the story, or else I’d be tempted to ask what he remembered and why and it would just get ugly. “Anyway, after that, I moved to London to work with a rugby team. I moved on to football after that, and spent two years traveling with a bunch of sweaty, stinking and testosterone-filled footballers.”
“Ha! That must have been fun,” he murmured, cocking an eyebrow.
I scowled. “Is your head always in the gutter?” He chuckled as our food arrived, cutting off anything he might have been ready to say. My eyes nearly fell out at the sight of my nachos. It was a huge pile of fried wonton wrappers topped with cubed ahi tuna, sesame seeds and what looked like spicy aioli. I dug in with relish, rolling my eyes blissfully at the first taste of the fish. It melted on my tongue.
“I can’t believe there’s so much here,” I said over a mouthful of food. “I wouldn’t have ordered had I known. I’ll never eat it all.”
“I think I can finish it for you,” Max said with confidence. He plowed through his platter with no problem. I only got around a third of the way through as we talked before pushing the leftovers his way. He polished them off without batting an eye.
“What brought you home?” he asked at one point, his mouth full of tuna.
“The team’s owners contacted me. I would have never thought of it, otherwise.”
“So you knew nothing about me playing for the team?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if he sounded dubious or just surprised at the way fate steered things sometimes.
“Nope. Not a thing,” I assured him. “I stopped following American sports after a year or two. There was more than enough to keep me interested once I started working.”
“I bet,” he said. “Wow, I still can’t believe this happened. All these years, and now we’re together again. Crazy.”
We’re together again. Did Max have any idea how difficult he was making life for me? I wanted nothing more in the entire world than to confess how I’d loved him for so long. I wanted to take his face in my hands and kiss him softly, then with passion. All the emotions I’d stored up for him for so long. So much yearning, so much need. Not to mention frustration.
Learn to be happy with what you have. That was a lesson I’d worked hard to cultivate in myself over the years. I’d done a lot of thinking about our relationship, and it occurred to me that I could have enjoyed being his friend a lot more if I had only accepted that we’d never be together. Instead of pining over him and secretly hating it whenever he started dating somebody new, being happy for him would have made it easier for us to be close. I’d always thrown a wedge between us, though he’d rolled with the punches pretty well. He never read into my little fits of mood, the days on end in which I wouldn’t accept his phone calls. None of it was his fault—he was only being himself, just an average person who dated and was loved by the people around him. It wasn’t his fault I’d fallen for him.
“So, when did you get the contacts?” he asked, motioning to his eyes. Our entrees came, and I was blown away by the portion sizes all over again. Max seemed to love it and dug in like he hadn’t just eaten untold amounts of tuna.
“Oh, gosh. Maybe a year after moving away?”
“You look beautiful,” he said. “Really.”
I wanted to tease him so badly. I wanted to ask if I didn’t look good before that, but I knew what the answer would be, and I refused to put him on the spot that way. I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be right or fair. It would spoil everything, and we were having such a nice time getting reacquainted.
Instead of teasing, then, I only said, “Thank you.”
“Why are you blushing?” he asked.
“You know I never could accept a compliment.”
“You need more of me, and I need more of you.” His words almost made me laugh. Did he hear himself? Obviously not. Remember: He never saw you that way. He thinks he’s talking to his sister, his pal, his buddy. You’re just one of the guys.
And to think, I had to suffer through a season with him. And many seasons to come. I could only hope he’d stay healthy.
5
Max
It was so cool, having her with me. The longer we spent together, the more the memories came flooding back.
“What about the time we took my dad’s car out for a drive?” It was all I had to say for the two of us to burst out laughing.
“And we saw the flashing lights behind us, and I pulled the blanket over my head and thought I could hide?” Her laugh was as familiar as her smile. It hadn’t changed a bit. She glowed when she chuckled that way, and her eyes shone in the light from the little candle on the table.
“And we weren’t even drinking! What the hell was wrong with you?”
“I don’t remember! I panicked. You know I was always the good girl.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her laughter dying down a little. “I mean, my dad? Forget it. He would have killed me just for being out that late, not to mention in your father’s car. There was always a little tension there after your dad made him pay your dentist bill.”
“Which he made you pay him for when you started working after school,” I added.
“Yes. Always one for balancing the books, my father.” She sounded a little tense, and I guessed there was a lot of underlying tension still there. I could understand why—he was never an easy guy, her dad. Always had to do things the right way, always had to go by the books. No wonder she had never gotten contacts before she was old enough to get them for herself. I always thought he was afraid of letting his little girl become a woman.
She had, though. All over the place, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. If I didn’t know her, we wouldn’t be laughing over dinner. We’d be having cocktails back at my place by that time, followed by a little dessert in bed.
There was one thing I wanted to know more than anything else, but I didn’t know how to ask. Hell, I knew her so well. It shouldn’t have been hard to ask if she had a man in her life. She hadn’t mentioned him, but we hadn’t really talked about our private lives. Just what we’d been up to since she left. I’d already told her about college, the draft, the Super Bowl and Pro Bowl appearances, my house on the beach. Nothing deeper than that.
I wondered if it was a good idea to go any deeper, anyway. I always got a funny feeling about her, like she liked me more than she let on. Obviously, there was nothing I would have done about it back then. She was my friend, my little sister—even though she was two months older, I still thought of her that way. No way there could be anything between us. It would’ve been gross.
Especially when I had all the cheerleaders after me. And the theater girls, who everybody knew were wilder than just about any other group of girls in school. They would do anything. I was up to my neck in fresh pussy, so why would I screw around with Abby?
It seemed like she had the same thing on her mind since she started asking questions about some of the girls I used to date.
“Do you ever see any of the people from high school around? I mean, we’re not too far from there.”
“Like who?” I asked, motioning to the waitress for another beer. I saw the look she gave me—I knew that look. Like she wanted to give me more than the beer. And if I were with one of the guys or even Layla, I would have given her that look right back. I wasn’t above a quick fuck in the bathroom. It didn’t feel right
with Abby there. I looked away. I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea.
“Like, Stacey Bowman. Remember her? Didn’t you take her to the Senior Prom?”
“Oh, yeah. That was a disaster.”
“What do you mean? I don’t remember you saying it was a disaster at the time.”
“I didn’t want you to know how bad it was.”
She grinned. “Why not? What happened?”
“Because I knew you didn’t like each other.”
“She didn’t like me,” Abby pointed out. “I didn’t care either way about her.”
“Liar.” I didn’t get to say it to her very much, but when I did, I loved it.
She turned red. “What! I’m not lying!”
“You are. You didn’t like her. Admit it. You thought she was a slutty bimbo, and I could do better.”
She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. She finally chuckled. “Okay, that’s true.”
“So I thought you’d like it a little too much if I told you how things really went that night.”
“Oh, God forbid I like something. God forbid I get a little satisfaction.” She laughed. “What about that Aimee Harris girl?”
“Aimee? Oh, Aimee.” I shook my head. “Another bad memory.”
“I thought you liked her,” Abby said.
“For a while. I got bored, she didn’t.” I shrugged.
“Oh, right. I’ve heard that before. You got bored.” She rolled her eyes.
“Well? I’m not lying. I'm as honest as I can be.” I shrugged.
“Stacey, Aimee, Jenna, Jess, Kim, Katie …” She rolled her eyes.
“Wow. You kept track.”
“Somebody had to. I considered sending out condolence cards every time you dumped one of them.”
“Funny.” I chuckled as I downed the rest of my beer and polished off the last of my tacos. I could have eaten another three, but didn’t want to feel sluggish the next day at the workout.
