by T. J. Kline
She narrowed her eyes skeptically, searching his expression. “I guess not,” she finally agreed.
“Good because I had fun with him today.” Grant looked at the boy intent on the video game and furiously pounding at the buttons on the ancient machine. “I was surprised he knew as much about football as he did. Does he play for a team here in town?”
“Football?” Bethany’s brows shot up and her pretty brown eyes widened in surprise. “He has to be seven for the youth team here in town but he wants to. His doctor in Tennessee said he could, but I just don’t know.”
“You don’t want him to play?”
Grant watched her as she played with the straw in her soda, swirling it nervously. Even though they’d come to an agreement to be friends, she still seemed on edge and he wondered how he could get her to relax and take him at his word. Usually women threw themselves at him, whether he wanted them to or, more often, not. But not this woman. She was strung tighter than his brother Linc’s guitar.
It was contradictory to the put-together, in-control illusion she was trying so hard to convince him of. While she might look perfect, he knew she was hiding behind the fantasy. Her white sundress made her look fresh and innocent, showing off just enough leg to rev his imagination into gear but still be appropriate for a park outing. With her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, it made her look younger than she claimed to be—twenty-six if he’d done his math correctly—and sweet as a spring shower. Her purse matched the color of her boots and the entire look screamed flawless. But he wasn’t buying it.
He could see the anxiety in her eyes. She was hiding something. Her eyes scanned the pizza place, moving quickly from watching James to watching the others in the room curiously. She was fidgety, skittish, but trying to conceal the fact.
Part of him felt the same way. As attracted as he was to her, those cowboy boots made him want to turn tail and run. She might not be a local but she was still a small-town girl through and through. He’d dated enough of them to know a real one from a fake and the real ones were full of far too much piss and vinegar for his liking. Between those boots and the curves she was sporting, he heard warning bells going off. But couple that with the fact that he found himself wanting to spend more time with her, in spite of the fact that he didn’t want anything to interfere with his return to football, and those warning bells turned into full-fledged sirens.
Bethany’s hand stilled the straw and she tipped her head to the side, giving him an identical look to the one James had just given her, like he’d just asked her the world’s stupidest question. It took him a moment to even remember what he’d asked.
Football, about James playing, that was it.
“I’m his mother. I don’t want him to get hurt.” She went back to twirling the straw. “But I also want to see him happy, which is the only reason we’re here now. Mr. McQuaid—”
“Grant,” he corrected.
He hadn’t missed the disapproving tone of her voice and could tell she was gearing up to tell him again why she shouldn’t have come. He wasn’t about to take the bait.
“What made you decide to move from Tennessee to California and leave your family?” he asked, changing the subject.
She looked up at him through her dark lashes suspiciously, as if she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to reveal to him. She bit the edge of her lip with straight, white teeth and desire began a slow descent from his stomach to his groin before he could halt it.
“It wasn’t exactly my idea. It was my Mom’s. She thought it was time for us to have a fresh start. Then, when I landed the job at the school, it seemed almost like kismet. I miss them terribly, so does James, but I can also see she was right. The move has been good for us. Hard but good.” She glanced at her son, now standing on a chair in front of an old Centipede arcade game. “Although he really misses his Grandparents.”
“Grandpa?” Grant guessed, looking up as Billy delivered their pizza. “Thanks. James,” he called. “Food’s here, buddy.”
“Okay, I’m almost done.” Grant laughed to see the boy maneuvering the video game controls better than he ever could.
Bethany gave him an odd look, as if she was trying to figure out his motives and Grant wanted to ask her about it but held his tongue. He didn’t want to give her the chance to clam up on him again when she was finally opening up a little. “Is that who taught James to play pool?”
“Pool, how to swim, baseball. My Dad’s been the closest thing James has had to a father, so leaving . . .”
She let her words trail off, eyeing his reaction before sliding a slice onto a plate for her son and one for herself. She only picked at her food and Grant wondered how she’d been expecting him to respond, or what she hoped he’d say. From the way she was acting, he suspected the two were completely different things.
“And James’ father?”
“Gone.”
Simple, to the point and leaving no room for discussion. In other words, she didn’t want to talk about it and the topic was off-limits for further discussion. Her standoffishness suddenly made sense. A prickly single mom, dad out of the picture for whatever reason, who’d just moved out of her parents’ house? Definitely not the kind of situation he needed to stick his nose into. Grant wondered if he wasn’t smarter to dodge that bullet.
Before he could say anything else, James came running over and climbed into the booth beside him, sliding his plate across the table from next to his mother.
“I almost got the high score.”
At least someone was scoring tonight, Grant thought. It certainly wasn’t going to be him. From Bethany’s reserved reception, his brother had been right on the mark with his assessment—she’d rather scratch his eyes out than kiss him, and while she was tolerating him, she wasn’t being overly friendly. He hadn’t expected her to throw herself at him, but was an amiable dinner too much to ask for?
BETHANY WATCHED THE man across from her as he laughed with James. Her son was already enamored of him, but that was to be expected since he was James’ favorite player on the Mustangs. She, however, was an adult. The same excuse didn’t work for her but, somehow, in less than thirty minutes, Grant McQuaid had been able to weasel more information from her than anyone else in town had in six months. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that made her want to spill her guts and she cursed herself for falling under his spell so easily.
She wanted to blame it on being slightly starstruck, which wasn’t altogether untrue. She was trying to hide the fan in her but, since her father was a huge Mustangs fan, she’d grown up one as well. She’d watched with the rest of Tennessee when he’d taken his team to the playoffs and she’d been just as disappointed when his injury sidelined him. She’d heard the reports that his injuries might be career threatening but that no decisions had been made yet and, more recently, the rumors around town that Grant McQuaid, the star running back for the Memphis team, had returned to his hometown of Hidden Falls.
Watching him yesterday and today at the park, she wouldn’t have guessed he was injured in the slightest. It had been amazing to watch him with his brother and she hadn’t been the only one who thought so, if the groups watching from under the trees had been any indication. She pinched her lips together, trying not to think about the way the tanned muscles of his back and shoulders had rippled as he ran for a pass but the image was burned into her mind. It hadn’t helped the rapid fluttering of her heart to see him playing with her son today either. He looked just as incredible now in nothing more than track pants and a t-shirt showing off every muscle in his arms. He’d shaved this morning but now she could see the dark shadow on his jaw, making him look slightly dangerous. However, his dark eyes were warm, like hot chocolate, as he listened to her son regale them with his video game conquests. Looking down at James, his smile welcoming and wide as James maneuvered Grant’s long, tapered fingers into the correct sig
n, he looked more like a big teddy bear than a football player.
Yeah, a big teddy bear whose clothing you’re mentally removing, she scolded herself.
Her heart thudded against her ribs, her stomach fluttering like a baby bird taking flight. She normally had no problems separating herself from any sexual attraction she had for a man. Usually dredging up some reminder of her ex-husband’s abandonment did the trick, but even Matthew’s betrayal wasn’t working when it came to Grant. And she never let herself open up. Grant McQuaid was worming his way past every door she’d nailed shut years ago.
Maybe it’s high time you open a few.
Bethany frowned at the sound of her mother’s voice in her head. Fantasizing about the football player on television was one thing but having the living, breathing, very enticing man sitting across the table from her was completely disarming. It was that kind of thinking that was causing her to slip up and tell him too much, like her comment about her father. She needed to shut this dinner, and her girlish crush, down before Grant was able to cross any more lines she’d drawn in the sand for herself.
She watched as Grant pulled out his cell phone and looked at her expectantly. “Earth to Bethany,” he called, wiggling the phone, eliciting a giggle from James.
“Call Grandpa, Mom. So he can talk to Grant.”
“Oh, um . . .” She slid the phone from his hand and dialed her parents, dreading what either of them might say.
She didn’t want anyone to realize how Grant was affecting her and she knew her mother was far too discerning. She chanced a quick peek at Grant through her lashes and saw his eyes twinkling mischievously just before he arched a brow.
Too late, he already knows.
Her mother picked up on the second ring. “Oh . . . hey, Mom, it’s Bethany,” she stammered, trying to regain her composure. “James and his friend would like to talk to Grandpa. Is he around?”
“Are you kidding? He’s been waiting by the phone all day. Here.” She heard the rustle from their end as the phone was passed to her Dad.
“Hey! Where’s my boy?”
Bethany felt the familiar hero worship she had for her father well up in her at the sound of his voice. He’d been the best role model she could have wanted for her and her son. It broke her heart to move across the country, leaving him behind.
“Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker but it might be a little loud. We’re at the pizza place.” She pressed the button.
“Hi, Grandpa!” James’ face lit up with excitement. He had a story for his Grandfather, a gift to give him, and couldn’t wait to bestow it with every ounce of six-year-old enthusiasm. “Guess who I’m eating pizza with.”
“Who?” Beth knew her mother had already told her father they were with Grant McQuaid but James didn’t. She adored her father even more for playing along with James’ excitement. “Is it your Mom?”
“Yep, but guess who else.” James didn’t give him the opportunity to guess again. “Grant McQuaid. He’s right here. Say hi, Grant.”
Grant laughed. “Hello, sir.”
Bethany realized he didn’t know her father’s name. “Grant, this is my Dad, and your biggest fan next to James, Craig Jenner. Dad, this is Grant McQuaid.”
“We played football today, Grandpa.”
“You did? I have to admit that I’m a little jealous of you, James.” Her father’s tone was playful and she couldn’t help but smile at his banter with his grandson. “But I hope Mr. McQuaid realizes he’s only allowed to play with you and not your mother, though, or his neck injury will be the least of his worries.”
“Why, Grandpa? Because she’s a girl.”
Her father laughed. “Yep. Because I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
Grant’s eyes immediately jumped from the phone screen to meet Bethany’s and she felt the color drain from her face at her father’s threat. She scrambled for the phone but Grant beat her to it, smiling broadly as he lifted the cell phone from the table and pressed the button to take the conversation off the speaker. Bethany covered her eyes with her hand, wondering what her father might say next.
“Yes, sir.” Grant didn’t take his eyes from her but at least his lips spread into an even wider grin. “Yes, you’re right, she is beautiful.” She saw his eyes travel over her face, pausing at her mouth. “That’s not my intention at all, sir. You have my word.”
Bethany’s eyes widened and she felt the heat creep over her face as his gaze met hers again, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with humor. “He’s a pretty great kid. Bethany told me you were the one who taught him to play pool too.” Grant’s laughter rang out. It was a rich sound that warmed her all the way to her toes. “Yeah, he crushed me in about five minutes.”
She couldn’t listen to any more. Bethany reached for the pitcher and carried it to the counter, waiting as Billy refilled it for her and forced herself not to turn around and stare at the man seated at the table with her son. How could her father embarrass her that way? At least now she wouldn’t have to worry about Grant McQuaid getting any more ideas about this being a date. Even if he hadn’t gotten the point from her, her father had sufficiently taken care of that. She felt a trickle of disappointment slide through her, settling in her chest, and she cursed the feeling. She didn’t want to date him.
Or do you?
She stuffed the confusing thoughts deep into her psyche. She didn’t have the time or inclination to date anyone. Her first loyalty was to her son. It just wasn’t the right time to bring a man into their lives, especially one in the public eye like Grant McQuaid. As Billy took the pitcher of soda to fill, she looked back to the table to see Grant, now off the phone, with his head bent close to James as he worked on his signs.
Bethany knew that James was a charming child, dazzling most people he met, but she’d never met someone quite so enamored of him. Nor had she ever seen her son quite this taken by another adult, although, in fairness, Grant was his favorite player. She smiled as she recalled how telling James they were moving to Grant McQuaid’s home town was the only way she’d been able to convince him about the move. She’d never, in a million years, expected to run into the man with his schedule, let alone be on a date with him.
This isn’t a date, she reminded herself again. Why was she having such a difficult time remembering the fact?
“Because you want it to be,” she muttered to herself.
Billy slid the pitcher across the counter at her. “What was that, Bethany?”
She shook her head, embarrassed at being caught staring at Grant. “Nothing. Thank you.” She carried the pitcher back to the table, steeling herself to apologize for her father’s comments.
“Mom, can Grant come to our house and see my room? He said he’d buy us ice cream too.”
Grant turned his dark eyes on her and gave her a disarming smile. “Sorry, I probably should have checked with you first.”
He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked certain she would give in.
Please, James signed.
Please, Grant copied, his lopsided smile deepening as his gaze locked on hers and she saw a dimple cut into his right cheek.
A sizzle of heat coiled in her, ready to break free as she tried to force herself to deny James. She hadn’t had anyone over to their house since they’d moved here last summer. It was her sanctuary, the one place she could hide from the rest of the world, where she and James could just be themselves, instead of “the single mother and her deaf kid” she’d heard people whisper about when they thought she couldn’t hear. Having him over wasn’t something she was comfortable with. Not one bit.
Grant cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, trying to read her reaction and, suddenly, reached into his pocket, pulling out two dollar bills. “Here, James, why don’t you go play a few more video games and let me talk to your mom for a minute, okay?”
Jam
es knew a good deal when he heard it and plucked the bills from Grant’s fingers. “Thank you,” he said as he signed it too.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Bethany said, frowning as she watched James hurry off. “I’m sorry for my Dad. I can’t believe he said that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Bethany. I’ve met plenty of protective fathers.”
I’ll bet you have.
Bethany tried to keep her lips from pinching to a thin line. His smile slipped and he grew serious.
“Have I done something? Or are you always like this?”
“Like what?” She bristled but she knew exactly what Grant meant. He wanted to know what made her act so cold, why she was keeping him at such a distance. But she didn’t owe him any explanations. He didn’t know her past and had no right to judge her, and she had no plans to explain herself. That would mean opening up and letting him in even more.
“Tense. You need to relax,” he coaxed.
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say.
“At first I thought it was just your being upset at the near miss with James yesterday at the park but even now you look like you’re about to just . . . snap.”
She looked down and caught herself wringing her hands. Bethany laid them flat on the table.
“Breathe,” he instructed. “I’m not going to bite you.”
Oh, if only she could be so lucky. The sizzle of heat that had been simmering in her belly sprang to life.
Stop it! she warned herself.
Grant was breaking through her walls faster than she could hide behind them and that scared her. She tamped down six years of pent-up sexual frustration as well as any thoughts of romance with every ounce of heartache she could dredge up from her failed marriage.
“I don’t do this,” she muttered. It wasn’t a good explanation but it was all she could offer him right now.
“What? Eat pizza, have a conversation with someone? Make new friends?” She rolled her eyes and glared at him. Grant wagged a chiding finger at her but didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Oh, no. You said this wasn’t a date, remember?” His eyes practically danced with humor, daring her to challenge his observation.
