Romancing the Running Back

by Jeanette Murray

  * * *

  “I’m not sure I agree with the concept of working for my food,” Anya said, spooning up some soup, “but the result is pretty nice.”

  Josiah shot her a smug look as he made quick work of his own bowl. “And everything was locally grown. Nothing traveled more than thirty miles to land on our plate. Pretty cool, right?”

  That explained why they weren’t eating meat or seafood. Vegetarian all the way, but she didn’t mind. “Are you a vegetarian?”

  He paused with his fork, holding a healthy bite of salad, halfway to his mouth. “Hell, no. Why? Because this meal happens to be vegetarian?”

  Anya shrugged. “Seemed like a logical question.”

  He chewed, took a swallow of lemon water, then pointed out, “You saw me eat meat at Trey and Cassie’s cookout.”

  She had, hadn’t she? Then again, she’d been so preoccupied with hating him for his I can wash a vegetable better routine she hadn’t taken much notice of what went into his mouth. “Uh, sure.”

  “Or maybe you were too busy flirting with Matt.”

  That made her blink and miss stabbing the clump of hard-boiled egg in her salad. “What? Oh, come on. I wasn’t flirting. Matt was being nice.” Which was more than she could have said for Josiah that day.

  “Matt will chase anything that looks halfway decent in a skirt.” He said it seriously, but without any heat. “I love the guy. He’s a great teammate. But he’s not someone I would aim for, if you’re looking for romance out here.”

  “Well, good thing I’m not looking for romance at all,” she snapped, letting her fork fall to the plate. She wiped her mouth and settled back in her seat, too annoyed to eat another bite of the surprisingly good salad with fresh-made vinaigrette dressing. And by fresh-made, she meant she’d freshly made it herself, ten minutes ago.

  With her track record at picking long-term lovers, she wasn’t even remotely interested in finding a new man to stay in her life permanently. And it irritated her that Josiah would automatically assume that was her goal. As if all women walked around waiting for a prince to fall out of a tree and beg to marry them.

  Josiah merely shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one bit to him what she did with her life.

  “Why do you hate me?”

  The question was out before she could think twice. She wanted to wince at the abruptness, the sheer ballsiness of it. Cassie was the one who spoke her mind, who didn’t back down, who jumped first and asked questions . . . eventually. Not her.

  What was it about this southern drawlin’, backwards-cap wearing, conservation nut that had her feeling both defensive and antagonistic at once?

  He set his fork down much more gently than she had and took another drink of water. “I don’t hate you. I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He raised a brow at that. “I can’t say that I respect your job all that much,” he added, otherwise ignoring the attitude. “I don’t really get the point of fashion, and yes, I see it as a bit shallow and wasteful. But if you love it, whatever. No skin off mine.”

  “So you’re just annoyed with me on principle. Because you don’t like my career field. Lovely.” She poked at a chickpea from her salad. “Maybe I see your job as frivolous. Ever think of that? A bunch of overpaid, sweaty men running around getting grass stains on perfectly good white pants while they try to keep ahold of an oval pigskin. Sounds very enlightening for the masses.”

  “It’s not,” he said, surprising her when he agreed. “I can’t say my job, at least at the base of it, is very noble. But it does give me a decent platform to talk about what I’m passionate about. So that’s a major plus in that area.”

  Anya decided to ignore him. Clearly, he was a number of contradictions wrapped up in one too-handsome package. He was elitist, but not. Picky, but humble. He thought his way was the best, and didn’t accept other opinions.

  And yet, when he’d lunged for her after he’d thought she’d sliced her finger, it hadn’t been any of those contradictions leading the way. It had been real fear, concern, worry for her in his eyes, in his gentle touch when he’d examined her. And though he’d tried to hide it with frustration, he’d been a little shaky afterward.

  Divorce proceedings hadn’t given her much hope for a new relationship, but it had provided her with numerous insights into the male species.

  After a few minutes of silent eating, she succumbed. “How’d you find this place in the middle of nowhere?”

  “They found me. The chef, Anthony—I can bring him over to introduce him if you want—saw an interview I did about the importance of eating local, and he told me about an idea he had for a restaurant.”

  “Idea,” she said, catching on instantly. “You backed him.”

  “Silent backer, yeah. It was a solid plan. Not just to feed people from local produce, but to teach them how to go home and do it themselves. To show them where the ingredients are,” he said, picking up the placard that sat at the unused corner of their table, proclaiming where every piece of food on their plates had come from, “and show them it’s not as difficult as people assume.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed,” she admitted. “I thought eating locally was all but impossible, and it had to be like a part-time job to hunt up the different spots. Just easier to head to the local chain store and grab everything you need.”

  “I do that, too, when something I really need—or just want—isn’t local. I’m a conscious consumer, but I’m not a glutton for punishment. I won’t say no to sushi because it’s obviously not going to show up anywhere near here in a natural sense.”

  “If you wanted fresh, local sushi, you got drafted to the wrong team,” she said with a smile.

  “But this is important to me. So I make the effort when I can. Passions aren’t always convenient, but they’re always important.”

  Much as it pained her, she had to admit his convictions were impressive. He might have sounded pompous at some points expressing them, but that little speech had been inspiring, and not at all arrogant. This was a Josiah she could get to know more.

  “So Anya,” he said, settling back in his seat. “What are you passionate about?”

  Talk about Chance to Dance. Get his input. Do it. What do you have to lose?

  A lot of face. It was still too new, too raw for her to discuss. If she screwed it up at some point, or if it fell through from events out of her control, she wanted it to implode quietly.

  “Just, you know, work. Fashion.” Even to her own ears, it sounded shallow. There was more to fashion than just prettying things up. She inwardly cringed at the slip and decided a change of subject was in order. “Congrats on your first win of the season . . .”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until they were nearly to Cassie and Trey’s house that Anya remembered. “Thank you for lunch. It was . . . an experience.”

  “It’s meant to be,” he said with a smile, either missing or ignoring the fact that she hadn’t actually said she enjoyed it. “Sorry you almost chopped your finger off.”

  “Apparently you were right, I’m just no damn good with produce,” she said on a laugh, then stopped when he didn’t follow along on the joke. “Get it? Because you told me I was washing the lettuce wrong at the cookout? And then the cucumber incident?”

  “Yeah, about that . . .” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face while parking in the driveway of Trey’s house. “Sorry. I don’t really know what got into my head. It was . . .”

  “Pompous?” she supplied.

  “Not the word I was looking for,” he grumbled.

  “Stuck up? Arrogant? Weird?”

  “Let’s just say it was a mistake. Can we go with that?”

  Anya shrugged. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t stuck her foot in her own mouth a time or two. They were never going to be besties, that m
uch was clear. But he was Trey’s best friend, and she was Cassie’s. They were in this wedding business until the end. They could easily be friendly, if not friends. “Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.” He waited for her to say something more, then made the well? gesture.

  “Hmm?” She bent over and grabbed her purse from the floor of the SUV.

  “Aren’t you going to apologize for calling me an eco-nut?”

  She made a sound that indicated she was thinking about it, then said, “Nope!” and hopped out of the car while he growled. That made her laugh, and she wiggled her fingers in a good-bye wave. His hands gripped the steering wheel in a choking gesture, and she laughed again. For all his bluster, for all his intimidation factor, he was very easy to poke fun with.

  Cassie opened the door right as Anya was about to use the key her friend had provided. “Hey! Where’s Josiah going?”

  “He’s probably late for a Save-the-Whales convention,” Anya said automatically, then winced as Cassie raised a brow. “Sorry, that’s getting to be a habit. I don’t know where he’s going. Our errands are done, so he’s probably heading home. I’m sure he’s got better things to do than to chauffeur me around town on his one day off during the season.”

  “There’s nothing better than driving you around,” Cassie disagreed, closing the door behind her. “How was it?”

  “Decent. I went to five venues, and starred the two I think would fit what you’re looking for the most. I can rip out the page of my notebook if you want, or just text you the info so I can keep the page in there with the other wedding details.”

  “Text me. But that’s not what I meant. How’d it goooooo,” she said again, drawing out the last word emphatically.

  “Uh, fine. We didn’t use your names, and nobody recognized Josiah today, so as far as keeping the date a secret, we’re still good. The two I think best work are—”

  “Oh, for cripes sake.” Cassie walked past her into the kitchen, getting out a bottle of water and setting it down on the counter before plopping on the bar stool at the island. “How was being alone with Josiah?”

  That took her aback for a moment. “It was okay. He drove, I did the talking. Efficient.”

  Cassie groaned and let her head bang on the counter a few times.

  “I don’t understand what your problem . . . oh. No. Cassie, no.”

  Cassie rolled her head to the side to stare at her with one eye.

  Adopting her best stern face—which sucked on a good day—Anya stared at her best friend. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Think about what?” The innocent routine was pathetic, at best.

  “Don’t even think about trying to play matchmaker. It’s not cute. We’re not in high school, and I’m not looking for a date to the prom. Plus, you sucked as a matchmaker back then, and I can’t imagine your luck would run any hotter now, if you think Josiah and I are meant to be.”

  “I didn’t say ‘meant to be.’ Just, you know, maybe you would complement each other.”

  “Complement each other? Ha!” Warming up now, Anya let her tote bag slam to the counter and got her own bottle of water, scowling at the cucumber staring at her from the crisper drawer. “Forget complementing each other. We can barely be civil to each other. And you want to talk about complementing . . .” She snorted. “He wants nothing to do with me. He couldn’t say something nice to me if he had a script from Nicholas Sparks at his disposal. He hates me.”

  “Hate? No way.”

  “Fine. He disdains me. He thinks I’m an idiot who does nothing but dream about pretty shiny things. Like . . . like . . . like some raccoon or something. And because he’s all . . . all . . .” She made a muffled shriek and waved her hands around, then slammed the bottle on the counter. “All noble and good-causey, he’s such a better person than me. He’s elevated. He’s evolved. He’s, he’s . . . Jesus!”

  Cassie blinked at that. “Wh . . . I’m sorry, what? He called himself Jesus?”

  “No! Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I think ‘stupid’ has a place in this conversation, and it’s not on my side of the counter,” Cassie said dryly.

  “He thinks I’m shallow.”

  “And I’m sure you did nothing to disabuse him of that.”

  “It’s not my job to make him think about me any way.” But of course, she had to be honest, because otherwise Cassie would know, anyway. “I mean, I might have played up the helpless, stupid fashionista a little, but that was only after he came up with the conclusion on his own. If that’s how he thinks of me, so be it.”

  “Anya,” Cassie moaned, letting her head fall into her arms. “I wasn’t trying to make your life more difficult, but really. Did you have to?”

  “He was asking for it,” she replied hotly. “Judging me prematurely.”

  “Like you judged him with that ‘Save the Whales’ retort earlier.”

  Bull’s-eye. Face flushed red-hot from the direct hit, Anya turned and grabbed her bag on the way out. “I don’t need help with my love life.”

  “You don’t have a love life,” Cassie called out at her from the kitchen.

  “And for good reason!” Anya shouted back, tromping up the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  One game, and one wedding outing with Anya down. In Josiah’s mind, they ranked about equal in energy expended.

  As he walked into the weight room Tuesday morning, he bumped into Trey. “Coach Jordan is coming,” his friend muttered under his breath. “Batten down the hatches.”

  It was a rare day when the head coach—and Trey’s soon-to-be father-in-law—made it down to the weight room. He reserved his time for the practice field and team meetings, normally. That was enough to put an extra hop in Josiah’s step, and he hustled into the weight room to get started on his routine. But from the corner of his eye, he caught Stephen, sitting down on an unused bench, just staring at the floor. Josiah elbowed Trey and motioned over toward their friend.

  “Aw, shit,” Trey muttered. “Normally, I’d say let him work it out, but . . .”

  Yeah, the “but” was important. Stephen was still early in the stages of alcoholism recovery. Where a normal guy might have a rough day and settle into a funk he would pull out of eventually, they both knew they had to keep an eagle eye on their teammate for any signs of slipping. Risking the wrath of the coaching staff, they both silently agreed and weaved their way over to his corner.

  “Better get up, Stephen.” Josiah snapped his towel in his friend’s direction. “Coach Jordan’s on his way in. Sitting is not going to impress him unless you’re doing some arm curls while you’re at it.”

  “Bite me.” Rather than crack a smile, Stephen let his head fall farther into his hands.

  “Shit. Tell me you’re not hungover.” Josiah crouched in front, shooting Trey a worried look over Stephen’s shoulder before trying to get a good look into their teammate’s eyes. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Enough for me to break off and feed to your dog.” Josiah debated reminding his friend he didn’t have a dog, but stayed silent. “Go away. I’m not drunk, I’m not hungover, and I’m not sick. I’m just tired. Can a guy be tired after spending his weeks getting hammered by linemen?”

  “Harrison!”

  They all jolted a little as Coach Jordan entered the weight room and raised his voice enough to be heard over the clang of weights, grunting, and the music blaring from the sound system.

  Stephen stood slowly, as if it were taking all his energy to do just that. “Yeah, Coach?”

  “My office, now.” Coach Jordan did a quick circle, taking in everyone who had stopped working out to stare. “Why is nobody working? Why are you all staring? Move!”

  Stephen walked—more like trudged—after the head coach. Josiah took a quick look at Trey, who nodded, and followed.

&
nbsp; Coach Talbin stopped them both at the door. “Not for you, boys.”

  “He’s ours, so it is for us,” Trey insisted.

  “Come on, Talbin. Just let us go with the guy.” Josiah took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can’t a teammate support his friend?”

  “Back to your reps, and no cheating.” With that, the assistant coach pushed their friend out the door and closed it firmly behind him.

  “Shit,” Trey muttered. “His fake relationship is catching up with him.”

  Stephen’s sobriety was still tenuous enough that the coaching staff had asked him to have a live-in life coach during the first few months at home post-rehab. Stephen had insisted he already had accountability at home, in the form of a live-in girlfriend. The problem was . . . no girlfriend in sight. He’d hired his housekeeper to pose as his girlfriend to keep him on track and in the coaching staff’s good graces. And in the middle of keeping up appearances of a fake girlfriend, had gone and fallen in love with the woman.

  “Love is bizarre,” Josiah said, not quite understanding it all. From his perspective, it didn’t seem all that great.

  “Love is amazing,” Trey corrected, his eyes tracking over Josiah’s shoulder. “Trainers, your six o’clock. Time to get busy.”

  * * *

  Finished with the proposal for her newest client, Anya closed one email and opened another. She’d done her work, and now she got to play. The graphic artist she’d hired—a recommendation from Cassie, who she was sure had talked her BFF into a discount—had sent over a few mock-ups for the Chance to Dance nonprofit logo. When the email had first popped up in her in-box, she’d itched to open it, but had made herself behave and put paying work first.

  After a moment of deep breathing, she clicked, opened the attachment, and barely bit back a squeal.

  Perfect. Absolutely perfect. It was feminine without being embarrassingly girly or childish, so they could use it even after they expanded past the high school demographic. The colors were bold, but not overpowering. And most of all, the cute little dressmaker forms—a total surprise—added a whimsical touch she hadn’t thought of before.