by Zoë Lane
If Phillip would pull his weight.
He had a business degree and still wanted to be a bartender. Barely pulled in enough tips to pay our utility bills. No wonder he didn’t want his name on the lease.
The therapist continued to outline the plan for the next few months. A plan, she assured us, would end in a stronger, happier union than we had known in...forever. “One of your issues is complacency. Complacency kills everything it touches.”
Now that I believed. My college track coach used to say that all the time. When had we become complacent?
We were such dreamers back in college. Seeing him in bed with another woman that had red hair and long legs like me...
It had been a nightmare.
Oh, I couldn’t wait for lunch tomorrow. If he wanted to talk, there was a lot I was going to say.
CHAPTER THREE
CASPER
The whistle blew and I yanked off my helmet. Damn, it was a humid day. This was the summer that wouldn’t end. Sweat poured down my face and I lifted my right arm to wipe my forehead on my wristband. I smiled and lifted my face to the sun, closing my eyes and relishing the heat.
My shoulder felt fine.
No pain.
A fluke.
I sighed, even though the humidity was choking the air from my lungs.
“I can’t believe you’re enjoying this weather.”
Billy, the second-string tight end, had jogged up and had given me a pat on the back. “Good run.”
“Thanks, man. And no, I hate this weather,” I laughed. “I’m just glad for the break.”
We walked back toward the line of scrimmage. “A few of us are going to a party this weekend, if you want to join us.”
“A party? Where?”
He shrugged. “It’s sort of that. More like a posh dinner party hosted by some über rich doctor for his son. He plays quarterback for one of the high schools. It’s what these rich guys do. They have these parties to introduce their kids to famous people and you get paid for it.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Wait. Did you say you get paid for it? What is it, an appearance fee?” I laughed.
“Come on, man.” Billy looked around like he was embarrassed. “Something like that. There will be great food, other rich people there, women... It’s a good time. Couple of famous golf players are supposed to show up.”
“But you said this was for his son.”
“Yeah, he wants to meet some of us.” Billy grinned widely. Never thought the guy was into fame. I could care less.
My eyes darted to Landyn, who stood near the coach, probably discussing plays.
“He’s not coming. Turned us down real quick. Said he had stuff to do.”
More like Rose to do.
“Okay, sure, I’ll be there,” I said. “I need to make some new friends anyway.”
“Yeah, kind of lonely without them.”
“You’re not from here either?”
Billy shook his head. “Michigan.”
“Isn’t that in the tundra or something,” I said with a grin.
“Yeah, couldn’t wait to get out of that place. People there are kind of...living in the last century. Everything moves slow and I swear people don’t know it’s 2019.”
I snorted. Growing up in DC, I knew all about progressive ideas. Not more than a couple hours away, most of the guys I knew in high school had moved away after college. And I didn’t feel like driving back up to DC every weekend. Traffic sucked on the I-95.
“Hey man, thanks for the invite.”
“You play golf? Heard there’s a course nearby where the guy lives.”
“Nah,” I said, thinking about my shoulder. I’d been careful not to exacerbate it four years later.
“Not a bad sport,” Billy said. “I can afford the country club membership now, so why not?” He winked.
I shook my head. Money didn’t mean all that much to me. Sure it was nice. I wouldn’t say no to it, but there were more important things in life.
Like not being injured so you could play in the NFL.
CHAPTER FOUR
SIOBHAN
“You’ve got to give me an answer.”
Not this again.
“We’re supposed to be talking about the things that are important to us, and this is important to me.”
I stared at my fiancé’s wide eyes and open mouth, like someone had paused him in the middle of an action. We’d been here so many times that I was really considering changing my answer all altogether, totally regretting saying yes.
“Actually, Phillip, I don’t. We agreed to wait, and I’m sticking to that plan. Do you think I want to be going out and trying on wedding dresses and eating cake samples right after what you did?”
“You’re not supposed to mention it,” he seethed. “I’ve already acknowledged that what I did was wrong. Our therapist said you’re not supposed to keep throwing it in my face. How are we supposed to move past it?”
“And your idea of moving past it is to hurry up and get me down the aisle after we agreed to wait?”
“Plans change.”
“Yours, maybe, but not mine.”
Really? How many times did you have to tell your fiancé that you didn’t want to marry him? At least not now.
Maybe not ever.
I eyed Phillip, who leaned in the doorway of the massage room, fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. I hated those sweatpants. Dingy, with holes in the knees. He acted like he couldn’t buy a new pair. He was a bartender who worked a lot of shifts; he could afford a new pair of pants.
I opened my mouth to say just that and then snapped it shut. It would only lead to another argument about our differences and how I should not only respect, but accept his.
Respect.
Seeing my own parents argue over little things and then divorce, I’d vowed I’d do things differently. I wouldn’t sweat the small stuff; I wouldn’t quit when things got tough.
If I’d only known what I was signing up for, maybe I would’ve quit.
I should, shouldn’t I? Even though other couples have gotten past this. If they could do, so could we. It was a strange dichotomy of thoughts: stick it out, or give up with good reason.
My father had complained that was one of the issues that had driven him and my mother apart: she hadn’t wanted to stick it out.
My mother, obviously, saw it differently. You could only work on a marriage if both partners were willing to do the work. My father’s annoying habits that he’d always promised to change but never did couldn’t be forever tolerated by my mother.
Still, sometimes I felt I was walking beside a bum. Nothing against the homeless, but even they would accept new clothes if offered. Phillip couldn’t be bothered.
I smoothed my own new shirt—courtesy of the Richmond Rhinos—down over my athletic pants and then worked out the last few wrinkles in the blanket on the massage table.
Presentation was everything.
I took pride in everything I did. Was it wrong to want a partner that did the same?
“I have an appointment in about five minutes, so...” You have to leave.
“Then I have five minutes. That was the assignment.”
Something in his voice made my eyes shoot to his. That gleam in his dark eyes, the slick smile on his face. His drawstrings weren’t tied.
“No,” I said firmly.
“That’s part of the therapy.”
“Not until we’ve completed a lot of steps,” I said firmly.
“I can do it in three.”
“And that’s good for whom? You?”
He shrugged. “I’ll go extra hard so you’ll come too.”
Romantic.
He shut the door and stalked toward me. “Phillip! I said no!”
His shirt was over his head and off. “You really gonna say no to this?” He pointed two index fingers at his perfect set of eight-pack abs.
Damn him.
He really had a great body. One of those le
an but muscular types that didn’t have to work out to achieve zero percent body fat. He could literally eat a whole pizza and in twenty-four hours the bloat would be gone and his abs would be right back in place.
Damn him!
I hadn’t eaten for eight straight years running track and field in high school and college.
“Yes,” I squeaked out, tearing my eyes away from that glorious display and keeping the massage table between the two of us. The more he came around, the more I kept walking.
“Siobhan, you know it’ll help with our trust issues.”
According to the therapist. Being intimate—vulnerable—would be the last test that our faith and trust in each other had been restored. “Phillip, I’m not there yet.”
“Get on the table,” he ordered.
“You know I hate it when you order me around!”
His eyes sparked anger. “You don’t hate it when we’re in bed.”
“Well, we’re not there, are we? We’re at my place of work, and one of the players will be here in three minutes.”
“Yeah, about these players you’ve been seeing.”
“What?” I practically shrieked, understanding the insinuation. “Phillip, I’m a physical therapist. Who else am I supposed to be treating?”
“Old people. Kids with...problems.”
I laughed ruefully.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“You should really hear yourself sometimes. It’s a riot.”
“I think I’m justified.”
“Justified? Your jealousy is justified?” I scoffed.
“I’m not jealous!”
“Then what are you talking about? I majored in sports medicine. I’ve sacrificed a lot and have done a lot of work to get here. I still can’t believe I landed this job. I don’t want to do anything that messes it up.” And since it’s my money that’s paying most of the bills, you should probably shut the hell up about who I’m touching!
We didn’t have time for that argument.
“I’m just asking for a little respect.”
Was he serious? I stood open-mouthed, staring at his granite expression.
“Is there a problem here?”
That voice. I’d know the deep, rich, and sweetly annoying voice of Casper Taylor anywhere. He’d been flirting with me so terribly I figured he was joking. It was really that bad. Like he was either out of practice or had never been taught.
Probably the latter.
If he were flirting with anyone else, I’d think it was...maybe cute?
Casper stood in the doorway, taking in the two of us on opposite sides of the massage bed. “No, Casper, Phillip was just leaving.”
Casper’s eyes flickered over Phillips bare torso. “Didn’t like the massage? Siobhan has the best hands.” He grinned widely.
God in heaven, if you’re there, please help me.
Phillip’s head snapped back in my direction. “What the—”
“Phillip, don’t.”
“I mean it, man.” Casper came inside the room. “I get a massage at least twice a day now. Keeps everything really loose.”
“Casper,” I began, completely exasperated, “you’re not helping!”
“What?” He looked so innocent. “I’m trying to keep you in business.” He winked at me.
While Casper lifted his shirt over his head, Phillip made a move in his direction. I put a hand out to stop him and silently pointed toward the door.
“I’m Casper. I didn’t get your name.” Casper held out a hand, after removing his shirt.
Damn. Damn. Damn!
How come I never noticed his body until right this moment: standing next to Phillip.
Phillip snatched his shirt off the massage table and stalked out.
“Well, that was rude,” Casper muttered.
I put a hand to my head, now pounding. “That was Phillip.”
“Who’s he? I don’t recognize him from any of the team meetings. Is he a replacement?” Casper came too close, his eyes latching on to mine. He lifted himself onto the massage bed.
Casper’s body was very different from Phillip’s. And, yeah, I’d know, since I touched it as much as Phillip’s. He was a good six feet two inches of bulk.
“He’s not on the team. He’s my...fiancé.” It was still hard to say that word.
Casper jerked back, his face contorting as though he was in pain. “You’re with that guy?”
“Casper—”
“He’s a jerk. And don’t think I didn’t see him come at me through my shirt.” He lifted up his white shirt, which he still held on to.
“Then—”
“I figured he’d do the math and see I’ve probably got about a hundred and thirty pounds on him. So what he’s got an eight-pack? He’s like a buck ten soaking wet.” He tossed the shirt over to a nearby chair and leaned back on both hands, showing me how his massive chest and thick biceps dwarfed Phillip’s.
One hundred and thirty pounds. That’s a whole person. I sputtered. It was wrong and disrespectful of my man, but I did it.
“Phillip weighs more than a buck ten,” I said in weak defense of him.
Casper shrugged. “Okay, let’s say he’s one fifty. Still got ninety on him.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve made your point. You can do math.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll let that stupid jock joke slide. And you’re a good fiancée for stopping him and making him walk out.”
I arched a brow at Casper. I’d always thought him as more of a lover and not a fighter. Even now his voice held zero intimidation. “Or you would’ve what?”
He cocked a head to one side. “Defended myself and what I thought was your honor.”
“Ha! My honor?”
He shrugged again. “I thought he was knocking your business.”
“It’s not really my business, since I’m an employee. I get paid regardless of how many massages I do. And I don’t just do massages, by the way. You know that.”
Casper grinned. “Then I would be defending my coworker. Nothing wrong with that, since there’s nothing wrong with how you massage.”
I knew he didn’t mean it to sound at all sexual, but with his large frame leaning back, legs hanging off the table open, and me standing so close...I’m not going to lie, I felt the charge and it went straight to my womb.
How did I not want to think about having kids with Phillip now, and this guy, this barely-out-of-college, still-looking-snot-nosed—hot, though, I wasn’t blind—made my insides flip? Had I been ignoring some base need this whole time?
“Can you please lie on your back?” I went to the sink to wash my hands and grab my favorite rubbing oil.
“Why do you always want me on my back? Maybe I want to be—”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand.
He winked and grinned.
“You did receive the sexual harassment training this month, right?”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” he whined and promptly assumed the position.
“I know you, Casper. Your corny jokes and come-ons. You really must’ve gotten zero action in college.”
“It’s none of your business.”
I stood there staring at him, his voice the sharpest I’d ever heard. He didn’t meet my eyes. “You’re right, it’s not,” I said.
A minute went by. Right before I touched his shoulders, he grasped one of my hands. His eyes implored the words before he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t respond. After removing my hand from his, I went to work. He was just a job, and that was all he was ever going to be. No sense in my feelings getting caught up.
CHAPTER FIVE
CASPER
Landyn called the play, and the team clapped on break. I ran to the line of scrimmage, the wide receiver just out of the corner of my eye to the right. This was going to be a simple route, with me going into the end zone about ten yards ahead.
I locked eyes with the linebacker in front of me. Mike was big.
Shorter than I was, but he had a few pounds on me. It was the last play of practice and, as always, he was going to be harder than the ones before, even though we had a game to play the next day. Didn’t matter to me, because I always played hard.
The ball snapped and I darted. Mike kept pace. Man, he was quick for his size. The ball landed in my hands and Mike slammed into my shoulder like a Mack truck. We went to the ground. The whistle was blown, calling the play, and cheers went up from the offense. Even though our defensive line had some decent players who were veterans of the game, our offense was clearly the better of the two.
I stayed on the ground for a second or two, enough time for Landyn to jog up and offer his hand. I reached with my right arm and felt it.
The stab went deep.
The last time I’d felt something this sharp that cut to the bone was right after the accident. Thank goodness my helmet could obfuscate half my face, because I knew I was grimacing by the time I was on my feet, my eyes burning from both sweat and tears.
“Great catch, Cas,” Landyn said. He slapped me on my opposite shoulder. He was really a good friend. He never hit me on my right shoulder.
Ever.
“Thanks. Good throw as always,” I said, out of breath.
“Good throw? Did you not see how beautifully it landed in your hands? You didn’t have to do a thing but hold them out to receive the bounty.”
“Are you serious right now?” I rolled my shoulders to shake off the hit I’d received from Mike. The twinge in my right side had lessened slightly but nevertheless remained.
Landyn’s grin reached his eyes. “I’m always serious about how beautiful my throwing is.”
We jogged to the sidelines, where Coach Hicks was gathering us together for end-of-practice notes.
“Great job, guys. Great job. We run these plays and we can win this week against Philly. Their run game has improved these last couple of years, but we can split the defense well.” The coach nodded to the offensive players closest to him. “Speaking of defense, I don’t think we’ll have any problems shutting their offense down.”
