Martha clasped her hands together in front of her ample chest and grinned. “It becomes you. It’s the best of them all.”
Verna loved the blue-green dress that fell gently to her knees. With short sleeves and a low neckline that revealed some cleavage, it suited her body to a tee. She had a good figure. She kept in shape and didn’t overeat.
Emmy urged her to strut her stuff.
“What’ll Buddy say?” she asked, turning this way and that in front of a three-sided mirror.
“Who cares? He’s not your keeper.”
“I don’t want to embarrass him.”
“You have a life. You’re a woman first. He’ll get over it.”
Verna smiled at her reflection. The color made the blue of her eyes shimmer.
“Now, let’s see,” Emmy said, sitting down and taking out a pen and paper. “We need new underwear, new shoes, stockings, a manicure, and most of all, a new haircut!” She grinned up at the startled older woman.
“A complete makeover?”
“Time to get in the game, Verna. You’re attractive. Stop hiding it.”
“You have a point.” Verna continued to check out the dress.
“It’s a Madame Jeanne creation. Very chic. It fits you like a glove.”
Verna glanced at the price tag—almost three hundred dollars. So what? It looks great. Time to take care of myself. “We’ll take it, Martha. What’s the next stop, Emmy?”
“Really?”
“Time for a new me.”
* * * *
Verna paced in the living room, as nervous as a young girl going on her first date. She checked her watch for the tenth time. Examined her image in the mirror for the twentieth time. The new haircut and blonde color shaved ten years off her appearance. Her hair clung snugly to her head, cut at perfect angles to add fullness. Chic and stylish, that’s how she would have described herself.
“Al must be rolling in his grave. What have they done to his dear old, reliable Verna?”
Made her glamorous, that’s what. She twirled in her new black, patent leather, high heeled sandals, trying not to fall down. Crap! I hope I don’t kill myself in these things.
She wore mascara, crème blush, and lipstick. Never one to spend time on makeup, she had refused to let Emmy attach false eyelashes and a ton of eyeliner and shadow.
“I’m too old for that. I’ll look like an aging hooker,” she’d said. Emmy had cracked up and backed off. The subtle touches highlighted her face. She felt pretty, no, beautiful, for the first time in years. She glanced down at the dark pink polish on her nails. How long will that last? Maybe one day? I’ve got housework to do tomorrow.
She jumped when the doorbell rang. Hank’s here. What will he say when he sees me? When he met me, I had gray hair. Now, I have dark blonde. Her heart beat faster, and her stomach clenched. She paused in front of the entrance and took a deep breath then let it out.
She opened the door with such gusto, it banged against the wall on her right. Hank stood on the threshold, speechless. His gaze traveled from her pink toenails to the top of her head. His mouth hung open a little. Verna checked him out. His hair was combed, and he was clean shaven. He smelled good, like a popular aftershave. He wore a white shirt, khaki pants, navy blue sports jacket, and Kelly green striped tie. Spiffy. Very spiffy. He looks good.
“Wow! Hey, where’s Verna Carruthers?”
She broke up, laughing. “Come in.”
Hank stepped into the foyer. He took Verna in his arms and kissed her, taking her completely by surprise.
“What was that for?” She stepped back.
“I like to get the goodnight kiss awkward crap out of the way in the beginning. You look fabulous. Amazing. You were beautiful before, but now, wow. All I can say is, wow.” His gaze rested a few moments too long on her chest.
She fidgeted, embarrassed to be showing off her body to a man who was mostly a stranger. He’s Griff’s dad. How bad can he be? A few memories of stories about Griff’s single days clouded her mind.
“Are you ready, pretty lady?”
She nodded, snatched her sweater off the arm of the sofa, and followed him to his car.
“This snazzy jalopy isn’t mine. It’s Griff’s. Mine is in the shop. It’s kind of on its last legs.”
“Mine too. I need to get a new one.”
“Me too. We should shop together.” Hank opened her door then got behind the wheel.
“Do you know what all these dials, buttons, and gizmos are?”
“Nope. And I don’t care. All I need to know is the gear shift, wipers, lights, and door lock.”
She chuckled. “Just like me.”
They rode quietly to The Sweet Magnolia, the players’ favorite fancy restaurant. The maître d’ gave them Griff’s favorite table, out on the terrace within view of the mill. The tablecloth was pink, and there was a candle burning. The sweet scent of summer flowers wafted to her nose.
“This is beautiful,” she said, as Hank pulled out her chair.
“Nothing but the best.”
Since he’s taken a trainer job with the Kings, I guess he’s not rich. I hope he can afford this. “Thank you.”
They discussed specials and regular dishes. Verna was appalled at the prices and desperately looked for something less expensive to order.
“A salad?” Hank sounded incredulous.
“With shrimp and avocado. Sounds yummy.”
“No steak? Nice and thick, with mushrooms? That’s Griff’s favorite.”
“I have to keep my figure. Steak would put two pounds on me.”
“Two pounds in the right places can be very attractive.”
She grinned. “Somehow, those pounds never seem to end up in the right places, only the wrong ones.”
Hank laughed. “Suit yourself. But I hope you aren’t letting price dictate what you order.”
Embarrassed to have him guess the motive for her selection, Verna perused the menu again. The leg of lamb with tiny potatoes, mint sauce, and haricots vert had tempted her earlier.
“Please. Don’t be shy. I can afford this. I made out real well on the sale of my house.”
Relief coursed through her. “Okay, I’ll have the lamb.”
Hank closed his fingers over hers. “I appreciate you being frugal, but beautiful women should be treated like royalty.”
“Tell me about your wife. Your life in Indiana.”
“Not much to tell. Rita passed five years ago. Drunk driver.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Verna took his hand in hers.
“It was hard on me, but Griff and his sister, Kathy, suffered too.”
“How come you’ve never married again?”
“Never found a woman like Rita.”
They placed their orders and shared a bottle of wine. The lamb was delicious. Everything prepared perfectly. Hank ate his steak with gusto, stopping to ask her a question or answer one. The evening flew by. So engrossed was she by Hank’s tales, that it was nine o’clock before she knew it.
They both ordered sorbet for dessert. He ordered coconut, and she, strawberry. They shared.
Verna couldn’t take her gaze from Hank’s bright blue eyes. So like his son. I can see why Lauren fell for Griff. “You’ve been living alone since Rita passed?”
“Except for the months when Griff was recovering with me. Yeah.”
“How do you find that?”
“Lousy!”
“Me too! I thought about getting a cat, but it’s not the same.”
Hank laughed. “Damn right. They’re cuddly, but not the kind of cuddly I’m looking for.”
Verna got his message and sensed pink flooding into her cheeks. He chuckled at her response. It’s been so long since I’ve slept with a man. Can I still do it?
Hank paid the bill, and they returned to his vehicle.
“Want to come in for coffee?” Verna asked, not sure if she wanted him to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’
“Love to.”
She swall
owed and focused on keeping her hand from shaking when she opened the door.
Hank finally took the key from her. “If it makes you that nervous to have me in your house, I’ll go. I understand.”
“Please don’t go.” She curled her fingers around his arm. “I didn’t want to tell you, but you’re my first date since Al died.”
His brows shot up. “First date!”
She nodded, doubly embarrassed because it sounded virginal and idiotic.
“Don’t worry, Verna. I’m not gonna jump you or anything. But I’d love to continue talking and undo this damn tie.” He laughed.
She didn’t think anything could put her at ease, but Hank did. She laughed along with him and pushed open the door. They went into the kitchen. He helped her prepare the coffee. They took their mugs to the living room, where she toed off her high heels, and he unknotted his tie.
“I think I’m going to have to have foot surgery after wearing those.”
“The torture women put themselves through for fashion.” Hank clucked.
She nodded at his tie. “And men don’t?”
“You got me there. I hate ties.”
“Then, our next date should be here for dinner. You can come in shorts and a T-shirt. How’s that?” Crap! Did I just ask him out? What the hell am I doing?
“I’ll take you up on that. When?”
A small smile graced her lips. “When is good for you?”
“I’m a great believer in Saturday night dates. Besides, gets me out of the house and gives the kids some time alone.”
“Are you planning to stay there?”
“I’ll be looking for a place as soon as the new baby comes.”
“How exciting to have a second grandchild.”
“You’re about to have your first.”
“I can hardly believe it. I never thought Buddy would want kids. He’s such a kid himself.”
Hank put his mug down and slid closer to Verna. He took her in his arms and kissed her. Stiff at first, she relaxed as he stroked her back. When he swiped his tongue over her lips, she opened. The sensation of the kiss was electrifying. Her nipples hardened against his chest, and her belly got warm.
When they broke, she was almost dizzy. Desire, long dormant, coursed through her veins.
He kissed her nose then glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late.”
Don’t go. It’s just getting good. “Do you have to leave?”
He shot her a sexy grin. “I’d like to remain respectful. If I stay much longer, I’m not sure I can. This is just a first date. I don’t want to rush you. Can we do that dinner next Saturday?”
“Let me check my calendar.” She pushed to her feet and went to the kitchen. When she turned around, he was behind her. His mouth claimed hers again. Winding her arms around his neck allowed their bodies to press together. Verna longed for his touch, but fear prevailed.
He stepped back. She sighed.
“You’re one hot tamale, Verna Carruthers.”
She recovered, smoothing her skirt and glancing at the floor. “Next Saturday works for me.”
Standing so close, she enjoyed the scent of his aftershave, faint though it was, mixed with the smell of a freshly ironed shirt. And, of course, the unique scent of Hank Montgomery.
“What time?” he asked.
“Six?”
“Perfect. See you then.” He turned to go.
She followed him to the door. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner and a lovely evening.”
He kissed her hand. “Thank you. And to many more.”
Then, he was gone. The roar of Griff’s sports car rang in her ears. Her heart pounded, and her blood ran hot. Good lord. It’s like being nineteen again. Well, maybe thirty. Verna cleaned up the dishes and undressed. She decided to forego her usual nightgown and sleep in the nude.
The idea of a sexual relationship happening this late in her life scared, confused, and intrigued her. Did she want it? Why not? What have I got to lose? No need to worry about pregnancy. Unable to wipe a grin off her face, she fell asleep happy, anticipating a delightful affair with a hot man.
The next morning, she jumped up at a loud rapping on her front door. Throwing a robe on, she padded to the foyer. It was Buddy.
“Is Hank Montgomery here? I’ll rip him apart if he is. Did you sleep with him?”
The wide receiver pushed his way into his mother’s house, while she stood aside in shock.
* * * *
Devon paced in his living room. “She’s your friend. You should know where she went.”
“I have no clue.”
“Think, Sam!”
“Stop yelling at me! This is your own fault. Figure it out yourself.” She pushed away from the table.
Devon grabbed her upper arm. “Please, Sam. Come on. Help me. She won’t return my calls or texts. Please, I’m begging you.”
“Will you lay off Sly for a while?”
He hesitated. “Okay. Done. For a week.”
“Call your friends at the police station. They can probably track her phone.”
“I can’t do that. Do you know where she used to work?”
“I have the number right here. Call them. Maybe they know.”
“Maybe she’s back there. Where else would she go?”
“That’s a good bet, Dev.”
“I came to that idea all by myself. So, I’m not letting up on Bull.”
“For a guy, you can be a real bitch sometimes,” Samantha said, slamming out of the house.
Why’d she have to do this just before training camp? I can’t get away for three weeks. He picked up the phone and called the Alton Senior Center in Bolton. “Hi, do you have a Stormy Gregory working there?”
“Sure, let me connect you.”
“Oops, no thanks. There’s the doorbell. I’ll have to call back.” He hung up.
She’ll just hang up on me. Then, she might run. I need to go out there, confront her. And tell her the truth about fifteen years ago. It’s time.
Devon changed and reported for camp. Coach Bass started off with a lecture. He showed a film of the Super Bowl and the errors that were made. Devon cringed, waiting to see his bungled play. His teammates were quiet when it came around. Then, they showed him being carried off the field toward the end.
My play was the worst. I lost the game. His attention perked up when he saw the last minutes that he had missed while he was in the locker room having his ankle treated.
There it was. Plain as day. A false start called against the Kings. The Kid had broken the line. Five yards. That was the game. It wasn’t me! It was him. The Kid! Wow! Relief flooded through him.
“I sure hope you weren’t looking for a scapegoat in this film. No one person is responsible for losing the game. We all lost it. The whole team. Our defense wasn’t on the ball. The offense didn’t connect. And we had way too many penalties. Everybody’s in this together.
“So, we’re gonna work our asses off in training camp. I’ve extended it to three weeks this year. Don’t groan. It’s because we lost. Lost! That’s not acceptable. We’re too good to lose. One thing we’re gonna work on is cutting down on the number of penalties. We had twice as many as the Sidewinders. That played a big part in losing. So, get your butts in gear and get out there and work. We play the Sidewinders first game this year. I want to mash them into the fucking ground!” Coach said.
The team members cheered.
Not a great time to ask Coach for time off to chase down Stormy. Damn her! Why’d she have to do this? “Coach, can I talk to you?”
“Sure, Dev. Let’s go into my office.”
Devon explained briefly why he had to go to Illinois. The whole story embarrassed him. Maybe he had been responsible. At least partly so. It didn’t do any good to lay blame now. His job was to fix it, make it right, and bring her back where she belonged—with him. Begging and pleading wouldn’t do it. Stormy could be tough. Only the truth about the dance might swing things his way. He figured she�
��d come back if she knew what had really happened.
“Let’s see how you do in the first two weeks. If you look good, damn good, then you can have the last week off.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Now that I’m married, I’m a sucker for a love story. Don’t tell the guys. And don’t tell them you might take the last week off. If they know, they’ll all want it off. Get your ankle checked out by Hank and the doc and let’s see what you can show me.”
“Thanks, Coach. I won’t let you down.”
A knock interrupted the session. It was Jo Parker, or “Mrs. Coach,” at the door. Devon gave her a nod and headed for the locker room. After the doc took an x-ray and he and Hank examined Devon, they pronounced him good enough to start.
The cornerback changed into workout clothes and took five laps around the field. Then, he lined up for the Defensive Coordinator and the Defense Back Coach. They ran him and the other defensive backs through a series of drills. By the end of the day, he was exhausted. Returning home, he sat down with Samantha for dinner. He missed Stormy’s food, her lively conversation, and her interest in his game. His life wasn’t the same without her.
“So, what did you find out today? Did you find her?” Sam asked.
“She’s back in Bolton, at the senior center, like you thought.” He took a bite of the steak he’d grilled.
“Did you call her?”
“Why bother? She’s just gonna hang up on me. And maybe run, ’cause she’ll know I know where she is.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I’m going out there. Coach said if I did well in the first two weeks of training camp, I could take the last week off. Fuckin’ place is out in the boonies. No direct flights. I have to fly to Champaign, Illinois. It’s a fuckin’ fortune and takes like four hours. Then, I have to rent a car and drive for two more hours. A giant pain in the ass. She’s gonna hear it from me. Chasin’ me all the way out there to the middle of nowhere.”
“Your own fault. You should’ve told her whatever you’re dying to tell her before she left.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
“Guess you were wrong.”
“Don’t rub it in. I’m paying for it. Paying for it big time. I hate that she’s not here.”
Devon Drake, Cornerback Page 18
