The Jock

by Jaid Black

  Gwenyth quickly assessed what everyone in the ballroom who meant anything to her was about. Harry was in his element, working the crowd with the boyish enthusiasm she adored so much. Sam was off to the side laughing it up with a football player friend from the Tampa Bay Bucs who had done a bit of rallying for Harry. Verlene and Willy were cloistered at the buffet table, where Granddad was inspecting the offerings with a magnifying glass. Candy was chatting with a fellow author while simultaneously casting conspicuous glances toward Brian Goodman, who to everyone’s surprise except Gwen’s, had flown in for the affair. Brian was pretending to be interested in what the man speaking to him was saying, but it was obvious he was having a hard time pulling his gaze away from Candy long enough to catch much of the one-sided conversation.

  When Candy’s gaze at last wandered over to Gwenyth, she made her excuses to her company and strolled toward her. Gwen grinned knowingly at her best friend, finding it highly amusing how desperate Candy seemed to keep Brian at bay. Apparently the author was much more at ease with the concept of romance in her books than she was in reality. “Hey, Can. I finally managed to find the time to finish The English Duke and the American Convenience Store Clerk. It was terrific.”

  “Yeah? You really liked it?”

  “Definitely. Lord Gregory was so hot.”

  Candy tore her gaze away from Brian. “Yeah, hot,” she muttered absently.

  Gwenyth smiled. She felt a matchmaking scheme taking form in her near future. “So how’s the latest novel coming along? Did you write the scene yet?”

  That garnered Candy’s attention like nothing else could. Complain as she might about her career, she dearly loved to talk about her projects. “Yes. And you were right. Missionary worked really well in this instance.”

  Gwenyth looked thoughtful. “It somehow seems appropriate for a nun.”

  “Former nun. She left the sanctuary of the church after discovering that Father Donotello was really a vampire.”

  Gwenyth raised a brow. “I see.”

  Candy inclined her head toward Granddad Willy and giggled. “Look Gwen. Willy is actually stealing food and slipping it into the jacket of his tux.”

  Gwenyth groaned aloud. “If Harry catches him, he’ll have Granddad’s head served on the very platter he’s thieving from.”

  Candy laughed her throaty laugh. “It’s okay. Verlene is on the scene. I believe she just slapped Willy’s hand and scolded him thoroughly.”

  Gwenyth smiled. She couldn’t help it. She could envision all too well just how diligently Granddad was getting chewed out by the family matriarch.

  “So Gwen,” Candy mused, changing the subject, “how does it feel to be Mrs. Sam ‘The Slam’ Tremont?” She attempted to blow a bubble, then frowned when she remembered she’d spit out her gum in time for the campaign dinner. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  At the mention of her husband’s name, Gwenyth immediately sought Sam out in the crowd with her gaze. He was still in the same place, Brian having joined him and the football player for a glass of champagne. The three of them were talking animatedly, apparently jesting back and forth. The sight warmed Gwenyth to her toes. “Yeah,” she admitted bemusedly, “pretty cool.”

  The two women ogled the trio of good-looking athletes openly. “Wow,” Candy breathed, “have you ever seen so much hunky manhood standing in one corner?”

  Gwenyth was looking only at her husband when she replied in the negative. “No. I can’t say that I have.”

  Brian caught Candy’s heated stare and grinned at her knowingly. Candy immediately whirled around and pretended not to notice. “The results should be in within a half hour,” she blurted out nervously. “I truly hope Harry wins.”

  “Me too.”

  A prolonged minute later, Candy sighed forlornly, bringing Gwenyth’s attention toward her expressive features. “I can’t believe you’re going to be living in Boston for months at a time, Gwen. I sincerely hope Sam doesn’t mind my visiting frequently. I’ll miss you, you know.”

  Startled that Candy would think otherwise, she shook her head vehemently. “Of course he doesn’t mind, not that I’d care if he did. You will always be my best friend, Can. We both want you to visit Boston as often as your schedule allows.”

  Candy took Gwenyth’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank-you for that.” She blew out a breath and laughed without humor. “I’m jealous, you do realize.”

  Gwenyth’s eyes widened. “You’re attracted to Sam?” she asked, surprised.

  Candy chuckled. “Good lord, no. He’s handsome and all, but he’s always been yours, Gwen. Ever since we were kids.” She shook her head. “I meant I was jealous of Sam, not because of him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Candy shrugged. “You’ve never been hot like this over a guy before, let alone married to one. I guess I got used to having no competition for your attention.”

  Gwenyth’s heart warmed at her best friend’s confession. “That is so sweet, though completely unnecessary.” She squeezed Candy’s hand. “Nothing in the whole world could change my feelings for you or my desire to spend time with you.”

  Candy smiled slowly. “I know,” she whispered gently. “I’m just being a selfish jerk.”

  A whisper of words rippled through the gathered crowd like a wave, bringing everyone’s attention toward the raised podium that had been set up for tonight. Gwenyth’s heart rate accelerated rapidly as she watched Harry take the stage, knowing at once that the call they were waiting on would come through any minute now. Harry would soon know whether or not he had emerged the victor.

  As Harry began speaking, Gwenyth felt Sam’s arm clasp around her shoulder in a warm embrace. She looked up at him and smiled, then turned her sights back to her brother and the humorous dialogue he was performing for his rapt audience.

  “I haven’t been so nervous waiting for the phone to ring since I gave Martha Tipple my number in the eighth grade,” Harry intoned with a grin. The crowd ate it up, laughing delightedly. He continued to speak, mesmerizing the audience with his every word and gesture. “I just hope I’m given better news this time around.”

  Sam chuckled. He leaned over and whispered in Gwenyth’s ear. “He’s gonna win, baby. I can feel it.”

  Gwenyth peered up at her husband and smiled. “I think so too. The wait is killing me, though.”

  Sam squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We all feel it, Cupcake.”

  When the telephone rang a few minutes later, a hush went over the crowd. The room was so quiet, Gwenyth was certain she could have heard a pin drop. It was the human equivalent to the calm before the storm. Placing her right hand in Sam’s and her other in Candy’s, she bit on her lip as she waited for Harry to deliver the news that would turn this gathering into the atmosphere of either Mardi Gras or a funeral.

  “I don’t believe it.” Harry’s almost whispered words caused Gwenyth’s stomach to plummet alarmingly. Her brother’s handsome features were pale and drawn. “I don’t believe it.”

  Just say it! Gwenyth wanted to scream, the tension of not knowing making her edgy. If it was bad news, it needed to be delivered at once.

  Harry turned to the crowd and gulped, wide-eyed. He set the telephone back on its receiver and cleared his throat. “We did it,” he announced as if he couldn’t believe it, “we won.”

  Cheers and laughter rang throughout the gathering as Mardi Gras ensued. Harry picked up an ecstatic Verlene and swung her around and around the podium, much to everyone’s delight. Gwenyth, Sam, and Candy threw themselves at each other, hugging and laughing.

  The remainder of the evening was one of the best the Jones-Tremont family had ever spent together. Even Granddad let go of his dislike of “the establishment” long enough to Waltz with Verlene, and then with Gwenyth and Candy. He even did a little jig with Sam and Brian to the uproarious applause of the crowd.

  Much later that night when Sam made love to Gwenyth in their bed, Sam showed his wife the finer points of reenacting that ve
ry jig horizontally. Judging from her moans and her screamed demands for more, he sensed that his wife was an eager learner.

  * * * * *

  Gwenyth slipped into her jacket and tiptoed toward the front door of the apartment as quietly as was humanly possible. She was still tired from Sam’s vigorous lovemaking the night prior, but she needed to get down to the Tampa Police Department and turn in the threatening note she’d received last evening to Detective Anderson. Harry was scheduled to meet her there in forty-five minutes.

  Turning the knob and opening the front door with what she thought was the stealth of a jungle cat, Gwenyth was mildly surprised to hear Sam’s grumble from the vicinity of the living room entrance. “Gwenyth Marie, just where are you goin’ without tellin’ me?”

  Gwenyth gulped nervously as she slowly turned around to meet her husband’s unnerving stare. She was in no way ready to tell him the truth. “To get breakfast for us,” she lied. “I was, uh, hungry.”

  Sam folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her challengingly. “Oh really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Then why are you sneaking out of here like a cat burglar?”

  Gwenyth’s chin notched up haughtily. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Sam strolled over to where Gwenyth stood casting him wary glances. “You’re the worst liar on planet earth, Gwen, which I happen to like about you.” He tweaked her topknot gently before meeting her gaze. “Now tell me the truth.”

  Gwenyth licked her lips as she tried to figure out a way around this new dilemma. The past couple of days as husband and wife had been pure bliss and she was reluctant to throw any wrenches into the mix that might cause Sam to do something so—well—so Sam-like. She could easily envision her new husband spending the first year of their marriage behind bars.

  Straightening her back rigidly, Gwenyth threw down the proverbial gauntlet and leered at Sam, all but daring him to disagree with her. “My brother and I are having breakfast.”

  Sam continued to glower at her.

  Gwenyth shuffled on her feet. “I’m going to the gym?” she squeaked out.

  He said nothing.

  Gwenyth bit her lip. “I’m having an affair?”

  Sam grunted. He placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and smoldered her with the look he typically reserved for annoying sports reporters that wouldn’t go away. “I don’t like your lyin’ to me, Gwenyth Marie. Just what is goin’ on that’s so bad, you’d rather I believe you’re sleepin’ around on me than to tell me the truth?”

  Gwenyth closed her eyes briefly, realizing there was no way around this. She was going to have to tell Sam the truth and pray he took it well. She shook her head and sighed. “Get dressed and I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Fine. Where are we goin’?”

  “To the police station.”

  Chapter 16

  “I absolutely can’t believe that you of all people conspired against me with my wayward wife.” Sam paced recklessly back and forth as he continued to lecture Harry from the office of his campaign headquarters turned senatorial home base. “I mean, don’t you think this is the very kind of thing a man should be aware of?” Frustrated, he threw a punch at the wall.

  Harry, who had been pretending to clean his already immaculate fingernails, glanced up at the fresh fist-sized dent in his wall, then turned to Sam and scowled. “Gee, and I wonder why Gwen was reluctant to bring you into this.”

  Sam shook a finger at his brother-in-law. “Don’t test me, Harry.”

  Harry sighed. “I’m beginning to see why my sister sneaked off to her studio,” he muttered.

  “Oh she’ll be hearin’ a hell of a lot more when she gets home tonight, that I can tell you.”

  Harry dropped down into the nearest chair and crossed one leg over the knee of the other. “I see. So I take it you want to end up in divorce court before week one of your marriage passes by?” He rested his elbows on his leg and steepled his fingertips together. “Sam, you better calm down before you say anything more to my sister. This was precisely why she didn’t want to tell you about all the notes she’d received to begin with.”

  Sam gritted his teeth against the anger and desperation that was welling up inside of him. There was more to this issue than what met the eye. “I’m more hurt than anythin’ else, okay?”

  “Hurt?” Harry shook his head absently. “I don’t understand.”

  Sam closed his eyes and distractedly massaged the bridge of his nose. He needed to get his emotions under control. Harry was right. His attitude toward Gwen had been domineering and appalling this morning. Hell, most mornings. “She turned to you instead of me,” he muttered in a despondent tone.

  Harry’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Is that what’s bugging you? You’re not upset about those notes?”

  “Oh, whoever wrote them will get his eventually—have no doubt on that score.” Sam plopped down into the chair next to Harry’s. “But no, that’s not why I’m so upset.”

  “Then why?”

  “Why do you think? I’m hurt because when my wife was in need of support she turned to her big brother instead of to her husband.”

  Harry snorted his disbelief. “Is that what you believe?”

  “It’s what happened, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s not.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Then what did happen?”

  Harry shook his head, clucking his tongue in a gesture of mock chastisement. He stood up and slowly paced the length of his office, his arms clasped behind his back. Sam followed him with his gaze. “First of all, Sam, you might be my sister’s husband, but you’ve been back in her life for less than two weeks and her spouse for less than three days.”

  Sam’s jaw went rigid. “So?”

  “So,” Harry continued, paying no heed whatsoever to Sam’s belligerent mood, “Gwen could only guess how you would react to those NAM notes based upon her experiences with you when you were still a kid. Until less than two weeks ago, my friend, my sister hadn’t had contact with you since you were twenty-three. And even then, she hadn’t spent real quality time with you since you were twenty.” Harry stopped pacing long enough to throw Sam a knowing look. “Do you remember how headstrong and temperamental you were at twenty? I do.”

  Sam nodded his head begrudgingly. He hated to admit when he was wrong, but in this instance, he was. Everything Harry said made perfect sense. “I see your point,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Do you? I hope so, Sam. I really do. Because I’m damn happy to have you in the family and I’d hate for you to force Gwen to run in the opposite direction merely because she was worried about you.”

  “Worried about me?”

  “Of course.” Harry slapped Sam on the back and grinned charmingly. “When I suggested on the phone this morning that she should tell you about the notes, Gwen adamantly refused to. When I questioned her further, she informed me that she could easily envision you hauling off and hitting Larry Green or Webster Carr—who we all believe to be behind the notes—then spending the first year of your marriage in the county lock-up, bumming cigarettes off of a fellow inmate named Bubba.”

  Sam stopped himself from laughing, but couldn’t control the small smile that escaped him. “I don’t smoke.”

  Harry winked at him. “I know.” He glanced pointedly at the new dent in his wall. “But you do need to learn some anger management skills.”

  Sam sighed deeply as he stood up to take his leave. He felt like a horse’s ass, reprimanding Gwenyth the way he had after they’d left the police station. And all because he’d been jealous of her brother—his brother now. “Thank-you, Senator Jones.” He grinned boyishly. “I owe you one, Bro,” he softly admitted.

  Harry stood up straighter. “Senator Jones,” he repeated, letting the new title roll around on his tongue. “I confess I rather like that.” He chuckled as he walked Sam to the door. “By the way, I want to take the family out for a private victory dinner tomo
rrow night. Are you and Gwen game?”

  “Of course—”

  “Harry, there’s a gentleman here to see… oh, Mr. Tremont, I didn’t realize you were still here.”

  Sam smiled at Harry’s personal assistant, Monique. It was obvious to everyone but Harry that the poor little thing worshipped the ground the handsome, newly elected senator walked on. Monique was small and mousy in both appearance and personality. Her hair was always pulled back into a tight bun, with owlish glasses forever perched on the tip of her small nose. Her fashion selections, if one could call them such, were downright geeky. She reminded Sam of a female Einstein.

  Still, if there was one subject Sam had been well versed in before his marriage to Gwen, it was women and their potential attractiveness. And Sam could see a lot of potential in Monique—even though the hair, glasses, and God awful clothes did a lot to disguise it. “Now Monique darlin’, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Sam? Just Sam. No Mr. Tremont stuff, y’ hear?”

  Monique’s face colored slightly, but she nodded her agreement. “Yes, Mr. Trev—I mean, yes Sam.”

  Harry chuckled. He reached toward his assistant and patted her affectionately on the shoulder, much like one would a favorite puppy. The look on Monique’s face made Sam grimace. “Monique is like that. It took her six months before she gave up the Mr. Jones routine and called me Harry. She was raised to be a respectable Southern woman, Monique.”

  “Respectable Southern woman,” Monique echoed, clearly annoyed. “Yes, that’s me. Not a daring bone in my entire pathetic body.”

  Harry appeared not to notice anything untoward about Monique’s reply, which Sam pretty much guessed was what had her in a snit to begin with. Apparently Harry didn’t notice anything at all about his assistant on a personal level. “Well, I better be on my way.” He waggled his brows at Harry. “I have a lot of amends makin’ to do.”