* * * *
Delaware was warm in May. Shyla had joined Penny and Mark Davis on their escape north to a cooler clime. They had a large apartment on Central Park West. The guest room was small, but more than ample for her. She had sublet her apartment for a month to cut down on expenses. She helped with the baby and cooked for them from time to time.
Saturday night, Penny and Mark went to the theater. Some of Penny’s friends were in a show, so they’d go backstage after and maybe stay out late. Shyla was content to babysit and curl up with a romance she was reading. It had been weeks since she had apologized to Gunther Quill, but still no jobs had come her way.
Thank God, she had saved her money, but who knew how long she’d be able to live on what she’d put away, and keep food on her brother’s table as well. He was supposed to graduate in January. He had talked about lining up a job too. She only needed to hold on a little longer.
Shyla sat on the terrace, watching the sun set and sipping an iced tea. She had refused to watch Marriage Minded. She admitted she didn’t want to know how Harley and the remaining women were progressing. Feeling restless, she wandered into the kitchen and picked up the newspaper. It had been lying face down. When she turned it over, the headline punched her in the gut, pushing all the air from her lungs.
Bachelor Star Running Back Finds Love with Stunning Brunette.
There was a huge picture of Harley on bended knee in front of Vanessa. Shy’s belly clenched, and she ran to the bathroom to throw up. She heaved several times then collapsed on the cold, tile floor. Tears ran over her cheeks, making a puddle by her knee.
If he had hit her, he couldn’t have inflicted this much pain. Her heart hurt, her muscles, and her head too. As if a giant hangover gripped her body, every inch, every nerve, stung. The deed she was dreading was done. Harley had proposed to another woman and been accepted. Shyla might as well have a good cry and get on with her life. He was now gone forever. She undressed and cried herself to sleep.
The next morning, Mark slept in. Penny was up early with the baby. Her eyes were puffy, but her face grew animated when she described the show and their dinner out with her friends in the cast. Shyla loved to trade show business stories, even if hers were behind the scenes, with her friend. While Penny attended the child, Shyla made breakfast, hiding behind bacon and eggs to avoid talking about Harley.
Being a “glass half-full” woman, she tried to find something positive about Harley’s engagement. She could now take up with any man, anywhere, anytime, with no guilt, no worries that Harley would see her splashed all over the tabloids with some hottie. Her mouth set in a firm line. I hope he sees me on the cover of Celebs ‘R Us. And with Ash Richards, maybe. She’d met Ash briefly at her last movie stint, and he hadn’t seem interested at all. Too busy drooling over the producer, who could do something for his career.
Shy had had her share of affairs with directors and actors, mostly on location. There was something seductive about being out of town, maybe somewhere beautiful, with a full moon, wine, and no one would ever know. Hah! Everyone on the set knew by ten o’clock the next morning. Still, she had indulged, occasionally.
The idea of hooking up on a set depressed her. Besides, no one’s going to hire me, so what difference does it make? She took a breath and wandered over to the window. While Shyla looked out over Central Park, her brain reached for any idea about how to find work. She needed an income. John and her dad were counting on her, not to mention the fact that she had to pay maintenance on her co-op and buy food.
Her gaze locked on a majestic pine tree. The shape and color of it held her attention. Then, it came to her! Her friend, Mindy Winslow, owner of the Pine Grove Playhouse, had made her an offer a year ago. She wracked her brain for the woman’s exact words.
The Playhouse was a dinner theater nestled in the small town of Pine Grove New York. Shyla had worked at the Playhouse one summer between movies. She and Mindy had become close. She blew out a breath. Gratitude toward her friend filled her heart. This’ll work, if Mindy hasn’t found anyone else. A small stab of fear shivered through her. She picked up her phone, searched her contacts, and then dialed.
“Mindy? It’s Shyla. I was wondering…remember when you asked me if I was interested in working at the Playhouse?”
* * * *
Harley’s next four weeks passed in a blur of publicity, dinners with famous people, and nights trying to adjust to sleeping in the same bed with Vanessa. He was surprised to find her uptight about sex. For a woman who looked as hot as she did, she needed lots of foreplay to warm up. Spontaneous sex, like he had enjoyed with Shyla, was off the menu with Vanessa. Secretly, he suspected she wrote it down in her calendar—“Fuck Harley’s brains out tonight, 9-10 p.m. Shower from 10-10:20.” He laughed to himself then edited it. Vanessa would never use the “F” word.
Harley was determined to give his new fiancée every opportunity to fit his ideal. She couldn’t cook, ate like a rabbit to control her weight, and spent hours on her appearance. He tried to understand that her ambition to become a famous actress involved looking perfect all the time. But Harley was more comfortable with a sloppier, sexier girl—Shyla.
Still. He’d picked Vanessa, and it was up to him to give it his best. Her two hour make-up sessions before she’d hit the street—because you never knew who you’d run into—coupled with long baths, weekly mani/pedis, endless clothes shopping, and gabbing on the phone with every magazine editor and assistant movie producer she could reach, not to mention her agent, who called at inconvenient times, tried his patience. Sex got sandwiched into her full schedule, occasionally, but not often enough.
“But darling, we can always do that. Steffie’s on the phone now, and her plane takes off in half an hour. You understand, don’t you? This could be my big break.”
Harley managed a tight smile and pulled up his boxers. Just the mention of the name “Steffie” sent his erection south. While he had agreed to set aside prep time for his new fiancée, the same didn’t hold true for her agent. The woman was pushy, obnoxious, and clearly didn’t like Harley. That went double for him.
The phony woman strung Vanessa along on audition after audition, but no jobs materialized. In the meantime, the agent sent the girl to all her favorite stylists so Vanessa could look the part before she signed on the dotted line. The running back was convinced Steffie was getting a piece of the huge fees Vanessa was laying out in pursuit of her dream. He wondered where all the money was coming from.
It wasn’t long before Harley discovered that her father had been bankrolling Vanessa’s budding career and all the outrageous preparations that went with it. Harley’s brain pushed his dick back into his pants long enough to realize that the job of financing this diamond-in-the-rough he was marrying was about to fall to him.
Sure, Vanessa had done some modeling gigs, a commercial or two, but those didn’t translate into a regular income. Her father paid for her apartment in a tony section of Manhattan. Harley rented a one-bedroom on the Upper West Side during off-season. He owned a comfortable home in Monroe, Connecticut.
Today was the day he’d finally been able to pry his fiancée loose from her career plans long enough to take a weekend at his place in Monroe. He wanted her to meet the gang, the players, their wives and girlfriends. Was this a test? Damn right, it was. Would Vanessa fit into his life? Would his friends accept her? He had lots of questions that needed answers.
Besides, it was the first meeting for Griff’s football, two-week, summer day camp Harley had committed to, and he needed to be there. June in Monroe was beautiful. He hoped that being together in his roomy abode would make her more comfortable with him. Would she leave some of the makeup paraphernalia in New York and be her natural self? If she did, maybe their sex life would finally take off.
They hadn’t known each other long, and their time together had been intense, with the entire country watching. Now, they’d be alone, no cameras. Time to find out if they had enough going for them to
make it through a lifetime together. Harley wasn’t sure, and the doubt ate him up.
Harley’s house was modest by NFL player standards, but his one indulgence was his red Maserati Gran Turismo Convertible. He pulled up in front of her apartment then dialed.
When she arrived, he got out and piled her luggage in the trunk.
“Put the top up, please,” she said, as she slid her fine rear end onto the Italian leather seat.
“What? This convertible was made to ride with the top down. I have a roll bar. It’s safe.”
“Nope. The wind will destroy my hair.”
He narrowed his eyes as he fastened his seatbelt. “We’re just going to Connecticut. There won’t be any cameras, flashbulbs, news media. This is a quiet weekend with my friends, Nessa. That’s all. You look great, even with your hair messed up.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Top up or I stay here.”
Harley made a noise in his throat and put the top back on. He fastened it behind the visor and took a breath, trying to cool his temper.
“This appearance shit is beginning to wear thin, honey,” he said, his anger barely controlled.
“My face is my career.”
“I get it. My body is mine. But not twenty-four seven. You’ve got to let up sometimes.”
“Okay, okay. If it means that much to you, take the top down.” She pulled a hair elastic out of her bag and secured her locks into a ponytail.
Steam seemed to come from his ears. “Make up your fuckin’ mind!” He banged his fist on the dashboard.
Vanessa jumped at the loud noise. “You don’t have to get violent about it.”
“You want the fuckin’ top up, the fuckin’ top is up, and will stay up until we get to my house.” He rammed the car into gear and roared away from the curb. Fortunately, traffic was light, and they made good time. The heat of anger made his forehead sweat. There was no conversation, and he was relieved. He needed time to calm down.
Vanessa stared out the window, facing away from him. From time to time, he glanced over at her, wondering if they could make it work. The allure of a leisurely romance now made sense to him. Rushing a relationship only made differences into glaring obstacles.
Still, Vanessa was very easy on the eyes and didn’t mean any harm. There was no malice in this girl. But she was focused on herself. Her quest for fame disturbed him. What if she never makes it? Will she be happy with the life of a wife and mother? The longer he knew her, the more questions he had. He rolled down the window and took a deep breath of fresh, Connecticut air. The sweet smell returned the grin to his face.
“Cows. I see cows. You didn’t tell me you live on a farm. You don’t live on a farm, do you, Harley?” She turned toward him, worry forming a small line between her eyebrows. She looked cute, like a little girl who’s just been told she has to go out and play with the boys.
“I don’t live on a farm. But it’s pretty rural. There are farms. Cows. Horses and stuff.”
“I’ve never been to a farm.”
“Looks like another first for you.”
She faced him and shot a dazzling smile his way. “You’re full of surprises.”
“It’s part of my appeal, baby. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Harley pulled up to the house. They unloaded their luggage and had sex. Harley was surprised Vanessa had agreed. And it was actually good. Things were looking up. He couldn’t wait to take her down to his favorite hangout for dinner.
“Any good restaurants in this cow town?” she asked, putting on fresh lipstick.
“Yep. We’re going down to The Savage Beast.”
Her eyes widened as she glanced his way. “The what?”
“It’s a bar where the team hangs out. We can eat, and you can meet my friends there.”
“Whatever you say. This weekend is about you.” She fastened her bra, slipped on a pair of designer jeans, a low cut T-shirt, and they were off.
Anticipation swirled through Harley’s body as they drew closer to the watering hole. His nerves shivered for a moment. He didn’t expect any problems, but his crowd was a bit crude. He questioned whether Vanessa meeting the Kings was like putting a Chihuahua and a wolf alone in the same room with the door closed.
* * * *
“This is where the Kings hang out,” Harley said again, pushing the door open.
Vanessa followed him. Though the season hadn’t started, there were a few players bending elbows at the bar.
“Harley’s back!” shouted Trunk Mahoney.
Several men turned around.
Robbie Anthony, the team kicker, sauntered over. “Are you Shyla? Nice to meet you,” he said, eying Vanessa.
“No, asshole! This is Vanessa, my fiancée, you moron.” Harley spat out, anger gathering in his chest.
“Who’s Shyla?” Vanessa cocked her head slightly.
“Never mind,” Harley said, trying to turn away from Robbie, who grabbed his arm.
“Sorry about that. I forgot. You’re engaged now. Taking the plunge. Congratulations.” Robbie stuck his hand out. Harley shook it reluctantly.
“Who’s Shyla?” Vanessa repeated.
Harley glared at Robbie, who hid a smile behind his hand.
“Congratulations, pretty lady. You’ve roped yourself a wild stallion,” Robbie said.
Vanessa threw a sharp glance at Harley. The thought of strangling Robbie Anthony occurred to him. He fisted his hands at his sides.
“Shut up, Robbie. And stop buzzing around Nessa. She’s mine.” The running back put an arm around her shoulders.
“We’re not finished with this Shyla thing,” she said.
“Later, sweetheart, later.” He took Vanessa’s hand and stopped at the bar.
“Blue cheese burger? You’re kidding, right? Don’t they have any salad here?”
“This is a man’s bar. No salad.”
“We will be getting salad on the menu when the season starts,” Carla put in. “Hi, I’m Carla Mahoney, owner and wife of this big guy here, Al.”
Carla stuck out her hand, and Vanessa took it.
“Nice to meet you. Can I change my order to just a white wine spritzer? I’ll be back when the salad hits the menu.”
“Sure. Whatever floats your boat, honey,” Carla said, but Harley spied the glance the barkeep threw her husband.
The running back led his fiancée to a table. His pulse spiked. This meeting wasn’t going as he had planned. In his dreams, Vanessa would love his friends and The Savage Beast.
“This place is a dump. And it’s under construction. Do we have to come here again?” she whispered as she sat on the chair he pulled out for her.
“It’s not a dump. They’re renovating. It’ll be much nicer in another month.”
“Do you have to live in this town?” The distaste in her voice and the unpleasant expression on her face irked him.
“I make my living here, Vanessa. A very good living, playing football, in this town. These guys are my friends. They have my back.”
“Looked like that Anthony guy wanted to have your fiancée too.”
Carla delivered their beverages and smiled. “Food’s coming right up, Harley.”
“Robbie? He’s a flirt. He comes on to anything in a skirt,” the running back said.
“Thanks for the insult.” She sat back and took a sip.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, he’s not serious.” Frustration heated his face.
Trunk Mahoney came over and straddled a chair between the couple. “Hey, Harley. Welcome back, buddy. So, this is the lady you picked on Marriage Minded?”
“Yep. She picked me too.”
“Always said you had good taste in women. I’m Trunk.” The linebacker shook her hand.
She raised her eyebrows. “Trunk? Like in a tree? Your parents named you that?”
“Nah. The guys call me that. My real name’s Al.”
“Oh, okay. Can I call you Al instead?”
“Sure. Either one.” Tr
unk pushed to his feet. “Welcome to Monroe. We hope you’ll be real happy here.” The big man disappeared into the kitchen.
“Not very friendly, is he?”
“Are you kidding? He’s the friendliest guy on the team. Why’d you have to give him a hard time about his name?”
“I just asked a question. Am I not allowed to open my mouth?” An ugly expression spread over her face—one he hadn’t seen before.
“Just be careful. You insulted him.”
“I did not. I just asked a question.”
“Did you look at his face? You insulted him.”
They sat in silence, drinking.
Carla approached with Harley’s food. “So, when’s the wedding?” she asked, smiling.
“No date set yet. This looks great, Carla. Thanks.” Harley picked up the burger.
“It’ll be a small, private wedding in New York City. Probably at one of the big hotels,” Vanessa said, training a cool look on the barkeep.
“Oh. Okay. It’s not like I thought you’d be having it here. Really. Just curious. Harley’s a favorite of ours. We were wondering when he was going to tie the knot. We wouldn’t expect to be invited or anything. You don’t even know us,” Carla rambled on, then looked up. “Oops. Burger’s ready. Gotta go.” And she scurried off to take care of other customers.
“What the hell was that?” Harley arched an eyebrow.
“What? She asked about the wedding, so I told her.”
“We haven’t agreed on anything yet. And yes, I plan to invite my friends. And that includes Carla and Trunk.”
“Are you going to invite the whole team?”
“If I want to. I’ll pay for it. Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”
“I don’t think so. I like to plan ahead. The media will be asking for a wedding date. We should pick one now. Greg Carson called me. He wants to set up an interview and hinted he might arrange for us to get married on TV.”
Harley Brennan, Running Back Page 12
