by Cindi Madsen
“I’m rather fond of your shoes, too,” he said, his voice low and secretive, and it ignited a spark in her gut. That tension was back, the chemistry between them firing stronger as they locked eyes.
It’d be so easy to lean into him. To get lost and forget all the things she needed to remember about why he wasn’t a good guy to fall for and how it’d look, and where was her brain with its ever-present list of rules? The rules had kept her safe.
The rules meant she didn’t gamble with things she couldn’t afford to lose, and she could lose her heart so easily to this guy. If her ex could crush her…Lance would eviscerate her.
Desperate to pop their bubble, she turned to address another member of the party, only to find that at some point they’d left them alone. There they were at the bar, getting more drinks. Possibly thinking they should give her and Lance space.
But she needed space from him.
She shot out of the water, fast enough that she didn’t think about how exposed she’d be until she was standing, water dripping down her body. “I have to go make a call. To my roommate.” So she can tell me all the reasons I need to keep it together and avoid flirting with my boss. Who also doesn’t fit the non-football-dude requirement in any way, shape, or form.
Hell, she’d even agree to let Shannon set her up at this point. That way she’d at least be spending an evening with someone in her league, regardless of if it wasn’t the league she wanted to play in.
“I’ll walk you back,” Lance said, starting to stand.
“No!” It came out way too loud, and a few people glanced their way. “I mean, no. Stay with your family and friends. Have a drink. I’ll be in our temporary office around nine so we can put in a few hours of work and chat strategy before the call with Coach Bryant.”
Instead of waiting for him to confirm the plan, she rushed away, fighting the urge to readjust her swimsuit bottom, since it’d only draw attention to her ass.
After all, she already felt exposed enough.
Chapter Twelve
As Charlotte had been fleeing the scene of overwhelming desire yesterday, she’d noticed a group of pretty women heading toward the hot tub, and the crazy part of her—which was starting to feel bigger and bigger lately—wanted to know if Lance had chatted up any of the women.
What if he’d gone to one of their rooms after? He was of course free to do so, but what if he forgot to be discreet and they had a scandal before they had a full staff?
Charlotte set her laptop aside, her brain morphing into the obsessive level of wondering with Lance seated across from her in their temporary office. “Hey, quick PR chat since the Times ran that article on you and the shakeup of the team…” Her Google alerts had lit up her phone at the butt crack of dawn, and she’d read, first with her fan eye and then with her HR, legally-cover-the-team eye. “Since you’re now getting to be more of a public figure and are on that eligible bachelor list, there’s another section of the handbook we need to cover. Namely section four.”
Lance groaned. “Can we give the handbook a rest?”
“It’s my job not to give it a rest.”
“As your boss, I’m gonna make it your job.”
“You can’t just change my job description on a whim, and while yes, you can fire me, I’d be legally obligated to file a report it certain protocols were broken. Newsflash, you’re not exempt from the rules.”
He growled.
As if that would detour her. She crossed her arms and cocked her head, giving him attitude right back. “Is that a frustrated growl or a threatening growl? Because a threatening one would breach section three.”
He growled again, no change to the inflection.
“Bet you’re regretting bringing me along now,” she said. “I told you this was probably a mistake.”
This time his gaze actually lifted from his phone screen. “I don’t regret bringing you along, Charlotte. I need you here.”
Damn it, her heart turned squishy, not being as strong as it should. Perhaps she’d been pushing a tad again, testing where they stood after yesterday. Which was evidently still cordial and friendly until it came to the rules, where they frustrated each other to no end. It was oddly nice to know nothing had changed, even though that mushy organ beating in her chest said otherwise.
He rolled his phone through his fingers, nearly as deftly as he did with pens and pencils, too—he didn’t seem to be capable of not messing with whatever was in his grip, a habit she was sure he’d carried over from constantly having a ball in his hands. “And I have a perfectly good time when you’re not section this and that-ing me.” He’d delivered it lightly, with enough of a teasing edge that it didn’t sting. He dropped his phone and leaned back in his seat, his legs spread wide. “Give it to me.”
Her throat went dry. “What?”
“The section we need to discuss.”
Right. This part wasn’t pushing. Just awkward. But the article had mentioned his bachelor status, and a few blogs were speculating about who he’d date—they also suggested women they’d like to see him with, a combination of beautiful actresses, models, and athletes. Good thing she wasn’t competing with them. “So, uh, now that there’s interest in who you’re dating—”
“There’s been plenty of interest in that before.”
She wound a strand of hair around her finger, suddenly understanding his need to do something to occupy his hands. She took a beat before charging on with it. “I know, but it won’t be like before, when there was a whole team of you.”
“A whole team of me?” He shook his head. “You lost me again.”
“Football players,” she said, not doing a very good job at hiding her exasperation. “I mean you were part of a team with a lot of players. Now you’re the head of a team, and you’re the only player in that arena. Does that make sense?”
“About as much sense as usual when it comes to this kind of thing.” He looked like he was trying not to laugh.
She was going to straightforwardly smack him upside the head. Deep breath in, slowly let it out. “Section four outlines the way everyone on the team is expected to conduct themselves in the public eye, and I’ve had to reprimand people for things like Facebook or Instagram posts and tweets before. Along with certain…videos. You need to be careful.”
“Videos?” He tilted his head. “I can’t have videos of me online? Pretty sure there are a lot of sports highlights on YouTube, and I can’t do much about that.”
Heat crawled up her neck and settled in her cheeks. “I’m talking viral videos. For not playing sports.” Although they also involve a lot of sweating and grunting and completions.
Lance blinked at her, confusion twisting his features.
“The sex ones, okay?” Yep, her cheeks were on fire now, in serious danger of bursting into flames.
A slow, self-satisfied smile spread across his face. “Full disclosure, I knew what you meant.”
“Grr.” She grabbed one of the couch pillows and tossed it at his head. Of course the jerk caught it. “What I’m saying is that while you’ve experienced a certain amount of scrutiny before, it’s going to be different, no matter how cocky you are, or how well you think you can handle whatever comes your way.” He’d struggled when the press discussed his personal life as a player, and this would be that on crack. “It’ll be a lot more intense from here on out. The spotlight is going to be turned way up. Think eye of Sauron.”
“Lord of the Rings?” he asked, and a triumphant grin split his face when she nodded. “Hey, I actually got one of your references.”
She bit back a smile, a swirl of triumph going through her, too. “Right. And you have the ring. Just you, no fellowship, no Sam.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
He scooted out of the stuffed chair and onto the coach next to her. “I’ll be careful, I promise. And it’s not something you have to worry about.”
She couldn’t look at him, and holy crap her cheeks were hot. “I mean it�
��s mostly PR’s job, but I just thought, since they’re back at the office and you’re here. Plus, they’re probably too scared to talk to you about it, since you fired most of the staff…” She reached for her open laptop. “Anyway, I just saw the article and felt the need to say something.”
“Not that I’m looking to date now, or even in the near future, but why’s it always got to be so complicated?”
She shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person.” She smothered the urge to add that he could ask Avril Lavigne if she’d ever gotten an answer, because he for sure wouldn’t get the song reference. “I can only imagine the scrutiny you, the staff, and the players are under. I have a hard time simply because I work for the team.”
“How so?”
She glanced at him to see if he was goading her, but his expression was sincere. She set her laptop back on the coffee table and tucked up her leg, double-checking her skirt remained in the proper range. “When guys hear I work for the Mustangs, they always want something. For a while I stopped mentioning my job. I’d go on three or four dates and dodge and change the subject if it came up. Which led to guys thinking I was super sketchy. One thought I was a gold digger—considering he worked part-time at a pizza joint, I would’ve been the worst gold digger ever.”
Lance chuckled at that, and since it’d been a couple years ago, she could laugh at it now, too.
“Another dude told me that if I was a stripper, he was totally cool with it.” She grabbed the remaining pillow and hugged it to her chest. “As long as I told him where he could come see me dance.” She brought the pillow up to cover her face, which was heating up yet again. “That’s probably inappropriate, telling you that.”
“I…” Lance snapped his jaw closed, and his words came out tight. “Inappropriate would be me commenting on you stripping.”
She lowered the pillow and shot him an admonitory glare, and he held up his hands.
“I’m not going to. I know better.” He slowly dropped his hands and rested his forearms on his knees. “So you started telling them the truth? Or did you make up a fake job?”
“That’s the thing, isn’t it? If you lie and you start to genuinely like the person, you’re screwed because you’ve already ruined things. Finally I figured I might as well weed them out as soon as possible. If their first response at hearing where I work is to ask for tickets or for me to introduce them to their favorite players, I move on.”
Two creases formed between Lance’s eyebrows as he pressed his mouth into a flat line. Clearly he had some thoughts on the matter, and she instinctually knew she wouldn’t like whatever they were. And yet curiosity still got the best of her.
“What?”
“My grandpa owned a team, and I’ve been around players most of my life, and still, if I met a woman who worked for any NFL organization, I’d probably ask that without even thinking. Not so much for tickets, but for an inside look.”
She frowned. “I guess that puts you in the nope column. You’re already in there, of course, since we work together, but…” She shrugged like it didn’t matter. He didn’t understand. Her last boyfriend had acted like he understood when she said she didn’t cross business and pleasure, but in the end, it was one of the things that tore them apart. When she couldn’t “hook him up” he told her it was embarrassing and selfish, and he dumped her.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. All I’m saying, James, is that you might end up putting every guy in the nope column.”
“So it’s expecting too much for a guy to like me for me?” This conversation was getting too personal. “Not that it really matters,” she said, scooting forward to grab her laptop again. “Like I said before, I don’t believe in that fairy-tale stuff, and I’m not looking for a relationship right now anyway.”
He curled his hand around her wrist. “Charlotte—”
The phone rang, and it was go time, and she was glad for it. Even if she also really wondered what he’d been going to say.
…
Lance looked across the coffee table at Charlotte. He arched a brow, his silent way of asking if she had any more questions for Sean Bryant, their prospective head coach.
A pale pink fingernail ran down the lines in her notebook, where she’d scribbled answers and thoughts. The click-click of her pen filled the air, and she shook her head. Several of the questions she’d asked, he never would’ve thought to, and they’d given him a lot of insight into the guy on the other end of the line.
Another eyebrow arch from him, along with a thumbs-up, closely followed with a thumbs-down.
Charlotte flashed two giant thumbs-up, her enthusiasm catching. This could actually work.
“We’ll let you go,” Lance said, leaning closer to his phone. “But we’d like to fly you to the facilities early next week, so you can take a look around and we can talk more about a possible future together.”
“Yeah,” Coach Bryant said, excitement pitching his voice higher. He cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, that sounds…” He lost the reins on his emotions again. “Awesome. Can we do it Monday? Pretty sure I’m not doing a very good job of playing it cool, so I’m just gonna go ahead and admit I’m not going to sleep until after our meeting.” A self-deprecating laugh came out.
Charlotte’s grin lit up the entire room, and Lance wondered if Sean could feel it, even from several states away. “Don’t worry, we always have a strong pot of coffee in the break room, and if you’re not a masochist, I have this amazing creamer that makes it feel like you’re drinking a caffeinated dessert. And while Lance here plays it cool rather well, I say squeal and high five and do the type of dance that’d earn you a penalty.”
“Oh, I’ve been dancing this entire time,” he joked, and Charlotte laughed.
Her eyes met his, and Lance’s heart jolted in his chest. She was such a natural when it came to putting people at ease. Yet she’d also asked the hard questions, pushing and challenging Sean so they could see how he’d react.
“Monday it is,” Lance said. “I’ll make a few calls and send you the information for your trip once I have it.”
Charlotte hugged her notebook to her chest the second after he’d disconnected the call.
“If we hire him, he’d be the youngest coach in the NFL, which will bring extra scrutiny but also extra publicity, and yeah, he’s a risk, but I think we could use more fresh blood and people who think outside the box, and you heard what he’d like to do with the team.”
“More than that, I heard that he has a plan how to do it.”
“I have a really good feeling about him. I think he’d be good for the team, and it’d be great to have his help as we reassess and narrow down our draft picks to fit his plan.”
“I agree.” His phone chimed, the groomsmen photos alert flashing onscreen. “Shit. I’m supposed to meet my family and the photographer in the lobby in ten minutes.” He’d put on the tuxedo pants and shirt, but the rest of the getup was scattered around the room. He managed the bow tie, but one of his cufflinks wouldn’t snap into place, and with his left hand, it was a losing battle.
“Here.” Charlotte took over, easily securing it and reaching up to straighten the bow tie.
“I still think this trend of taking wedding photos before the wedding is bad luck.” Today the groom and groomsmen were taking photos, and tomorrow Mitch would be banned from a certain area of the hotel as Stacy and her bridesmaids took pictures. In theory it meant getting better staging, more shots, and less hassle the day of. It also allowed for more goofy pictures without the other half of the party impatiently waiting.
“It does seem a bit like tempting fate. What if there’s a runaway bride or groom situation? Not that Stacy or Mitch strike me as the running type.”
Lance peered down at her. In her heels, she came up to his chin. “I figured a numbers girl like you wouldn’t believe in luck or fate.”
A hint of anguish flickered in her features, and he kicked himself too late for not treading more carefully on a subjec
t that never failed to put her on edge. “Oh, bad luck is very real. Although it’s also not a good idea to rely on superstition or good luck, either. So maybe this is reverse superstition?” Her eyebrows pulled together.
Hell if he knew.
A knock sounded on the door, and Charlotte offered to get it while he slipped on his jacket. Mitch, Hunter, Jack, Mom, Taylor, Austin, and Aaron poured into the room. So much for meeting in the lobby.
“We were afraid we might have to come drag you away from your work,” Mom said without him even having to voice his thoughts about the location switch-up. She frowned at him and gestured to his face. “I thought you’d shave for the pictures. Didn’t I send that in a text?”
More than one and they both knew it. But he’d been busy, and, well… “Charlotte likes the scruff.” How was he supposed to shave after she’d complimented the beard and said it suited him?
His mom glanced at Charlotte, who gave him a sharp smile. “I, uh… It is sort of my kryptonite. Of course now I might kill him for outing me before you get to take any photos.” She patted his cheek, hard enough to sting a bit.
Mom ate it up, grinning at the two of them, and he resisted the urge to pump his fist—looked like Charlotte was getting him out of more than awkward forced dates.
His nephews stepped farther into the room, and Charlotte squatted in front of them. “Oh my goodness, you guys look so handsome in your tuxes.”
Austin’s response to that was to tell her about how he’d found five seashells this morning. She oohed and aahed and asked for details, and clearly she didn’t realize just how detailed the kid could get—he’d once told him a twenty-minute story about a goose he saw at the park.
Aaron found the football in the corner and picked it up, his face lighting with glee at the discovery.
Lance clapped his hands and held them out in front of him. “Toss it here. Throw it hard as you can.”
“I swear, Lance, if their clothes get messed up,” Taylor warned, a scary gleam in her eye. “It took forever to scrub off the sand and wrestle them into those suits, and Aaron’s hair sticks straight up if you even look at it for longer than a second or two. It’s like it senses fear.”
