by V. K. Sykes
“Speaking of the GM,” Jake said, hoping his own troubles might help distract Robbie, “Dembinski is big time pissed at me.”
Robbie perked up. “What the hell’s he on to you about? You never do anything wrong.”
Jake almost laughed at the hopeful note in his friend’s voice. Misery did love company, and Robbie clearly relished the idea that Jake had put his foot into it. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about this, but it’s been bugging the crap out of me. You gotta promise you’ll keep your mouth shut about this, though, Rob. I mean that.”
Robbie nodded, looking as eager as a kid about to score a gigantic DQ Blizzard. “I promise. What’s going on?”
“You know Maddie Leclair, right?”
“Sure. She’s been covering the team since early this year.”
“I know, but I’d never met her before this week. I’d read a lot of her stuff in the Post, but I didn’t even know what she looks like.”
Robbie grinned. “She looks pretty damn good, and a lot better than when she was covering college and high school ball. She looked pretty mousey then, but I think she got some kind of big makeover when they gave her the Patriots beat.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. Obviously Robbie had been paying more attention over the years to the Post’s reporters—at least the female variety—than he had. And he found it hard to believe that mousey was a term that could ever be applied to Maddie Leclair. “I wouldn’t know. Anyway, the day I got to San Diego, I was waiting for my turn in the cage when she called me over to the stands.” He shook his head, remembering the impact of that moment. “She knocked me on my ass, man. I don’t know how else to describe it. My jaw must have been dragging in the dirt.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you didn’t get too excited. She doesn’t date players. Never has, as far as I know.”
Jake waved a vague hand. “Most reporters don’t. Too dangerous.”
Robbie’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “Most, huh? You taking a run at her, dog?”
“Just let me finish the story.”
“Jesus, you are.” Robbie let out a low whistle. “Holy shit.”
For some reason, his friend’s reaction raised Jake’s hackles. “Nothing happened. I said I’d give her an interview, but it had to be informal. I suggested she meet me away from the park, at a restaurant.”
Robbie rubbed his palms together. “Against the rules, but sweet.”
Jake snorted. “It wasn’t any kind of date, except for the fact I wanted to jump her bones as soon as she walked in the damn door. But after the story she wrote appeared in the Post, Charley Cameron figured it out and ran to Dembinski, and Dembinski rained hell down on my ass, and on Maddie’s, too.”
His friend stiffened, looking genuinely outraged. “I hope you told those assholes to go fuck themselves. It totally sucks the way these guys try to run our lives even when we’re not at the park.”
“I pretty much gave Charley that message, but then he said the situation could really hurt Maddie’s career so I went and sucked up to Dembinski. Unfortunately, the bastard wasn’t exactly forgiving. Like I said, he pretty much reamed me a new one.”
“The jerk-off. So what if you broke the rule? It’s a dumbass rule, anyway.” Robbie leaned over and gave Jake’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “Stop worrying about it. Those guys like to pretend they’re tough, but I bet they don’t do a damn thing to you or to her.”
Jake sighed. “I don’t really care that much if they’re pissed at me. As long as I keep hitting, they’ll be kissing my ass. But Maddie doesn’t need any more trouble. I thought we had some serious chemistry going when we met that time, but ever since the team found out about it, she’s been running scared. She won’t come anywhere near me.”
And that fact brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Why was he so obsessed with her?
Robbie nodded. “Ah, it does sound like our Paul Bunyan clone might be a little love-bitten, but I think I know just the remedy for your particular brand of illness.” To make his point crystal clear, he gave Jake a lascivious leer.
Jake clamped down on a flare of temper. “Come on, Rob. I don’t need you lining up women for me. You’ve tried and failed before. Give it a rest.”
Robbie tried for wounded innocence. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Just let me make a call and see if I can arrange a little dinner companionship.”
Jake thought it over for a few seconds, but as Robbie grabbed his cell phone and started to dial, he grabbed his arm. “Just forget it, okay? I appreciate what you’re trying to do…” He paused, thinking maybe he should let Robbie make the call. They could both use a little relaxation after the stress of the past few days, and dinner and a light flirtation might be the perfect distraction.
Deep inside, though, Jake knew it wouldn’t work. He’d end up feeling even worse, and it wouldn’t be fair to whatever poor woman had to put up with him. He’d spend the whole night wishing she was Maddie, and feeling frustrated that she wasn’t. “Rob. I’m just not up for it. My head’s not there right now.”
Robbie burst into laughter. “Who said anything about your head? At least not that head.”
Jake felt his jaw clench. Robbie could be so infantile at times. “Maybe I’ll get over this thing about Maddie, but right now all I can think about is her, and I’m not going to bang some team chick just for the hell of it.”
Robbie sighed, looking deflated. “Okay, but you have to give your head a shake when it comes to Maddie Leclair, dude. I don’t think that glacier is about to melt, not even for Jake Miller.”
That threatened to send Jake’s mood deeper into the tank, but he resisted. “Maybe, but I’m not ready to give up yet. There was something heavy going on between us. She admitted it herself. I need to find a way to be alone with her, but she’s not letting it happen.”
Robbie thought for a second, and then his face lit up. “Well, I just might have an idea about that.”
Yeah, I bet. “Go on. I’m listening,” Jake said.
“Are you going to be playing in the charity golf tournament on Monday? The one sponsored by the Post and the Children’s Hospital?”
“I’m entered. I was out of commission last year, and missed the two before that because of other injuries. I always seem to be banged up at that time of year, and you know the trainers would never let me risk aggravating an injury over a round of golf.”
“I don’t play the dumb game, so I’ve never paid much attention to the tournament. But I’m pretty sure Maddie Leclair plays every year. I heard one of the guys talking about her last year. He said she’s a great golfer, and her ass looks super sweet in a golf skirt.” He laughed as if he’d told a hilarious joke.
Jake stifled the biting put-down that sprang to his lips. Robbie was like a big, immature kid, but at least he was trying to help. “So, you’re saying she’ll be in the tournament? Even so, if I’m there she’s still going to pretend I don’t exist.”
“She won’t get the chance. Look, Nate practically runs the event, remember? He can tell the committee to arrange whatever foursomes he wants. Just ask him to make sure you get in the same foursome as Maddie.”
The wheels started spinning in Jake’s head. It was Nate who’d talked him into signing up for the tournament this year—his buddy was relentless when it came to helping out the children’s hospital—and he wouldn’t let Jake off the hook. And given the sizeable donation Jake had just made to the hospital himself, Nate owed him a favor.
He nodded, thinking it through. “I suppose it’s not a bad plan, Rob.”
He had to do something to see Maddie, and soon. Okay, this plan carried a whiff of desperation—well, more than a whiff—but desperate was beginning to come pretty close to how Jake felt. Maybe if he and Maddie spent some time together on the course and had some fun, it could loosen things up. With Nate part of the foursome, they were guaranteed to have more than a few laughs.
Robbie grinned. “You’re welcome. And all it’ll cost you is picking up
my tab tonight.”
“A small price to pay,” Jake said.
As soon as they left O’Rourke’s, Jake reached Nate on his cell and explained the situation. As always, Nate didn’t hesitate to help. He couldn’t guarantee he could arrange the foursome Jake wanted, but he sounded optimistic. More than that, his best friend was sympathetic, not giving him any crap for wanting to get close to Maddie.
A few minutes after dropping Robbie back at the ballpark where he’d left his car, Jake was home in his condo on the 20th floor of one of the city’s older but discretely luxurious apartment buildings. Feeling like he finally had a plan to connect with Maddie, he waited for coffee to brew as he strolled over to the picture windows lining one wall of his living room. He took in the spectacular view—the city lights, the river slicing through Philadelphia—knowing he should try to throttle back his sense of anticipation. But he finally felt like he was back in the game, and this time he, not Maddie, would be calling the plays.
CHAPTER NINE
Maddie grabbed her golf bag from the trunk of her car and headed toward the clubhouse of the Belmont Country Club. She always looked forward to the annual golf tournament co-organized by the Post and the Philadelphia Children’s Hospital. She loved golf, even though she didn’t get to play as often as she wished, and shooting a round while raising money to benefit the kids at PCH was a great way to spend a day out in the sun and fresh air.
And she desperately needed the break since the last few days had been hell on wheels. Still smarting over the tongue-lashing Dembinski had inflicted on her, she knew her credibility with Patriots management had been badly damaged. Worse yet, her efforts to pretend that Jake Miller didn’t exist were exhausting. She’d been working hard to avoid any contact with him, not even meeting his eyes when his intent gaze arrowed in on her, which happened on a regular basis. Maddie had never felt quite so off-balance in her life—angry at everyone, including herself, embarrassed that she’d screwed up, and, even more alarming, lonely and yearning for a man she barely knew. It was completely crazy but something special had happened with Jake that night in La Jolla, and she couldn’t seem to shake it.
Well, she’d simply have to keep trying to shake it, and a brisk round of golf was just to the thing to take her mind off her worries.
It was an unseasonably crisp and clear late spring day, the infrequent kind she cherished before the full heat and humidity of the Philadelphia summer covered the city in a sweltering haze. Even better, the tournament organizers had hooked her up with Martha Winston, a fellow reporter at the Post and a southern beauty with enough charm for a dozen women. Though Martha was a little younger and more free-spirited than Maddie, she had a wisdom and honesty about her that Maddie appreciated and found immensely valuable.
Her southern belle friend was also funny as hell, which was a plus on a day when Maddie’s mood meter was hovering in the low single digits.
Martha had already changed and was just finishing lacing up her golf shoes when Maddie walked into the women’s locker room. Her pal looked fabulous, as usual, Maddie thought with a tiny touch of envy—tall and slender in a tangerine-shade golf shirt and tight-fitting white shorts that emphasized her long, bronzed legs. Her shoulder-length honey-blond hair was pulled through the back of her white golf cap and a tied with a scrunchy that matched her shirt.
“Martha, as usual, all the guys are going to be walking around the course with hard-ons just from looking at you,” Maddie said wryly.
Martha straightened up, unleashing a mischievous grin. “Isn’t that kind of the point, hon? None of the tennis players and the golfers I cover ever come to this tournament, so I don’t have to worry about that. And the football and baseball guys are fair game for me, in my most humble opinion.”
Her friend’s casual reference to eligible ballplayers put a damper on Maddie’s already fragile spirits. “Lucky you,” she said, forcing a smile. She hated that even the most off-handed remark could send her back into the dumps.
Martha shot her a sympathetic glance as she closed her locker door. “You’re still bummed by the thing with Jake Miller, aren’t you?”
Maddie sighed. She had told Martha about the tongue-lashing from the Patriots’ general manager as soon as she got back to town. “I’ve been trying to put it out of my mind, but the honest truth is that I just can’t seem to shake it. And that’s really beginning to tick me off.”
The locker room door opened and four other women trooped in. Maddie gave Martha a warning glance. “Later, okay?”
“Message received,” Martha said with a nod. “While you’re getting dressed I’ll head over to the tournament tent and check us in. Then I’ll get the cart and meet you at the first tee.”
Maddie suited up in short order, then grabbed her bag and hustled out. She’d been a bit late arriving, and their scheduled tee-off time was only a few minutes away. As she neared the first tee area, she spotted Martha sitting in their golf cart, head down. As soon as Martha raised her eyes and saw her, Maddie could tell something was wrong. In fact, her friend looked positively pained.
“What’s wrong?” Maddie asked as she hurried up.
“Just get in the cart, hon.”
Oh, crap. Maddie began to get a very bad feeling.
Quickly, she stowed her bag and got on board. Martha put her foot down hard on the pedal and the cart shot away. They both held a tense silence until Martha braked to a stop about a hundred feet along a secluded path and turned to face Maddie with grim determination.
“I wanted us to get away so we could talk where nobody’s listening,” she said. “You’re not going to believe this, hon, because I almost fainted myself when I got to the tent and saw who we’re playing with today.”
She paused and took a deep breath, and Maddie’s blood pressure shot into the stratosphere. Who could it be? Somebody from Patriots’ management? Maybe even Dembinski? The very idea made her want to throw up.
“Just tell me, Martha.”
“It’s Nate Carter and…Jake Miller.”
Maddie’s entire body immediately flushed with heat. Feeling like she was going to faint, she jumped out of the cart and stepped off the path into a patch of shade cast by a large oak. She bent down and rested her hands on her knees, forcing her breathing to settle. After a few minutes, she straightened up, pulling herself together.
Get a grip, Maddie. You can do this.
“Give me a second before saying anything more, okay?” she said in a tight voice as she climbed back into the cart.
Martha leaned over and took her hand in a comforting grip. Maddie squeezed back and finally let out a strangled, bitter laugh. “Could my luck get any worse? I didn’t know Jake would be here at all, much less that he would turn up in our foursome. God, what were the odds?”
She kept breathing deeply, trying to keep the conflicted emotions that had plagued her all week at bay. Of course, she shouldn’t want to be anywhere near Jake, but try telling that to her stupid body and her even stupider emotions. Already, she could feel herself tensing with some kind of excited anticipation at the thought of being close to him again.
Oh, man. She’d better shut that action down fast.
Martha gazed at her with concern. “Maddie, do you want to just bag this? We don’t have to stay, you know. We can head to our cars and get out of here. Go do something else for the day, maybe head to the Jersey shore. I won’t mind, honestly, kiddo.”
Maddie shook her head firmly. “No. I’m not going to go into hiding and miss out on things I like to do just because Jake Miller is around. I can’t live like that. I just have to get over this, so maybe it’s better to confront it right now.”
Martha gave her a thumbs up. “That’s the spirit, girlfriend. You’re strong and smart and you’ll get though this fine. I know it. And I’ll kick Nate Carter’s fine ass when this day is finished,” she ended with a mutter.
“What are you talking about?” Maddie asked with a frown.
Martha waved a hand. “O
h, nothing. Let’s just play hard and beat these guys.”
“Amen to that. We’ll show those bozos how to play some golf,” Maddie said.
Oh, hell. Who was she kidding? Her stomach was currently doing its best to climb into her throat, and she had no idea how she’d get through the long round ahead. If ever there was a time to fake it, that time was now.
As Martha pulled a u-turn and headed back toward the first tee, Maddie spotted Jake and Nate lounging in their golf cart, two over-sized specimens of hunky masculinity. Jake was scanning the path from the clubhouse to the tee, looking almost as tense as Maddie felt. It suddenly occurred to her that he might be as unsettled by the unexpected situation as she was. Somehow, that slightly eased the anxiety crawling along her nerves.
When Martha braked to a stop just behind their cart, Nate and Jake studied them in silence, looking for all the world like two big predators on the lookout for their next meal. Jake’s eyes locked on Maddie’s face, and she could feel the blush rising up over her cheeks. There was enough nervous and sexual tension swirling around the four of them to scorch the turf.
Finally, Nate unleashed one of his bad-boy grins. “Martha, you always drive a cart like you’re in NASCAR. Then again, you’ve always been a fast mover.” He capped his remarks with a comic, exaggerated leer.
Maddie smiled, glad Nate had broken the ice. She liked him a lot, even though he had left Martha in a bit of a mess after their brief, thermonuclear affair several years ago. Fortunately, Martha was long over Nate, and the two of them had developed into best friends. But that didn’t stop Martha the steel magnolia from glaring down her nose at him with mock disdain.
“You are so full of crap, Nate Carter, since I know for an absolute fact that you drive like a Tasmanian devil on steroids. Now get your butt over here and help a lady with her clubs.”
“Oh, baby, you are such a sweet talker,” Nate said as he sauntered over to their golf cart. “If I help you with your club, will you help me with mine?”
