Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance

by Tawdra Kandle

  Gia closed her eyes, and a single tear tracked down her cheek. “There was a time when I’d have said I don’t deserve a second chance with you. But now I think we make our own happiness and chances. We choose them.” Her eyelids opened, and she regarded me seriously. “I still need us to go slowly, Tate. Maybe I’d have been smarter to tell you today that we should start with friendship and then see what happens, but I couldn’t wait. I don’t want to play games with anything this important.”

  “We’ll take it slow,” I agreed. “You set the pace.”

  “We have so much to catch up on.” She gave me that tantalizing half-smile that always set my heart racing. “I want to hear all about Pops and how you’re feeling about the team . . . and I want to tell you about working with the Foundation—oh, and guess what! I got a promotion at work. It’s nothing huge, but I’m doing actual writing now, instead of just the idiot intern jobs.” She wrapped both of her hands around mine and gave a little all-over body shake. “I have so much to tell you . . . I don’t know where to start.”

  “Take your time, sweetheart.” I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles. “We have nothing but time.”

  This time, her eyes sparkled with so much joy that I could feel it to my soul.

  “Lots of tomorrows,” she murmured. “And all of mine are yours.”

  Gia

  We stayed at the coffee shop talking until they closed up around us, and the hot barista had to come over and apologetically throw us out. But before then, we covered a lot of ground.

  “I never gave up on us.” Tate played with my fingers where they rested on his palm. “I felt like a stalker, calling you and texting you . . . and I was terrified when you didn’t answer. I went to your apartment and knocked on your door until one of your neighbors took pity on me. She said she’d heard that you were staying with a friend for a while, so at least I was pretty sure you were okay.” He let out a long breath. “I’d been kind of afraid that maybe you’d do something terrible. To yourself.”

  “I’m so sorry. I was wrapped up so tight in my own misery that I didn’t even think you might have worried about that.” But I could see why it might have crossed his mind.

  “After I learned you weren’t coming back to your apartment, I did something I’m not proud of.” He ducked his head. “I went to the television studio, and I sat across the street in the late afternoon. I watched for you to come out. I didn’t follow you or anything like that, because I thought that was crossing the line into crazy town. I’d already figured you were probably staying with Zelda, anyway, if you were still in town. But it made me feel slightly better to see you with my own eyes and know you were going to work.”

  “I wondered why you didn’t try to come see me at school or at work,” I confessed. “I think I was mostly afraid that if you had, I wouldn’t have been strong enough to send you away again.”

  “It wasn’t for lack of wanting to do it, but Pops talked me down. He said that I needed to give you space. I didn’t like it at all, but I did listen.” Tate drained the last of his second cup of coffee. “And then I called Leo. I wanted him to convince you to talk to me. And I wasn’t very nice when he told me that he couldn’t do that.”

  I winced. “Poor Leo. Being the go-between was tough on him.”

  Tate shrugged. “He and I are better now. We talked it out. What he said made sense, but at the time, I wasn’t ready to listen.”

  “I don’t think he holds a grudge. And right now, he and Quinn are so happy, it’s positively disgusting.” I laughed a little. “I’m thrilled for those two.”

  “Yeah, I am, too. I saw the video of them together on opening day. They were both floating about five feet off the ground.”

  “Speaking of opening day, I really did love watching your game on TV. The announcers talked about you and everything. I was so proud of you.”

  His cheeks flushed. “It was a good game for the whole team. A hard-fought win.” He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “Are you still interested in coming to a game or two? I, ah, I might have reserved you a ticket. For the whole season, in the friends and family box.”

  My mouth dropped open. “When did you do that?”

  Tate grinned sheepishly. “The minute the front office offered them to us. It was a way of investing in my hope—of believing against everything logical that you’d want to use that seat at some point. It’s yours now, for as many games as you want to see.”

  I rested my chin in my hand. “All of them. I want to be there for them all.”

  His dimple showed me just how happy that made him. “I’ll make sure you have a pass and an ID card to get in, then. I’ll have it in your hands before our next home game.” A shadow passed over his eyes. “That reminds me, though, that I have a confession to make. I told you that I wasn’t looking at other women, even while we were apart, and that’s true. But a woman kissed me last week at the bar, after the game.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Who is she?”

  Tate looked decidedly uncomfortable. “She’s a reporter, and I sat down with her for what I thought was a chat about the team. But she was looking for something else.” His lips pressed into a straight line. “I told her I wasn’t interested, though. I made that clear in no uncertain terms. Her kiss—it was pretty lackluster.”

  One side of my mouth curled up. “Oh, yeah? She didn’t rock your world, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Not hardly. Because she wasn’t you. I’ve been ruined for the rest of my life by Gia kisses, and now that I’ve had the real thing, I accept no substitutes.”

  I couldn’t help the giddiness that danced inside me at hearing him say that. “I want to climb over this table right now and remind you how amazing our kisses are. But I promised myself we’d talk for a long time before we move onto things like kisses and groping and . . . more. I’ll be good, because I want to do everything right.” I paused for a moment, trying to think of how to say what I needed him to understand. “But even while we’re taking our time, never doubt for a minute that I’m dying to jump your bones. I dream about you every night.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I still ache for you, Tate. All the time. I never stopped.”

  He groaned softly. “Remind me again that we’re being cautious and careful because we want something that lasts. Right? This won’t be easy, but the payoff will be worth it. Tell me that again.”

  “You always told me that the real thing was worth waiting for, didn’t you?” I linked both of our hands together, forming a bridge between us. “You waited for me for a long time before. This time, we’re both being patient. We’re both working toward the same goal. And that means the rewards are going to be . . .” I cast up my eyes, trying to think of the right word. “Forever. We’re working toward forever.”

  Tate’s fingers tightened around mine. “When it comes to you and me, forever is my favorite word.”

  Chapter 20

  Gia

  “Hey, G.” Zelda knocked on my open bedroom door and leaned in. “I’m leaving for Eli’s now. I’ll see you tomorrow some time.” She paused, and I could tell she was fighting back a smile. “Uh, what time is Tate coming over?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “You can stop trying to play coy. He should be here in about half an hour.”

  Zelda waggled her eyebrows. “Oooooh, I’m getting out just in time, before the fireworks start!”

  I tossed a throw pillow at her. “Get out of here, woman. Tell Tuck I said hey.”

  “Will do, gorgeous. And seriously, have fun tonight.” She winked and then disappeared, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I listened to the front door open and close behind her before I got off my bed and wandered into the living room.

  A huge fresh-cut Douglas fir dominated the corner of the room. It was lit up with so many tiny colored lights that the adjacent walls looked like a giant rainbow. With a sigh of satisfaction, I sat down in the corner of the sofa, hugging a pillow to my middle.

  It was hard to believe that we’d j
ust celebrated Thanksgiving two days before. Zelda had insisted on us spending Friday decorating the apartment for Christmas. She was madly wild for the holidays, which was slightly out of sync with her usual personality, but I wasn’t complaining. Watching her act like a little kid as we hung ornaments and picked out boughs and ribbons made me happy.

  This year, there were quite a few things that made me happy. I’d sat at the table on Thursday, looking around at my friends, and more than once, I’d found myself on the brink of tears, overwhelmed with gratitude for what I had and how much of it was mine in spite of my own actions and screw-ups.

  We’d celebrated the day at Tate’s house with Pops. It had made sense, since it was easier for Tuck to get there from his small home in Eatonboro, and Pops had been tickled at the idea of hosting all of us. Zelda and I had agreed on the condition that we could help with the prep and the cooking. Pops had taken us up on that; he’d been like a ring master, directing us here and there, tossing out orders even as he teased us.

  There had been ten of us at the table, since Tuck’s parents had come, too, and Tate had invited some of his teammates who lived too far away to justify flying home for one day. Dinner had been the way I’d always thought it could be; we were loud, with lots of laughter, praise for the food and conversation about football, of course.

  Tate, sitting next to me, held my hand under the table, and that had made me giddy. A year before, I never would have been able to predict that I’d be here, in a state of mind where I was happy and enjoying the company of my friends. It was a good feeling.

  Even more unbelievable was the fact that my mom came down to have dessert with us. She’d met Tate earlier in the fall, when we’d driven up to have dinner with her, and she adored him. We’d been invited to eat Thanksgiving dinner at my sister’s house, but one of the things I was learning was that I could take my family best in small doses. And when I’d countered that invitation with the suggestion that Mom eat dessert with us, she’d readily agreed.

  Would wonders never cease?

  Pops had insisted that we all share at least one thing that made us especially thankful. When it came time for my turn, I hadn’t hesitated even a moment.

  “I’m grateful for Tate.” I’d lifted our joined hand and pressed my lips to his knuckles, rewarded when his eyes went warm. He’d curled his free hand around my neck and drawn me in for a long kiss that set my body’s senses on high alert and brought wolf-whistles from Tuck and the other football players.

  And then it was his turn. Tate had kept his arm around my shoulders, and gazing into my eyes, he’d murmured, “I’m grateful for . . . pumpkin pie.”

  Under the cover of the ensuing hoots of laughter, Tate had leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You know the truth, babe. You beat out pumpkin pie. Now . . . you, naked, holding a pumpkin pie? That would be the trifecta.”

  Thinking about that now, I checked the clock and realized Tate would arrive soon, and I wasn’t quite ready. I had a plan, and I needed props to make it work.

  The last months had been amazing ones for us. The friendship that we’d enjoyed before had been easy to reclaim, and Tate was still the flirty, funny guy who’d won my heart. As if by unspoken agreement, we’d refrained from doing anything but holding hands for four weeks, until Tate had taken me on what he called a real date . . . out to Amico’s, of course. Afterwards, when he’d walked me up to Zelda’s front door, he’d leaned into me, his eyes steady and warm, and kissed me.

  It had been exciting, full of yearning and need and promise. It had been coming home.

  “I love you, Gia. I never stopped. I never will.” He’d punctuated each sentence with another kiss. “I’m going to be crazy in love with you until they shovel dirt over my casket.”

  I’d laughed a little, leaning against his steady strength. “That’s quite an image, baby.” I’d swallowed hard then and given voice to what I’d felt for a long time but had been too frightened to utter out loud.

  “I love you, Tate.” And then, as though we were saying vows, I repeated his words back to him. “I never stopped. I never will.”

  The light in his eyes had been glorious, and when he’d kissed me again, it had been with more heat and intention.

  But we hadn’t gone any further than that. I knew Tate was waiting for me, biding his time, and while I’d been dying by degrees for weeks, longing for him, I’d waited, too. I knew when the time was right, I’d realize it.

  Sitting at the dinner table at Thanksgiving, I’d known I was ready. We were ready.

  My phone buzzed now, and a text box popped up: it was Tate, letting me know he was parking and would be up shortly. I responded quickly, telling him that I was getting ready for dinner and that the door would be unlocked for him. Butterflies flittered through my stomach. I’d tried to sound casual when I’d invited him to come over for dinner, suggesting that he plan to spend the night, since he had practice the next morning ahead of the team playing on Monday night. But Tate always could see right through me, so I had a hunch he’d known what I was really proposing.

  I turned the deadbolt and then hustled myself back to the kitchen. A few minutes later—though it felt like several hours—I heard Tate come in, whistling.

  “Babe . . . where are you?”

  I began to answer, but my voice came out croaking. Clearing my throat, I tried again.

  “Here, in the kitchen. C’mon in.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stood up straight and lifted the pie with one hand just as Tate rounded the corner, stopping short at the sight of me.

  His mouth fell open, his eyes went wide, and when he sucked in a breath of surprise, he began to choke, coughing. I didn’t know whether to put down the pie and help him or hold the pose.

  “Gia. Oh, my God, babe.” He pounded a fist on his own chest. “What . . . I mean, damn.”

  I lifted one shoulder, hoping to God I didn’t look as ridiculous as I felt now. “You said the other night that you’d be most thankful for me, naked, with pumpkin pie. I wanted to give you your wish.”

  “You nailed it.” He reached for the plate and set it on the counter. “I don’t know what to touch first.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Am I seriously coming in second to a piece of pumpkin pie?”

  “Never.” With one swift motion, Tate grasped my hips and lifted me onto the counter top, making me shriek when my ass hit the cold tile. He tugged me to the edge and slid his arms around me, taking my mouth with surety and an air of possessiveness that I loved. His hands skimmed down my back and then circled to the front to cup my boobs.

  Feeling his hands on me was exulting. I’d been craving this for months, dreaming of being with Tate, of him driving me upwards into crazy, mind-blowing pleasure. I reached down for the button of his jeans, my fingers shaking with anticipation. He eased back just enough for me to tug down the zipper and release his cock.

  He was hard and pulsing in my hand as I ran my thumb over the crown, spreading the small drop of moisture there. Tate groaned.

  “Wait a minute, baby. Hold on.” He gently lifted my hands away. “Let me enjoy you a little first. If not, I’m going to explode all over you in about two seconds.” Before I could answer, he shot me a sly smile and reached for the pie.

  “What’re you up to?” I sounded breathless and needy—and I was.

  “Patience, honey pot.” Using two fingers, he swiped some of the pumpkin filling and smeared it over my breasts. “See, I figured I could have my two favorite things in my mouth at once.” So saying, he bent and covered my nipple, sucking it between his lips, licking me clean before he moved to the other side.

  I held his head, threading my fingers through his hair. “That feels so incredible.”

  His mouth still on me, he flicked his eyes up to my face. “Hard enough?”

  “Perfect. You’re perfect. This is perfect.” My words were garbled, but he understood me. He always did.

  “That’s what I’m aiming for.” His lips moved lower
, down my stomach until he knelt before me, nudging my legs apart. I drank in the sight of his head between my legs, feeling his warm breath on the part of me that was dying for his touch.

  With one finger, he drew a line down my center, parting me. I let my head drop back, moaning. Tate circled the tip of his finger around my clit as I wriggled, trying to get him to touch me where I needed him. He chuckled.

  “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

  “No.” I panted through gritted teeth. “Not a thing.”

  “Good.” He pushed two fingers into me, and I arched again, surging into him. He upped the ante by sucking my clit into his mouth.

  I couldn’t help moving, but Tate held me still with one hand as he worked me relentlessly. “The best thing in the world is feeling you come against my mouth. Do it now. Come for me, babe.” He pumped his fingers in and out of my body, taking me faster and higher until I cried out, my words unintelligible and crazed.

  Before I could breathe again, Tate was standing between my knees, positioning his cock at my entrance and thrusting into me. His arms came around to support my back, his fingers spread over my shoulder blades as he slid in and out of my pulsing channel.

  “Love you, Gia,” he murmured, bending to cover my mouth and stroke his tongue against me. I tasted the spicy cinnamon of pumpkin pie and my own essence. Tate kissed down my neck before he slipped his fingers between us to rub my clit.

  “Tate.” I ground out his name. “God, babe. I love you. Love you so much.”

  “Come again for me, baby. I want to feel you tight on my cock. Feel me pounding into you. Gonna come so hard . . .”

  His touch and his words drove me up and over the edge again, just as he shouted out my name, releasing into me, pulsating again and again.

  When he could breathe once more, Tate gathered me close and whispered in my ear.

  “Dessert before dinner. Best day ever.”