His Seduction Game Plan (5 page)

Hunter.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said, stepping away. They got back on their boards and returned to the shop and changed. When they both came out of the changing rooms they were awkward. Or maybe it was just her. Hunter came forward and took her hand in his, threading their fingers together again and leading her back toward where they'd left the car. “I can't imagine what it was like growing up with Coach as a father.”

“It wasn't bad or good. He just ignored me. I think if I'd been a different sort of person I might have pushed harder to make him notice me. But instead I just stayed in the shadows.”

“You weren't always in the shadows, were you?”

“With him I was. I did well in school and my mom and my stepdad are really great. So I had this weird upbringing where I was the center of attention and then I'd come to California for four weeks in the summer and my dad would just leave me be. I think I'm projecting some of that resentment onto you,” she admitted. Actually she knew she was doing it. He was one of her father's favorites. It was hard not to want what he had gotten from her dad. Respect. Attention.

“I haven't felt anything like that. It seems more to me that you're afraid to trust yourself. To just let go and be comfortable with me.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But then I don't believe for one second that you are being yourself with me.”

He shrugged.

She was starting to notice he did that a lot. Perhaps he thought it was a nice neutral response. But she saw it as a shield. His way of not answering when a subject cut a little too close to the truth. And she got that. Really she did. She wanted to run away from things that made her feel too much. But running had never worked.

“How about this? You stop shrugging and answer me and I'll try to let go so we can have some fun today.”

“I have been having fun. You make me feel again, Ferrin. It's not lust—because that's easy and hormone-driven—but something more. I never thought I'd feel this way around a woman again.”

She arched her eyebrow at him. “Am I expected to believe that?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Yes, you are. It's true. I want you, I'm not going to deny that, but there is more to it. This isn't a simple conquest.”

“I should hope not,” she said, but there was lightness in his tone that made her want to smile.

“Which part are you talking about—the simple or the conquest?”

“I guess you'll have to stick around to find out,” she said.

“Oh, I intend to,” he said.

He put his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. The sea breeze wrapped around them as they stood facing the horizon and she stopped worrying.

He tipped her chin back against his shoulder and lowered his head to kiss her. His lips moved over hers, taking her mouth slowly—completely.

When they got back on the road, he didn't take her back to her car but on a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. They took turns picking songs on the digital radio station and quizzing each other to see who knew the artist singing. They talked about the best food they'd ever eaten—steak in Argentina for him, strawberry shortcake in Plant City, Florida, for her. And for a while she forgot about her father and football and all the things in life that she'd never been able to find peace with.

She forgot that she wasn't sure she could trust Hunter—in fact, somehow in the midst of laughter and confessions about things that seemed small and inconsequential she realized that she had started to trust him. She'd started to show him the real Ferrin Gainer, and unless she was very much mistaken she thought she was seeing Hunter the man, not the NFL player plagued by past scandal.

Five

I
t had been a little over a week since her day with Hunter. True to his word, he'd left her free to make her decision. It was as if he'd disappeared from her life. She wanted him back. The past week she'd spent a lot of time in this house with Coach. And she still wasn't any closer to a decision.

She stood in the hallway outside his in-home study. The door was solid hardwood and the handle polished brass. It was cold under her hand. Maybe it was her imagination but she sensed her father wouldn't want her in his office.

She opened the door, stepped inside and then quickly closed it behind her.

Ferrin quietly entered the room that she'd avoided since returning to California. She stood there in the doorway remembering when she'd tried to come in here as a teen and her father had simply gestured for her to leave.

A part of her thought maybe that was why she hadn't wanted to let Hunter see the boxes of stuff. She didn't want to be here with someone who belonged. But today there was nothing but an empty room and her father was upstairs in his bed, pretending to sleep so he didn't have to talk to her.

She closed the door behind her and walked over to the large walnut desk that had been a gift from her mother a long time ago. She often wondered how two people so different had fallen in love.

Her mother sometimes said it was infatuation. Just that giddy feeling that happens when two people meet who are so different that they get caught up in the myth of romance and love. Not at all like the solid bond her mother had with Ferrin's stepfather. Dean was a decent guy who was an academic like her mother. They made sense as a couple.

Ferrin pushed aside those thoughts and walked across the hardwood floor. One wall of the room was lined with built-in custom bookcases. Her father was one of the winningest coaches in collegiate football so there were lots of trophies on the shelves. He also had always included pictures of the teams that won. She avoided looking at his glory wall and went instead to his desk.

There was a computer but she knew he seldom used it. She turned it on and started opening the drawers in his desk. Nothing really in them except a stack of letters the housekeeper had put in the top left-hand drawer and a picture of Ferrin underneath them.

It was from her college graduation. She'd had no idea he'd kept it. He hadn't shown up because one of his graduates that year had invited him to go fly-fishing in Montana. It shouldn't have mattered. She'd known for a long time the kind of man her father was.

So why was she working so hard not to upset him? To do what he wanted when he had never done one thing for her?

Because two wrongs didn't make a right.

Her mom's words echoed in her mind. She'd heard them time and again growing up and now they were her constant companion when she wanted to turn away. Wanted to just do what she wanted instead of what was right.

Her father had finally told her that he was against letting Hunter look at the records. She wondered if her father knew something or if he was afraid once he started letting people into his old files they'd officially become the past and Coach wouldn't be relevant anymore. For his part, Hunter had said he'd respect whatever decision she made...but she knew he wouldn't. Had he said that just to make it so she'd say yes?

“Ugh.”

The sound of her voice echoed around the glory room her father had made for himself. She went to the walk-in closet where the records had been stored. But then she left the boxes unopened and exited the room altogether. The computer was still on and she didn't care. She walked through the house that would never be home to her and out the French doors that led to the patio.

The breeze was cool and strong and she stood there, letting her hair whip around her face, hoping it would push away her thoughts and leave just one clear path.

But it didn't.

Nothing was going to happen to force her to make the choice.

She was going to have to decide and then stick to it.

What was her father afraid of?

Workout tapes, practice scrimmages, maybe some celebrations. What was it that her father thought they'd find?

She had to know.

It was one more thing about him that she couldn't put her finger on. Maybe by reading the files and viewing the tapes she'd find answers about the man. Finally be able to understand him.

The decision had to be about her dad, she thought. It couldn't be about Hunter or his questions regarding the past. There was no guarantee that he'd find what he was looking for. In fact, she highly doubted he would. He might never find the answers and the peace he needed.

So it came down to her own decision. What could she live with?

She knew part of it was influenced by her feelings for Hunter, but a bigger part was to figure out what her father had always found in those boys he'd coached that he'd never found in her.

When she came back in from the patio, the house was quiet except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Some of her earliest memories involved that clock. It had been soothing just listening to its solid ticking when her parents had been fighting. She walked over and sank down on the floor in front of it.

The pendulum kept swinging back and forth, the way she swung back and forth between her options for the decision she had to make. One side Coach, the other Hunter.

Coach...ah, that was so complicated.

Hunter...well, it would be nice to just make the man happy and claim some of that happiness for herself.

She heard her ringtone and picked up her phone, glancing at the locked screen. It was a Texas number but not one she recognized.

“Hello?”

“Ferrin, it's Hunter.”

His voice was dark and smooth, sending the good kind of shivers down her back. She hadn't wanted to admit it but she'd missed him.

* * *

Hunter had gotten up early and driven over to the college. He'd figured that if he found some of the old practice tapes there maybe he wouldn't have to ask Ferrin for them anymore.

But when he arrived, he'd been greeted by former assistant coach Graham Peters coming out of Coach's old office. Peters had been short and blunt—he didn't have any tapes and he thought Hunter should let the whole thing go and leave the past in the past.

As Hunter walked out of the gym and over to his car, he realized he had no other choice: he was back to needing Coach's boxes. It was time to call Ferrin.

Hunter had kept his distance. A part of him hoped she'd call and invite him over to look through Coach's old stuff but she hadn't. And he'd waited a week.

The past seven or eight days had felt too long. He was used to action. Even though he knew he was moving only ten yards at a time toward the end zone, he still wanted some forward momentum.

He'd been busy with his charity. Working with Gabi, Hunter was going to sponsor the local peewee football league at the children's recreation center she'd helped Kingsley get permission to build. And there was a certain amount of work he could do to keep his days busy and his mind off Ferrin, but the nights...damn if he didn't spend every night wishing he'd done more than kiss her on the beach.

He was trying to be the good guy. But it was hard.

He had made a few calls to the people they had in common. Coach's old secretary at the college had given him Ferrin's cell phone number when he explained that he had visited with Coach and didn't want to disturb him by calling the house. Coach's old secretary had always had a soft spot for Hunter back in his playing days.

Though he knew it would be better if she called him, he dialed the number and waited.

Her voice on the phone was sweet and he could picture the smile on her face as she spoke. He missed her.

How? He'd known her a week but he missed her.

He needed to get himself in check. He blamed Kingsley and Gabi and how they made him want to think about his own future in a way he hadn't before. It was different with Kingsley's first wife, who'd been a supermodel and had her own life. They hadn't been much of a family.

Until he'd seen Gabi, Conner and Kingsley together, Hunter hadn't realized that he wanted one for himself.

Ferrin broke into his thoughts. “Hunter. I was wondering if you'd given up and gone back to...where do you normally live?”

“Well, you know I own a house here,” he said. “But I had been based in Malibu prior to moving up here.”

“Oh, why did you move?”

“To be closer to my godson.”

“Conner, right?”

“Yes.”

He heard a heavy sigh. “I'm afraid I still haven't made a decision about the boxes.”

Dammit.

“Okay. I was calling to invite you to dinner with my friends.”

“You were?”

“Yes. No pressure,” he said.

“Um...which friends?”

“Conner and his parents,” Hunter said.

“When?”

“Tonight. Just casual. I think it's taco night,” Hunter said.

“Taco night?”

“Gabi does themed dinner nights,” Hunter said.

“That sounds so cute. Okay, I will go with you. What time?” Ferrin asked.

Hunter looked at the iMessage he'd just sent to Kingsley asking for the time and saw he'd responded.

“Seven. I could pick you up at six thirty,” Hunter said.

“Sounds good. What can I bring?”

“Just bring yourself. Hang on while I text Kingsley.”

He typed a quick message back to Kingsley confirming they'd both be at his place for dinner.

Kingsley texted back with a smiley face emoji.

“What have you been doing?” Ferrin asked when they resumed the conversation. “More of your charity work?”

Hunter leaned back in his office chair, crossing his feet at the ankles.

“Yes. Just finalizing the equipment for the peewee league here in Carmel. Kingsley donated the money for a new community recreation center and now my charity is providing the stuff they need to get playing.”

He heard her moving around and wondered what she was doing. Had he interrupted something important?

“What have you been up to?”

“Trying to make Coach eat all his meals and convince him to sit outside part of every day.”

She'd brought up Coach...maybe he'd just mention the tapes. That was what he was truly interested in. The information that Daria Miller, a reporter who'd gone to school with Hunter, King and Gabi, had uncovered involved women being drugged and raped, possibly by other players on the team that year. But was it only rumor? So far no one would come forward and talk to him or Kingsley. Was he chasing after another false lead?

“I bet that's not easy.” He wasn't going to pressure her, no matter how much that went against his instincts. He knew that the only way he was ever going to see what was in the files was if Ferrin or Coach decided to let him.

“He's very stubborn. Maybe you have some tips you can give me,” she said.

“Why would I?” he asked.

She made a noise that he couldn't interpret over the phone.

“He always related better to the guys on his team than to me. I wondered if there was some wisdom you might have that I'm missing,” Ferrin said.

That broken relationship with her father again. Hunter wanted to fix it for her, but he wasn't exactly Dr. Phil. He was more Steve Wilkos: full-on confrontation.

“Tell him that every day, every small improvement is going to show up on game day. Remind him that for him every day is game day. He needs to keep working until he reaches the end zone and can get out of bed and back to his old life.”

“Football analogies?”

“It's what he loves.”

“Is it what you love?” she countered.

“It used to be,” he said.

“When did it stop being?”

“When I put the game in front of a person I cared for and I lost her,” Hunter admitted. Part of the reason he had to resolve what had happened to Stacia was the guilt that no amount of time could dull. He still carried it with him.

“I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. But it was my own fault. I think Coach needs a wake-up call. He's a good man,” Hunter said. Coach had always defended him and Kingsley, and Hunter would never forget that. Even his brothers and his parents had a few questions before they were convinced he was innocent. Only Coach had always known it.

“I'll try. But he doesn't...he doesn't seem to want to get out of bed at all. Do you think you could talk to some of your teammates and maybe that would help motivate him?” Ferrin said.

“I'll see what I can do,” he said, his heart sinking that he wasn't any closer to getting access to Coach's records as the call came to an end.

* * *

After hanging up with Hunter, Ferrin heard the house phone ring and waited to see if Joy was going to answer it. It was odd to get a call on that line and she suspected it might be someone from the college for her dad.

“Hello.”

“Hello. This is Graham Peters. May I speak to Coach Gainer?”

“I'm sorry, he's not available right now. May I have him call you back?”

“No, you may not. I was his assistant coach at the college. Who is this?” the man asked. His voice was brusque and he was impatient.

“Ferrin, Coach's daughter.”

“Coach has a daughter. I didn't know that,” Graham said. “I was very sorry to hear about your dad's strokes and heart attack. How is he doing?”

He sounded much nicer now that he knew she was Coach's daughter and not the housekeeper. Ferrin wondered how often Joy had to put up with that kind of treatment. Graham's name didn't mean anything to her but she quickly Googled it and his photo and a bio from the college website popped up.

“He's recovering but it's slow. What did you need to speak to him about?” Ferrin asked.

“We would like to honor your father with a tribute at the college. I was hoping to come over and go through his old practice tapes to put together a montage of his best moments,” Graham said. “I was calling to see when I could come over.”