Play by Play (A Play Makers Novella) (6 page)

COMMENTS:

Anon 2
:

Take her to a really fancy restaurant and then spill the whole thing there. She won’t be able to make a scene. Oh, and give her jewelry first. Good luck, dude.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

She has a right to get upset. I figure my only hope is to let her get really mad and chew me out. Then I’ll apologize—hell, I’ll
grovel
. Then we’ll talk and she’ll forgive me. But taking her someplace where she can’t get righteously mad? Or trying to buy my way out of it? Not gonna happen.

SeattleJane
:

I predict she’ll get mad, then she’ll read the blog and find out how respectfully you treated her. Then she’ll still make you grovel, but it’ll be fine.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

I like your version, Jane. Thanks.

Tweetie Burred
:

Tick tock, Dub. Your biggest offense is waiting so long to tell her.

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

Good point.

New from SD
:

If she dumps you, can I have her number?

The Opinionated Sports Guy
:

The only thing worse than an indiscreet sports-blogger is an indiscreet sports-blog-
commenter
. So—nope.

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Chapter Ten

When Jake arrived at Sophie’s apartment for their third date, he had an ironclad strategy, the opening move of which would be giving her the details of the football injury. It would provide context, and with any luck would also soften her up. Then he’d explain how the blog was half therapy, half tribute; then he’d take the flak; and finally, he’d grovel like no man had ever groveled before.

But Sophie seemed to have an agenda of her own, and
her
opening move was simpler and more effective—even though all she did was touch his lips with her fingertip, the way she’d done that day in the park before their first kiss.

Then she said, “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Huh?”

“It’s what you
always
say. That we need to talk. But you’ve told me so much—about your marriage, and the pregnancy stuff, and your broken leg. And obviously, there’s more. You’ve made that clear. But for now, I really think it’s
my
turn to share.”

He exhaled in fond frustration. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Be serious. I want to show you something.” She gave him an apologetic smile as she moved toward the closed door of her spare bedroom. “You’re not the only one with secrets, you know.”

Jake nodded, wary but also intrigued. He liked this side of her—more demanding, but still so amorous, like she honestly believed they were made for each other. “You don’t have that Daniel guy tied up in there, do you?”

Sophie laughed. “Just the opposite. Take a look.”

He watched as she swung the door open to reveal a dark room with a huge monitor on one wall and three leather recliner chairs—
rocking
recliner chairs—lined up in front of it. The screen was black, lending no clue as to the big secret. But as Jake’s eyes adjusted, he could detect a glass coffee table laden with video discs, the most prominent one labeled in chalky handwriting as: Eden Squad 3.

For a millisecond, he died and went to heaven. Eden Squad
3
? The promised end to a trilogy that had knocked the gaming world on its collective ass? Eden Squad 3—expected not in August, not in September, but maybe—
maybe
—by Christmas?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she asked him in a hushed voice. “Do you like online gaming?”

He hesitated, but finally admitted, “It’s cool. I don’t spend a lot of time on it, but I’ve played ES 2 and it was amazing. And I have some friends who would
kill
to see this. If it’s true. So? Is it?”

Her smile turned playful. “How
can
it be true? It won’t be released until December, right?” When he just stared, she sighed. “It’s an advanced copy, Jake. I designed this room for my nephews because they love these stupid games. And I have access to the beta versions of Eden Squad because I’m NVG’s lawyer.”

“NVG?”

“National Video Games.”

“NVG,” Jake repeated, stunned. “Don’t they make Alien Rampage too?”

“You
know
that?” A brilliant smile lit her face. “Which means you know about gaming. And sports too? You don’t hate them at all. You
like
them. Right?”

He nodded. “I like games. And I like sports. Is that what you’re asking?”

She walked into his arms. “I was so worried. You didn’t want to go to the sports bar—”

“It’s so effing noisy—”

“Right! But otherwise, you would have gone there, wouldn’t you? Me too. Because we don’t
hate
sports. We just want to keep them in perspective.”

“Yeah, I’m a huge fan of perspective.” Jake kissed her, then slipped a hand under her T-shirt. “Ever done it in a recliner chair?”

“Sounds like someone took his vitamins,” she said teasingly. “But we’re not finished with our talk.” She gave him a long, promising kiss, then murmured, “If I asked you to go to a football game with me, would you consider it?”

“Football?”

“The Rustlers. They’re an expansion team,” she added, her voice soft and innocent. “That means they’re a brand-new franchise in the National Football League. Los Angeles hasn’t had a team in years, so the league gave them one.” She gazed into Jake’s eyes. “Do you understand a word I’m saying? I have access to great seats, but if you don’t want to go, don’t feel pressured—”

“No, I definitely want to go. I’m just surprised
you
want to.”

“I try to catch a few games every season, and this is supposed to be a fancy skybox at a brand-new stadium. Even if we don’t watch every play, we can find something to do. Hopefully X-rated.”

His mind was reeling. Apparently she had connections to the world of gaming and sports through her software company—the company that created the amazing, groundbreaking, coma-inducing Eden Squad, for eff’s sake. And of course NVG would have a luxury box. They spent millions in advertising with the NFL.

Everything was changing, and while he couldn’t keep up, it all seemed promising. Her nephews liked online gaming. She
worked
for online gaming. And online gaming was a boisterous, confrontational, sweaty world, just like sports. Plus she didn’t “hate” sports, or at least, she claimed she didn’t.

“We’ll fly to LA Saturday morning,” she told him happily. “I’ve got zillions of free miles so I’ll get us a great flight. And we’ll stay someplace nice, make love until game time, go to the game, then make love until checkout time. Unless you want to drive down—”

“We’ll fly,” he agreed, his voice thick with confusion. “And I’ll level with you on the plane. There’s a lot to say—”

“I want to hear it,” she assured him. “But truly, truly,
truly
, Jake, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.” Kissing him fiercely, she insisted, “We’re in this together now, right?”

“Yeah, Sophie. I promise—we’re in this together to the end.”

Chapter Eleven

They caught a nine a.m. flight out of San Francisco and landed in Los Angeles a little after ten. Any thoughts Jake had about confessing on the plane were sidetracked when she wore the blue-and-white dress from their first date. And when he referred to it as her Colts dress, in honor of the color scheme so reminiscent of some great throwback uniforms, she went a little crazy, nuzzling him right there in the airport lounge and setting the tone for the entire morning, culminating in their hotel, where she practically dragged him into bed.

But still, he had made a commitment to himself to come clean, so he interrupted the frantic foreplay to doggedly share his real name.

To his relief, she took it pretty well.

“Dublin?” Her nose wrinkled in frustrated amusement. “Not quite as sexy as Devlin, but I might actually like it better. It’s more sincere. Speaking of which—” She licked her lips. “Why did you lie about it in the first place?”

“I’ve written some controversial stuff,” he explained carefully. “Mostly on the Internet. And I wanted to choose what you read of mine, at least the first few things. The right items in the right order, to make a good impression.”

“I’ve been dying to read one of your columns,” she admitted. “And Google failed me for obvious reasons. Jake Dublin . . . It
is
Jake, right?” When he nodded, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love it.”

He cleared his throat. “Since we’re on a roll—”

“Can’t we wait until the flight home?”

“Huh?”

She eyed him warily. “If it really can’t wait, then obviously, let’s talk. But unless you’re going to tell me you’re still married, or seeing someone else, or sick, or wanted by the FBI—well, can’t it wait?”

“It’s none of those things, I promise.”

“Then humor me.” Her tone warmed. “I’m just so happy, Jake. For the first time in a long time. We’re just so perfect together, you and me.” When he stared, honestly speechless, she gave him a brilliant smile. “And now it turns out you like football too. At least a little. I didn’t even know I
cared
about that in a boyfriend, but apparently I do. So I’m so relieved. So happy. And . . .” She moved her mouth to his ear, warming it with her arousal. “I’m so hot for you. It’s embarrassing, but it’s soooo true. But if you want to talk first—”

“It can wait till the flight home,” he assured her in a husky voice as he slid his hand down her torso and between her legs until his fingers encountered evidence of hot times ahead. “Man, Sophie, you’re wild sometimes.”

“You
make
me wild,” she moaned as he devoured her with his mouth. “Oh, Jake, there. That’s perfect! Ohhhh . . .
Jake
.”

• • •

When they were finally cuddling in a post-erotic haze, she told him teasingly, “I have a surprise for you at the game, and I want it to be fun. Just sex and sports? How does that sound?”

“Just sex and sports? My two favorite pastimes.” He grinned, then felt a twinge of foreboding. “A surprise at the game? You’re not proposing to me on the Jumbotron, are you? Because my answer would be yes, so be careful what you wish for.”

“Mmmm, don’t give me any ideas.” She gave him a suggestive kiss. “You wouldn’t be able to accept my proposal anyway, because it would say, ‘Will you marry me, Jake
Devlin
?’ instead of Dublin.”

“I can change my name, no problem.”

“You’re so crazy. It’s a good thing I picked a less romantic surprise. For now, at least.”

“Yeah.” He had a feeling the nonromantic surprise was how truly amazing the seats would be, which made sense since NVG was such a player in the NFL world. He just hoped the skybox wasn’t too close to the broadcast booth. All he needed was for a bunch of guys to start calling him Dub—or worse, asking if the pretty blonde was the infamous Elevator Girl. His face wasn’t exactly famous, especially not in Silicon Valley, where he kept an extremely low profile.

But in certain sports circles, well—he’d just have to wear his sunglasses and Rustlers cap and hope for the best. But hopefully, only for one more day.

• • •

Sophie continued to be full of surprises thereafter, first with a final amorous attack in their hotel suite, then with her casual reaction to the sumptuous luxury box that made the suite look like a poorly furnished closet. Trays of piping-hot hors d’oeuvres, buckets of iced champagne and beer, and a metric one of Rustlers swag including hats, pens and stuffed animals greeted them. Jake was used to this sort of thing, but on a lesser scale. But apparently Sophie experienced this kind of deluxe treatment all the time, which made him question her willingness to date a guy who plied her with take-out food and decades-old DVDs.

Most shocking was her knowledge of football. Sure she had been raised in a house filled with jocks, and had been subjected to endless games on TV, but she actually seemed to know a lot of the details—positions, plays, and penalties. When the Cowboys coach challenged the spot of the ball after a pass interference call, it was Sophie who quoted the rule to Jake and analyzed it perfectly while he was still trying to figure out what the heck had happened. It should have been mildly embarrassing—after all, this was his livelihood—but instead, it was hilarious.

His favorite moment came when the Rustlers brought out their field goal team on a third down with forty-eight seconds left in the fourth quarter, and fans started booing loudly.

“I wish they wouldn’t harass the coach,” she murmured. “It’s so rude. Not just to him but for the players.”

“Plus, these bozos are dead wrong,” Jake assured her. “Coach Spurling knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“And three points is better than nothing,” Sophie agreed halfheartedly.

“But seven is even better.” He winked. “Prepare to be amazed.”

“Oh!” She screamed with delight as the kicker tossed the ball in a lateral motion to a halfback, who virtually jumped the defensive line and strode in for a touchdown. Still cheering, she threw herself into Jake’s arms, then demanded, “How did you know they’d do that?”

“The guy’s effing brilliant. Defeat isn’t in his playbook.”

The crowd was going berserk, the noise deafening, so she leaned closer to his ear. “We’re going to win now, right?”

“There’s still time left, but yeah. It’s in the bag.” He licked his lips. “Man, Sophie. I love being here with you.”

“I love it too,” she murmured, kissing him with one eye on the field for the extra point. When Spurling went for two, she shrieked happily again, then stretched her arms up and waved her hands in the air as though personally connecting with the jubilant players.