Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (29 page)

John was a different story. His dad was a coach, so the idea of a player ever, ever touching their coach’s wife would offend him. But Erica would talk him down, wouldn’t she? And he and John were like brothers. So it would work itself out eventually.

Assuming Kerrie followed the blueprint.

But of course, she would not. He could just hear her now:
I’ll gladly divorce Coz to marry you. But to date? While I give up everything?

He wanted to be angry over this stubborn attitude, especially because it might break them up, but he knew she was right in her own illogical way. Coz had hurt her so deeply and so often, she had no problem cheating on him. Because she didn’t see herself as a married woman having an affair with her husband’s player.

She saw herself, quite rightfully, as a victim who deserved love in whatever form she could find it. If it meant breaking her marriage vows, she didn’t care. Her a-hole of a husband had done that so many times she had lost count.

Sean had circled this dead-end reasoning so often, he knew it by heart. And so today, knowing his QB was playing golf in Sun River, he had decided to take this dilemma to his favorite person in the world.

Erica McCall Spurling.

She would be shocked but sympathetic. And then, because she was brilliant and creative, she would figure out what Sean should do. Some way to extricate him from the vise around his heart. She had freed him once. Maybe she could do it again.

Reclining his seat, he envisioned his family’s ranch, a symbol of freedom since childhood despite the crushing chores and a strict father. But there was open space. Beauty. And symbolic of it all, the herds of wild horses that appeared out of nowhere, stormed through the place, then took off again. No boundaries. No hesitation.

No regrets.

Kerrie could benefit from that kind of freedom. But she didn’t seem to want it. And Sean? He had taken it for granted. Now he was so mired in quicksand, he wouldn’t even know what to do with it.

“Hey, Deck!”

Sean nearly jumped out of his skin as a harsh rapping on his driver’s-side window accompanied the shouting.

Bannerman?

Unbelievable.

Opening the door of his Mercedes, he stepped out, glaring. “What the fuck?”

“I thought you were in a coma. How hard did you party last night?”

“How do
you
do it?” Sean demanded, annoyed that the halfback seemed so refreshed.

“Clean living,” Bannerman deadpanned. “You oughta try it.”

“Fuck off.” Sean glared again. “Do you
live
here now? I never get to see her alone anymore.”

“She’s worried about you. Because of all the moping. Me and John just think you’re in love with your sister or something,” he added, chuckling.

“God, you’re a jackass.”

He wanted to strangle him, but ironically, knew the guy was a better man than he was. For one thing, Bannerman would never knowingly date a married woman. He played around, sometimes on so many levels it made heads spin, but he had a solid code when it came to right and wrong.

“Come on, Deck. Spill it. You’re even more girly than usual. Tell Uncle Bam what’s wrong.”

He bristled but finally admitted, “I’ve been thinking about the future. Specifically, Rachel Gillette. Remember her?”

“What about her?”

Sean shrugged. “You know how I am. I like dating, but I’d rather be married. So I figure I need a backup plan. And let’s face it, she’s the perfect backup bride.”

“Huh?”

“You know . . .” He felt himself warming to the plan again. “Where a guy and a girl are friends, but it’s not romantic. And they both want to find true love. But if they can’t do it by a certain time—in my case, five years from now, when I’m thirty-two, which would make Rachel thirty-three, I think—they commit to marrying each other. I could do a lot worse,” he said, adding stubbornly, “and so could she.”

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Bannerman growled.

“Huh?”

“She’s not a backup bride. Not yours, not anyone’s. She’s effing awesome. Way too good for
you.”

Sean stared, honestly stunned. “You got all that from one kiss?”

“What can I say?” he said with a sheepish grin. “It was a great kiss.”

It took a second to register. Then Sean’s aching head exploded. “You
called
her? After you promised you wouldn’t? Fuck!”

“I didn’t call. I flew down for a visit and we hit it off. It’s all consensual.” The halfback shrugged. “Don’t ask me why, but she’s into me.”

“This isn’t happening,” Sean muttered, his body experiencing all the symptoms of a sucker punch to the gut, made even more painful by the hangover. “Anyone but Rachel. She’s so pure. So innocent.”

“Not anymore. She’s all Bammed up.”

“God
damn
it.”

“Sean? Bam?” a sexy voice called from the front doorway. “Are you guys coming in or not?”

“Don’t tell Erica,” Bannerman instructed grimly. “Rachel made me promise not to tell. And she’s got a temper, believe it or not.”

“Yeah, my eardrum’s still broken from the
last
time she yelled at me.” Sean exhaled in disgust. “Just tell me it’s not serious.”

“Not
your
kind of serious,” Bannerman assured him. “I’m not a girl, remember? But I’m hot for her. And vice versa.”

“I feel sick.”

“You look green,” he said sympathetically. “So don’t take it so seriously. But don’t say anything to John or Erica. And definitely not Beth Spurling. She’d hang me from a goal post by my balls.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Sean muttered.

“You’d be hanging right next to me,” Bannerman reminded him. “Since she’ll blame
you
for blowing the blind date.”

“Yeah, I won’t say anything. As long as it’s not serious.” Looking toward the front door, he shouted to Erica, “We’ll be right there. Bam needs help tying his shoe.”

She waved again. “Hurry up. My husband’s on his way, and I need time alone with my hot boyfriends.”

Bannerman chuckled. “She always makes it sound so dirty. Even when it’s just beer and sandwiches.”

Sean nodded, but as his friend turned away, he grabbed him by the elbow and warned, “Just handle it right with Rachel. Don’t hurt her.”

“I’d never do that,” Bannerman assured him.

But Sean could hear the unspoken qualifier—
I won’t hurt her, but I’ll bang her into next week—
and it felt so wrong. He had enormous loyalty to this guy. Loved him like a brother. But Rachel was special, and since Sean had unintentionally brought them together, it was his job to protect her.

The worst part was, he couldn’t even fantasize about marrying her anymore. “Bammed up” was a definite deal breaker. And maybe that was a good sign. If his downfall was crushing on other guys’ women, but he didn’t want
Bam’s
woman, he was making progress.

But you still want Coz’s woman,
he mocked himself.
Even if she’s stringing you along.

That was his worst fear, wasn’t it? That Kerrie would never get around to divorcing her a-hole husband, and Sean would never pull the plug on the relationship.

Sure, Coz was a jerk, but at some point, Sean became the douchebag in
that
scenario.

Frustrated, he followed Bannerman up to the McSpurling home, where Erica was waiting for them, ready to make everything better, just as she always did. Except now, he couldn’t give her any details. Not about Kerrie. Not about Rachel.

So he forced himself to admit the truth, because in his heart, he had always known what Erica would advise. That he should back away from Coz’s wife. Choose the schoolteacher and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, that was no longer a possibility, and worse, he couldn’t tell Erica
why
it wasn’t possible for fear Beth Spurling would find out too.

Because Bannerman was right about one thing. If Beth ever heard about the unholy affair between her innocent friend and the devil incarnate, she would string them
all
up by their balls.

• • •

When doubts about her newfound bliss popped up, Rachel shooed them away.

Was it love? Not love?

One-sided? Mutual?

If it wasn’t going to last anyway, why did it matter?

And sure, she knew she wasn’t the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, or even banged. He was an NFL star who played around. Thanks to glimpses of the competition during the Super Bowl—gorgeous cheerleaders, sophisticated beauties on the arms of players and owners, glamorous celebrities—she was aware of the sinfully gorgeous women everywhere he turned.

Even at John and Erica’s wedding there had been some stunners. Erica of course, the hottest hottie of them all. But there had been others as well—draped in jewels, their tall, lithe bodies toned to perfection, their faces sculpted into works of art. So shockingly perfect they seemed untouchable.

But not to Bannerman. How had Kerrie phrased it? Like waving a red flag in front of a bull. The more untouchable a woman seemed, the more he schemed to touch her.

And the more she insisted he couldn’t take her to a wedding, the more he insisted on doing so.

Stop it! You don’t need to be the best or most beautiful. At least, not every day of the week. Just on Fridays. And just for a while.

She was confident she could meet that standard for as long as he stayed interested. And when he
lost
interest? She had learned her lesson about that, too. Next time, she wouldn’t panic. Wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t feel like her life was ending.

She’d rejoice in what she’d had with him. Kiss him lovingly, then send him on his way. Hopefully before the third Saturday in May, because otherwise, things could get awkward.

Sophie’s wedding . . .

He would insist on escorting her. Beth would blow a gasket. Sean would be confused, maybe even feel betrayed.
And Sophie would feel terrible.

Another wedding ruined.

But that was a month and a half away, and meanwhile, it was Friday.
He
r day. He would appear at the classroom doorway, charm her with some unexpected disguise or sheepish smile, and an amazing twenty-four hours would ensue. He would make love to her—hopefully in the kitchen first, then work his way down the hall. Then on Saturday he’d plant the tree.

The pomegranate. Also known as the most thoughtful present any man had ever given to any woman.

Ever.

• • •

Trees figured prominently in his visit to the classroom that Friday when they reenacted the tale of Sir Bannerman, with Bannerman playing himself and Ms. Gillette playing the role of the walnut tree amid shrieks of laughter from the children.

And he still seemed obsessed later that afternoon when she pulled her car into the driveway and found him studying the crated tree, a determined look on his handsome face.

She could barely calm her racing pulse as she jumped out and sprinted over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You said you’d plant it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got something else to plant first,” he agreed, scooping her up and carrying her to the house.

She screamed his name, but not because she feared the neighbors would see the bawdy display. That ship had sailed, and her only purpose now was to egg him on.

He didn’t stop in the kitchen, but that was fine with her. Being attacked in her bed by a gladiator was one of her top five fantasies these days.

Tossing her carefully onto the bed, he stayed on his feet, his hands on his hips, and instructed her in a stern voice, “Strip. And hurry up about it.”

She knelt up, pulling her demure top over her head to reveal her favorite white-lace bra. Then she eyed his fully clothed body playfully. “I’d like something in exchange, please?”

“Lucky for you, I brought you something.”

When he reached into his pocket, she dissolved in a heap of giggles, recognizing the familiar ritual. But when he pulled out a pair of hot pink panties decorated with black satin bows, she recoiled, blurting out in accusation:
“Vince!”

He seemed viscerally shocked. “What?”

“Those aren’t mine,” she told him, her voice guarded. Disbelieving.

He looked shocked again, and totally confused.

But she was too hurt—too humiliated—to stop herself. “I’ve told you a million times. I don’t
care
if you see other women. I
want
you to see other women. Just get those out of here.” Her eyes swam with angry tears. “Maybe you should go too.”

“Rachel—”

“Don’t ‘Rachel’ me,” she warned, jumping off the bed, but only so she could move farther away from him, backing herself into a cramped corner. “I can’t
believe
you. Is it that hard to keep us separate?” She swatted at her eyes, miserable she was misting up in front of him.

And over
this?

“Just go, Vince. Come back next week, obviously. But for now, just go.”

He approached as though she were an uncaged lion. “These are a gift. Like I said.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. In fact, she
covered
her ears with her hands and turned away. “If you don’t go now, don’t bother coming back.”

“Rachel . . .” He stepped closer, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. “You actually think I’m dating other women? What the hell?”

She turned, almost broken now. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie.
Please?
I told you it’s fine with me. It’s
better.
It takes the pressure off me to be—well, whatever the hell you want. But you can’t bring their stupid, stupid underwear into my home.”

He looked down at her, his face contorted with emotion. Then he turned and strode out of the room, saying over his shoulder, “Give me a minute.”

Unless he was going to burn those panties, she wasn’t sure what he could do to make this better. Maybe bring a branch from the pomegranate tree into the bedroom? Like an olive branch?

It didn’t matter. She was just grateful for the chance to get her emotions under control. It was the worst thing he could have done in her eyes. But why? She
knew
he was seeing other women. He hadn’t tried to hide it. Not ever. And the fact that he played the same games with them—stole panties with a huge grin on his face—while hurtful, shouldn’t really surprise her, should it?