Romancing the Running Back (16 page)

“K-Ci and JoJo are on here. Nineteen ninety-eight called. They want their playlist back.”

“Fine,” she said, much belabored. “Add your own if you want.”

He picked up the pen and flipped the page to start his own list, only to see the next page of the notebook was taken . . . by information on a charity. A charity she supported? Nice. Curious, unable to help himself, he read a few items on the list.

No, he realized. Not a charity she supported. A charity she
started
. Right here in Santa Fe. He couldn’t quite get all the details, but it had something to do with dresses and second chances, maybe?

“Wrong page,” she said quietly from behind him.

He didn’t jolt, but he did flush. “I didn’t mean to pry, just flipped the page and it was there so—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in hastily. “I should have mentioned it to people weeks ago.” Anya sat back down and put the ice water on the table beside her. Curling up her legs beneath her, she said, “Ask any questions you need to. I’m sure it’s surprising.”

“Yes, but only because I didn’t realize you were putting down roots that far so fast.”

She smiled a little, but it was a nervous one. “The opportunity sort of just fell into my lap. Only Mags knows, but she swore to stay quiet about it.” She explained the Chance to Dance nonprofit, what she was aiming to do, and the short timeline she was operating under.

“Cynthia’s been great, it’s just hard to get it all done so fast. And now she’s talking about a fund-raiser and I’m drawing a blank.” She shrugged. “I know nothing about that. It took all I had to just get the paperwork figured out for the nonprofit status.”

“But you can throw a party,” he pointed out. She’d proven that the night before. “A fund-raiser is mostly just a party where people bring their checkbooks.” He should know. He’d been to enough of them in his time in the league. “For a purpose, and usually with a theme in mind. Something to entice them to show up face-to-face, rather than just mail a check.”

He stared at the notebook for a moment. “Couldn’t you host your own prom? We do formal events now and then, but legitimately make it like a prom from back in the day. The decorations and the prom king and queen?”

She blinked owlishly. “A prom for a prom . . . keep talking.”

“I’d bet money the guys would like coming, especially if the dress code was a bit more loose. Black tie is fun and all, but showing off the personality is more up these guys’ alleys. Tell their women to wear actual prom dresses rather than those slinky dresses they wear now, do the jewelry up just like high school. Have a DJ play favorites from the past few decades.”

“Prom king and queen,” she said slowly.

“Right, like I said—”

“But people have to pay to vote,” she interrupted. “You can vote for anyone in attendance, but you’ve gotta fork up the
cash to make it happen.”

“Brilliant.” He kissed her hard. “See? You’ve got this.”

“It might take a while to get done. I don’t think I have the time,” she said warily.

“You do if you talk to Kristen. Kristen, from the Bobcats HQ office. She’s, like, a wizard with knowing who we use for what kind of functions, from DJs to the reception halls, she’s got it all.”

Anya settled back in the seat, scowling. “You’re telling me Cassie sent me on a wild-goose chase for this wedding for nothing? That the information was all at her fingertips from the start?”

“Well,” he said, rolling his lips in a bit to hide a smile. “Corporate events are different beasts than a wedding, so that’s one thing. But also, I think she just needed you. Kristen’s awesome, we all love her. But you’re Cassie’s rock.”

She raised one brow. “You’re sucking up now, aren’t you?”

“A little bit. Is it working?”

“Yes.” She kissed him, then settled her head in his lap. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Seriously.” He stroked her hair back from her face while she hit play for the movie and settled down to watch.

He wanted to do a fist pump. He’d
known
she wasn’t just a beautiful face interested in beautiful things. But this confirmed it. Her devotion to turning her passion into a positive experience for young girls who couldn’t afford the formal necessities was a perfect fit. She was putting down roots. There was no way she could leave the area now.

He wouldn’t let her think about it.

Cassie settled down in the booth across from Anya at the deli, her back facing the door. Anya had taken the same route as Cass and sat down before her food was ready, loving that the staff would help keep them anonymous from prying eyes. Ever since the blogs started speculating why so many Bobcats had congregated at the hotel the week before, Cassie had gone into ultra-protected mode. Their lunch date was the first public meal she’d had since the story broke.

“It’s going to be ten times worse when the wedding planning actually gets started, with dates and everything,” Cassie moaned, letting her head fall to the side of the booth. “We couldn’t have just eloped?”

“You could have,” Anya said, feeling sympathetic. It would never have been her choice, but she could understand the desire. Cassie wasn’t prone to liking attention and parties and glitzy things. “But as Tabitha reminded you, you’d offend a lot of important people.”

“She’s a bitch.” Cassie sighed. “But she’s right. I hate that.”

“Even the blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes.” Anya rubbed Cassie’s hand lightly. “Nice shirt, by the way.”

She wore a light-blue cardigan over a graphic tee that featured a floppy disc with the words “Byte me” written on it. Cassie looked down and grinned. “You totally hate it.”

“It’s you. I have found my Zen when it comes to your geeky graphic tees.” Anya held her hands out, thumbs and middle fingers touching, and closed her eyes, as if meditating. “And when I do this, I can’t even see the offensive outfit.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Your shirt invites me to bite you.”

“If that’s what you got from the shirt, then you’re not reading it right.”

“I’m dating Josiah.”

“You didn’t even bitch about my shoes yet. Are you sick?” There was a pause, and Anya cracked open one eye. Cassie stared at her, blank-faced. “Backspace. What did you say?”

“I said Josiah and I are dating.” Anya smoothed out the front of the chunky fisherman sweater she wore with dark skinny jeans and heels. The loose weave of the sweater kept her cooler than one might expect with the bulky fabric. “What did you order for lunch?”

“Oh, no. Hell no are we just letting that mic drop go.” Cassie reached across the table and grabbed both of Anya’s shoulders, shaking lightly. “What the hell? Details, please!”

“Shh, or you’ll ruin the effect of hiding,” Anya hissed. A server brought over their food at that moment, waiting until the employee silently unloaded the tray with their dishes before taking the tray away. “We’ve just decided that we, you know, suit. And stuff.” So eloquent, so poised. “It’s not a big deal.”

Cassie sat back against the booth, a satisfied smile on her face. “It worked. Admit it.”

“It might have been that spending time together caused us to realize we didn’t dislike each other,” she hedged, stirring her soda with a straw and not looking up. “Or maybe we both took some weird medication at the same time and woke up in bed together and decided to roll with it.”

“You
slept
with him?”

Anya didn’t look up, but she could feel the back of her neck heating. She moved her braid to the side, over her shoulder, to cool it down a bit. “No. We just watched the nightly news while holding hands and thinking pure thoughts.”

Cassie went quiet for a while, until Anya couldn’t take the suspense anymore and looked up. Her friend’s mouth was full of sandwich. When Anya scowled, Cassie shrugged. “Wha?” she asked through ham and turkey. “I’s uh goo sanwish.”

“You’re an animal. Anyway, the point is, we’re . . . dating. Basically.” She thought about it for a moment. “That feels really weird to say.”

“Because of your ex?” Cassie said, poking a finger right into the wound.

“Please have another bite of your sandwich. You were more charming that way. No. I mean, yes. Maybe. But mostly, I guess, because I haven’t dated in, well, since Chad and I were dating. That’s a long damn time. We dated longer than we were married.” Sort of. For the emotional part, anyway. The rest was just technicalities. “Let’s change the subject.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes, but her mouth was occupied with another bite of sandwich, so she let it go and nodded.

“I have another project I need your website expertise with. Before you say anything,” she went on, holding up a hand when Cassie swallowed and started to speak, “let me get it all out, and then you can yell at me and we can hug and move on. Because you know that’s how this works.”

Cassie made an annoyed sound, slumped back in the booth, rolled her eyes . . . but stayed silent. Because she was a damn good friend.

Deep breath, girl. You’ve got this.

“I started a nonprofit. It’s called ‘Chance to Dance,’ and its main purpose is to provide formal dresses for high school girls who can’t afford to buy their own dress for those big dances that you go to. Senior ball, homecoming, prom.” She took a breath, waited for Cassie to continue. Though her friend had lost the mulish, stubborn look, she remained quiet. “It started as an idea probably five or six years ago, but I wasn’t sure if I could—or would—ever be able to make it happen. Then I went shopping with Mags for a formal gown for that fund-raiser y’all had about a month ago—remember that one? And that sparked the idea, and I found Cynthia, my business partner. Or nonprofit partner. Not sure what the correct term there is, since I’m not making money.”

“Yet.”

“Huh?” She blinked at Cassie, who had broken her vow of silence. “Yet what?”

“You’re not making money,
yet
.” Cassie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “A year ago, when I was being dragged around with my dad and his, well, Tabitha, I attended a lot of charity board meetings and various other get-togethers of society matrons who like to contribute to things like this. The business is a nonprofit, but the people who work for it are still
typically pulling in a salary, even if it’s a modest one.”

“This is a one-woman show. Or two-woman show. It’s not meant to be a job. It’s just something I want to do.”

“But what if it was?” Cassie spread her hands out on the table now, all but leaping over the table. “Anya, what if this turns into something bigger than just showing up at a few local high schools with some dresses? That’s awesome, don’t get me wrong. I think it’s amazing, and so perfectly
you
that I can’t believe you didn’t jump on this idea the minute you had it.”

“When I was still living with two roommates, barely making enough to eat and pay my share of the electric bill?” Anya laughed. “Sure. Okay.”

“Well, whatever. The point is, you’re passionate about it, and knowledgeable about the subject. It’s a perfect fit. It could go farther than just our local area.”

Anya absorbed that for a moment, then picked at her Cobb salad, pulling up a piece of egg. She stared at it. Had she ever noticed how funny eggs were to look at?

“Anya? Did I upset you?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I just never really thought about it taking over as a full-time job. It was always meant to be a local support thing.” She laughed weakly. “Guess I wasn’t thinking big enough. That’s not like me.”

“No, it’s not. But I’m sure you would have gotten around to it eventually.” Cassie waved a hand at Anya’s bag. “Notebook. You’ve always got a notebook. Get it out and let’s start jotting down ideas for the website. Now that I can’t just poke my head into your room, I wanna get the major points nailed down while we’re face-to-face.”

Anya handed over the hummingbird notebook, turned to a blank page, and a pen. “Cynthia thinks we need a fund-raiser. That we won’t be able to get started without one. Dresses are no problem, but there are other factors that come into play. Not a ton, since she’s being so sweet and letting me use an empty corner of her consignment store to keep the dresses.”

“That won’t last,” Cassie said firmly. “You’ll need space to store them, and operate out of.”

Anya froze. Sweat trickled down her spine. “A . . . what? A space to operate out of?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Cassie said, not looking up from what she was writing. “With an office space and storage areas, maybe a break room for employees and volunteers.”

“Oh my God. What am I doing?” Her chest tightened, and she started to panic. She wouldn’t be able to breathe in a minute. She was going to suffocate in a diner full of lunch people, in front of her best friend. She had to get a message out. “Cassie . . . Cass . . . C-C-C . . .”

“No. Okay, stop that.” Cassie cupped Anya’s chin, held firm, and looked directly in her eyes. “Let the problems go. Don’t let them define you. You’re brilliant at what you do. What you don’t know how to do, you will hire out, or you will ask for help. I have a huge resource at my fingertips. So does your new boyfriend.”

Just the mention of Josiah seemed to soothe her ragged nerves. She felt her breathing start to slow. Her heart still pounded, but she could at least feel it again, now that the bands constricting her chest were released.

“Better.” After giving a nod of approval, Cassie went back to writing. “A fund-raiser is a good idea. You’ll need
start-up capital.”

“Josiah suggested a prom. Like, host an adult prom as a fund-raiser,” she explained as Cassie stared at her. “Because it fits the theme, you know?”

“A prom.” Cassie thought about it. “Could be fun. We go to a lot of formal events, though. Half of these things are black tie.”

“He thinks a prom would sound more fun on an invitation, and would garner more attention. I thought . . .” She nibbled on her lip. “This is stupid. Never mind.”

“We’re already here,” Cassie said dryly. “Spit it out.”

“An eighties prom. Sort of themed, but different than going to a formal where you could just pull whatever out of your closet and show up. Thought has to be involved, and it’s sort of like a costume, and the DJ would only play eighties music . . . stupid,” she finished.

“No, not stupid.” Cassie grinned and pointed her pen at Anya. “Now, that sounds fun. Talk to Kristen. She’ll hook you up with everyone who has been known to be kind to nonprofits with their services before.”

Also what Josiah had said. He was more or less a miracle.

*   *   *

After an offensive team meeting—at which they missed Stephen greatly, if for nothing but comedic relief—Trey and Josiah wandered down from the practice field to the locker room together. “Is defense coming soon?”

“Probably,” Trey answered easily. “Why?”

“Just wanted to chat with Stephen, that’s all. Check in, see how things were.” That was all true, but it wasn’t the only reason. He’d wanted to tell Trey and Stephen together about his new relationship with Anya. Trey, because he was marrying Anya’s best friend and would likely hear about it by the end of the day anyway, thanks to Anya’s lunch date with Cassie. Stephen, because he’d developed a friendly affection for Anya when they’d bonded over being witness to Trey and Cassie’s first meeting.

Maybe it was ridiculous—no, it
was
ridiculous—but Josiah couldn’t help but feel a little jealous over that bond. Not because he believed either of them had romantic feelings for each other, but simply because they were tight. They joked together. They’d apparently spoken on the phone and texted when she’d been back in Atlanta. Stephen was a sociable guy who got along easily with everyone. But their tightness was something Josiah envied, especially as he and she had started off so . . . badly.

They headed into the locker room together, walking to their separate lockers to grab their shower stuff and do a quick rinse off. A few minutes later, the defense came through, laughing and being generally boisterous. Stephen had melded in with them almost seamlessly, and it did Josiah’s heart good to see his friend looking happy, healthy, and fulfilled again. Not the hollow-eyed, overweight alcoholic he’d known from the past few years, depending on beer to keep him going through
the season.

He was still an alcoholic . . . but with Mags’ help, he was on the right path to stay sober.

“Hey.” Stephen gave his shoulder a bump as he walked by. Josiah slid his clean shirt on, then boxers under the towel before tossing it toward the hamper on his side of the locker room. “Weird not walking back with you guys from practice. You want a ride home? It’s hotter than expected out there.”

Josiah had ridden his bike to practice. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just take it easy on the way home. Thanks. But hey, can you and Trey stay to chat for a few minutes?”

Stephen watched him for a moment, then rubbed a towel over his face and head. “Yeah. Let me get showered and changed. Bleachers.”

The bleachers of the practice field would be empty now, with any sports reporters waiting by the locker room and parking lot to ask questions. They’d have privacy there. “Sounds good. We’ll see you up there.”

Fifteen minutes later, Stephen sat beside Trey, both sitting on the riser below Josiah. “What’s up?”

“Not sure. If this is wedding junk, though,” Trey warned, “tell Cassie, because I seriously don’t care. What the hell was wrong with eloping?”

Josiah shook his head. “No, it’s not about wedding stuff. Calm down. It’s about Anya, though.”

Stephen sat up a little straighter. Josiah ignored the twinge in his belly. Trey just made the
well?
motion.

“We’re dating.”

Neither man reacted.

“Actually dating. As in, in a relationship.”

Nothing.

“Well, that’s it. Glad we talked. See ya tomorrow.” He stood, then stumbled when Trey grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down. Stephen shot him a dark look, and Trey didn’t look much happier.

“What the hell is this all about?” Stephen asked, looking like he wanted to chew railroad ties and spit out nails.

“What gives? You two hate each other.” Trey released his wrist but crossed his arm. “If you’re doing this just to mess with her, Cassie will kill you. And I’ll let Stephen hold you down so she can do it properly.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Josiah scowled. “We don’t hate each other. We got off on the wrong foot. But thanks to your bride’s insistence we run errands,” he said, shooting Trey an accusing look, “we’ve spent time together, and we got past it, and now we’re dating. That’s all. End of story.”