Romancing the Running Back (20 page)

“I understand.” They pulled into his complex, rounded the corner and he pointed toward his building. When she pulled alongside so he could pull his bike out, he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thanks. You’re one in a million, Aileen.”

“I know.” She waited for him to fight with the bike on his own for a second, then hopped out and helped. As he pushed his bike toward his staircase, she leaned over the top of her car, standing on the floorboards to make herself tall enough to
see over it. “For what it’s worth? I like her. I hope you at least give her the chance to explain first. Don’t be too macho to let her talk, ’kay?”

He gave her a wave, which they both knew was neither promise nor agreement. But she accepted it and drove off.

Married. He wanted so badly to think it was a clerical error. The paperwork wasn’t properly filed, or was filed with a misspelled name so Aileen couldn’t find it. Filed in a different county than where she checked.

Even as he thought it, unlocking his front door, he knew that was a stupid, fruitless wish. Aileen was good. If there was a story, she’d have found it. She gave him the heads-up because she’d found nothing to dispute the married rumor. Which meant other reporters and entertainment bloggers could do the same.

He wheeled his bike in and propped it against the inside wall, and then he wandered to his bedroom to throw his wallet on his dresser. The bed, with its rumpled sheets where he’d lain with her the day before, so secure in his cocoon of love, mocked him.

*   *   *

Anya knocked on Josiah’s door, cell phone list in hand. She’d researched the cheapest possible smart phone she could get away with and still run her main business—personal shopping—without a hitch. It wouldn’t be as good as the one she’d gotten with her free upgrade, but them’s the breaks. When Josiah didn’t answer, she knocked again, checking her watch at the same time. She’d been running late, actually worried she wouldn’t make it to his place in time to run out for phones like he’d said. But her current phone continued to blow up, and she struggled to meet the demands of culling through her voice-mail box finding the real messages within the chaff.

When he still didn’t answer, she looked back down at the parking lot. His car was there, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was. His bike was always parked inside, meaning he could be gone and she wouldn’t know. She tried the handle, and it opened, to her surprise.

“Josiah?” she called from the threshold. “Hey, are you home?”

His bike caught her eye, so the odds were in her favor. No shower running, no loud music or television to keep him from hearing her.

“Josiah!”

He finally appeared, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “Yeah. Sorry, come on in.”

Not quite the greeting she’d been expecting. Closing and locking the door behind her, she walked warily toward him. “Rough practice?”

“Huh?” He looked at her, and she realized he still had his hat on. He’d been more conscious of removing it when walking inside since she’d chided him about it. Something must have been on his mind to make him forget. His eyes were a little dazed, as if he’d been punched in the gut and hadn’t recovered yet. “No, sorry, practice wasn’t bad.”

“Problem with the upcoming game?” They left tomorrow. She knew he wasn’t a huge fan of traveling—too much pomp
and circumstance to his way of thinking—but it hadn’t put him this out of sorts before.

“No,” he said slowly, walking to the couch and sitting down.

What was different? What had happened . . . was he regretting last night? Regretting having blurted out his feelings? “Josiah,” she said, coming around the other side of the couch and letting her purse drop to the floor, “you’re kind of freaking me out. Could you just tell me what’s wrong, please?”

He stared at the blank TV for a moment, and she sank to the opposite end of the couch, and arm’s length away. It felt wrong to be so far apart.

“Are you married?” he asked quietly.

The question, so out of left field, blindsided her. She gasped, covering her mouth.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I think that answered it, but I’d like to hear you say it, please.”

“Josiah, I—”

“No, just answer yes or no. Are you married?”

Anya nodded, then said in a small voice, “Yes.”

He looked sick, then stood without glancing at her. “I’m getting in the shower. When I come back out, we’re talking about this. Get rid of whatever excuses you had planned, because we’re laying it all out.” Before he hit the door of the bedroom, he took his hat off and chucked it at the wall. It hit with a hard
thud
, bill-first, then landed on the floor softly. He shut the bedroom door behind him.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, letting her head drop into her hands. What the hell? How had he found out?

Found out? Now she was acting like her failed marriage was some state secret. She never would have lied had he asked. They hadn’t done the run-through of previous relationships, but she never would have hidden being married.

It was the
still
part that she knew he took exception to.
Still
married.

She should have told him before now. It had just been so . . . easy. So simple. The most uncomplicated relationship of her life, and she wanted to savor it when everything else in her world had turned itself upside down.

She should have told him.

And now that reluctance to open up the ugly, painful parts of her past might very well have leeched into her present anyway and ruined it. She didn’t properly lance the wound, and now it had grown worse.

Ten minutes later, Josiah walked out, dressed in jeans and a soft T-shirt she knew would be one hundred percent cotton. He was barefoot, and his hair was still damp at the ends. It was a special sort of punishment that she would have to have the conversation about her past when he looked too delicious to resist. Served her right, probably.

He settled back down on the other side of the couch, looking guarded and a bit distant. “Let’s hear it.”

She cleared her throat, then faltered. “I don’t . . . can I ask how you found out?”

He shook his head, eyes barely meeting hers before looking away again.

Fair enough. “I married Chad after about five months of dating. It was fast, and as it turns out, stupid. The marriage barely lasted a year—most of which we were miserable, before I moved out and was done. I didn’t even want to bother trying counseling.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I figured when I realized he’d cheated on me, and I had no real strong feelings about it besides annoyance and a little disgust, that was my sign I wasn’t invested in the relationship. We shouldn’t have married in the first place. In my mind, counseling is for people who want to make it work. I’d checked out by then.”

He nodded, as if accepting the answer, and she went on.

“It should have been as simple as that. ‘Hey, we were crazy and did something a little foolish, but nothing we can’t fix. Let’s just put this behind us.’” She shrugged, but her hands balled into fists. “Should have been. But two years later, I’m still
fighting for the divorce to be finalized.”

“So you do want to be divorced?” he asked quietly.

You can ask that? After what I said to you last night?

That wasn’t fair. She’d withheld information. He had a right to get the facts.

“Absolutely. Chad is nothing but a user, a con man—not in the legal sense, but emotionally—and a pathetic sort of human. I’ve had more strong feelings since we split up than I did when we were married. Mostly ones of hatred and utter loathing. He has no problem dating other people—acquaintances fill me in sometimes if they see him out with a date—but yet he pushes back at every corner on the divorce.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” he asked, looking confused. “You can’t just . . . keep someone hostage in a divorce, can you?”

“Oddly?” She smiled sadly. “You can. At least for a while. I doubt a judge would let this go on for a decade, but as of now, he’s found one that’s sympathetic to the shit he shoves her way. He’s got a better lawyer than I do. I have asked for almost nothing, but he finds the smallest bits to chew on, waste time with, run my retainer into the ground over, and know I will have to stall to come up with more money, or give in, only to make him find something else to pick at. It’s details, and it’s basically paperwork at this point. I haven’t seen his face in at least twelve months.”

“What are you asking for that’s so difficult?”

“Exactly what I walked in with. Nothing more. We rented, so no house to divide. No major assets. I had my own savings, he had his, and we never got around to combining them. I had to create a new set of accounts and start from scratch, because those are currently frozen.”

Josiah scowled. “Why the hell are they frozen? It’s your money.”

“They are apparently ‘assets of the marriage,’” she said, using quote fingers and trying not to let her blood pressure spike. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I thought I was being fair. He thought it would be fun to prolong things. It doesn’t matter why, though I have my suspicions.”

“Such as?” he asked, leaning toward her now. Still not within touching distance, but he’d lost some of the coldness from his eyes.

She shrugged and waved a hand. Chad’s life didn’t signify any longer. “Using his marriage as a shield to not get serious about another woman.”

“Translation . . . excuse to just get easy ass.”

“It’s a theory. Another is that he simply finds it amusing. Maybe he likes having something to bitch about to his coworkers, so they play the ‘there, there, pat, pat’ game with him. Or gets sadistic pleasure out of knowing I’m still tethered to him. When he tugs, I come running, because I keep stupidly hoping,
This is it. This is when he’ll cut the rope.
” She let her head fall back to the couch. “His reasons don’t matter. The outcome does. Eventually, it will end. I’ve debated more than once throwing it all away, all the assets I came in with, letting him have it all and calling it the price of stupidity. But I
earned that damn money.”

“Hell yeah, you did. Don’t you dare.”

She looked at him now, praying he would forgive her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I haven’t felt married in over two years. He hasn’t played a part in my life for so long. And I spent a great deal of time working to get past that mistake and put it behind me. And I felt like, when I moved here, and found Cynthia, and started Chance, and you and I . . .” She covered her face with her hands and sighed. “I thought this was finally my time. My chance to really get it right. That I was receiving this sort of karmic kiss, after having to put up with all the bullshit before. But I should have told you.”

“You should have.” She felt him stand up, and she prayed he wasn’t walking to the bedroom to close the door again. She couldn’t take another closed door. But he sat next to her, his hard thigh pressing against her. “Can you look at me now?”

She peeked through her fingers with one eye. “Is it safe?”

“Depends on your definition of safe.” When she moaned, he smiled, and it reached his eyes. That was her definition of safe. She let her hands drop into her lap. Two big hands cupped her jaw, his fingers stroking over her cheeks. “You called him a mistake. I don’t hold that against you. I’m angry with how you handled the news, but I understand. I’ll do my best to put it behind us.”

Hope flared, but she fought to keep it tamped down. She couldn’t take another rejection. Circling one of his wrists with her hands, she felt his pulse, strong and steady. It reassured her. “Does the fact that I’m still married bother you?”

“Yes,” he said instantly, but pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose as if to soothe the sting. “Sorry, but it does. I’m not a guy who likes the idea of cheating, and it feels like cousins to cheating. I get your side of things, and it’s going to take a little bit of soul-searching on my part to get to the point of moving forward. But there’s one thing I need you to let me do.”

“Don’t say hire a hit man,” she warned. “It’s way too expensive. I’ve checked.”

He chuckled, and kissed her quickly. “No. But I do want to hire another divorce attorney for you. A mean one. One even you don’t like, that makes little kids cry and grown men piss their pants.”

“Mean ones are expensive,” she said softly. Her attorney was competent, but against the oily slick lawyer Chad had found, he wasn’t getting the job done.

“I’m considering it an investment in our future. You’ll let me,” he said, shutting down any protest she could have come up with. “You’ll let me, because I’m going to need that divorce to be finalized quickly.”

“You don’t want to see me until it is,” she said sadly.

“That’s not it. I just want a clean slate as fast as possible. You deserve a clean slate.”

That hope she had tamped down edged back up again. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” He kissed her once more. His eyes weren’t clear, but they weren’t full of anger, either. “It’s probably too late to get you a phone tonight.”

She shrugged. “I’ll deal.”

“Or you can go to the store tomorrow and get one. I’m adding you to my account tomorrow morning. No, my mind’s
made up,” he said, shutting her down again. “Just write down the info I might need and we’ll go from there.”

“I love you,” she sighed, and he stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “I know that might be hard to believe, given the situation but—”

It was difficult to talk when your lips were otherwise busy, kissing the man you loved more than anything else.

“One question,” he said, breaking off the kiss when they were both breathless. “Does Cassie know you’re still married?”

She looked to the left, then shook her head. “No.”

“That explains why she wanted to set us up. I wondered . . .”

“She’s not going to be happy with me when I tell her.” She sighed, resigned. “I have to tell her, don’t I?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Damn,” she said, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

*   *   *

They didn’t make love that night. Josiah never stopped wanting her—which had been irritating, even when he’d been truly pissed—but he resisted the temptation. Not because he believed she was still married . . . not in the emotional sense anyway. He believed her when she said it was nothing but paperwork, and she’d been fighting quietly to get it done herself. She was too independent, too self-sufficient to ask for help.

But somehow, even as she slept beside him in his bed with her back facing him, he couldn’t bring himself to make love to her. Maybe he was a hypocrite. He didn’t regret their physical intimacy of the past, and couldn’t say he’d resist touching her again in the near future. Like tomorrow. But tonight, while the scrape was still raw, a bit gritty, he just couldn’t touch her in that way.

She’d felt the hurt, and he regretted that in the worst way. She’d said she understood, and could handle just sleeping together without sex. Hell, they hadn’t had sex every single night she’d stayed home. More than once, they’d simply fallen asleep, tangled together, their breath mingling and skin tingling. But her hurt at not sleeping beside him radiated off her, even in sleep.

He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist, and rolled over to wrap his arm around her, pulling her back against his chest. She muttered something in her sleep, then grabbed his top arm and laced their fingers together, as if trying to keep him there. Even in dreams, she wanted him.

In the morning, he would see how he felt. Not about her, because that was set in stone. He loved her. Loved her to the moon and back. They’d get through it, and move past this pesky paperwork so they could carry on. But about the rest of it . . . the hiding it, the evading . . . that might take a little longer to get over. But they would get there.

They had something amazing together. And as Anya liked to tease him often enough, he didn’t believe in waste.

*   *   *

Cassie sat down in Trey’s armchair, looking worried as she handed Anya the glass of ice water. “You’re starting to worry me, Anya. First, you tell me you have something important to share. Then you say you have to tell me face-to-face, and I need to take the morning off and come over here. What’s going on?”

“Okay, really fast, before everyone else shows up—”

Cassie held up a hand. “Who is ‘everyone else’? The guys left this morning. Nobody is going to bust in on us.”

“I’m still married,” she blurted out, knowing their time had run out when she heard the doorbell ring. “There, I told you first. Well, second, because I told Josiah last night. Or not told, but explained after he asked.” She groaned, feeling like an asshole when Cassie just sat there, staring at her, mouth slightly agape. “I’ll get the door.”

“Uh-huh,” Cassie said slowly, not moving, head bobbing slightly, as if in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Anya whispered, kissing her friend on the top of the head before going to answer the door. Mags and Aileen stood there. Mags looked curious, but happy to be there. Aileen looked worried.

“Hey, come on in. Grab a drink if you want. We’re in the family room. You know the way.”

Mags bounced in after a quick hello, blissfully unaware of the tension she was about to walk into. Aileen paused after Anya closed the door behind them. “You okay?”

“I’m . . .” Anya rubbed at her arms. Though it was still warm enough to justify short sleeves, she couldn’t quite keep from shivering sporadically and breaking into goosebumps. Long sleeves would have been better armor. “We’ll talk about it. I’d like to just say it once, if that’s okay.”

Aileen squeezed her shoulder, then headed in. Anya stopped in the powder room for a quick makeup check—another type of armor—and to give herself a silent pep talk in the mirror.

Don’t wuss out. This means too much. Be the kind of person Josiah would want to be with. Be the kind of person
you
would want to be with.

She walked back in and sat down on the love seat, both Mags and Aileen taking up the couch. “Thanks for coming, you two. It’s odd, I guess, because you both barely know me, so you have to be wondering why I’m about to spill my guts to you.”

Aileen raised a brow as if to say,
I’m not wondering, but you already knew that
.

Mags shrugged and took a tiny sip of water. “I figure you trusted me with the charity secret, so I’m in the club.”