Page 23 of Playing for Love

Mia

Standing outside my apartment, I breathed in the balmy air. The evening sky was purple and threatening off to the east, but no way was I canceling this night with Tate. We’d made plans for that walk along the Charles River I’d had in mind. It was Thursday and we would be going out to dinner with Gabe and Denise tomorrow night. By then I wanted to feel more comfortable with Tate, feel more like his date than an awkward third wheel to Gabe and Denise. A car pulled up and he got out. He was still getting around by Uber since he hadn’t got his car relocated yet.

When Tate called me last night, at first I’d expected the call to be from Gabe and was shamefully disappointed when it wasn’t. But then his irreverent sense of humor got to me and I was happy to arrange a meeting, if not exactly a date. He seemed pleased with my idea for a walk along the Charles. He’d wanted to have a chance for us to get to know each other without a crowd.

Coming toward me where I stood leaning against an old-fashioned lamp post, he let out a whistle. I laughed.

“You look insanely good, like a picture. I hate to admit it, but Wyatt was right.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but what was he right about?” My pulse quickened because I was pathetically thirsty to hear anything from Gabe about me, desperate for the acknowledgment that I wasn’t the only one trapped by an impossible crush.

“He told me you could have been a supermodel.” He grinned, reached out a hand and touched my face, lightly but intimately, drawing a finger along my jaw to the tip of my chin, holding my eyes until I shivered. Then he stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“Lead on. Where is this infamous Charles River—or dirty water, as the song goes.”

“Only a couple of blocks away. It might be crowded on such a beautiful night. Did you bring a baseball cap for anonymity?

He laughed. “You must be mistaking me for someone famous—like Wyatt.” He shook his head and took my hand as we walked. “I’m not so famous. Or at least my face isn’t. My stats are famous to football junkies, true fans. But that’s about it.”

“Then you’ll have to count me a true fan. You had twenty-nine and a half sacks last year, fourteen disruptions and two interceptions. You’re easily the best inside linebacker in the league and that’s why you made first time all-star.”

He stopped walking as we reached the curb on the corner of Charles Street to cross over to the river and he looked at me seriously.

“Will you marry me?” He cracked a grin. “That’s damn impressive that you know my stats. Pardon my French.”

I laughed and we crossed the street where the breeze picked up, making the heavy, scented air refreshing.

“So you’re a marrying kind of guy?” It was a bold question, but somehow I felt at ease enough with Tate to ask it without fear of alienating him. He was easygoing in a way that I didn’t realize I needed after all the tension with Gabe.

“Eventually. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s where I come from. The usual middle-class family with two point five kids and a dog. My mom drove a minivan but she took us to football instead of soccer. Me and my brother were too big for soccer.”

We walked along the path closest to the river, navigating the others strolling or jogging or standing and watching the boats.

“There must be more sailboats out there than ducks,” I said.

“You sail?”

“No time. About the only hobby I’ve managed to keep over the years besides reading and football is cooking. I love it. Love to eat.”

His eyes lit up so much I had to laugh.

“So it is true—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He put an arm around me then and I leaned in. We walked in comfortable silence, taking in the sights. Until the unmistakable rumble of thunder split the air and raindrops began to fall. Slowly at first.

“Shit,” he said, and we both looked around for a place to go, as did everyone else.

“Let’s head back to my house. Maybe if we run—”

The sky opened up and the rain came in sheets as he took my hand and dashed, pulling me along faster than I was used to, across the street and into an alley until we found ourselves down the block from my house.

Panting slightly because I was in decent shape but not used to the speed, he slowed down and huddled me into his side.

“Sorry for the rush. Which way is your building?”

“Over there.” I pointed to the brownstone across the street and we dashed the last yards. I got out my key as we went up the stairs. I don’t know if I’d intended to have him inside when I agreed to the date, but all bets were off now. No way would I leave him on the street in the rain.

Besides, I had to admit, I liked him. He was not the same as Gabe. Gabe was more strategic and calculating, always gauging people. Tate was a hundred percent transparent, fun and witty too. He was serious about football, but not in the same way Gabe was. No one was as intense about football as Gabe was. I let us inside and took him upstairs to my second-floor apartment.