Page 26 of Playing for Love

Gabe

Lying in bed, naked and glistening in sweat, I watched Denise walk around also naked, gathering up her things to shower and dress for a night out. She’d allowed for a quickie before going out and had confirmed our plans with Mia while we were in bed and I was still breathing heavy.

She opened the top drawer in the dresser, the one she’d claimed for herself when I moved in here—when we’d moved in a year ago. She still kept some things there and pulled out some lacy black panties and bra.

“I’m excited to see Mia and meet this football guy you fixed her up with.” There was a hint of accusation in her tone, but I ignored it and she didn’t push it.

“The football guy’s name is Tate Fontanna and he’s a decent guy. She likes him.”

She turned to me. “Yes, but the question is does he like her?”

“What’s not to like?” My response was automatic. And a mistake, telling too much. She narrowed her eyes and padded toward the en suite.

“That’s what people say about me, you know.” She tossed the words over her shoulder but kept going and closed the bathroom door after her.

Jesus. It would be a miracle if we didn’t have a knock-down drag-out free-for-all before her visit was over. Something had to give, but I wasn’t the one who would be compromising and I wasn’t sure whether I’d get her to relent, to commit to visiting every other week. I really needed to make it through this season without this shit distracting me.

Untangling myself from the sheets, I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Thank God the door wasn’t locked. I went in to take advantage of one of the few good things we still had going with each other. It had been a while since we’d had sex in the shower and there was no time like right now to remedy that.

Afterward, we were both in better moods, so I dressed, refusing to examine my mixed feelings about going out, seeing Mia. With Tate. He was doing me a favor. Any hint of resentment was totally unfair. And yet, there it was, glaring at me from the mirror as I shaved my face clean.

“Let’s get going, hon,” Denise called from the bedroom. “We already wasted enough time—”

I tossed the razor in the sink. “Wasted time? Is that what you call lovemaking?”

She laughed. “You know what I mean.”

Picking up the towel, I went back into the bedroom to look her in the eye, every muscle in me tight, the good mood disappearing. I wasn’t one to pick a fight, but that comment hit a sore spot. I hadn’t wanted to go out at all and she knew it. Denise and I always had great sex. It was something I could always count on, that made the imperfect relationship worthwhile.

She stood in front of the full-length freestanding mirror she’d bought for the room, fully dressed and hot as sin. My burst of anger almost died out looking at her. Her blond hair was piled up, leaving curling wisps around her delicate neck that made me want to nibble and raise goose bumps all over her. She wore a sleeveless pink dress that flared out from her small waist and showed an ample amount of cleavage, the dress the only thing holding it up as far as I could tell. Falling just above her knees, it showed off her legs as she stood in impossible-to-stand-in tall strappy white sandals.

She turned to me, face fully made up including what looked like false eyelashes. She didn’t need them and it bugged me that she wore them.

“Sweetheart, you can’t possibly count that quickie or the shower as lovemaking. Besides, we’ll have all weekend for that.” She waved a hand in dismissal, knowing full well that tomorrow and Sunday were no-goes for sex. One of my strict rules was no sex the night or morning before a game. It had a way of sapping too much energy and I needed it all bottled up.

I didn’t bother responding, back to my usual attitude of not wanting to rock the boat. Throwing on the shirt Denise had laid out on the bed for me, I finished dressing. It was a hot night and she’d wisely chosen a short-sleeved lightweight knit in pale blue.

“That looks perfect with your gorgeous blue eyes,” she said, moving in close.

“You touch me and I’m ripping your dress off,” I growled, half meaning it. She took no chances, laughing as she pushed away, heading for the door. She handed me a jacket, which I’d wait to put on until we got to the upscale restaurant she’d chosen. My only requirement was that they serve steak.

“Let’s go then before your self-control snaps.”

“If I’m hornier than usual it’s your fault.”

She said nothing, but purposefully swayed her hips as I followed her out to the garage. She had a lot of sass, I’d give her that. I opened the door to my Porsche 718 Boxster convertible and she got in. We took off with the top down, her idea in spite of the heat. She liked to be noticed when we went out. As expected, when we pulled up to the valet in front of the restaurant, Moo, every head within thirty yards was turned in our direction. And that was a lot of heads on a summery Friday night in the mixed residential Beacon Hill area of Boston.

Mia and Fontanna pulled up behind us and we waited for them on the sidewalk before going inside. It didn’t take long for a small crowd to gather. We stayed to take photos with several people on the sidewalk. Passersby took photos of the four of us and others pointed at the gathering we’d created.

I didn’t rush inside to get away from the crowd, though standing outside on the sidewalk in the heat with this dark jacket on wasn’t my idea of fun. The fans were good to me, more than supportive, and if it wasn’t for them I’d be sitting behind a desk somewhere doing who knew what shit. That was something I never let myself forget.

“You can go inside if you want,” I said to Denise and Mia. Mia was astonished, wide-eyed, her lips lifted in wonder. She wasn’t used to the fan fervor.

Denise said, “It’s okay, honey, I’ll hang with you.”

Tate stood with a couple of middle-aged women who took a selfie with him.

An older gentleman approached me. “Mr. Wyatt, I’d sure appreciate a photo with you. And your pretty lady too, if you don’t mind?” He winked at Denise as he drew up, leaning on his cane. Denise winked and said, “Sure thing.” The white-haired woman who held onto his elbow shushed him.