Page 9 of Playing for Love

“Me, forget it?”

I shook my head. “I know. But I won’t be forgetting about my taken status any time soon. Football has me all locked up.”

Tate laughed again, but with a tinge of something else in his expression. Something like pity. And that burned a hole in me, wiping away any lightheartedness I felt. And that was saying something since lighthearted was my default state until game time. One could never underrate a positive, upbeat attitude. At game time, I turned up the intensity to viral and let loose the competitive edge that I was fast becoming famous for. Tate was new. He didn’t know yet.

“Are we on?” I asked.

“When and where and who else will be there?”

I told him. He would have his first date with Mia under my watch. With my family on Sunday after the game at Louie’s Restaurant. He whistled.

“Thanks for thinking of me, but I don’t know—”

I took my phone from my locker and thumbed to the photo I’d taken of Mia when I dropped her off. It felt like a cheap trick, like I was doing Mia a disservice, and I wasn’t entirely sure Tate deserved her, but he was available and I needed her to be taken care of by someone else. Not me. Shoving the phone under his nose, I waited. He whistled again, this time with more interest.

“What’s with the whistling? Use your words.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there. Casual dress?”

“Sure, but don’t go overboard.”

He whipped a towel at me, or tried to, but I was fast enough to get out of his way.

“Just testing you,” he said. “You’re sharp. And a lucky SOB if Mia is an example of your castoffs.”

“She’s no one’s castoff.” I resented the term applied to her. I should have kept that to myself, but whatever. Even if I was still getting to know Tate, I knew he was decent, if rough around the edges.

He nodded and moved on without saying what I could read on his face. Keep telling yourself that. Dressed for drills, I went and sat down for a few, watching my teammates, soaking in the locker room vibes.

Okay, I knew Mia’d had a crush on me. She admitted it. But there had never been anything between us. Nothing besides a little sizzling flirtation at dinner the first time we met, years ago. Me and Denise, her and Paul out on a double date and I was lucky Denise had a few too many glasses of wine to remember my behavior well. Maybe a tiny bit of flirtation at dinner the other night, but that hardly counted. It meant nothing, went nowhere. Never would. Tate would charm her. He was fun and witty and smart and he didn’t look half bad if he cleaned up.

“Wyatt.” Hunter showed up and snapped his fingers in front of my face. “What the hell?”

I said, “You mean what the hell took you so long to get in today?” He was usually in competition with me for first to arrive. A few others had tried to enter the competition, but fell by the wayside after the first week. Tate was still in the running, one of the reasons I liked him, but definitely third place. I sat in my usual chair at the center of a small grouping in the middle of the spacious locker-lined room, dressed and ready to go. So as far as I was concerned, if I took a minute to contemplate my navel or whatever the hell else I wanted to contemplate, I could safely ignore Hunter’s shit.

Hunter said, “At least I’m not wool-gathering.”

“What the f—ck? Did you say wool-gathering? What are you trying for, the part of a seventeenth-century wench?”

“Reading. Or rather Cat is reading to me. Jane Austen.”

“Of course. Every football player’s favorite.” My grin got wide enough to piss him off. He stared me down, but that made me laugh.

He gave me the finger and disappeared behind his locker door. Standing up, I took my time looking around, watching men come and go in various states of undress, some patched up, some limping, some light-footed and ready to go. I loved the locker room.

I respected everyone here and made sure they knew it. A couple dozen high fives, shoulder punches, and grunts hello later and I was ready to take the field. It was only practice, but the season was closing in and I was as excited as a teenager before prom.

Out on the practice field it was hot and sunny and I went straight for Coach Parker, the QB coach.

“How many snaps you have me in for tomorrow?”

“None,” Coach Parker said. “Brandon Chase will start and then Max Devon will get in some time in the second half, but no way are you playing tomorrow Wyatt, so get over yourself.”

Brandon Chase was our fifth-round draft pick and Max Devon was our veteran backup QB. Parker gave me no hope of playing. I gave him a pissed-off look, trying not to be an idiot or worse, a prima donna. Reining in my enthusiasm to get the season started, to get playing time, I took a cleansing breath.

“Okay. I get it. You still want to check out the kid. Give him his last chance to show something. I’ll work with him.”

Coach patted me on the shoulder. “I know that was hard for you, Wyatt. Congratulations on your restraint. Run over the four-two-one and the six-three with him. Get Quintanna to catch for him. Quintanna won’t be playing either.”

I saluted Parker because I knew he hated it and he shook his head. But I saw the suppressed grin. Parker was a decent guy, couldn’t be pushed around, and I trusted him. But damn, I was hoping for a few snaps in tomorrow’s game. Hell, I may as well watch from the stands with—

Pulling myself up short I went rigid. What the f—ck was I thinking? Watch the game with Mia? Hell no. Taking off, I ran toward the kid and flipped the ball to him. Then I kept going, trotting to the part of the field where the QBs ran their drills. What idiotic shit was I even thinking? I damn well needed to be on the sidelines supporting the team and watching the opponent. Wow.

I needed Tate to come through and sweep Mia off her feet in a big way.