Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance Page 12

  “Yeah, I didn’t either. I thought I was done with enjoying football, but I think I’d like to see you play.”

  I could practically feel Tate’s joy radiating from him, but I also knew he was trying to keep it in check. “Cool. Consider it done.” He turned down the street that led to his house. “You know, I keep forgetting to mention this to you, but seeing Matt’s grandmother reminded me. When I was down visiting Leo, he was really interested in hearing about the charity work I did when I was in New York, and before I left, he mentioned that he thinks he’d like to do a non-profit start up—something that would be in Matt’s memory, to reach out to kids at risk for addiction.”

  “That sounds like Leo, trying to make something positive out of tragedy.” I wasn’t surprised; Leo had always done his best to see the good in Matt, even when it was a real struggle to find it.

  “Yeah. He mentioned maybe talking to you about being involved, too.” Tate’s jaw tightened just a little, and I heard some conflict in his tone. I understood. I knew that if he could do anything to take away the hurt Matt had brought to my life, he would. Unfortunately, no one could do that.

  “It’s something to consider.” I wasn’t sure I was ready to dive into a project like this one. Now, when I felt as though I was on the verge of finally moving forward, I didn’t know if I could handle looking back. “Why did he mention me to you?”

  Tate shot me a side-eye that was filled with apprehension. “I didn’t say anything about you, but he asked me if I was seeing anyone, and I guess I was a little cagey. I didn’t want to say your name, and I didn’t. He asked if it was someone I’d met at Carolina, and I wouldn’t answer. Neither of us came right out and talked about you, but I know he’s worried about how you’re doing.”

  “Thanks for being protective of me. I know it might sound ridiculous, but I like having our friendship just between us. I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. I’m so tired of being the needy one among my friends . . . I don’t want to defend what I’m doing now.”

  The car bumped a little as Tate pulled into the driveway again. “You think your friends wouldn’t approve of me?”

  “No, I think they’d be wildly enthusiastic about the fact that I’m meeting new people and getting on with my life. But that’s the problem—they’d make a big deal about it, and I’d end up feeling like the loser again. The one who can’t seem to pull herself together, but when I finally manage to do something right, they have to cheer me on.”

  Tate left the car running but unsnapped his seat belt, turning toward me. “First of all, you’re not a loser or needy. You’ve been through a rough time, and you needed space to heal. That’s normal, not weird. And your friends supporting you is a good thing. But I did like one thing you just said. You said doing something right . . . am I that something right?”

  I felt the corners of my mouth turning up, even though I tried to maintain my poker face. “You would hear that out of everything else, wouldn’t you? Okay. Yes. Spending time with you feels like it’s right. But don’t make too much out of this, got it? I’m not ready to do anything wild, like become an optimist or announce to the world that I’m prepared to start living again. I just . . . I feel okay about this. I like being with you, Tate. And I look forward to our weekends.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “That feels like a huge admission. I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

  “No.” Tate was firm. “You’re not. You’re human, like all the rest of us. Sometimes embracing the small steps is the biggest victory there is. Let’s just appreciate the moment.”

  “I’m appreciating.” And I was. I was sitting here in the front seat of Tate’s car, on a sunny afternoon of an early spring day, with beautiful flowers in the yard nodding in the gentle breeze, with the anticipation of ice cream and more time with Pops ahead of us . . . and suddenly I was filled with an unfamiliar sense of gratitude. “Thank you, Tate. Thanks for reminding me that I’m still alive—and that it’s all right to go on living.”

  He clasped my hand again, and like everything else that afternoon, it felt right and perfect.

  Chapter Eight

  Tate, Now

  “You’re late.”

  The door swung open, and I stepped through, pausing next to Gia, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her pretty face turned up to me. The temptation to kiss her was almost unbearable. It was getting harder every time we were together, but just now, with her eyes bright and her lips so delectably pursed . . . I had to grit my teeth to keep from leaning over to touch my mouth to hers. And if I did that, it wouldn’t stop at a kiss. That was one thing I was sure about.

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Traffic was a bear.” I shut the door behind me. “I didn’t think it was going to take me so long to get over the bridge.” I contented myself with tapping Gia on her pert little nose. “But it’s okay, right? Do you have the last season of Veronica all set up for us? We don’t need to head over to Amico’s until four or so.”

  Since that very first time I’d dragged Gia out to dinner, we’d spent most of our weekends in her apartment, only venturing out to the grocery store, the Italian Market or to see Pops. It had become one of our unspoken, subtle rules: we only saw each other on Saturdays and Sundays, we rarely communicated between weekends, and when we were together, we stayed in. But I’d persuaded her that tonight, we should go back to Amico’s, since this was the last weekend before the organized team activities and off-season workout began for me.

  True, she’d laid down a couple of conditions, among them that we go to the restaurant early, so that we didn’t have to contend with crowds. That wasn’t a big deal, since usually we spent the entire day together, starting with breakfast. But Pops had asked me to go with him to the Kiwanis monthly breakfast today, so I’d just now made it over to the city.

  “Of course, I have it ready, but that’s not what you’re late for.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, one of her nervous tells. “I made lunch for us.”

  “No way.” I dropped my keys on the counter as I always did and glanced into the kitchen area, sniffing appreciatively. “What did you make? It smells good.”

  “I looked up a recipe for meatballs, and I thought at first I’d make those, because, you know, I figured with all this Italian blood, those would probably give me my best shot at actually doing it right. But then I remembered that we’re going to Amico’s tonight, and that might be too much Italian in one day.” She was speaking rapidly and not quite meeting my eyes. “So then I wondered what might be easiest, that wasn’t Italian. And I thought, well, didn’t Marco Polo bring noodles to Italy from China?”

  “I think there’s a legend about that. Not sure how accurate it is.” I rested one hip against the counter top.

  “For today, we’re buying it completely, because what I decided to make was stir fry over noodles. That’s why I’m worried about you being late. It’s not supposed to sit, or it could get gluey.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not sure what that means, exactly, but it can’t be good, right?”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be perfect.” I pulled my chair from beneath the table, which Gia had set carefully. I noticed that there were even wooden chopsticks next to my plate. “And I’m starving. They serve a hearty breakfast at the Kiwanis, but Pops kept me so busy talking to people that I barely got a chance to eat.”

  Gia lifted the lid from a wide pan and reached for a spoon. “Let’s be real. Even if you’d talked to no one and eaten for two hours solid, you’d still be starving. That’s just part of the Tate package.”

  “Hey, I think it’s a pretty great package, myself.” I winked at her as she began to plate the food. “What made you decide to cook today? Are you tired of my recipes?”

  “Nope.” Gia slid one plate in front of me and then placed her own across the table. “I just . . . I wanted to do something special.” She sat down and met my eyes. “You’re always doing wonderful things for me, treating me well and making me feel like I matter. I wanted to do something, too.”


  “Honey pot, you don’t have to do anything—you make me happy just by being you and letting me hang out here.” I picked up the chopsticks and grinned at her. “Though making me food is always appreciated.”

  “Honey pot—that’s one you haven’t broken out in a while.” She shook her head at me. “Go ahead—try it. And if it sucks, don’t be afraid to tell me. We can throw it away and get takeout from the place down the street.”

  I twirled a bunch of noodles around the end of my chopsticks and scooped up some vegetables, too, before I lifted the whole thing to my mouth. The texture was perfect, and the taste was just about there, too.

  “Well?” Gia’s face was anxious as she watched me closely. Briefly, I toyed with the idea of clutching my throat and pretending to be poisoned, but I knew that her cooking ego was new and fragile. Instead, I nodded slowly.

  “Excellent.” I swallowed. “It’s not too salty, but it’s got good flavor, and it’s not at all gluey. This is pretty amazing, Gia.”

  The smile that spread over her face was one I’d have given just about anything to see again. “Is it really? You’re not just saying that?”

  “Hey, what’s my rule? You know I don’t lie, not even to save feelings. If it wasn’t good, I’d be nice, but I’d give it to you straight. This is delicious—and especially considering it’s your first attempt. I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you.” She tried some herself. “This really is pretty good. I didn’t screw it up, did I?”

  “You totally didn’t, baby.” I used the endearment without any thought. Although I always teased Gia by calling her sweetheart, sugar or honey—and variations thereof—I avoided anything that might denote real intimacy—the kind of relationship that we still danced around. But I knew it was getting harder and harder to do that.

  Gia glanced up at me, her face inscrutable, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t call me on my slip, and I decided that was a good sign, since she never hesitated to say what was on her mind.

  “I can’t believe we’re on the second half of the third Veronica season.” She picked up a floret of broccoli and stuck it into her mouth.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe they cancelled it after only three seasons.” I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this show. Gia and I had been pacing ourselves, watching a few other series between our Veronica binges. I liked the characters, the quirky mysteries and the relationships, even if the exclusive California community was pretty foreign to a kid who’d grown up in a small South Jersey town.

  “I know.” Gia made a face. “But I’ve been saving two pieces of good news for you. There’s actually a movie that was made after the series ended. It takes place after Veronica graduated from college. So if you want, we can watch it next week, assuming we get through the last season today. And . . .” She grinned. “They actually did make a fourth season, and we can watch it after the movie. If you want, that is.”

  “You’ve been holding out on me!” I mock-glared at her. “We’re totally finishing this season today. So why can’t we watch the movie tomorrow, and then start on the new one next week?”

  Gia sighed. “That’s the bad news. My dad called this morning. He’s going to be in town tomorrow, and he’s requesting a command performance for lunch. With him, that means I won’t be free until nearly dinner time, and by the time he leaves, I’ll be too exhausted to do anything but crawl into bed.”

  Disappointment filled me, but I tried to cover it up. I could already see how much she was dreading spending the day with her father; making her feel worse wouldn’t be helpful. “I’m sorry, sweet pea. But I understand. You don’t get to see your dad often. And if you want to call me afterward and vent, I’ll be around.”

  “Thanks.” She stood up, carrying her plate, but I took it from her.

  “No way. You know the rules, miss. I cook, you clean. You cook, I clean. Sit that sweet ass back down.”

  Gia did as I’d said, dropping into her chair again, but the look on her face was anything but obedient. “Sweet ass? Seriously?”

  “Yup.” I turned on the water and began rinsing the dishes. “And that’s not me pushing you or trying to start something you’re not ready for. It’s just a statement of fact.”

  She lifted one eyebrow and narrowed her eyes, her expression clearly skeptical, but she didn’t say anything else while I washed the plates and silverware quickly. I whistled softly to myself as I worked, keeping my own counsel. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions or indulge the hopes I’d been cherishing for so long, but it felt as though something had changed today. There’d been a shift over the past couple of weeks, I knew; when Gia had agreed to meet Pops, after my weekend with Leo, I’d begun to think that maybe we had a chance.

  But today, I couldn’t ignore the difference between us. There was both a new ease and a heightened sense of . . . something. Something new, and something more. Some of the changes had been gradual; Gia was more open now, more likely to talk to me about things that really mattered. She’d begun asking me questions about my life, too, curious about my friends and the football team. When she’d mentioned wanting to come to my games, keeping my amazed elation in check hadn’t been easy. I’d wanted to pump my fist, scoop Gia up in a huge bear-hug and shout, but instead, I’d played it cool. At least I’d thought I had.

  “Okay, these are done.” I drained the water from the sink and dried my hands. “Let’s get our binge on, woman, so we can make it to dinner early, per your orders.”

  “I didn’t order you to do anything,” Gia retorted, standing up to get the TV remote. “I just said it would be nicer to go early, because any restaurant in the city on a Saturday night is crazy busy.”

  “Not arguing, sweetness.” I reached for a couple of the pillows on the bed so that I could make my usual spot on the floor more comfortable. When I bent over, a muscle in my back twinged, and I winced a little, gritting my teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” I’d hoped that Gia hadn’t noticed, but apparently, I’d underestimated her attention.

  “Nothing.” I massaged the spot a little, arching backward to find relief. “Skeeter and I did a pretty intense work-out yesterday, since we’re both trying to go into pre-season training ahead of the game. I pulled a lat, I guess.”

  “A lat?” Her forehead wrinkled.

  “Yeah, latissimus dorsi.” I rotated the arm experimentally. “It’s a muscle in the back, but the pain radiates to my shoulder and arm. It’s not that bad.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that ‘not that bad’ for you translates to pain that would cripple a normal person?” Gia shook her head at me before she climbed onto the side of the bed and patted the space next to her. “You can’t sit on the floor with a bad back. Come on, there’s room for you here.”

  I hesitated. “Are you sure? I can drag a chair over from the kitchen.”

  “Tate, for the love of God, just get over here and lay on the bed. How many weekends have we been binge-watching and hanging out? You haven’t attacked me yet. I think I’m probably safe.”

  “You’ve always been safe.” Gingerly, I sat on the edge of the mattress. “There is no possible scenario where I would ever push myself on you, unless you specifically invited me. I like you, Gia. I hope I’ve made that clear. But I’m capable of self-control.”

  She sat on the bed, staring up at me with wide eyes. “I believe you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be this comfortable around you. So sit your sweet ass down and let’s watch Veronica.” She smirked, amused at herself for tossing my own words right back at me.

  I loved sassy Gia. Well, let’s be honest: I was pretty hung up on every version of this woman. But when she was spunky, I saw the old Gia, the same girl I’d met that night at the bar back in college.

  Easing myself over onto the bed, I managed to toe off my shoes and stretched my legs out as Gia hit the play button. I was hyper-aware of her, of her small body curled inches from mine, of the way her chest rose and fell and of the musky-sweet scent of her hair t
hat drifted over to me. I tried hard to focus on the show; it should have been easy, since this was a particularly good episode. Veronica was trying to clear the basketball coach’s son after his father’s murder, and Logan was struggling to recover from his Veronica-induced broken heart. As much as I’d scoffed at Logan earlier in the series, I had to admit that I had a grudging respect for him now.

  “I’m still not sure Logan and Veronica belong together,” I mused aloud. “I don’t hate him, but maybe he’s not good for her.”

  Gia didn’t look away from the TV screen. “But he loves her. I mean, look at him. He’s in agony here. Logan isn’t a saint, I know, but he really does love Veronica—she’s everything to him.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it sometimes.” I couldn’t help the skepticism that crept into my voice.

  “Oh, really?” Gia hit pause as one episode ended. “So, let’s talk hypotheticals here. If you were into a girl, how would you show it? What would you do to prove it?”

  I turned my head a little to see her better, sensing that there was more than teasing behind her question. I needed to get this right . . . and if I said what was fairly bursting out of my heart just now, I might have a shot of convincing Gia once and for all what kind of man I was.

  “I would live every day of my life proving how I felt. I wouldn’t just say the words; I’d make her see and feel how much she meant to me with every action. All of my decisions would center on her and on building our life together. I’d make sure that every day, I reminded her how much I loved her. Any time that I wasn’t working to secure our future, I’d spend with her, and even when we couldn’t be together, she’d be on my mind. And I’d do everything in my power to make sure she never doubted for a minute who was the top priority in my life.”

  Gia was so still that if her eyes hadn’t been wide open, I’d have thought she was asleep. Her face was a study of wonder and something else I wasn’t sure I could name . . . although I hoped it was yearning. As I watched, the very tip of her tongue slid out between her lips and swiped across them. My heart pounded in my ears; I didn’t know whether to speak again, to try to lighten the moment or to bide my time and see if she gave me some kind of sign.