Down By Contact: A Making the Score Football Romance Read online

  The salad and antipasto course arrived at the table, and I waited to answer her until we’d both picked up our forks. I noticed without reacting that this time, she didn’t fuss about eating the food in front of her.

  “Pops is my grandfather. I’ve lived with him since I was a baby, and I’d do anything for him.” The truth was simple, and I didn’t see any reason to make it more complicated.

  She frowned again and took another bite of salad. “Where are your parents? What happened to them?”

  “I never knew them. They lived with Pops while my mother was pregnant with me, and then they took off. We haven’t seen them since.”

  Gia stared at me, her eyes narrowing. “They just left you? Their own baby?”

  This wasn’t the first time I’d answered the question, but the fact that it was Gia asking made me more thoughtful about how I responded. “I know it sounds harsh when you say it that way, but it’s not so bad. My Pops is . . . well, he’s awesome. The people who made me and gave me life were messed up. Both of them were addicted to drugs, and they didn’t have the capacity to be my parents. But they did the next best thing. They were smart enough and cared enough to leave me with the one person they knew would never let me down.”

  “Hmmm.” She didn’t seem convinced. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it. So you’re really close to your grandfather?”

  “Yeah. He’s the best. I mean, yeah, he’s old, and he can be kind of crotchety and stubborn now, but underneath it all, he’s a giant marshmallow. I never once doubted that he loved me, and I don’t have any memory of feeling deprived because he was raising me.”

  Gia was silent for a few seconds. “Lucky you,” she murmured, almost too softly for me to hear. “I wish my parents had taken lessons from your Pops.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “You grew up feeling deprived?”

  “We never lacked for anything material. My dad is a stockbroker, and our family had a big house, fancy cars and all that shit. But I’m the youngest of six girls, and my parents split up when I was eight. I was either lost in the shuffle of kids or used by my mom to make my father feel guilty about leaving us. My mother didn’t bother hiding the fact that she couldn’t wait for me to finish school so she could sell the house and get on with her life.” She spoke flippantly, with a strong undertone of self-deprecating humor, but I didn’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes.

  “That sucks.” I crunched down on my last crouton and crossed my arms. “Are things any better now that you’re grown up and on your own?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. My mother is still bitter as hell. More so now, actually, because my father is dating a really young model. They live together in a penthouse in New York. But lucky for me, I don’t have to see any of them very often. My mom lives near my second oldest sister and her family, and I avoid visits to my dad unless it’s absolutely necessary.” She hesitated a beat. “Which usually means if he’s laid on the guilt enough to make me do it. He’s paying my way through grad school and helping me with rent, so I feel like I owe him something, I guess.”

  I didn’t have anything positive to say about that, although the idea of parents treating their child so thoughtlessly aggravated me. Still, I didn’t have the right to voice that kind of judgement, so I shifted the topic.

  “You’re in grad school? What’re you studying?”

  Gia finished her salad and nudged the plate away. “Journalism. Which probably sounds kind of moronic. You know, I’m getting my masters in journalism so I can struggle the rest of my life to make ends meet while reporting on news people don’t want to hear.”

  “Nah, I think it’s cool. Do you want to write for a newspaper or be on the TV news?” I smiled. “I could see you sitting at the desk, all professional and smart . . . or maybe reporting in the field.”

  She wrinkled her nose, and it was all I could do not to reach across the table and run one finger over her freckles. “I always thought I wanted to stick to print journalism, and that was what I focused on in college. But right now, I’m working as an assistant in the news department at a television station. So maybe I’ll end up going in that direction. Hey, who knows if there will even be newspapers by the time I get my degree? Pretty soon, they could all be obsolete. Defunct.”

  “Your job sounds fun, though. It’s a foot in the door, right?” I gave into temptation and reached for a third garlic knot. “Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be able to brag I once took the famous Gia Capri out to dinner.”

  “Yeah, that’s doubtful.” She shrugged one thin shoulder. “I don’t know. I took the job because my dad has a friend who has friend at the station, so I think he probably pulled some strings. It’s not like it’s my dream or anything. It’s more like everything else in my life—I’m just going along with whatever happens to me. I don’t have enough energy for anything else.” She looked exhausted again, just when I thought she’d begun to perk up a little.

  “When you’re not in school or at work, what do you do? What’s a weekend like in the world of Gia? Parties? Dinners with friends? Movies or plays? Concerts?” I teased a little, trying to get a rise out of her. “Jetting off to the islands for tequila and sun?”

  But she didn’t even crack a smile this time. “Hardly. My weekends are about junk food and binge-watching television shows. I hole up in my apartment and just get through those two days off until Monday rolls around. What you witnessed tonight was how I react when any part of that plan goes haywire.”

  “Binge-watching, huh?” I cocked my head. “I’ve heard of that. I’ve never been much of a TV fan—Pops and I watch football, and we catch the news sometimes, but when I was growing up, he always encouraged me to play outside or read instead of sit there letting other people entertain me.”

  “Your Pops sounds like a smart guy. I didn’t care much about television until recently, but now . . . it’s a good way to get numb without endangering myself or anyone else.” She picked up her water glass, still avoiding the wine goblet. “I guess I’m making up for lost time and finding out what all the fuss has been about.”

  “What do you watch? Like, chick stuff?” I thought about the shows I’d heard women gush over. I didn’t pay much attention, usually, but some of my friends’ girlfriends were addicted to certain shows.

  “Well.” A ghost of a smile flickered over her face. “I’ve been zipping through Buffy the Vampire Slayer over the past few weeks. I was planning to start the fourth season tonight. I might even get through the whole thing before it’s time to go back to work on Monday.”

  “Hey, I’ve seen some of that one. Buffy, I mean—not necessarily that season. Wasn’t there a musical episode? Some demon puts a spell on Sunnydale so they all have to sing and dance—”

  “Spoilers, spoilers!” Gia clapped her hands over her ears and glared at me. “I haven’t seen that one yet. I want to be surprised.”

  “Sorry.” I grinned at her, unrepentant. “Other than the Slayer, what do you like to watch? Any real shows? With cops or spies or . . . oh, I know! Do you like James Bond?”

  She grimaced. “I’m not a fan of cop dramas, but I can appreciate a decent James Bond, if it’s one of the really good ones. But when it comes to TV shows, other than Buffy, I’ve also watched a season of Veronica Mars. I loved it, but it’s not on my subscription service, so I’m waiting for the next season to be available at the library.”

  “Hmmm.” A plan was forming in my mind, but I knew I had to reveal it slowly so as not to spook Gia. “I’m fascinated by your weekend plans. Do you—”

  “Dinner is served!” Rocco, accompanied by a younger man who also carried platters, hustled to our table. With a flourish, he set down one plate before Gia at the same time that his assistant presented mine. They lifted the covers in near-unison, and the tantalizing aroma of excellent red gravy and cheese filled the air.

  “It looks good, right?” Rocco’s broad smile spread over his face. “Just the thing for a romantic dinner for two. Buon appetito.” />
  “This is not a romantic dinner.” The alarm in Gia’s voice was echoed in her eyes. “We’re just . . . I’m just . . . I’m here under coercion. He made me come with him.”

  If I’d been worried that Rocco might believe that I’d actually dragged Gia to his restaurant, his reaction completely laid those concerns to rest.

  “Well, sweetheart, from my point of view, there’re a hell of lot worse places to be, uh, coerced into coming than my restaurant. And since this fellow comes in here at least once a week, and I’ve never seen him be anything but a perfect gentleman, I’m thinking he just wanted to see you got some decent food.” Rocco pointed to gnocchi. “And this is a sight more than decent. It’s the best Italian food you’re going to get anywhere in the city. So, I suggest you eat up and enjoy every bite.” He winked at her. “You’re too skinny. If my ma catches sight of you, she’ll be yelling at me to send you out more bread and then dessert, too. She thinks leaving food on a plate is close to being a sacrilege. Make sure you eat all of that.”

  He wheeled around and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Gia wide-eyed and staring. I swallowed back a chuckle and tried to keep my expression blank.

  “Don’t sit over there, trying to look innocent.” She kicked me under the table. “I don’t know quite how, but you’ve got all these people thinking you’re some kind of saint. But I see right through you.”

  The idea of Gia seeing the real me made my chest go tight and my heart beat speed up with anticipation. Still working hard to make sure my face didn’t give away what I was feeling, I raised both of my hands. “Hey, I didn’t claim to be anything other than who I am. I think they just like to see someone who enjoys his food.”

  “Sure. And I’m positive that you’re more than happy to do just that.” Gia picked up her fork and stabbed some gnocchi. I watched her face as she chewed and was rewarded when her eyes slid partly shut. “Oh, my God. This is so good. My nonna used to make gnocchi, and I haven’t had it homemade since she passed. This is just like she made it.”

  “Make sure you tell Rocco that. You’ll make his night.” I scooped up some of my own food. “Yeah, this is the stuff. I could eat this every day for the rest of my life and not be unhappy.”

  “Seriously, Tate. That’s so boring. Don’t you know that variety is the spice of life?” Gia shook her head, and I caught the humor in her eyes. Hearing her say my name, though, was enough of a distraction even without the smile teasing her lips. I let myself imagine how it might sound if she was moaning my name in bed, or maybe up against a wall—

  I sucked in a breath and ended up choking. I had to gulp down water to recover, while Gia watched me.

  “Are you okay?” she inquired once I could breathe again. “I thought for a minute I was going to have to Heimlich you.”

  The thought of her wrapping her arms around my back, pressed up against me, was probably not something I needed to be picturing just now. I pushed it away from my mind. “Sorry about that. Pops says I need to remember not to inhale the food. Guess I forgot for a minute.”

  “I’ll be honest and admit I was just thinking that if you collapsed, I could probably eat your dinner, too.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “Says the girl who wasn’t hungry.”

  “I’m a big enough person to admit when I’m wrong.” She winked at me over a forkful of pasta, and my entire night was made. Somehow, I’d managed to take this woman from crying in the grocery store to winking at me over Italian food. Mission more than accomplished.

  But I wasn’t done yet. Now that I’d not only found Gia but made contact—and then some—there wasn’t a chance on God’s green earth that I was going to back off.

  “As I was saying when Rocco brought our food, and before I nearly choked to death—” I shot her a faux-glare. “Your weekend plans sound interesting. Want some company?”

  “Company?” Gia echoed. “What—you mean, with the binge watching and junk food? I hate to point out a cultural norm, buddy, but usually, those are activities best done alone.”

  “Honey pot, anything you might do by yourself is twice as fun with someone else.” I lowered my voice, hoping I sounded sexy and suggestive, but I decided I’d missed the mark when she giggled. She actually giggled. The sound made me so happy that I couldn’t regret the fact that she was laughing at me.

  “Honey pot? Really? Is that even a thing?” She shook her head, but she was still smiling.

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” I said sternly. “The point is, if you haven’t understood my meaning yet, I’d like to hang out with you this weekend. I want to learn more about this binge-watching and eating deal.” Leaning closer and lowering my voice, I added, “I’ll even sweeten the deal. I’ll cook for you, so that on the off-chance that your, uh, healthy egg rolls aren’t good after sitting here tonight, you’ll still have food. And I’ll stop at the grocery store near my house and get your chips for you, too.”

  “You’ll cook for me? You can cook?” She twisted her mouth, considering. “You know, I’m not married to the junk food part of the weekend plans. I only eat that shit because it’s easy, it’s cheap, and I don’t have to think about it.” She sighed. “I don’t cook. I’m actually kind of a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “I think we’ve got ourselves a deal, then.” I stretched one hand across the table. Gia’s smile faded as she stared at it for a few seconds before she slid her fingers into mine.

  “A deal,” she echoed. “I’ll supply the entertainment and the apartment. You bring the food.” Her forehead knit together, and doubt clouded her eyes. “I’m still not clear on why you’re so interested in this. This isn’t . . . Leo didn’t put you up to this, did he?”

  I sat back and tossed up my hands. “You found us out. Leo told me where to run into you tonight, and I timed it perfectly. That tracker he had implanted on you really did the job.”

  Gia rolled her eyes. “Okay, yeah, when you say it like that, it does sound ridiculous. But Leo could have told you the neighborhood where I live. That’s not so far-fetched.”

  “I’ll give you that one. He might have. But have you talked to our mutual friend lately, Gia? The guy’s in brooding mode. He was crushed when Quinn moved to California. I think he’s terrified that she’ll end up staying there, and he’ll lose her again, for good this time.”

  “No, that won’t happen.” Gia shook her head. “Leo and Quinn . . . they’re meant for each other. This is just a rough patch. Trust me, I’ve been on the sidelines watching since they first started dating. Those two are going to get their happy ending. I know it. They belong with each other.”

  “Well, maybe you need to give Leo a pep talk. He’s pretty down in the dumps right now. He doesn’t say much to me about Quinn, but I can hear it in what he doesn’t say.” I thought about our conversation when Leo had come up to New Jersey for his brother’s engagement party. He’d been crushed at the thought of his girl being all the way across the country. When I’d pointed out that he could always ask her not to go, he’d poured out the whole story. I knew most of it already: Nate, who had been a lifelong friend to both Quinn and Leo, had lived with a chronic and ultimately fatal illness. Although he’d been in love with Quinn probably as long as Leo had been, he’d known where her heart lay. Still, knowing that hadn’t stopped him from asking Quinn to marry him when it became clear that his death was approaching fast. And whether it was out of pity or love for her friend, she had agreed.

  Watching the only woman who he could ever love marry their best friend had almost destroyed Leo. I hadn’t seen him after our graduation until the night of Nate’s funeral, when he and Nate’s college roommate had gotten rip-roaring drunk. Leo had called me to ask for a ride home. But more recently, we’d met up for a beer during one of his trips to New Jersey. Leo had told me, pain evident in his voice, about Quinn’s unexpected visit to his home in Richmond, where he played for the Rebels. She’d run to him, still grieving and lost, and apparently expected Leo to welcome her with open arm
s. But Leo had promised both Nate and his own mother that he’d be strong and make Quinn take some time to heal. Consequently, he’d been forced to break Quinn’s heart and send her away. In the process, he’d shattered his own, as well.

  “I haven’t been a very good friend to him.” Gia winced a little. “He’s been so sweet to me since Matt . . . well, since all of that happened. And I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I haven’t returned the favor.”

  “I’m sure he understands.” I pushed back my chair a little, expelling a long breath. “Huh. I think I might be full.”

  Gia shook her head, but she was smiling. “It’s about time, considering all the food you’ve consumed.”

  “Yeah, I think I can probably handle some cannoli with an espresso, and then I’ll be set.” I patted my flat stomach.

  “I can’t even think of dessert.” She nudged her plate away. “But I’ll admit that this food was amazing. And I’ll even say thank you for forcing me to come here with you. This was the nicest time I’ve had in . . . way too long.”

  “Excellent.” I felt a sense of satisfaction. This had been a very successful first step. “Does that mean you’re looking forward to spending more time with me tomorrow?”

  “Don’t push your luck,” she retorted, but there wasn’t any real heat there. “Do you want me to text you my address, so you’ll know where to find me tomorrow?”

  I grinned. “No need. I’ll make a note of it when I take you home to your apartment tonight. After dessert, that is.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She raised one eyebrow, challenging me.

  Reaching across to steal one of the few gnocchi she’d left on her plate, I popped it into my mouth. “Never doubted it, sugar. But I was raised a certain way, and part of my training is walking a lady to her door. That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  She huffed a little, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass, you know that, Tate Durham?”