Page 34 of Game On

“I don’t know.” Carly switched the phone to the other ear so she could wipe under the cabinets. “I didn’t get past the kitchen.”

“Carly!” Julianne wailed. “What good are you? Didn’t you want to check out his place? Aren’t you curious about him? If it were me, I would have made a beeline straight for the bedroom and checked out his bed.” No doubt Julianne would have. Carly stiffened at the thought of her best friend in Shane’s bedroom.

“That’s not nice.” Carly silently berated herself for being a hypocrite. She’d thought about taking a look around Shane’s house, too, but she wasn’t going to admit it to her friend. “He just lost his dad. I didn’t want to invade his privacy.”

Julianne let out a huff. “Yeah, well he sure didn’t think twice about invading your private parts,” she teased.

“Jules!” Carly’s stomach tightened at the thought of Shane and his wicked mouth. He’d been right though, the real thing was so much better. Her knees got weak just thinking about it, forcing her to take a seat on the bar stool.

“I did get a good look at his kitchen, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t faking his culinary skills on Good Day, Baltimore. He has a lot of toys in that kitchen. I think he might even have a few you don’t have.” Carly knew this would divert her friend’s attention back to a neutral subject. Julianne loved to cook. If she hadn’t made it as a fashion designer, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would have her own cooking show. She also hated to be shown up in the kitchen.

“I seriously doubt that,” Julianne scoffed. “What does a football player know about cooking?”

Carly laughed. “Why, I believe it was the brilliant fashion designer Julianne Marchione who once said that all you need to be a good cook are the proper tools and a passion for food. Are you accusing football players of lacking in passion?”

“You tell me, Carly. You’re the one swapping spit with the quarterback.”

“So, are you still going to the race car driver’s wedding next weekend?” Carly did her best to change the subject as she loaded her dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Julianne mumbled something that sounded like chicken.

“Yeah, I’m still going,” she said with a sigh. “But I really wish you’d reconsider and go with me. I won’t know a soul there and the bride’s parents said I could bring a guest.”

“I don’t want to be your plus one.”

“I’d do the same for you! The bride is a client. I don’t even know why I am going at all.”

“It might have something to do with the extra $10,000 the race car driver is paying you to be there in case something goes wrong with his bride’s gown.”

“Ha! Like I’m going to sew on a pearl that might fall off the woman’s eight-foot train.”

Carly grinned. Julianne would definitely sew on a pearl and anything else that fell off. Her dresses were like her children. She’ll probably be the only one in the church crying because of the gown, not the woman in it.

“Well, you’re getting a free trip to Sea Island,” Carly reminded her. “Go and have fun. You deserve it.”

“I guess I could call Chad the Cad if I get desperate,” Julianne said. But Carly knew she wouldn’t. Julianne was right; they were quite a pair. Both seemed destined to chase the wrong men. Carly puttered around her kitchen as Julianne regaled her with snippets of gossip from New York’s fashion world. Before ending their call, they agreed to get together in New York before training camp began in a few weeks.

Later that evening, after showering off the sweat from her Pilates class and an evening run with Beckett, Carly stood in her kitchen setting up the automatic coffeemaker for the next morning. The laptop computer on her counter beeped, alerting her to an incoming message. She wandered over to check the email before she could shut down the computer.

“If this is another email from Gabe’s Bridezilla about his signing bonus,” Carly said to the slumbering dog, “I’m going to scream.”

The email wasn’t from Chloe. Carly’s heart slammed into her ribs as she saw the name of the message’s sender: Joel Thompkins. The message was brief, but it terrified Carly just the same.

We belong together. It’s meant to be. You’ll see.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring at the message. Her hands trembled as she quickly deleted it. Wiping it off the screen didn’t stem the furious beating of her heart. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering. Forcing her arms to move, she reached for her cell phone. Who should she call? The police? Maybe she should have saved the message. She tried for a deep, calming breath. She’d call Donovan; he’d know what to do. She searched the phone’s address book for his number as she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Maybe she should call Matt? God no! He’d go ballistic. It was just an email, after all. She was safe inside her house. Besides, Beckett was here to protect her. She looked over to where the dog lay snoring, oblivious to her distress. Great!

Her breath was coming more evenly and her pulse had subsided to a reasonable rate. She didn’t want to disturb Donovan at home, but she’d seen enough episodes of Law & Order to know she shouldn’t wait until morning to let someone know about Joel’s message. She’d just calmed down enough to make the call when the chime of her doorbell made her jump. Clutching her cell phone tightly, she looked over at Beckett. The dog lifted his head in confusion and was trying to rouse himself from his deep slumber. Apparently, he didn’t realize it was his job to bark at the doorbell.

“No wonder your family left you!” she hissed at the dog as he stood and stretched.

Slowly, she walked to the foyer, her cell phone in her hand, one finger on the 911 button. Not bothering to turn on any lights, she figured she’d just peek through the side window and see who was on her front porch at nine thirty at night. If it was Joel, she’d barricade herself in the foyer powder room and call the police. Beckett padded behind her, his tail swishing in anticipation. Carly carefully peeked behind the cellular shade on the window and glanced outside. She released a deep shaky breath at the sight of Shane Devlin.

TEN

Carly flicked on the porch lights and threw open her front door. She was dressed for bed in plaid cotton sleep pants and a pink cami. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. Had she not been so frightened over Joel’s email, she might have thought twice about what she was—or wasn’t—wearing before opening the door. Instead, she stepped outside, not bothering to hide her relief at seeing Shane standing on her doorstep, hands in his pockets, his face drawn. The cool night air and Shane’s quirked eyebrow quickly made her aware of her outfit. Carly’s cheeks burned as she nearly tripped over Beckett, who was dancing around Shane’s legs. Dashing back inside, she pulled on the sweat jacket she’d left lying on the bench in the hallway, zipping it up to her chin. Shane and Beckett followed her in and she slammed the door behind them, securing the locks before turning to face him.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

Leaning against the door trying to calm her still-racing heart, Carly drank in the sight of Shane. In the light of the hallway, he looked exhausted. His dress shirt and slacks were rumpled and his hair mussed. The lines on his face looked more pronounced. Rather than athletic, his posture screamed bone weary. The forlorn look in his eyes made him look vulnerable. She was sure he hated appearing that way.

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