Page 15 of Quarterback Sneak

Ok, perhaps a restraining order might be necessary. “Thank you for the generous invitation, but I’ll have to pass. I have someone at home I don’t want to disappoint.”

She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed his bicep. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Jake approached, his backpack hitched over one meaty shoulder. “Are you ready to go, Mom?”

“Just give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the car,” she said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Knute?” Jake asked, his curious gaze moving from his mother to Sam.

“Sure thing,” Sam said. No matter how distasteful his parents, their son seemed decent enough.

Once Jake departed, Jane shifted in her seat and her skimpy dress rode up over her toned legs. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

Lyle stomped over and glared down at his ex-wife. “Jane, stop whoring and get your ass up. We don’t have all night.”

As he stormed past, Sam heard him growl “stupid bitch”.

Sam clenched his fists. The bastard needed the shit kicked out of him, and Sam wanted to be the one to do it. He tamped down the thought. Fighting solved nothing.

But sometimes it felt damned good.

“Bite me, Asshole.” Jane raised her foot, slipped off her shoe, and chucked it at Lyle’s departing back.

Sam had to admire her aim. Had Lyle been an inch closer to the aft, she’d have knocked him in the back of the head. Instead, the shoe bounced off the bulkhead and landed on the floor. Lyle flashed an infuriated glance over his shoulder but wisely chose not to retaliate.

Cheeks flushed from the exertion, she pulled out a business card tucked into her cleavage.

Sam held up his hand, refusing to take it. How many times did he have to say no? “I’m flattered, Jane, but I can’t accept it—”

“I might come across as a bit crazy, but I get the hint, you aren’t interested. She’s one lucky girl.” She pressed the card into his hand. “It’s Jake’s cell-phone number. I had these cards made up for him. I want my boy to present his best self at this interview, and if you can help him in any way, I would appreciate it. He’s gone through a lot, and he deserves this.”

“I’ll do what I can.” And he meant it. Sam had been fortunate to have positive mentors in his life, ones who had offset the damaging parts. He’d gladly return the favor.

“Jane…” Lyle called from the door, his booming voice grating on Sam’s last nerve.

“God, I hate that man.” Jane snatched up her purse and limped down the aisle, her gait hampered by the height difference between her unclad foot and the stiletto. She stopped long enough to pick up her shoe, butt cheeks flashing beneath her skimpy skirt, before she donned the discarded shoe, righted her hem, and stormed off the plane.

Glad that bit of unpleasantness was over, Sam brought out his phone and texted Ivy of his arrival. He wanted to call her, but there wasn’t time, not yet. There was still the matter of Howler. He grabbed his untouched bottle of water and knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you alive?”

The sound of the toilet flushing met his ears before the door cracked open and Howler marched out, sweat beading his forehead. Sam pressed the water into his hands and stepped aside to let him pass.

“Damn, I’m glad to be on the ground and not just because I hate flying. That Lyle is a piece of work.” Howler twisted the top off the bottle, his hands shaking the slightest bit. From alcohol or strain, or a combination of both, Sam couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, so is Jane. She hit on me pretty hard.”

Howler stumbled down the aisle toward the outer door and wiped an agitated hand over his face. “No big surprise. She spent half the flight in the bathroom putting on more makeup, if that’s even possible, and the other half watching you sleep.”

Sam followed close behind, studying Howler’s less than steady gait. “Ok, this just got creepy.”

“You’re telling me. Who’d want to stare at your ugly mug when I’m in the room?” Howler turned at the comment and nearly tumbled out the door. Sam grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and wrenched him back into the plane.

“You really need to get a handle on this whole flying thing. Getting shit-faced isn’t the solution.”

“Fuck off.” Howler clasped the stair railing and descended haphazardly to the tarmac.

“I’m just saying, they have classes and therapy for this kind of stuff.”

“What part didn’t you understand? The ‘fuck’ or the ‘off’ part? I don’t need help.” Howler halted in midstride and groaned. Jane and Lyle were standing nose to nose in a heated argument by the town car. “They do. With parents like them, it’s a wonder Jake turned out halfway decent.”

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