As he helped the boys clean up the balls and nets on the fields, he looked over at Julie. She had her head bent over her BlackBerry, good little worker that she was. He was hit with the memory of taking her naked up on that balcony in Napa and he had to look away, trying to get his mind off of her curves, the way the pulse in her neck jumped when she threw her head back and came. He was about to turn around and head for the clubhouse when he heard a man's rough voice boom across the field.
"Jackie boy, I hope you kicked some ass today."
Jack's face flamed and he ducked his head and fumbled a ball on purpose so that he could run after it. Away from the man that Ty assumed was his father.
The ruddy-faced man stumbled in Ty's direction. He slapped Ty on the back and stale whisky fumes poured out of his mouth as he said, "That's some superstar I've got out there, isn't it, Ace?" Ty worked to repress his revulsion. It wasn't Jack's fault that his father was a worthless drunk.
"Sure is. He's a great kid."
The man scowled. "All I care about is that he's great at football. We didn't come here this week for him to make friends. Win at all costs—that's what I've been teaching him. I don't care who he has to crush along the way. He hasn't been a sniveling baby out here today, has he?" Ty had gone cow tipping a few times with his buddies as a kid in Marin, and he was sorely tempted to poke this guy's overinflated chest and watch him fall to the ground, his thick legs flailing heedlessly in the air.
But he wasn't here to tell guys like this where to stick it. All he could do was help their kids on the field, teach them the right way to act, and hope they remembered what he'd told them when push came to shove.
Ty said, "He's doing great," and headed across the field toward Jack. He squatted down and covered Jack with his back, making sure his father couldn't see either of their faces.
"I met your dad."
The kid's eyes shuttered, so different from how open and receptive he'd been all day. "It's no big deal. I can handle him."
Ty nodded. "Sure you can." He paused. "He reminds me a lot of my dad. Says the same kind of stuff."
Jack looked up in surprise. "You're kidding, right?"
"My dad put a lot of pressure on me too. Winning was the only thing he cared about." Jack screwed up his face. "But isn't winning what matters most?" Ty reached into his pocket, pulled out paper and a pen, and wrote his cell number on it. "Sometimes it does. Other times you just go out there and play the best game you can." He handed the scrap of paper to Jack. "You need anything, you give me a call."
Jack looked down at Ty's cell number, his mouth open. "Wow."
"Even if you just need to talk, call me. If I can't pick up right away, I promise to call you back." They both heard Jack's father coming and the boy shoved the paper into his pocket before his dad could see. Ty knew damn well how his own father would have reacted to having the personal telephone number of a pro player way back when. He would have gone straight to the bar to buy everyone a round to celebrate. Before the night was through, that number would have been passed into every stranger's hand.
Ty watched Jack and his father walk away, wondering if he'd just made a mistake, when Julie appeared at his side.
"You look serious," she said, following his gaze to the parking lot. He shook off his dark mood. One thing he had no intention of ever discussing with Julie was his father. She knew he'd been a drunk—shit, everyone in town knew, and once he'd gone pro the press had told the world—but it still wasn't something he talked about much. Over the years, the more games he'd won, the more people left his past alone. And that was exactly how he liked it.
"You're looking at a future superstar," he said, changing the subject.
"I know next to nothing about football, and even I can see Jack is talented." She frowned. "But his father seemed a little intense, didn't he?"
More like drunk off his ass, Ty thought.
Julie took a deep breath, seemed like she wanted to say something to him. He was learning her body signals. She was holding something back.
"Spit it out."
She laughed. "I never knew how transparent I was."
"Only to me," he said and their eyes locked for a long moment. "You sure I can't kiss you right now?" Her mouth opened slightly and he almost did it anyway. Finally, she shook her head. "You can't." He scowled. "Explain to me again why you're so intent on keeping our relationship a secret?"
"You can't seriously need me to explain the boundaries of a client relationship, can you?"
"Do you always treat your clients this well?"
Her hands balled at her sides and she lowered her voice. "Why are you acting like this?" He realized he was being an ass because—God, it felt stupid to even think the words—his feelings were hurt. She didn't want anyone to know she was sleeping with a dumb jock. So what? She wasn't any good for his image, either. Sure, she was beautiful. But people expected him to date fun girls. Not women who owned their own businesses and knew which fork to use.
"It's been a long day out here with these kids," he lied. "Forgive me?" She stared at him and he waited impatiently for her to make up her mind. He'd go nuts if she decided he'd pushed her too far.
Finally, she nodded. "You're forgiven," she said, "but I have to admit I have ulterior motives." He raised an eyebrow, immediately hoping her motives involved being naked and sweaty.
"Which are?"
"My parents called. They're having a big dinner party tomorrow night." She paused, looked guilty.
"You're the guest of honor."
"Sounds like more of a command than an invitation."
She bit her lip. "I'm so sorry. My mother made it perfectly clear that she'll never forgive me if you don't show up and they end up with egg on their face. I feel really horrible about this, Ty." Big blue eyes turned to him. "You don't have to go. It's not your job to make my parents happy. I'll find some way to deal with them."
He touched her face, lightly running the side of his palm down her smooth cheek. He knew more than his share about how hard it was to deal with parents and their expectations. The least he could do was make this easy on her. She'd been great all week. It was time to take one for the team.
"I'm happy to go, Julie."
She turned her face into his palm. "Thank you."
Her lips brushed against his hand and blood rushed to his head. To both of them. Tony called out from the deck off the clubhouse, "BBQ's on at my house." Ty reluctantly dropped his hand. There were about a hundred things he'd rather do right now than eat hot dogs at his old friend's house. He'd be able to hang out with his friends forever. But where Julie was concerned, the clock was rapidly ticking down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Julie could hardly believe what a fantastic time she was having. Once, she would have automatically assumed that Ty's friends would be conceited jerks. They were all jocks or ex-jocks, after all. Instead she found them to be some of the nicest men she'd ever met. Warm, easygoing, confident. But definitely not arrogant. There wasn't a chip in sight, even though they were very good at what they did and they'd earned a great deal of money.
She chatted with the football wives as the guys loudly cleaned up. It suddenly occurred to her that most of the guys she'd dated for the past decade—men in suits, entrepreneurs, fast-tracked vice presidents —were far more arrogant than any of these men who earned their living with their bodies. After more football talk than she'd ever thought to hear in her life, she was just starting to grasp how much strategy and brainpower there was to the game.