Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

When she pulled away, he said, “It’s been fifteen days since you were last with Burkett, correct?”

She nodded.

“Then this discussion may have been for nothing,” he said with a bright smile. “You may be pregnant already.”

What if she’s pregnant?

It was the big what-if in Griff’s life now. Each morning he woke up wondering if this would be the day he’d get the congratulatory call.

Of course, that was their goal, wasn’t it? A fertilized egg would be the answer to all their troubles. It would make the childless couple happy, and make him a millionaire for the rest of his life.

But if Laura had conceived, he would never see her again.

Which was no cause for celebration.

“Griff?”

He was startled to find Bolly standing elbow to elbow with him on the practice field sideline. The sportswriter was looking at him strangely.

“Sorry. I was-”

“A million miles away. I had to say your name three times. Were you asleep?”

Griff removed his sunglasses and blinked against the blistering sun. “In this heat? Hardly. I was concentrating on Jason. He’s showing some good hustle out there today.”

“Thanks to you.”

“No, he’s applying himself. Credit belongs to him.”

“The boy is obsessed with football. Worries his mom.”

“How come?”

“She’s afraid he’ll go whole hog and get hurt.”

“Moms are like that.” He supposed.

“She’d rather he play badminton.”

Griff winced and Bolly laughed. “My sentiments exactly. Say, listen, I just got a call. I’ve been granted an interview with that new goalie the Stars signed yesterday, but it’s a narrow window of opportunity before he flies home to Detroit. If I rush, I can catch him at DFW before his flight. I hate to pull Jason out of practice. Would you mind driving him home?”

“Of course not.”

“I wouldn’t ask, but my mother-in-law had to go to the podiatrist, and my wife volunteered to drive her, so-”

“Bolly, go. Should I stay with Jason till you get home?”

“No, just see him into the house, make sure he locks the door. He knows the rules of staying by himself.”

“Okay. No problem.”

Bolly looked toward the field and picked out his son, who barely had time to hand the ball off to a halfback before being slammed to the ground by a tackle. But he wasn’t down for long. He was back on his feet in time to see the halfback make a first down. He jumped straight up into the air, raised his fist, and whooped with joy.

Bolly, still watching, smiled, but then a worry line formed between his brows. “Griff, on second thought, maybe-”

“You can trust him with me, Bolly.”

Bolly turned back to him and held his gaze for several seconds while silently debating the advisability of asking for this favor. Then he nodded. “I appreciate it, Griff. Thanks.”

When practice was over, Jason jogged off the field toward Griff, who gave him a high five. “Great practice, QB. Especially that last offensive series.”

“Thanks.” The boy was red in the face, and sweat had plastered his hair to his head beneath his helmet, but he was basking in the praise.

Griff told him about Bolly’s unexpected errand. “Which leaves me your ride home today.”

“You mean it?”

“Don’t get excited. My car’s crap.”

On the way, Griff pulled into a Braum’s. “I could use a milk shake. How ’bout you?”

As long as they were there, they decided they might just as well have burgers and fries to go with their shakes. They were seated in a booth, talking amiably about Jason’s team and the strengths and weaknesses of various players, when Griff became aware of a trio of construction workers. He’d noticed them when they came in but had given them only a passing glance before returning his attention to Jason.

Now he realized that he’d been spotted and recognized. The workmen kept their voices low, but the looks they directed at him sizzled with hostility. Others began to notice. Griff could feel a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on him.

Jason, who’d been chatting nonstop, barely pausing long enough to fill his mouth with food, became aware of the charged atmosphere. His chatter slowed down and then stopped altogether. He looked toward the three men, then across at Griff, his eyes clouded with concern.

“It’s okay, Jason.”

But it wasn’t. Because when the men got their carryout orders and were on their way to the exit, they had to pass the booth in which Griff and Jason sat. As the last one filed past, he said, “You suck, Burkett.” Then he hawked up a gob of phlegm and spat it at Griff. It missed, smacking into the vinyl upholstery inches from Griff’s shoulder.

Their departure left a vacuum. No one moved. Griff figured everyone was waiting to see what he would do. What he wanted to do was follow the guy out and kick his ass up into his hard hat. Had he been alone, he would have.

But with Jason there, he couldn’t. He didn’t mind the embarrassing scene for himself nearly as much as he minded it for the boy, who was sitting with his head down, his hands in his lap beneath the table.

Soon the clerks and other customers resumed their business. Everyone but Jason. “You finished?” Griff asked.

The boy raised his head. “It’s not fair!”

Griff was surprised to see that he wasn’t embarrassed but angry. “What’s not fair?”

“What that man did just now. What people say about you.”

Griff pushed aside his plate and propped his forearms on the edge of the table. “Listen to me, Jason. Spitting like that was disgusting. It only made him look like an asshole, but what I did five years ago was much, much worse.” He looked through the window at the three, who were climbing back into their utility truck. “How much do you think that guy earns in a year?”

Jason raised his shoulder in a disinterested shrug.

“A fraction of what I made when I was playing football. A tiny fraction. That guy works hard and doesn’t earn as much as I spent on having my tailored shirts laundered. He doesn’t hate me for making more money than him. What he hates is that I was living the life every guy dreams of, and I threw it away. I took money for cheating. I was stupid and selfish, and I broke the law. There’s no getting around that.”

“But you’re not bad now.”

He was screwing a paraplegic’s wife for money. That was pretty damn bad. The only thing worse would be to want to screw her whether he was being paid to or not.

He’d tried not to think at all about what had happened. When he did, he tried passing it off as physiological cause and effect, sexual mechanics that, with all the gears oiled and working, had produced a predictable result.

Or as caprice. A fluke. Stars had collided, but it wouldn’t happen again for another million years.

But in whatever terms he tried to explain it, it stayed on his mind. Constantly. Every time he thought about her teeth sinking into the bottom of his thumb, he got hard, his gut tightened with longing, and all he wanted was to be inside her again.

“I’m nobody’s hero, Jason. Don’t make me into one. You want a hero, look at your dad.”

“My dad?” Jason scoffed. “What’s he do that’s heroic?”

“He loves your mom. He loves you. He takes care of you, worries about you.”

Jason, still sullen, said, “That’s nothing.”

“That’s huge.” Then, to keep from sounding too preachy, he added, “But he can’t throw a football for shit. And don’t tell him I said shit in front of you.”

“He says it all the time.”

Griff laughed. “Then he’s my hero.”

Jason started smiling again.

The following day started out like every other. Griff got out of bed and went into the bathroom. As soon as he’d peed, he consulted the calendar he’d tacked to the wall. This was his routine now. He was marking off the days, for crissake.