Barbara Dunlop - An After-Hours Affair

Laughing, she tried to pull away.

But he held her still. “See, it fits fine.”

“I’m not taking your ring.”

“Why not?” Grinning, he kissed her palm. “It’s not like I’m going to use it again. You want to go steady?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Her smile disappeared. “Don’t do that.”

“I was just-”

“I know how you feel, Mitch. Don’t mess around.” She determinedly tugged off the ring.

He opened his mouth to explain. But what could he say? He’d done nothing but make his position on a serious relationship repeatedly and abundantly clear to her for the past few weeks.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She dropped the ring back into the box. “Nothing to be sorry for.” Then she pasted a determined smile on her face, snapped the wooden box shut and set it back on the shelf. “You’ve had an amazing career,” she bravely carried on, but there was a warmth missing from the tone of her voice.

“You’re what’s amazing,” he told her honestly, but she shifted away.

He wanted to kick himself. He’d hurt her feelings again. Hurt her feelings, frightened her and forced a cool distance between them, when all he wanted to do was carry her back to his bed and make love to her, or maybe just hold her in his arms for the next few hours, or days or weeks.

After Mitch’s stupid slipup about going steady last night, Jenny had left his house. It had been nothing but a joke, but it had obviously rattled her. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

This morning, he was frustrated and in no mood for Cole’s interference. He glared at Cole across his office desk. But Cole didn’t back down, parroting Mitch’s words. “No, this is absolutely not rich, successful Cole Maddison, throwing poor, pathetic Mitch Hayward a bone.”

“Then give me an explanation.”

“The explanation is that you should get your head out of your ass.”

“You’re saying the White House randomly thought of me? A washed-up quarterback from Royal, Texas, who hasn’t won a significant sports award in nearly a decade?”

“No. Someone at the White House probably watched your touchdown rush in the Folder Cup, saw your charitable endorsements to Childhood Special Teams, read about your work with underprivileged teenage players, noticed the hundreds of thousands of hits on your fan site and heard about your Youth Outreach Award from the governor last week! ”

“Keep your voice down.” Mitch’s office door was closed, but Jenny could arrive at any moment.

“Then listen to me. This is not some fabricated, make-work, patronage position invented out of pity. You’d have a staff, a budget, three regional offices and a mandate that covers the country.”

Mitch drew back, trying to wrap his head around the unexpected proposal. “And it’s the President’s council.”

“The President’s Council on Physical Fitness.” Cole’s voice was flat, his frustration still evident. “You’d be the Director for Children and Youth.”

Mitch tried to picture it, but couldn’t.

“Listen,” said Cole, backing off and plunking down in one of the two guest chairs at the front of Mitch’s desk. “It sucks that you got hurt. It truly does. But you did, and you can’t change that. So, you can sit around and cry about it, or you can pick yourself up and dust yourself off, and get going on the rest of your life.”

Mitch resented Cole’s implication. “Have I, ever once, come whining to you in self-pity?”

“You’ve got a lot of self-discipline. I’ll give you that. But actions speak louder than words.” Cole glanced around the big office. “In December, this gig’s going to end. And then what?”

Mitch had been trying hard not to think about that. But Cole was dead right on that count.

“And it has to be in D.C.?” Mitch forced himself to think through the potential of the unexpected offer.

“You gotta be where the action is. Part of your job will be to schmooze senators and congressmen to make sure the program is well funded.”

“I don’t schmooze.”

Cole barked out a laugh. “After the embezzlement and sabotage here two years ago, you nearly single-handedly brought the TCC back from the brink of disaster to a solid, thriving organization.”

Mitch gave a snort of disbelief. “If this paternity thing with Brad blows up…”

“I’m sure you’ll deal with that, too. My point is, you do know how to schmooze. You’ve got the gift for talking anybody into anything.”

Mitch knew he could hold his own when it came to persuasion. He’d never thought of it as lobbying, but he supposed that wasn’t too much of a stretch.

“And your celebrity doesn’t hurt one little bit,” Cole continued. “Plus, you’ve proven your ability to engage young people beyond the realm of sports. I can’t imagine anyone more perfect for the job.”

“Do you need a soapbox of some kind to stand on?”

“Was that a joke about my height?”

Mitch barked out a laugh at Cole’s unexpected response. “Emily really got to you over the short thing, didn’t she?”

“Emily…has seen the light.”

“Congratulations on that, by the way.”

Cole gave a nod of acceptance. Then he waggled his brow. “Take a look.” He reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a black velvet box, handing it over to Mitch.

“You’re going to ask her?”

“I am.”

Mitch snapped open the box to reveal a big square-cut diamond surrounded by miniature sapphires. Something hitched in his stomach, and he found himself thinking about the ring he’d offered Jenny last night. Stupid.

He had nothing in him but a joke, while Cole was ready to take a lifetime plunge.

“You worried?” he asked, genuinely curious about how Cole could be so certain about his decision.

“Not really. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

That wasn’t what Mitch meant. But he had to admire Cole’s confidence. “As long as you’re sure.”

“What’s not to be sure about?”

“It’s for the rest of your life.”

“Hey, when you know, you know.”

Mitch closed the box and handed it back. Would he know? Should he know? Did he know?

“Did you like the ring?” Cole asked.

“It’s fine,” Mitch answered absently.

Cole grinned. “You couldn’t give a damn, could you?”

“Not in my frame of reference,” he lied, pretending he wasn’t thinking about putting more than just a football ring on Jenny’s finger.

He shook away the ridiculous idea. This was a brand-new infatuation, a knee-jerk reaction to his career ending. And if he tried to make more of it, tried to force it, he risked hurting Jenny even more than he already had.

“D.C., you say?” he asked Cole.

“Yeah. Why do you keep asking?”

When he thought about leaving, Mitch’s thoughts went straight to Jenny.

There was no good choice in all this.

“Go to D.C.,” Cole insisted. “Check it out. See if it fits. If it does, you’ll have a great Beltway office. You’ll be doing good for the youth of America. It’ll keep you out of trouble. And they’ll pay mileage on your jet.”

Mitch drummed his fingers on the desktop. He supposed there was no harm in talking. And, who knew, maybe they’d be willing to wait a few weeks, or maybe a couple of months. Surely by then his relationship with Jenny would have run its course. She’d probably be itching to be rid of him.

“You’ll keep this to yourself?” he asked Cole.

“Won’t tell a soul. Not even Emily.”

Especially not Emily. If Mitch did this, if he did this, he’d have to be very careful about when and how he told Jenny in order to keep from hurting her.