Superstar Page 10

  “Okay, mystery man, what’s the big deal?”

  His eyes snapped back to hers, and he shook his head, trying to dislodge the fantasy of her mouth on his. “No mystery.” He looked down at the remaining food on his tray and then pushed it away, no longer hungry. “You’ve seen the documentary Broke?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty depressing.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  He lifted his brow, surprised at the vehemence of the word as it left her mouth. “Money management—that’s the topic.”

  She paused to consider him, and he could tell by the derisive look on her face that she had an opinion on the subject.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you know about money management? Actually, let me rephrase. What do you have to know about money management? Don’t you have someone who does that for you?”

  He fought the smile that threatened. He had known she wouldn’t make this easy, and she didn’t disappoint. He didn’t mind talking about this, and her attitude was unsurprising. There was no way in hell he’d be telling her the topic of his next speaking engagement.

  “Yes, I pay someone to manage my money. And I have Tilly always whispering in my ear about making sure I stay on top of it, telling me I need to be as fluent about my portfolio as I am about the plays we run.”

  “He’s such a know-it-all,” she teased.

  He snickered. “Yes, he is.”

  “Okay, so you know how much money you have. What can you possibly tell these kids?”

  Her skepticism amused him.

  “It started in college.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I always had a plan for my scholarship checks. I mean, I paid my rent and bought food. But I also paid myself a little from every check.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “I can’t even remember who told me to do that, but I stashed a little bit of every check—for emergencies or stuff. I was always on Iman to do the same, but he had his little obsession with tats and shoes.”

  She laughed. “Little?”

  “Exactly. Look, no kid comes to college, knowing what to do with their money. For a lot of them, it’s the first time they’ve ever had any money, let alone their own money. You throw the Pell Grant in there and then this miscellaneous expense stuff? That’s a lot of money to be responsible for.”

  “How do you know about the miscellaneous expense?”

  He hated the answer he had to give her. “Hawk keeps me informed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course he does.”

  “I only know the basics, that kids get it on top of their scholarship check to cover other expenses like travel.” He waved his hand, trying to encompass all the little things. “I’m not an expert. I don’t want to be. But, if one kid will listen and try to be responsible for the money coming into and out of his hands, then that’s good enough for me. I just want them to be aware. Because, once they leave here, it’s not Monopoly money anymore.”

  “Monopoly money?”

  “It just seems like it when you’re in college. You’re not thinking about what’s next, right? Tuition is paid automatically. We used to get money for our room and board. Even if you blew money on something you shouldn’t have, you wouldn’t starve because you were going to get food. Monopoly money. No one is tracking it; no one is asking you what you are doing with it.”

  “That’s an interesting perspective.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “What was the biggest surprise for you when you got out?”

  “With money?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tank didn’t have a ready answer. He should have, but it took him a moment to come up with one. “Taxes.”

  “Like you actually do your own taxes.”

  He laughed. “Absolutely not. But we have to pay taxes in every state we play in. Say I work for four hours a year in Green Bay; then, I have to pay Wisconsin taxes. There’s not even a chance I could do my own taxes.”

  He expected a laugh or a smile out of her, but her attention was diverted to the TV behind him. He glanced up, seeing a mirror view of what she saw, and he felt the ease between them evaporate.

  Madison’s image dominated the screen. She was standing outside of a stadium, reporting on her take on the upcoming draft. They both continued to watch. Whatever she was saying swallowed up the din of the conversations going on around them. His gaze dipped from the TV back to Amber, and he watched her watch Madison. He’d have given anything to know what she was thinking. Her jaw tightened so subtly, he would have missed it if he hadn’t been studying her so intently.

  “It’s over,” he murmured. It slipped out, a confession not required and said so softly that he questioned whether it’d actually come out of his mouth.

  When her eyes dropped back to his, he knew he had. Her lips parted, like she was going to say something. Then, she shook her head and returned her gaze to the TV. When Madison flipped it back to the studio, Amber began to bus her spot, placing her plate and utensils back on the tray with deliberation. He didn’t want to have this conversation here—really, he didn’t want to have it at all—but he had to say something.

  She was about to stand when he reached out and placed his hand on top of hers.

  She glanced up at him with some unnamed emotion swimming in her eyes. He thought she was going to pull her hand away, but she stilled instead and waited for him, granting permission for him to speak.

  Suddenly nervous and mentally kicking himself for his lack of preparedness, he blurted the first thing that came to his mind, “It’s done. I wouldn’t have come here if Madison and I were still together.”

  He silently pleaded with her to understand. She nodded, a movement so slight that he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “This is going to sound bad, but you have to trust me on this.” He knew he was taking a chance, using that word, but he didn’t know any word comparable. “Madison and I, we’ve always been more friends than anything else.”

  She scoffed, pulling her hand from his.

  He snapped his hand back from the table and held both of them up in surrender. “Friends with benefits, absolutely. But that’s all it’s ever been. For both of us.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations, Tank,” she said as she stood. “I gotta get back to work.” She picked up her tray, dished out a strained smile, and headed toward the conveyer belt where the dirty dishes belonged.

  He tracked her the whole way as she smiled at some of the players and nodded to some of the staff. He watched her as she placed her tray down and spoke briefly to the guys in the kitchen. Even as she walked out the door, his hungry gaze stayed trained on her.

  Fuck. Today wasn’t supposed to end like this.

  In the battle for her heart, the score was even.

  Tank—1, Amber—1.

  Amber grabbed the steaks from the fridge and arranged them on a platter to haul out to the grill. She’d marinated them this morning, knowing the guys would be over for the Sweet Sixteen games. Their printed-out brackets dangled from the magnet on her refrigerator with hers on top. She was up on both Steele and Nicky and feeling pretty confident that her winning streak would remain unbroken.

  The noise from the TV and the preparation for dinner kept her hands and mind occupied. She pulled out vegetables and cheese and went about fixing up a plate. Amber enjoyed entertaining and cooking. Inherited from her Italian grandmother, she loved when her house was full of people, and she was feeding them.

  Three years ago, she’d craved only solitude. Now, solitude was her worst enemy because time alone to think meant unwanted thoughts about Tank Howard.

  Like the fiasco of lunch. When she’d scurried from the dining hall earlier in the day, she’d gone directly to her office where she quickly barricaded herself behind her closed door. As she leaned against it, she struggled to catch her breath. There’d been a moment when she forgot about the sordid past she shared with Tank.
She looked at him and saw only possibility. Then, Madison Shepard’s beautiful face filled the screen behind Tank. It was like an artist’s odd rendering of everything she wished for overshadowed by a harsh reality. He sat in front of her in all his casual beauty, but the specter of Madison was larger than life.

  Amber sighed and continued chopping broccoli and carrots, the sharp blade of the knife against the raw vegetables therapeutic. When the front door opened, she continued her work.

  “Honey, I’m home,” Nicky joked. “And I brought company.”

  Amber didn’t even lift her head. She kept chopping and waited for Nicky’s entrance.

  “Just fire up the grill,” Amber said. When his greeting registered, she quickly looked up, suddenly nervous about whom Nicky brought to her house.

  “Y’all know each other, right?” Nicky said as he turned the corner and headed to the fridge, depositing a six-pack of beer before picking up the steaks from the counter. “Oh, good. You made extra. I thought I’d have to share mine. And you know I don’t like to share my meat.” He laughed at his stupid comment.

  But Amber was too busy studying Tank to do much more than roll her eyes.

  “I hope you don’t mind me crashing the party,” Tank said.

  The knife was paused midair as Amber gathered herself. The consummate hostess, she never turned away anyone—from Nicky’s obnoxious cousins to occasional women he’d show up with. So, she plastered a smile on her face when Tank stopped to look at her, waiting for her approval.

  “No, no problem at all.”

  Nicky smiled wide. “I figured you’d love to pick his brain. You appreciate good football more than anyone I know. So, for bringin’ a soon-to-be legend to your house, I’m thinkin’ I get the biggest, primest steak tonight.”

  Amber found herself on the verge of laughter as Nicky flashed a proud grin in her direction. She looked at Tank, who seemed to be enjoying himself—whether at her expense or Nicky’s, she couldn’t be sure.

  “Steele’s not here yet?” Nicky turned and moved toward the sliding door off the kitchen without waiting for the obvious answer. “I’ll get the grill started. Almost game time.” With a lazy pull on the door, he scooted sideways through the opening and disappeared onto the deck.

  Tank fidgeted and ran his hand over his head, the familiar gesture causing Amber to stare fixedly at him. His eyes darted all around. She knew the look on his face. It was a mirror of her own from her venture into his house four weeks ago. Curiosity. Interest. He wanted to study everything about her house. He didn’t have to say it because she recognized the look in his eyes.

  His gaze settled on her. They stood, transfixed.

  He moved toward her, and her hand clenched in anticipation on the knife. She felt the edge of the wooden handle, the raised rivet biting into her finger. He slowly kept coming. When he was inches from her, on the side of her body, he raised his hand, and his finger swept up the side of her neck, tracing along her scar. He dropped his hand and took a slight step away. She struggled to keep her reaction masked, but every particle in her body heaved a silent, breathy sigh.

  “I’ll go if you want me to,” he said low. “I drove myself, so I can leave if you say the word.” He drew a shuddering breath that reverberated within her. “But please let me stay.”

  It would be so much easier for her if she forced him to go. She knew he’d make it easy on her, providing an excuse to Nicky, exonerating her.

  An image of Madison flashed in front of her, the carrots and broccoli disappearing in favor of Tank’s beautiful friend with benefits. She forced herself to make a final cut, the snap of the crisp vegetable like a shot in the room.

  The front door opened, and Tank took another step away from her. The space between them was greater, but the heat of his body near her warmed her right side. Steele stepped into the kitchen before Amber could grant or deny Tank’s request. He faltered at the threshold, like he’d hit some invisible force field.

  Amber made herself look directly at Steele before she abandoned her chore and stepped to the fridge. “Need a beer?” she asked the room at large.

  “Hey,” Steele said. “Yeah, to the beer.”

  Amber handed one to Steele, but Tank declined with a shake of his head when she moved to give him one. She kept it for herself, knowing she was going to need it.

  Steele popped the cap, pulled open the hidden garbage can, and dropped it in before he turned to Tank. “What are you doing here?”

  Amber noted the antagonism in Steele’s voice, and she looked at Tank, confused.

  “Nicky invited me,” Tank said confidently, no trace of the pleading man from moments before.

  “Figures,” Steele returned with a roll of his eyes. Then, he turned to Amber. “You okay with him being here?”

  His attitude pissed her off. She didn’t appreciate Steele being rude to a guest in her house. She narrowed her eyes, aware they saw her bristling at the question.

  “Yep,” she said shortly. She picked up the appetizers she’d been working on and shoved them at Steele. “Why don’t you both go keep Nicky company while I finish up in here?”

  Dismissed, they turned toward the deck door and trudged out, their normally easy camaraderie noticeably absent. With them gone, she finished with dinner, mulling over Tank’s presence and Steele’s attitude.

  After the less than ideal beginning, Amber expected the tension-filled evening to drag out. But, once they ate and parked themselves in front of her TV, they settled into the familiar atmosphere of trash-talking and critiquing.

  “How can they call that blocking? His feet were planted. It’s clearly an offensive foul,” Amber lamented when her team’s foul count put the other team in the bonus.

  “He was still moving. His right foot wasn’t set. You’ll see on the replay,” Tank explained.

  “Whatever. Offensive foul,” she repeated.

  Tank chuckled, and she couldn’t resist looking his way.

  Amber thought she was familiar with Tank’s arsenal of expressions, but when he glanced over at her while they waited for the replay, some previously unknown sentiment was there. She couldn’t name what she saw, but the rawness of the unguarded moment—something like longing and tenderness—took her by surprise. It was a look she feared because a vulnerable Tank was one she didn’t think she could resist.

  He noticed her looking at him and glanced back toward the TV. The moment was gone when the slow-motion foul flashed on the screen, and then their eyes met again. This time, he smirked at her—enjoying being right about his assessment, she guessed.

  Shrugging like she didn’t care that he was right, she stood. “Anyone want another beer?”

  Nicky and Steele nodded in answer, unaware of the moment between her and Tank.

  She needed a reprieve from him. Walking into the kitchen and placing her hands on the counter, she inhaled a Tank-free breath. She cleaned up the remnants of her cooking. Normally she insisted on the boys’ help, but the mindless tasks of loading the dishwasher and wiping the counters helped to clear her head.

  The dynamics in the next room were troubling. Aside from the situation with Tank, she worried about Steele. His antagonism with Tank earlier had been odd. But, now, it almost seemed as if she’d imagined it because he and Tank had been fine once they started eating dinner. She’d never hung out with the both of them, so she wasn’t sure of the interaction between them. Tank hadn’t even seemed bothered by Steele’s posturing when he first arrived, so maybe he was used to it. She couldn’t be sure, and she had no desire to broach the subject with either one of them. She finished up and grabbed the promised beers. Taking a deep breath, she made her way back into the fray.

  “Dude, you’re tappin’ that?” Nicky asked as he glanced at the TV and smacked Tank on the arm.

  Amber stood, motionless, waiting for Tank’s answer.

  “Nah, man,” Tank answered.

  He was in the exact spot as when Amber had walked out earlier. His big body took up a sect
ion of the couch with his legs spread and his elbows resting on his knees. He looked relaxed, but Amber could see the tightening of his jaw.

  “Whatever,” Steele scoffed.

  Amber took a step back, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

  Tank turned his head toward Steele. Even from her vantage point, Amber could tell that Tank was pissed.

  “Lamarcus, you might want to keep your mouth shut since you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Who says I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Steele stared at Tank with some thinly veiled anger in his eyes.

  Then, he glanced up as if he detected Amber standing there. Tank turned his head, following the direction of Steele’s gaze. Both men studied her. She shrugged, hopefully showcasing her indifference to the whole conversation. Nicky looked up, too, and held out his hand for the beer.

  “How’d you even meet Madison?” Nicky asked Tank, oblivious to all the tension in the room.

  Steele scoffed. “I introduced them.”

  His answer stunned Amber. “You did?” Her question sounded loud in the room. Glancing back and forth between Tank and Steele, she waited for one of them to answer her.

  “He did,” Tank confirmed.

  There was no inflection to his answer, and Amber had no idea what to make of it.

  “Damn, Steele, you never told me you knew her.”

  “Barely,” Tank said. “She came here to interview Steele after his injury.”

  Amber swiveled back and forth with the tennis volley of information being cast between them.

  “Really?” she asked, incredulous.

  Steele nodded. “Tank brought his doctor to check on me, and Madison was here for an interview about the kid whose career blew up so spectacularly on national television in front of millions of viewers. Real human-interest story,” he finished sarcastically.

  “Complete vulture,” Tank agreed.

  Then, they both laughed, the tension seeming to drain away.

  “So, you’ve been dating her for that long?” Nicky continued.

  Amber wanted to hit him with the bottle in her hand. She couldn’t believe his cluelessness.