Superstar Page 9

  Her life had gotten infinitely more complicated in the last week, and she found herself scattered and jumpy.

  She blamed Tank.

  Not because they’d had a conversation or because he’d approached her or interfered in her life in any way. He’d been in town for a week and she’d barely seen him.

  And that’s the problem, she reluctantly admitted to herself. Damn Steele for his hasty declaration about Tank, and damn Tank for his inaction. She huffed out a breath powerful enough to blow her bangs away from her face.

  When Steele had told her that Tank came for her, she’d met his statement with a morbid sense of anticipation, disbelief, and horror. Because she wasn’t quite certain she could handle a direct confrontation with Tank—for so many reasons but mostly self-preservation. She’d prepared herself, even practiced what she would say to him, how she would deny him. In front of her bathroom mirror, she’d turned him down—gently, harshly, and somewhere in between.

  With the distance of a week and too much time in between to think, she was no longer certain of what she would say if he decided to talk to her.

  How did she go from dreading a conversation with him to hoping they’d at least run into each other?

  Word on the street said he was around a lot. Yet she hadn’t even seen him since she came upon him in Steele’s office, an encounter that hardly counted because they didn’t talk to each other. She was an allied army with intelligence pointing to a sneak attack. She strategized for a frontal onslaught, but now, she wondered if she should have prepared to be flanked. No matter the plan, she’d grown so restless and careless that she considered darting out into the open as bait.

  Sick of the introspection, she turned on the radio. Needing some upbeat music, she pulled up her workout playlist and hit play. Ready to leave, she shifted into reverse. Glancing up from the rear camera display, she watched from her parking spot as the double doors to Ayers opened.

  Tank appeared in the open space between them, his head down as he perused his phone. She observed him from her hidden vantage point, a guiltless voyeur. He wore gray sweats with the Atlanta emblem emblazoned high up on his thigh. His loose-fitting T-shirt billowed around him, except where it hugged his biceps, prominently flashing the taut muscles. His black socks and slides rounded out his post-workout clothes.

  She remained poised over her steering wheel, her hand squeezing the gearshift, constricting in rhythm with the slightly faster pacing of her heart. His scent drifted around her, an imagining of her olfactory glands as they wept for a chance to experience his distinctive smell. Unconsciously, her left hand rose and rubbed her nose. She started to wonder how long she could continue to stare at him when his head snapped up, and his eyes found hers.

  Ah, there you are.

  Their connection was all clichés—electricity, heat, zing—a veritable writer’s feast of words to describe their conductivity. Her fight-or-flight response kicked in, and she almost jammed her foot down on the pedal to reverse out of there as quickly as possible. Before she could make a move, her hand slammed the gear into park, and she almost laughed as her internal battle produced such automatic responses in her body while her head and heart duked it out.

  A reluctant grin formed, and Tank must have seen it because his mouth responded in answer. He pocketed his phone and made his way over to her. In an effort to create some distance, she rolled down the passenger window, forcing a door, a seat, and a console in between them. He ducked down, dropped his elbows on the ledge, and then leaned forward. An infinitesimal part of her pictured the window rolling up, closing down the opportunity, but then he spoke, and her mind started conjuring all sorts of other endings.

  “Hey, Sunshine.”

  Normally, his nickname grated and chafed against the nerve endings of her pride, but the murmur of it soothed everything out, and she smiled softly.

  “Hey there, Superstar.”

  He grinned. Then, he dropped his head and shook it. “Always got a comeback.” He chuckled.

  She smiled cheekily, enjoying him. His green eyes twinkled in amusement, and she found she liked the expression on his face and her responsibility in getting him to light up like that.

  “You just leaving now?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you get here at five again?”

  She arched her brow in question. Then, she shrugged. “Yeah. Stalk much?” Even as the sarcastic retort left her mouth, warmth seeped through her at the thought of him knowing her schedule.

  He merely smiled in acceptance, like he would have been disappointed with any other response. “I see your car when I get here in the morning.” He didn’t seem to expect a response, so she didn’t offer anything up. “Have you eaten? Because I’ve been following my nutritionist’s meal schedule for me to a tee, and my body wants to cheat.”

  Amber snorted. “Like that’s a shocker.”

  He closed his eyes in dismay, realizing what he’d said, and regret settled into the lines of his shoulders. “Real smooth,” he muttered before looking up at her again. “Shit,” he sighed.

  Amber rolled her eyes, feeling sorry for him for some stupid reason.

  “I thought this place was famous for barbeque. Any chance I can get you to go to dinner with me?”

  His gaze didn’t waver as he looked over at her. The earlier amusement had faded, dulling the pretty green depths. She’d still never seen such beautiful eyes on anyone else. His black lashes stuck out long and straight, framing the translucence. Watching him, she fell right into them, caught in their focus. If he’d vacillated she could probably figure out a way to say no. But his draw was too much, and she found herself nodding.

  “Get in. I’ll drive.”

  She saw the surprise but pretended not to, glancing down to grab each of her bags and transferring them to the backseat. Tank opened the back door and placed his duffel bag down before getting in.

  “Nice ride,” he commented.

  She nodded as she put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot. “Yeah, it was all Franco. He insisted, and I resisted for a while, but then I figured, why not?” She dished out a smug smile before she whipped the car out of the parking lot and flew down the road. Maybe she wanted to impress him a bit with her mad driving skills, but mostly, she needed some control between them, and if she could only capture it as she drove, it would have to be enough.

  “This place suits you.”

  “You got that from being here for one week?”

  He nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”

  She wondered if he would elaborate, but when he seemed content to let the silence hang between them, she cranked her playlist and drove. His confidence in her place filled her in some way. It was the dangerous thing about Tank Howard.

  Even three years ago, when they’d briefly been together, he’d shored her up, given her strength, and made her want things she hadn’t known she’d want again. She remembered how long it had been since she really laughed, how old and decrepit hers had sounded. By the time they were over, she took it back. All those pesky little pieces of herself she’d tried to get rid of after the accident, she Humpty-Dumptied them so that she was whole. There was some saying about being able to take something away, causing the smallest ripple—like an Olympic diver making the tiniest splash. Walking away from him was like that. He’d given her so much of herself back that when he crashed in such a spectacular fashion, she was able to move on and grow.

  It didn’t take them long to get to Piggy’s, a complete dive of a building with the best barbeque she’d ever tasted. Tank didn’t even bat an eyelash when she pulled into the sandy parking lot and turned off the car.

  “I swear, the food is amazing,” she qualified as she made her way out of the car.

  He followed her through the heavy wooden door into the dimly lit bar. There were flashing neon beer signs and picnic tables for dining. Decorating the walls were pictures of past football greats. No one in this town even pretended to care about other
sports, so all the pigskin paraphernalia was appropriate.

  Amber took a table in the back corner. The waitress was quick to come and take their orders before heading off to stand at the bar, casting longing looks in Tank’s direction.

  “That happen a lot?” Amber couldn’t help but ask.

  “What?”

  She scoffed. “The fangirl stuff.”

  He chuckled. “I guess. I don’t really pay attention. The places I hang out at home, the people know me, so they don’t make a big deal out of it. Every once in a while, if some of us go out together, we can attract a crowd, but for the most part, I hardly even notice.”

  “How’s training?”

  He placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, leaning forward, eating up some of the space between them. He smiled wide. “It’s good. I like being in a different place. The change of scenery was a good idea.” He paused as the waitress dropped their beers on the table. Then, he returned his gaze to her. “I feel more focused, ya know? And it’s been great, having Steele to throw to.”

  Amber choked on the sip of beer she had just taken. “Steele’s catching balls for you?” she asked, not even trying to disguise her surprise. “How’s he doing? Is his leg holding up?”

  Tank’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

  She shook her head.

  There was confusion on his face, but he shook it off. “He’s doing awesome. I’ve had a blast, having his hands waiting for me down the field.”

  “Still your one regret?” The question flew out of her mouth, the filter gone. Another Tank Effect.

  He looked away and shook his head before returning his gaze to her. “No. I have a much bigger regret.” He let the statement sit between them, his eyes boring into hers. As quickly as the seriousness had descended though, he flashed a smile and said, “But, yes, I regret never having the chance to play with Steele.”

  Their food arrived, and they moved on to small conversations, nothing more personal than their current favorite players and their preseason predictions. As they finished up, they got into a heated battle about who would win each of the divisions and who would make it to the Super Bowl.

  Tank grabbed a napkin. “You got a pen in your purse?” he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’re talking a lot of smack right now about my team. I’m calling your bluff.”

  She smiled and then shrugged before digging a pen out of her purse.

  “Go ahead,” he said, “and write your division champs and Super Bowl winner on one side. I’ll write mine on the other. And we’ll see who wins.”

  “What does the winner get?” She could feel him drawing her in like a Venus flytrap, and she didn’t even care. She enjoyed him, his company, his wit, his intelligence.

  His eyes twinkled. “Winner’s choice.”

  Amber grabbed the pen and wrote down her selections. Then, she passed it to him, facedown. “No looking,” she declared.

  Laughing, he slid the napkin toward him, the side with the writing down. Picking up the pen, he scribbled his picks. Then, he looked up. “Do we get to compare now?”

  “Absolutely not. After the Super Bowl.”

  He smirked. “I’ll probably be at Disney World.”

  She laughed loudly. “Such a cocky bastard.”

  He winked at her, and she laughed harder.

  “Okay, so who gets to keep it?”

  “I do.” She pulled it back from him and grabbed her wallet. Folding it up, she slid it into one of the compartments. Picking up her phone, she pulled up her calendar and looked to the next year. When she scrolled through, she clicked on Monday, February 6, and typed in, Super Bowl Predictions Unveiled. Then, she pulled up Invitees and glanced up at him. “What’s your email?”

  As she waited for him to respond, she briefly considered the easy camaraderie between them. He should come with a damn warning—highly likable, unbelievably beautiful, shockingly down-to-earth. She found herself wondering how three years as one of the NFL’s most recognizable players hadn’t changed him much, hadn’t changed their dynamic much.

  They continued to stare at each other until he recited his email. She clicked Send. His phone dinged, and he slid it out of his pocket. He glanced down at the alert and snickered.

  Looking up at her, he said, “It’s a date.”

  Tank knew exactly what he was doing when he entered the training table—the dining hall reserved for the players—and handed his debit card to the gatekeeper. There’d been no training table at Kensington State, so this was a new experience he enjoyed. He imagined, if he had to formulate a list of things he would have liked as a college student-athlete, access to good food would have been one of them. He looked around and deliberately picked a table somewhat out of the way. He tried hard not to draw attention to himself. This was an experiment in switching tactics. He’d done the avoidance thing with Amber, and he could appreciate its effectiveness. But, after their night at the barbeque joint, he wasn’t okay with staying away from her.

  There was a moment, a split second really, when the men on the field part, much like the Red Sea, with an opening only wide enough for a sure-footed athlete to tiptoe through before dodging the tackles on his way to a touchdown. Tank considered his dinner with Amber one of those moments because, much like those first tentative steps in the direction of a hole, once he’d made the move, she opened up in front of him.

  Their impromptu dinner a couple of nights ago had strengthened Tank’s resolve. He hadn’t meant to waver, but once he settled into her place a couple of weeks ago and spent time with Steele, he questioned his decision to barge into her world. Among other things, how would they make a relationship work with their jobs? He couldn’t be away from Atlanta long, and she wouldn’t be able to leave either. The logistics seemed impossible. They didn’t own their weekends. Tank had pictured her with him in Atlanta. But, now, he knew she belonged here. She was amazing at her job, and when he’d told her she fit here, he’d meant it. So, why bother to go down a road neither of them would be able to follow? He’d almost conceded. Then, he’d stepped outside one evening, and she’d been there, studying him.

  He’d enjoyed glimpses of her since, and it wasn’t enough. If anything, their dinner had made it all that more important. They were so beyond the physical connection she’d always been okay with exploring. On some fundamental, basic level, he needed her—not just in his bed, but also in his life.

  He walked leisurely through the cafeteria, checking his choices. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Amber he stuck to his nutritionist’s plans. Here, it was easy to meet her exact standards. Every dish had the nutritional content broken down.

  He couldn’t resist slipping his phone out of his pocket and snapping a quick picture to send to his dietician, especially after his cheat session the other night. While he had it out, he glanced at the time, knowing Amber would be there soon. So, maybe he had been stalking her a little—just enough to know what time she arrived in the morning, what days she worked out, when she ate lunch, and when she left. He’d come by the information rather haphazardly because, much to his disbelief, she was a creature of habit.

  He grabbed what he wanted and then made his way to his table. He just sat when she walked in, and she instantly zeroed in on him. The only indication of her reaction was an almost imperceptible widening of her eyes that most people would have missed. She nodded to him before taking a tray and getting food. It was like she knew exactly what was on the menu because she didn’t stop to read the placards, nor did she look around. Like everything, she had a purpose. He noticed a slight tightening of her hands on her tray when she went to get a drink, and he smiled, knowing she was figuring out what to do. He hoped she wanted to see him as badly as he wanted to see her.

  Amber pushed her cup against the drink lever, and he could discern the internal battle as she gnawed on the corner of her lip, a spot he liked to think of as his. Placing her glass down on t
he tray, she turned abruptly and made her way to him. He didn’t even try to look away. What would be the point of that? He was beyond trying to pretend with her.

  “Hey,” she said as she took the seat across from him. “How are you?”

  Tank leaned back in his chair, basking in his view. Her dark hair fell straight, past her shoulders, and she let it hang, covering her scars. He had to stop himself from reaching across the expanse of the table to cup her jaw.

  “Hey. All’s good.”

  She messed with her tray, taking all the plates off before moving it to the side. When she was done, she looked over at him. “How’s the food?”

  He looked down at his untouched lunch and then chuckled. “I’ll let you know.”

  Her gaze followed, and she colored slightly. Then, she shrugged. “But you’ve eaten here before, right?”

  “I have, and it is good. I like that I don’t have to think about what I’ll be putting in my body. I’m a big fan.”

  “Ah, still feeling guilty about cheating the other night?”

  She winked at him, lessening the blow, and he grinned.

  “Worthy cause.” He pulled his gaze away from her, forcing himself to concentrate on the food in front of him.

  They ate in silence, both watching the TVs strategically placed around the room. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but he couldn’t come up with a suitable topic of conversation.

  “So, you’re our mystery speaker tonight, huh?” she asked.

  He’d wondered when the topic would come up. “I am.” He didn’t elaborate.

  Smiling, she said, “That’s all I get?”

  “What more do you want?” he quipped. Whatever you want, you can have.

  She picked up her drink and took a long sip on her straw. Tank’s stomach bottomed out as he watched her wrap her lips around it, release it, and then lick her lips with a swipe of her tongue. His gaze dropped, and stupid followed. If he had to speak in that moment, he was sure only gibberish would come out of his mouth.