Barbara Dunlop - An After-Hours Affair

“Delivery for Mr. Hayward,” the young man announced. He crossed the room and perched the envelope against her upright in-basket, holding out the tracking device.

Jenny took it and scrolled her signature across the grayed window. “Thanks.”

“Have a good day.” He gave her a salute of acknowledgment while he turned to leave.

As the door swung shut behind him, she ripped the perforated tab and reached into the depths of the cardboard pouch, extracting a smaller manila envelope. She retrieved a letter opener and sliced through the paper. Inside, she discovered four VIP tickets to tonight’s football game in Houston. The Texas Tigers versus the Chicago Crushers.

Her mood slipped another notch.

Like any good Texan, she loved football. And the last three times Mitch had been sent complimentary tickets to a nearby game, he’d invited her to join the group. But those days were obviously over.

A folded note slipped out of the envelope, and she opened it up. The jet will be at the airport at four, it read. Bring a date. It was signed by Mitch’s friend and teammate Jeffrey Porter.

“Jenny, can you please look up-” Mitch stopped short.

A jolt of guilt hit her. Which was ridiculous. She opened Mitch’s mail all the time. There was nothing on this package to indicate it was personal. And it wasn’t. He was a football player. He received packages from his team with some regularity.

“The tickets?” he asked, moving forward.

She nodded. Bundling them along with the note back into the manila envelope, pretending everything was perfectly normal in her world. “They say the jet will be at the airport at four.” For a split second, she wondered who his date might be, but then she quickly cut off that line of thinking, mentally admonishing herself.

She rose to deposit the empty cardboard packaging into the recycling bin.

She heard Mitch behind her, the envelope rustling. He was clearly reading the enclosed note.

Determined to banish the annoying jealousy, she turned and moved briskly back to her chair.

But she no sooner sat down than perversity made her speak out. “So, who are you taking?”

He went still, and she had to fight the urge to glance at his expression. She focused on picking up the scattered bits of cardboard from the envelope tab. She rolled them between her fingers and tossed them in the wastebasket.

Then she straightened a stack of papers on her desk, returned her letter opener to the drawer and lined up three pens in front of her phone.

Mitch’s voice was a deep rumble. “Do you want to come to the game, Jenny?”

She forced out a little laugh. “Of course not. That would be silly.”

“You can join me if you’d like.”

She looked up to where he stood above her, tone tart. “I would not like.”

Her words dropped into silence.

His gaze held hers, and for a long moment she couldn’t breathe. He seemed to be searching deep into her eyes.

Then his lips compressed, and his broad shoulders drew back beneath his suit. “You do understand why I’m no good for you, right?”

“Absolutely.”

He was no good for her because there were hundreds of beautiful women out there who were perfectly willing to throw themselves at a star quarterback. And Mitch was a star quarterback who wanted to be in a position to catch them.

She was a fool to ever think she could hold his attention. She wasn’t a movie star. She wasn’t a supermodel. And she sure wasn’t a bored debutante looking for a walk on the wild side.

“It has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you,” he said.

“You do know that’s the oldest line in the book.”

“In this case, it happens to be true.”

“Well, that would be a first.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve heard it before?”

“Not me, specifically,” she admitted.

He snorted out a cold laugh. “Can we stop?”

“Sure.” She turned to her computer, pretending to read an email while she waited for him to walk away.

“That’s not what I meant,” he finally said.

She didn’t turn back. “Then what did you mean?”

“I’m inviting you to a football game.”

“And I’m turning you down.”

Mitch tapped the envelope against the desktop. “You’re making way too much of this.”

At that, she did turn. “You’re the one who won’t go away.”

“Because you’re being ridiculously stubborn. You love football. Come out and have some fun.”

“I have plans with Emily tonight.” They were going out manhunting, tonight and every Friday night until they found the right guys.

“Bring her along,” Mitch countered.

“She doesn’t like football.”

“She likes private jets. And there’ll be a VIP party after the game.”

Jenny found herself hesitating. He was right about Emily liking the VIP world. In fact, she could almost hear Emily’s voice now, extolling the virtues of a party chockablock with single male notables from the Houston area. A target-rich environment was how she’d describe it.

And Jenny did want Emily to find the right man. Emily’s talk of getting pregnant while she was still single had Jenny worried. Single parenthood was a grueling struggle, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

It wasn’t like she’d have to stick to Mitch’s side, either at the game or at the party. In fact, she could mostly ignore him. It would be a big party, full of other guests.

“You and I won’t be alone at all,” Mitch assured her, breaking the silence.

The unexpected statement surprised a laugh out of Jenny. “Are you afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?”

“No.” He didn’t smile, and he didn’t elaborate. His gaze remained steady on her eyes, and for some reason she thought he meant the opposite. But that was crazy. Sexy, famous Mitch could easily keep his hands off staid, plain Jenny.

Still, a buzz of awareness shimmied through her system, and she silently berated herself for the weakness. How long was it going to take for these ridiculous feelings to go away?

“Fifty-yard line,” he added.

“You think that’ll tempt me?”

“Yes, I do. Row four.”

Okay, she was tempted. But she promised herself that it had nothing to do with spending time with Mitch. They were great seats. And it would be a great party. And she had four brand-new outfits to choose from.

Plus, she knew Emily would love the trip. Emily had been incredibly supportive and unbelievably patient all week long. The very least Jenny owed her was a target-rich VIP party.

An optimistic smile twitched Mitch’s lips. “You’ll be able to smell the sweat and hear the cuss words.”

Jenny made up her mind. “Wow. What girl could say no to that?”

The Tigers won the game twenty-one to six, so the mood afterward at the Moberly Club party on Galveston Bay was celebratory. With Emily’s wholehearted approval, Jenny had worn navy leggings and royal blue leather ankle boots, topped with a flirty denim miniskirt and a shimmering peach tank top. They’d done the makeup thing again, put in her contacts and pulled her hair back in a messy knot, topping the whole outfit off with dangling silver earrings.

Jenny wasn’t used to men’s interested gazes following her progress while she crossed a room. But she steeled herself, squared her shoulders and ordered herself to relax and have a good time. There was a dance band playing in the corner. She’d ordered a bright-colored cranberry martini and took a first sip. When Cole Maddison asked her to dance, she accepted cheerfully and slid off the bar stool.

The club had been closed for the team’s private party, and everyone seemed to know everyone else. Most of the players were built for strength and not agility, so the dancing caliber was mixed. Their laughing efforts made Jenny relax, and she gave herself over to the music.

Across from her, Cole did the same. He was under six feet, and much slighter than all the other men around him. But his movements were smooth and practiced. His smile was broad. And she felt emotionally safe in his company.

“May I cut in?” came a deep voice at her side.

Jenny glanced up to see Jeffrey Porter’s bright smile. She’d met him a few times over the years, and she knew he was a good friend of Mitch’s.

She looked to Cole, who shrugged his shoulders and raised his palms, backing away to the beat of the band.

Jeffrey wore a white cotton dress shirt and black jeans. His skin was olive-toned, and his jet-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck. In her experience, he was invariably friendly and jovial. All the other players seemed to like him.

The band switched to a slower number, and he drew her into his massive arms. “We should take this nice and slow,” he spoke in her ear. “I’m not the most graceful guy on the floor.”

“No spins or dips?” she teased.

“It’s for your own safety, ma’am.”

She laughed. “Nice catch out there, by the way.” She referred to a late game play in the end zone where Jeffrey had leaped a good five feet to snag the ball and score a touchdown before smacking into the turf.

“Thank you. Mitch would have drilled it straight to me, saved me a bruise or two.”

“You think?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Cooper’s a decent quarterback. But Mitch is psychic.”

Jenny drew back. “Psychic?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Does he ever give you any stock tips?”

It was Jeffrey’s turn to laugh, and his brown eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“My 401(k) could sure use the help.” Jenny spotted Emily across the dance floor in Cole’s arms. In her ultrahigh heels, they were nearly nose to nose. Her expression looked tense, her movements stiff, and Jenny couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong.

“My salary’s just fine,” said Jeffrey. “But I expect my career to be short.”

Jenny’s attention went back to Jeffrey. “You do? Is something wrong?”

“I’m going by the mathematical odds. It’s tough out there.”

Jenny cringed reflexively in sympathy, remembering some of the hits Jeffrey had received in the game. She leaned in. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m always in pain. But that’s not the same as being injured.” He nodded toward the perimeter tables. “Now, Mitch there. He’s injured. And his physiotherapy regime is brutal.”

Jenny glanced sideways to where Mitch stood in a group of other players. He gazed intently at her, with what looked like anger simmering in his darkened eyes.

She missed a step, but Jeffrey quickly caught her, tugging her close. “Whoa, there, missy.”

“Sorry,” she breathed, refocusing her attention. What on earth was the matter with Mitch now?

Mitch watched from the sidelines at the Moberly Club, while out on the dance floor Jeffrey flirted with Jenny. Though he knew she was too smart to be taken in by Jeffrey’s smooth talk, he was tempted to warn her away from the man. Or maybe he should order Jeffrey to stay away from her. It might be his responsibility to make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Jeffrey was to stay well away from his assistant.

He straightened away from bar, intending to do just that.

“Well, hello, stranger.” A tall, leggy blonde sidled up to him.

“Misha,” he greeted, recognizing the former wife of one of Houston’s many oil executives. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Back from Paris last week,” she purred, resting her elegant, manicured hand on the arm of his suit jacket. She was a former model, born and raised in Germany. She’d had a brief but profitable marriage in Houston. Word on the street was that he’d ended up with the sports cars, while she got the Tigers’ season tickets.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked dutifully, even though he’d prefer to spend his time confronting Jeffrey.

“But, of course.” She took his hand and moved to the dance floor.

Misha, it turned out, had spent the past few months traveling, perfecting her tan in Tahiti, visiting a game preserve in South Africa and dedicating a new museum wing in Prague. She offered to show him her all-over tan, but Mitch graciously declined.

His next dance partner was just back from St. Kitts. It seemed she’d bought a little bungalow beside the ocean. She’d taken up snorkeling. She throatily informed him there was a hot tub on the balcony of her hotel suite, and then hinted that she’d like to show him how long she could hold her breath.

Mitch honestly didn’t remember these parties being quite so crass. By midnight, all he wanted to do was head for the hotel, take an aspirin and crawl under the covers.

Alone.

But then his gaze caught Jenny.

She was in the corner talking to Emily, being handed another martini. A green one this time. She seemed to have developed a taste for exotic drinks. And he didn’t know what had gotten into her with the clothes lately.