Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (8 page)

***

And hour later, styrofoam containers and half-f, grease stained paper bags litter the ottoman sitting in front of us while we watch the plays from the playoff game that cost the Rattlers their spot in the Super Bowl. I had been at the game and remembered watching as Jackson Rayborne gave Logan a run for his money. I have been thoroughly enjoying getting to slow down the game and watch each play individually, but I am getting a little irritated when Logan rewinds a particular play to watch the same hit he took thanks to Rayborne and Deshawn Poole for the third time. When he unconsciously rubs at his right shoulder, I wonder what it felt like to have Poole’s three-hundred pounds plow into him with force of a freight train.

“You hit your shoulder when you came down.” I hadn’t seen how he had taken the brunt of that fall on his shoulder until the play ran its course for the fourth time.

“I’m trying to figure out how I could have landed differently. I felt my shoulder pop when I landed and when the staff took me back to the locker room, they couldn’t get it to pop again. It didn’t hurt too bad, but they didn’t want me to play with an out of socket shoulder, so we had to check anyway.”

Remembering he had been escorted back to the locker room after the time out that followed the play, I shake my head and mentally replay the hit again.

“Could you have finished rolling so that you would have come down on top of him?” I ask, trying to picture if a full rotation would have helped.

Logan shakes his head and rolls his shoulder back. “No, he has too much weight on me. And if I had arched my back more and pulled my shoulder up, there’s a good chance he could have literally snapped me in half.”

I cringe at the idea. No doubt about it, the game is dangerous for smaller, leaner guys like Logan. Logan may have the height and muscle, but up against some of those linebackers, he’s puny. He stands and stretches, the film paused as he picks up our discarded trash. I start to stand to help, but he waves me off.

“Can I get you anything while I’m up?” he asks as he makes his way to the door.

“That blanket from the couch would be great.” I see a hint of a smile when he opens the door to his study and moves out of the way to let Hank in. The squatty pooch clicks his way over to my overstuffed chair and plops down on his butt, those beady black eyes boring up at me. Unable to handle his sad stare, I bend down to pick him up and put his overstuffed body  in my lap. He does a weird shuffle and things get awkward for a second, so I pick him back up and tuck my own feet under myself and set him back down in between the tops of my legs and the arm rest. Satisfied, he lays his cold, slobbery jowls down on my bare legs.

“Oh, Hank! That…that’s just mean.” I start to pick him back up and put him down on the floor but a soft chuckle from behind stops me.

“Hold on, I’ll get you something.” A moment later, Logan returns with his arms full. He hands me a warm, wet towel before shuffling a couple bottles of water, a pint of rocky road ice cream, a spoon, and a bottle of Gatorade into his now free hand and hands me the blanket with the other. “Here.” He hands me the blanket and I manage to swaddle me and Hank up before Logan takes the chair beside me.

“You just downed two tacos, a plate of enchiladas and half a bag of chips with salsa. How can you possibly eat ice cream right now?”

He gives me a smug look. “I really did push myself extra hard today. I could use the extra calories.”

I can’t imagine any single workout that would burn the amount of calories that Logan has managed to consume so far this evening, but I don’t question it. He hands me one of the bottles of water before picking up the remote again.

“Mind if I switch games?”

“Not at all.” I snuggle down in the arm chair, letting Hank’s soft snores lull me into relaxation while Logan cues up a game between Albany and Birmingham.

“Mmm.” I didn’t realize I had moaned out loud until Logan looks at me wide-eyed with a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth.

“Would you like some?” he asks, cringing. He clearly doesn’t want to share his junk food.

“Oh, no. Sorry. I was just thinking about the nachos at the Mo Hawks stadium.”

A curious eyebrow pops up as he takes the bite of sweet goodness. “You can’t make noises like that over nachos.”

“But they’re covered in pizza sauce, chopped pepperoni and a mozzarella sauce.”

He gives me a disapproving look as he takes another bite. “I thought New York City was famous for their pizza, not Albany.”

I shrug. “Who cares when their nachos are something angels eat?”

He chuckles before turning back to the game. The Albany-Birmingham game puts poor Logan to sleep but it does exactly what I need it to for my wired nerves. I watch until the last call is played, studying plays and analyzing players. Hank stirs as I start to unravel us from our blanket and makes quite the ruckus when I try to let him down onto the floor quietly. I shoo him from the room, hoping that I didn’t disturb Logan, but when I retreat back to our seat to clean up the discarded bottles and empty pint of ice cream, Logan is already awake and picking up his own mess.

“I can get that. You should go ahead to bed. I’ll clean up.”

He gives me a half grin, his hair sleep-tousled and his eyes groggy from his nap.

“You’re a guest. You shouldn’t have to clean up anything.” He grabs the blanket from my hands when I pick it up and start to fold it. Feeling a little too stubborn I hold on, but Logan tugs it to him with a little more force, pulling me along with the blanket. I nearly stumble but catch myself before I fall into him.

“I don’t mind at least picking up after myself.”

Something unfurls in his stormy blue eyes, taking my breath away. He gingerly reaches for my hand and uncurls it from the blanket.

“Allie.” The smooth, silky way he says my name makes the hair on the nape of my neck stand at attention and the pit of my stomach rumble. I’ve never felt inclined to swoon before, but the way he stares into my eyes and speaks so softly to me, I just might melt in a puddle right here on his study floor.

“Yes, Logan.”

“Let go of the blanket.”

And the trance is gone. I shake away the fog my head was just in and take a step back. Running my suddenly clammy palms down the back of my pants, I stand there awkwardly trying to grasp at some way to say goodnight without seeming like a rejected teenager.

“I, um…I had fun tonight.”

He finishes folding the blanket and picks up his trash from around his chair. When he stands, I see him blow out a chestful of air and consider that my sticking around is just annoying him and he’s trying to not be a jerk about it.

“I did to. Sorry I fell asleep on you. Usually it takes a third game to make me want to pass out. Must have been that workout.”

I try to smile, but just shrug him off. “Must have.”

He nods toward the door, signaling he’s ready to leave, so I cross my arms hold my chin high.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Another strained moment passes while I grasp at something to say that will make this departure a lot less painful, but nothing comes to mind, so I step out of the room and fight the urge to run back to my room and hide under a pile of pillows. I remember I kicked my shoes off in the study too late though and turn to go get them, only to run right into Logan’s overloaded hands. 

“I’m so sorry. I forgot—”

He shakes his head with a sympathetic smile. “It’s alright. Here.” He steps out of the way and I don’t waste another second trying to keep things cool and collected between the two of us. I’m just thankful that when I pick my shoes up off the floor, he didn’t follow me in to supervise. I take a moment to re-center myself with a few breaths before I try to sneak my way back to my room. I think I’m almost home free until I hear Logan call my name just as I think I’ve cleared the entryway to the kitchen.

“Hey, Allie.”

I stop, feeling like I’ve been caught red-handed, and await whatever unpleasant thing he has to say now. He appears in the doorway, his features softening when he takes in my face.

“I just wanted to say I had a good time, too.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” I stumble to my utter mortification.

He squints, trying to read something about me as he takes a couple of steps forward. When he’s close enough, he reaches out and wipes my chin with his thumb. The touch is both electrifying and confusing, while in some ways, relieving all at the same time.

“You’ve had something there all night. I couldn’t take it any longer.” His mischievous smile makes me step back aghast.

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

He shifts, shrugging one shoulder in the process. “It was cute.”

I wipe my face again, in complete humiliation. “Cute is Hank snoring so hard it makes jowls flap. Enchilada sauce on my face is not cute.”

His eyes laugh with delight at my outburst and all the awkward tension melts faster than a snowman in July.

“Thanks for a the best date ever,” he says softly.

“It wasn’t a date. You said so yourself.” He smiles confidently at my mocking him. He takes a couple of steps backward, that flirty side of him making a rare appearance.

“Admit it, best date of your life.”

I huff, playing along with this new banter, hoping it won’t ruin whatever credibility I might have earned with him. “You wish, Lassiter.”

He stops and looks like he considers something but doesn’t say whatever he’s contemplating. Instead he shakes his head and runs a his hand over his face before smiling brightly and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Good night, Allie.”

“Good night, Logan.”

And with one last small smile, he turns and makes his way up the stairs and disappears into his room without another look my way. My heart does a little dance at the thought that not only did we end the night on a good note, we haven’t had a single fight all day.

And only one word floats through my head as I lay it down on the feather-stuffed pillow a few minutes later.

Progress.

Chapter Eight

My hopes are a little high the next morning. Watching films with Logan seemed to put us on even ground, but I didn’t get enough to put together the teaser the editor for
The Report
wants by the end of the week. I have every intention of getting something I can actually use from Logan today, even if I have to get creative in our conversations.

Logan grins from behind a mean green smoothie when I enter the kitchen in search for the heavenly smelling breakfast the next morning.

“Morning. Your favorite is in the oven.” He gives me an ornery smile, sending my soaring hopes even higher.

Pulling open the door and peering in, I correct him. “Second favorite. But I’m not being too picky so I’ll forgive the lack of cheese sauce.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

Finding my own fork and taking my breakfast to the table, I feel his eyes follow me across the kitchen. I turn to make myself some coffee, lost in thought on how I might get him to open up tonight. My insides stiffen when his soft voice comes from the table he wasn’t anywhere near a second ago.

“So I’ve been thinking.” He sets his cup on the table and takes the seat across from me, picking up the remote for the TV and muting Stacy and Colin’s dimwitted banter.

“Me too. But you go first.” I push the button for the largest cup of coffee and brace myself.

“No, you first.”

Logan’s knuckles clutch his cup a little too tightly and I panic at what could be possibly going through his head.

“Ok, well. I need to turn in a piece of my article at the end of the week. Nothing huge, but I have to have something. So I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind trying an interview again tonight.”

His fingers relax which surprises me. The coffee stops trickling behind me and I give it half my focus in doctoring it up while bracing myself for his response.

“Funny, we’re thinking the same thing.” I peer over my shoulder to find him smirking again. No Mr. Hyde here this morning. It’s only a matter of time though, I remind myself.

“I need to get more than your favorite food and whether you prefer the plum jerseys over the charcoal ones though.”

His nose scrunches in annoyance. “Definitely the gray ones,” he replies disgustedly. Trying not to spit my mouthful of coffee across the table, I sit down and pick up a piece of bacon.

“I’m going to have some personal questions, Logan. Stuff you may not want to answer, and you can’t just walk away when things get too personal.”

He nods as he takes a gulp of his green concoction. “I know. That’s what I’ve been thinking about, and I think I’ve come up with a way to suffer the invasion.”

I mimic his signature deadpan look and try not to glare. “You know that’s not my intention.”

“I know, but if I have to suffer it, then I think it’s only fair that you do the same.”

I nearly choke on a forkful of scrambled egg whites. “You want to ask me personal questions?”

“I just want you to answer your own questions.” He shrugs.

I take a slow sip of coffee trying to determine his end game. “Is this a ploy to keep me from asking too personal of questions?”

He shrugs again before taking another drink. “I think it’s fair that I only have to answer questions you’re willing to answer yourself.”

I think about it for a second, going through my current list of questions and answer them for myself. There are a couple that I would need to get creative to answer without giving too much of my sordid past up, but I think I can manage it. “Okay.”

A small grin tugs at the corner of his lip before he chugs the last of his smoothie. “Alright. I’m grilling tonight. It’s supposed to be nice. We can eat on the patio and then we can have your little Q and A.”

Excitement wiggles its giddy head into my chest and I finally feel like I’m getting the breakthrough on Logan that I desperately need. I’ve wasted two days already. I can’t afford for tonight’s session to go badly.

***

After triple checking my questions and my own answers to them, I decide to venture out on the patio after my workout. The pergola style roofing gives just enough shade to keep the glaring afternoon sun from feeling like it’s frying my skin. The quiet alcove is spacious with a full patio set to seat at least eight with a state of the art grilling station on the far side. An ivy of some sort climbs the outer lattice wall, winding and curling around the archway that leads out to the big, green backyard. I could easily picture the Lassiter family lounging around back here, Hank hiding out under someone’s chair instead of playing fetch with Lucy like the yard would be perfect for.

The space is perfect to roll a yoga mat out without disturbing any of the furniture, and that’s exactly what I do. Setting myself up, I kick off my sneakers and pull off my socks, letting the ambiance of the whistling wind and chirping birds seep into my brain, and relax my tense muscles. I’m just getting through my first few stretches and finding a rhythm in my breathing when I hear the door to the kitchen open. Only feeling a little guilty I’m outside in running capris and a thin tank instead of jeans, I don’t break my routine. When Logan doesn’t come tearing through the house to get me to go back inside to put jeans on, I let it go and finish stretching and finding balance.

I finally make it through my stretches and am relaxing in savasana when the French door opens and the scent of Logan’s soap—which is quickly becoming my favorite scent—fills the air.

“I thought I told you to not come out here without jeans on?” His quiet tone tells me that I’m on my own when it comes to snakes if I continue to ignore his warnings.

Opening one eye, I find him standing over me watching my belly rise and fall.

“I can’t do yoga in jeans.” I close my eye and continue my breathing. I imagine his jaw ticking when I exhale hard and it makes me smile.

A second later, I hear his voice from across the patio. “Well, I won’t be holding your hand when I have to take you in for an anti-venom shot.”

There are only a few things that would have encouraged me to move faster. Checking out my surroundings to make sure that he didn’t move because there was one near me, I see Logan’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“That wasn’t very kind of you. Why did you have to say that?” I roll the shivers out of my shoulders and set about putting my shoes backs on and rolling up my mat.

“Because snakes are a big deal around here. I’ve taken every precaution to keep the area around the house clear, but I found a little guy in the gym once so—”

“You found a snake in the gym?!” I consider standing on a chair.

“Just once. I’ve taken extra precautions since then.”

“When was that?”

“Last week.”

Last week?!? I start making my escape plan until I hear him chuckle.

“Allie, I’m kidding with you.”

“So you didn’t find a snake in your gym?”

“Oh, no. I did, but it was like a year ago. I just need you to be careful please. I don’t think either of us would appreciate it if you got hurt while you are staying here.” He looks over his shoulder and casts a sad gaze my direction.

“Fine. I’m going to put some jeans on.”

I think I hear him murmur “good girl,” just before I step inside.

***

“That was a fantastic dinner. Thank you.” I push my plate away and pick up my glass of tea. Seeing him settle back in his seat, stretching his long legs out beside the patio table and watching his long finger skate over the condensation on his glass brings a smile to my face. I hope his stance is indicative to how well this conversation is going to go.

“You’re welcome.” He pulls his aviator shades over his eyes, blocking the sun shining through the exposed ceiling.

I pull my feet up under me and try to come up with some type of segue into the questions I’d like to start getting answers to.

“You do yoga.” His random statement makes me choke on my drink.

“I do.”

He nods and picks up his glass, stopping to hold it in mid-air. “And you run.”

“And you play football.”

His lips twitch at my smart-alec remark. “I do.” He takes a sip and finally gets to his point. “What do you like to do for fun? Something not football related.”

I have to stop and think about that. Working out isn’t something I’d say I do for fun, and I’m not sure that there’s anything in my life that doesn’t revolve around football.

“You do realize that if I have to answer my own questions, you do too, right?”

The right side of his top lip curls up in a smirk. “Fair enough, but I asked first. So…”

I think about it for another second and try to come up with something. “I love the beach. I could spend hours just laying out with a good book or finding a group to play volleyball with.”

“Do you get to the beach often?”

“I don’t live far from the Bay, but to get to the coast, it’s about an hour drive. Sometimes more depending where I want to go.” I set my glass down and pick up my phone. Holding it up, I give him a questioning look. He nods and I turn on the voice recorder app and set my phone between us.

“What about you? What do you do for fun?”

He takes a moment to adjust in his seat. “I um…I spend time with my family. My sisters are very active in school.”

I smile, remembering Lucy’s exuberance and wonder if she is a cheerleader. I could totally see her bopping up and down cheering on the boys on Friday nights.

“I thought Emma is in college?”

He visibly swallows and wiggles in his seat. “She, um, she is. Her major is public relations and marketing. She’s also in every club a person could be interested in. She helps organize some pretty outstanding fundraisers.”

I pull over my notebook and jot down a note to check local papers for mentionings of his being present at said fundraisers. He cranes his neck to see my notes and cocks an eyebrow up.

“What? I can do research on the fundraisers you go to tomorrow while you’re working.”

“I don’t go to them.”

“What? Why not?”

He gives me a signature deadpan look and something dawns on me. “You donate, but you stay out of the limelight.” 

“It’s not always by choice. I’m not one for stealing the spotlight for causes that need it. Most of the time Emma agrees with my stance. But also, some of them go on while I’m on the road, so.” He shrugs and picks up his glass again.

“So I looked it up, but I didn’t find any organizations that you endorse. What’s up with that?”

He presses his lips together and inhales through his nose slowly. “Same principal. I don’t want to pull the spotlight away from any cause by putting my name next to it. That’s not my style. Doesn’t mean I don’t donate anonymously though.”

“And I suppose you won’t tell me which ones?” He shakes his head and I shake my own, kind of blown away by all the perspectives of that thought process. “Have you ever thought that putting your name on something might actually draw more needed attention to a cause simply because you put your name on it?” I let my fists fall to my lap and pull my feet out from under my knees.

“You sound like Emma.”

“She’s a smart girl. And more likable than you right now.” I jot down another note to look into organizations that could use Logan’s endorsement.

“Your turn.” His clipped voice tells me I’ve stepped on a land mine and at any second this conversation could come to an abrupt halt.

“During the off season I do work with some local projects similar to Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I also…” I swallow, hoping that he won’t read more into what I’m about to admit. “I also do some work with runaway teens.”

He pulls his glasses from his face, narrowing his eyes at me. Yep, he definitely picked up on something. Time to move on.

“So tell me about Cassady. What’s the story there?”

Those glasses go back on his face a moment later and that jaw clenches up so tight, I think his mandible might need to be broken if he ever plans on eating real food again.

“There is no story and if you want to continue, I suggest you move on.”

Oh not a chance there, pal. “So the thorough checking out I received yesterday was totally justified. She watched my every move so intently I was afraid I might have to file harassment charges.”

He actually scoffs. “She has nothing to be concerned about. She lost that right long ago.”

I keep my lips zipped shut, praying he’ll expound. No such luck.

“What about your most recent serious relationship?”

“So she was your girlfriend. Serious then?”

“I asked about yours.”

“You haven’t clarified what Cassady was to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about Cass. I want to talk about your most recent boyfriend.”

“Then we’re done.” I stand, picking up my phone and killing the recording app. Out of the corner of my eye I see Logan cross his arms with a smug look on his face when I pick up my notebook and turn on my heel.