Skin in the Game (18 page)

The jet engines whirred to life as the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.”

A little curl of exhilaration wound in the pit of Angie’s stomach. She flew seldom enough that she still got a rush out of the speed as the plane barreled down the runway and the brief sensation of weightlessness as the wheels left the tarmac.

Cade was right. It was only one weekend. One weekend to splurge, to wallow in excess, to ignore her inner Scrooge. After that, Cade would surely accept the Jets’ offer and move to New York. Angie would go back to teaching math, coaching football, going to Pilates twice a week with Rachel, and having Sunday dinners with her dad. In other words, everything would return to normal.

So why did normal suddenly seem as dull as dirt?

Alone in the mirrored elevator of the St. Regis hotel on her way to the twentieth floor, Angie could examine herself from every angle and, as yet, she hadn’t found a flaw in her appearance.

Dress: Perfect. Hair: Perfect. Makeup: Perfect.

This was, of course, crazy thinking; any good Minnesotan knew there was always a blizzard lurking, even in a cloudless sky.

Of course, she hadn’t achieved this degree of perfection without help, starting with the personal shopper who’d met her at Saks Fifth Avenue—the real one—followed by the hairstylist and make-up artists in the salon. If Angie looked like a million bucks, it was all thanks to their patience and expertise. Well, and to Cade’s very generous credit limit.

The elevator dinged. Angie spared herself one last glance in the mirrors. Maybe she could give Haley Burroughs a run for her money after all.

When the doors opened, she walked out into the corridor and made a right hand turn toward the suite Cade had booked for the night. According to her cell phone’s clock, it was just past six o’clock. Their dinner reservation wasn’t until eight, which meant there was plenty of time for her to ruin something, even if it was just to get a run in her stockings.

She waved the key card over the lock—the first time she tried to open the door, she spent several seconds trying to find the slot for the key before realizing it was touchless, and then felt like an idiot—and turned the knob when it clicked. The spacious living room of the suite looked out over a sea of green treetops in Central Park to the city beyond. She stood in the open doorway for several seconds, just staring out the window. It was all so beautiful…and so surreal.

“Hey.”

Angie turned toward the rumble of Cade’s voice. He stood just outside the bedroom door, wearing a pair of black trousers and a white shirt that was still open at the throat. His hair was wet.

“I didn’t think you’d be ho—here yet,” she said. God, she’d almost said home. “Did everything go all right?”

He grinned like a kid on Christmas. “It went great.”

“So they’re going to offer you the job, then?” She set her purse and the key card on the small side table by the door.

“I think so. They’ll have to talk to my agent before it’s formal, but it looks good.”

If she’d been prone to dramatics, Angie might have clutched at her heart, because the knifing pain in the center of her chest was that acute. Instead, she took an uneven breath and lied, “That’s great.”

So this was really going to be it. One weekend.

She’d better make the most of it. Too bad she was already dressed and coiffed to the nines.

As if reading her mind—or at least part of it—Cade said with a sigh, “I should have made our reservation for seven. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the next two hours without ripping that dress off you.”

Reflex made Angie glance down at the dress. Sarah, the personal shopper, had accurately called the color “beaujolais” when she pulled it off the rack. Covered from neckline to hem in clear glass beads that sparkled like rubies when they caught the light, the fabric clung to her curves in a way that was both sexy and classy. With her hair done up in a French twist—a feat she would never have managed on her own—and her feet encased in a pair of designer pumps that were comfortable despite their two-inch heel, she almost could be mistaken for someone rich and famous…or at least rich.

“I hope you like it,” she said. She’d angsted between this dress and another considerably less expensive one in a pretty shade of midnight blue, but Sarah had convinced Angie that the red did more for her coloring and figure. Now she wondered if she’d made the right choice.

Cade gave her an appraising look, his eyes smoky with sensual promise. “I like you in it.

Although I think I’d like you even better out of it. And, to tell the truth, I’m probably always going to have a very soft spot for the dress you wore on our first date.”

Angie’s face flushed as heated images of that night flashed through her mind. “I’m not sure I’d call that a date, exactly.”

“Which is why we can’t give in to the temptation to do what we did that night. It’s past time we had a proper date, don’t you think?”

A slow smile pulled at her lips. Closing the space between them, she wound her arms around his neck. “Maybe proper dates are overrated.”

***

Cade had to exercise all his willpower to disengage himself from Angie’s embrace and finish dressing for dinner. It would have been all too easy to take her up on her offer and repeat their first night together, but he didn’t want that. He wanted her to know that this wasn’t just about sex for him, and if he gave in to temptation now, he’d never achieve that. With a formal offer from the Jets looming, this weekend with Angie had taken on new meaning; he had to use it to convince her that the two of them were a viable long-term proposition. He wasn’t sure how to make it work, but he knew he’d regret not trying. Football season wouldn’t last forever, and once it was over, he could return to Harper Falls until training camp started in the summer. By then, maybe he could convince her that she belonged in his world every bit as much as he belonged in hers.

She certainly looked the part tonight. As they strolled into L’Escalier, New York’s finest French restaurant, every head in the place turned to look, but Cade knew it wasn’t him they were gawking at. Although he was sure she was completely unaware of it, Angie was the most beautiful woman in the place. She would have been if she’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but dressed as she was, she looked like a movie star. He could almost see the gears in people’s heads turning as they tried to figure out who she was, where they’d seen her before.

The thought made him smile. Let them wonder which starlet Cade Reynolds was dating now. They’d never figure it out.

“Monsieur Reynolds,” the maître-d said in his heavily accented English, “it’s very good to see you.”

Cade shook the man’s outstretched hand. Although he made it a point to eat at L’Escalier whenever he was in the city, it had been longer than usual between visits thanks to his injury.

“It’s good to see you, too, Jacques.”

“How is the shoulder, monsieur?” he asked, while at the same time pulling two menus and a wine list from the caddy on the side of the host’s table.

“Right as rain,” Cade answered, rolling the joint for emphasis. “Allow me to introduce you to Miss Peterson,” he added, gesturing toward Angie.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, stretched out her hand, but the man shook his head, bowing with French ostentation.

“Mais non, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Peterson. I hope you enjoy our humble establishment.”

Cade smothered a chuckle. L’Escalier, renowned for both the superiority of its cuisine and its clientele, was about as humble as a custom-made Italian suit.

Jacques led them to the quietest corner of the restaurant. A bottle of Cade’s favorite pinot noir was already open and breathing in the center of the table. The maître-d seated them, draping the crisp linen napkin across Angie’s lap and pouring the wine for Cade to taste before filling their glasses. After ensuring everything was to Cade’s satisfaction, he departed with another showy bow.

When he was gone, Angie looked at Cade with wide eyes. “Was that Mariska Hargitay at the table by the front door?”

Cade smiled. “Probably. Robert Kennedy, Jr. is sitting to our left, and Carmelo Anthony is over by the fireplace. I’m sure there are a few more you’d recognize if the lighting were better.

A lot of famous people eat here, partly because the food is fantastic, but also because other famous people eat here. You can have a meal in a place like this without being mobbed.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Angie said. “But I’m not in any danger of being mobbed.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re dating me. People are bound to notice you and wonder who you are.”

“God, I hope not.”

Cade was a little taken aback by her vehemence. “Why?”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m from Minnesota, Cade. Isn’t that reason enough?”

He laughed. “I’m from Minnesota, too, you know.”

“But you were never a shy, retiring Minnesotan. Not even in high school. You were always a Jesse Ventura kind of Minnesotan.”

At the comparison to the colorful former professional wrestler and governor, Cade frowned. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or not.”

“Oh, definitely not,” she said earnestly. “I like Jesse Ventura.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Now I’m worried about your taste in men,” he teased.

“Hey, he’s never boring. You have to give him that.”

“He’s also a few fish short of a fry, but never mind that. I don’t believe you’re any more shy or retiring than I am. I remember what you were like in high school, you know.”

She grimaced. “You mean dorky and plain?”

“No, I mean smart and confident. You came right up to me after that first game of the season and told me exactly why we were going to lose in spite of the fact that I was the best high school quarterback in the state. Although, come to think of it, you were probably just flattering me when you said that last bit. You couldn’t have known I was the best; you hadn’t seen every high school quarterback in the state play.”

Her cheeks colored. It hardly seemed possible, but he was fairly certain she was even more beautiful when she blushed.

“God, I can’t believe you remember that. I really hoped you didn’t.”

“Why? I thought you were brilliant.”

“No, you didn’t. You thought I was a weird freshman girl with a horrible crush on you.

And you were right.”

“You had a crush on me?” He’d never had an inkling. The way she’d talked to him back then, it had never occurred to him that she was like other girls. She hadn’t acted like other girls, whose only interest in football seemed to be in the tight pants. That was probably why he remembered her, in fact. She’d been different.

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Of course I had a crush on you. Everyone did.

Well, every girl, anyway.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not. You were Homecoming King, you know. Or did you manage to forget that little detail?”

“Of course not, but I was the quarterback of the football team. My only competition was the senior class president, and Matthew Thibodeaux was a douche. He only won the presidency because no one else was running.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Angie said with a wry laugh.

Cade raised his eyebrows. “Only one?”

“Yeah. Matthew Thibodeaux was a douche. And still is.”

***

She hadn’t intended to tell him about Matthew Thibodeaux, but Cade’s unsolicited and accurate opinion of their former classmate’s character had reminded her of that very bad dating mistake in her past and loosened her tongue, Cade was adorably offended on her behalf and vowed to take Thibodeaux out behind a woodshed if it would make her feel better. The idea made Angie laugh, but as richly as the jerk deserved it, she wasn’t a bloodthirsty sort of person, despite her love of football.

Later, she couldn’t remember what else they’d talked about over the course of the most delicious meal she’d ever eaten. All she knew was that she’d never enjoyed a “date” more. By the time they left the restaurant several hours later, she was beginning to imagine that maybe they might have a future beyond this weekend. New York was big and noisy and crowded, but it wasn’t quite as intimidating as she’d feared. Of course, she could never move here—not with both her job and her father back in Harper Falls—but she could fly up to visit Cade once every few weeks, and he could come to see her, especially during the off-season. How long that would work, she didn’t know, but if being with him made her feel like this, it would be worth the effort.

And then, as they stepped out into the street, dozens of flash bulbs went off.

“I’m sorry about all that,” Cade said when they were safely back in the hotel suite. “I didn’t think anyone knew I was in town. I should have realized the press would find out and track me down.”

He was going to give Jacques a piece of his mind the next time he saw him. He had no doubt the maître’d was the one who’d contacted the press. And under any other circumstances, Cade probably would have been grateful for the attention. As it was…

Angie walked toward the bedroom, pulling pins out of her hair as she went. “It’s not your fault. I should have expected it, really. You are famous.”

Something in her tone of voice worried him. He followed her into the bedroom. She stood with her back to him, shaking out her hair.

“That doesn’t happen every time I go out, you know. It’s only because they’re speculating about whether or not I’m going to be playing for the Jets.”

“I know.” She turned to face him. Her expression was more resigned than angry. “I can’t blame them, either. It was just…startling, that’s all.”

Cade knew it was more than that. What was it she’d said? That she was the shy and retiring kind of Minnesotan. It was one thing to be recognized for her talent and skill as a football coach, but being a celebrity probably seemed to her like a form of torture. And that was what being with him would make her.

Damn it, of all the times for the paparazzi to chase him down, why did they have to choose tonight? On the other hand, after more than a year of obscurity, he had to admit to being a tiny bit pleased to be back in the limelight.