Rough & Ready Read online

  No wonder Vivi was grinning like a madwoman when I walked in the door.

  The bouquet is gorgeous, a veritable visual cacophony of colors and shapes that has me grinning from ear to ear. And that’s before I open the card.

  I already know who it’s from, last night’s challenge to Tanner in the forefront of my mind. But that doesn’t mean I don’t melt when I read, “I don’t know which one’s your favorite—yet—so I got one of each.”

  And oh my God. Oh. My. God. What am I supposed to say to that? And how the hell am I supposed to keep perspective when a man goes out and buys me—me—over a hundred different flowers, just because he doesn’t know my favorite.

  It’s mind blowing. Heartwarming. Terror inducing, because as I stand here, face buried in all these glorious flowers, I can’t help thinking that Tanner Green has more game than I ever suspected. And he’s using it on me, the woman who’s spent her whole life as just one of the guys.

  I don’t know how I feel about that, but I do know that my knees are a little weaker now than they were a few minutes ago—and it has absolutely nothing to do with the knee injury that ended my career. No, this weakness is all Tanner inspired.

  God help me.

  I know I should take a step back, know I should walk out of my office and away from this insanity while I can still keep my shit together. Because a guy who would do this for a girl like me…is a dangerous, dangerous man. One I should run from.

  Or, I think for the first time, one I should run to.

  In the end, I do neither. Instead, I reach into the bouquet and pick out the one perfect, beautiful sunflower. And melt all over again.

  I give myself five more minutes to swoon. Five more minutes to pretend all the reasons I have against getting involved with Tanner don’t matter. Five more minutes to twirl the sunflower between my fingertips and dream…

  When the five minutes are up, I slide the flower back into the vase and get to work on figuring out how to make my fall expansion plans for Rebound come true. And if I find myself glancing at the flowers every few minutes while I work, well, nobody needs to know that but me.

  Just about an hour after I rolled up my sleeves and started trying to slash my budget, there’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I call without looking up, totally lost in thought as I try to figure out just how bare-bones I can make our activity budget and still keep decent programming.

  Vivi sticks her head in, an even bigger smile on her face than what she was wearing earlier. Right away, my radar goes off, even though she’s not carrying anything.

  “What’s up?” I ask, not even trying to hide the suspicion in my tone.

  “You’ve got another delivery.” She’s practically dancing with excitement, all but rubbing her hands together in glee.

  Her empty hands, which only make me more suspicious. “Where is it? Why didn’t you bring it in?” Already I can feel my stomach fluttering with nerves as I try to figure out what Tanner’s done now.

  “Because I don’t think it’ll fit.”

  “What do you mean?” I push back from my desk, more confused—and excited—than ever. “What is it?”

  She just shrugs, then turns and walks away.

  I follow her—of course I do—despite the fact that I’ve got a million and three things to do this morning. But I can’t resist seeing what Tanner’s done now.

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting when I walk up to the reception area at the front of the center, but it’s not the man dressed in clothes from one of the largest moving companies in the city.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, trying to figure out what’s going on. My gaze jumps from him to the large delivery truck idling at the curb in front of the center.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He holds out a clipboard to me. “We’ve got orders to deliver some equipment to this address.”

  “Some equipment?” I glance down at the invoice, then nearly fall over. Because “some” is an understatement of massive proportions.

  According to this invoice, they’re delivering three treadmills, two elliptical machines, a couple exercise bikes and a variety of weight machines—plus a free weight station, a bunch of balance balls, and a state-of-the-art sound system as well.

  “What is happening here?” I ask when I can finally tear my eyes away from the invoice. “I didn’t order any of this.”

  I glance at Vivi, but she’s just nodding and grinning, like having tens of thousands of dollars of equipment delivered is the most normal thing in the world for us.

  “You didn’t have to. All you have to do is sign for it and point us to where you’d like us to set it up.”

  “Yeah, but…who did order it?” Even as I ask the question, I know the answer. Because, really, who else would do this?

  “It’s courtesy of the San Diego Lightning, ma’am.”

  “The Lightning?” This is getting crazier and crazier.

  “Yes. We picked it up from their storage facility an hour ago. Now, if you’d tell us where to put it, we’ll get to work making sure it’s all set up and ready to go for you guys.”

  And just like that, Tanner Green hijacks my morning…and a tiny little piece of my heart. Because, really. What man sends a room full of professional exercise equipment to a woman he’s trying to woo?

  One who knows her better than she wants to admit.

  Chapter 11

  It takes six hours, but we finally get the new equipment room up and running. Getting it that way pretty much hijacked my day, but I’m certainly not going to complain about it. Not when the kids have been coming by all afternoon, peeking their heads in, eyes wide and starstruck.

  After checking things out, they disappear for a while, chattering excitedly as they make their way back down the hall only to come back half an hour later to see if the room is “done yet.” Honestly, I’m not sure what’s more exciting to them—having a gym full of professional equipment to work out on or the fact that that equipment came from their favorite team. And, even more important, their favorite athlete on that team.

  He’s fast becoming my favorite athlete as well.

  I stand in the middle of the room, surveying the difference six hours and one baller with more heart than sense can make. And wonder how the hell I’m supposed to keep from falling for Tanner Green.

  I should call him and thank him—for the flowers and for all of this. The only problem is, when I refused to give him my number, I didn’t take his number, either. Which means until he contacts me, I am completely out of luck, unless I want to crash training camp again. Which I absolutely, positively, do not. Making a massive fool of myself once this month is about all I can handle.

  Still, I can’t help at least trying to find out where he lives—that’s why God made Google, after all. Except famous people make a point of burying their online info specifically so people can’t find them and Tanner is no exception. I pour through thousands of hits and none of them is an address.

  That doesn’t mean what I do find isn’t interesting, however.

  His bio on the Lightning’s website says he was a first-round draft pick after he placed second for the Heisman his senior year at Ole Miss (one of only eleven O lineman to even make it into consideration in the history of the trophy).

  ESPN teaches me that he’s considered the nicest guy in professional football (not that I needed them to tell me that) while Over the Cap explains why he’s the second-highest-paid Left Tackle in the league, with a four-year contract that totals almost sixty million dollars.

  On one of the big, unauthorized fan sites, I learn that his mother died two months before he signed his first pro contract and that his grandfather was one of the original Freedom Riders with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Which, wow. Just wow. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be even more impressed by him, but obviously I was wrong. There are thousands of pict
ures, too—some on the field, some off—but nothing to tell me how I should thank him, short of having a singing telegram delivered to training camp. The fact that I’m thinking about it shows just how insane he’s made me…and just how much I want to hear from him again.

  Which is a problem, considering I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Promised myself I wouldn’t fall for this guy, no matter how decent he is. Because those pics of him showed a lot more than him in a Lightning uniform. A lot of them also showed him out on the town with dozens of different women.

  Just because he’s a great guy doesn’t mean he’s not a player, I tell myself as I snap my laptop shut and head to the private bathroom I had put into my office when I bought the Rebound building. Even then I’d known I would sleep here sometimes and I wanted a place to take a shower that was just mine, one where I didn’t have to worry about kids or staff walking in on me.

  And while there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to stay right here all night reading articles about Tanner, I’ve got a gala to get to and donors to charm—something I won’t be able to do if I show up in tennis shoes and dust-covered athletic gear.

  With that thought in mind, I take a quick shower, spending only enough time in it to rinse the dust off and shampoo and condition my too-long hair. Once all the soap’s gone, I dash through my beauty routine—which is pretty spare to begin with. Deodorant, a little face powder, a couple swipes of mascara and lipstick, a spritz of perfume.

  My hair takes longer since there’s so much of the stuff. Halfway through drying it, I almost say fuck it and twist it up into my ubiquitous topknot. But I’m out to charm tonight, which means looking my best. And that means styling my unruly curls to within an inch of their life.

  Twenty minutes later, I finally decide they’re as good as they’re going to get. I put down the blow-dryer and brush and make a beeline for the dress hanging on the back of my office door.

  Long and red with an unapologetic slit up the left side that shows more leg than most women even have, I bought it for a song during my last trip to Paris with the Phantoms. I’ve never been much of a shopper, but something about this dress got my attention our first night in town and didn’t let go until I finally sucked it up and bought the thing.

  Now it’s my favorite go-to dress, the one I put on when I want to feel absolutely fabulous.

  The crisscross straps of the bodice don’t allow for a bra, so I slip it on over a pair of red lace panties and nothing else. Add a pair of gold kitten heels—any higher and I’ll absolutely dwarf most of the male donors—and a matching pair of big, gold hoops. A few bangle bracelets on my left wrist, another spritz of perfume, and I’m finally ready. I just hope I look good enough to shake some loose change out of the pockets of San Diego’s biggest donors…

  I grab the gold evening bag I fished out of the back of my closet this morning and stuff it with the bare necessities—the gala ticket, my ID and credit card, a hundred bucks in cash and my favorite red lip gloss. Another quick look in the mirror to make sure neither my nipples nor my panty line are showing and I’m out the door.

  I stop at the front desk to talk to Billie, Rebound’s assistant night manager who’s also pulling double duty as our front desk receptionist since Faina had a family emergency.

  Billie whistles when she sees me, the sound attracting the attention of several of the kids in the commons area—including Miguel, who is still here, and Marlowe, who opened the place this morning and seems in no rush to go home.

  It makes me think about her mom’s boyfriend, makes me wonder if there’s already something going on there that I should be concerned about. Making a mental note to follow up with her tomorrow morning, I wave at them, then do a little curtsy in response to the numerous complimentary shouts that are being leveled at me.

  “Wish me luck,” I tell Billie, who reaches out and squeezes my hand.

  “You won’t need luck, not dressed like that.” She lets go of my hand, only to reach into the desk and pull out an envelope. “By the way, Vivi wanted to make sure you saw this before you went out.”

  That doesn’t sound good. “What is it?” I ask, reaching for the envelope with a frown.

  “I don’t know. It’s got Tanner Green’s name on it, though.”

  “Tanner? Why would it—” Then it hits me. “This must be the donation he gave when he was here yesterday.” With everything else going on, I haven’t given it much thought. But now that the envelope is in my hands, I have to admit that I’m curious.

  “I still can’t believe he showed up here during my off-hours,” Billie says, and it’s very obvious that she’s pouting over it. “The Lightning are pretty much my life and I’m at home sleeping when Tanner Green just waltzes into Rebound like it’s any other day.”

  “To be fair, it probably felt like any other day to him. Considering he doesn’t need to rely on a chance meeting to get to know himself.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me, but I’m too busy tearing open the envelope to respond. I pull out the check, figuring it’ll be generous because Tanner has proven that he is over and over again. Then nearly have a heart attack when I realize what I’m looking at.

  “Elara, are you okay?” Billie’s voice changes from joking to concerned as she lays a supportive hand on my shoulder. “You just turned really pale.”

  I don’t answer her. I can’t. Instead, I turn the check around so she can see the bold, black strokes of Tanner’s signature—and the five round zeroes that follow the one.

  “Is that” —her voice breaks and she starts again—“Is that what I think it is?”

  “If what you think it is is a check for one hundred thousand dollars, then yes.”

  “Tanner Green donated a hundred thousand dollars to Rebound?”

  “Apparently so.” And I didn’t even bother to get the man’s number. Screw embarrassment. Tomorrow I’m going back to training camp. And this time I’m behaving like a human being while I wait for the chance to thank him properly.

  “A self-contained gym and a hundred thousand dollars.” Billie’s eyes are as bright as her fluorescent yellow T-shirt. “So it’s not just hype. Tanner Green really is the nicest guy on the planet.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  Then again, that’s not exactly a surprise. I knew it by the time he went home yesterday—which is why I chased after him and offered him a cup of coffee. And why I let him leave without my number.

  Because a guy who would do his best to make up for something that wasn’t even his fault, a guy who would listen to me talk about what I want for this place, for my kids, and then do his best to make it happen, is a guy worth keeping around. And that scares me way more than I want to admit.

  “Are you going to call him?” Billie asks when I don’t say anything else.

  “I don’t have his number.”

  She looks at me strangely, then taps the back of the envelope I’m still holding. “Sure, you do.”

  Heart thudding in my chest, I turn it over—and realize she’s right. I’ve had his number all along. The knowledge sends a brand-new set of nerves skittering down my spine even as it makes me feel like shit. “He must think I’m a total bitch.”

  First the donation, then the flowers, then the weight room. I should have called him three times over—or at least texted him a thank-you. Instead, I let the whole day go by without so much as a word, which is pretty awful behavior in anyone’s book.

  Billie must agree, because she doesn’t contradict me. Instead she says, “Text him now. Explain what happened. If he’s not a total egomaniac, he’ll understand.”

  I’m not sure she’s right, but I’ve got to do something. And I owe him a thank-you, at least, even if he won’t accept it because of the delay.

  I pull out my phone, start to text him. Then erase what I wrote. Then type it again.

  On and o
n I do this, over a dozen times. Until Billie snatches the phone out of my hand and presses send herself. I watch in horror as the message wings its way across time and space to land in Tanner’s phone.

  “I didn’t have a chance to read it over,” I hiss at her. “To make sure it says everything I need it to say!”

  “It doesn’t,” she answers. “But standing there rewriting it twenty times won’t change that fact. I’m the first to say you’ve got a lot to say to that man, but we both know you’re not going to do it in a text.”

  “A text is the best place to say it,” I tell her. “It’s a lot less messy that way, a lot easier to control.”

  “Welcome to life, Elara. It’s random, unpredictable and messy as fuck.”

  “You don’t need to sound so happy about that fact.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Get going, Cinderella, before the ball runs away without you.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re mixing your fairy tales,” I say with a laugh. But she’s right, so I stop staring at my phone obsessively waiting for him to answer and slide it into my purse. Then I slip the check back into its envelope and hold it out to her. “Will you put this in the bank deposit pouch? I’ll take it first thing in the morning.”

  “Absolutely.” She pops the gigantic bubble she’s been blowing and does exactly that. “If you get going.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.”

  Billie rolls her eyes again. “Yeah, I can tell.”

  I don’t bother answering her as I head out to my car. I’m still reeling from the check, still reeling from everything Tanner has done for me—for Rebound—since he walked through the gate yesterday morning. Especially when he didn’t have to do any of it, and would have been well within his rights to ignore me after I went off on him in front of his teammates.

  He didn’t, though. Instead, he came here to check out the place—and me. Once he figured out we were both legit, he’s done everything he can to help us make ourselves better.