Chapter Eight

At the soft knock, Lance crossed the living room area of his suite and swung open the door.

His breath caught as he took in Charlotte, her hair pinned up in one of those twisty things women did. Her dress was black and came all the way up to the neck, but her sleeves were sheer, and there was something really hot about that. He still couldn’t believe what she’d said about the guys she’d met at the speed dating event, and how they weren’t interested in her. Did she not realize she was beautiful? Not that she’d allow him to tell her, because it’d break the rules.

To keep himself from blurting out something he shouldn’t, he focused on finishing up the knot in his tie. “You could’ve just used the key I gave you instead of having to knock. This is our office for the time being.”

“Yeah, but it’s different since our actual office doesn’t usually have a bedroom on one side, and there’s not a possibility of me walking in on you changing.”

“I could change in my office in the city.”

“Which is why I’ll knock on both your office doors before entering,” she said, a self-satisfied smirk to her lips, as if she’d proven her point.

He strode over to the table to grab his wallet. “How’s your room?”

“Exceptionally nice. I sort of feel like I don’t belong there—maybe you should’ve booked me at a different, less fancy hotel. Or do they have a room in the basement or something? I’d feel more at home there.”

He scrunched up his forehead and stared at her, trying to figure out whether or not she was joking. Maybe a little bit, but he got the feeling she truly wasn’t that comfortable with being treated well, and that scraped a nerve. Why did she always downplay what she did, how she looked, what she deserved? “Between all the long hours and being willing to come along on this trip, you deserve that and then some.”

“Thank you.” She reached up and rubbed the side of her neck. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your family time, either. If you need a break from me, just say the word and I can make myself scarce.”

“The whole point of you coming along—besides getting all our work done—is so my mom can’t play matchmaker. I don’t have time for that nonsense. Not the matchmaking, not the dating. None of it. So I’m going to need you by my side at family functions, too.”

“Oh, so I’m your beard?” she asked with a laugh, way too amused at herself.

“Funny.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “I’ve already got a beard. One my mom will probably tell me I need to shave before the wedding.”

Charlotte took a few steps closer and examined him. “It’s a nice beard. It suits you.”

“Oh, hey. An actual compliment.”

“Compliments aren’t against the rules,” she quickly said.

He couldn’t quite figure her out. Most of the time she was the uptight rule follower—and spouter—but there were these moments she’d suddenly be surprisingly laid-back. Like on the beach earlier when she’d been laughing and kicking water at him, her hair swirling around her smiling face.

It’d caused an oddly pleasant tightening sensation inside his chest, and he wasn’t sure if he was experiencing residual affection or if he was softening toward her in general. It was like the ocean water had swept away some of her seriousness and revealed a hidden side to her—the same side that wore those tights and heels. “Noted,” he said. “You ready?”

She nodded, and without thinking, he lifted his hand to put it on her lower back as they exited the room. Last second he dropped it, sure she’d take issue with it. As he pulled the door closed behind them, he remembered the phone call he’d taken right before she’d shown up.

“I made a few inquiries about Coach Bryant and have decided to conduct a phone interview with him for the head coach position. Do you want to be on the call, too?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that’d be awesome.” The excitement faded, and two creases formed between her eyebrows. “Unless you think… I know there have been some big changes and even a few female coaches signing with NFL teams, but there’s still a lot of pushback. The good old boys’ club isn’t exactly open to a woman weighing in, and even though he’s on the younger side, I’m not sure what camp he falls into. What if the fact that I’m part of the interview process makes him decide not to take the job?”

“Then screw him. I don’t want someone like that on my team.”

Utter astonishment flickered across her features.

He meant it. If someone was stupid enough not to take a job because of that, he didn’t want to work with him. He wanted open-minded people. People willing to shake things up enough to take a losing team to one they could all be proud of.

“That means a lot,” she said, her voice soft.

And that damn tightening sensation went through his chest again.

…

Charlotte watched Lance’s family interact with each other, smiling as they jibbed and reminisced and caught up on each other’s lives. While the tablecloths in the private room they’d reserved were white linen, and there were candles—that quickly got blown out by Taylor when one of her sons reached for them—the room was far from quiet, the mood far from swanky.

Austin was five and did his best to behave, but clearly sitting still was akin to torture for him, while three-year-old Aaron needed constant appeasing. He kept demanding more drink or Goldfish crackers, standing on his chair to announce his wishes so the entire room could hear.

Taylor and her husband, Scott, would be in the middle of a sentence one minute, then shifting gears to mommy and daddy mode the next. Maribelle, Lance’s father, Chuck, and Mitch and Lance pitched in as if it were second nature, asking the boys a question that drew their attention and made them forget how restless they’d been moments ago.

Charlotte had always wondered what it’d be like to have a big family. The raised-by-nuns retort she’d made to Lance seemed a little too true at times.

Her mom passed away when Charlotte was ten, and Dad had pulled her from her familiar school and enrolled her in the Catholic school right next to the college campus where he coached football. Even though they weren’t exactly Catholic—apparently Grandma James was, and that counted. That and paying tuition and following the rules.

Dad was forever late to pick her up, so she’d end up sitting in the cathedral with one of the few nuns on the staff. Sister Margaret was super strict and put Charlotte to work, because “idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

If she didn’t do a job 100 percent perfect, Sister Margaret would make her do it again. If she stepped out of line, the doled-out punishments were harsh. Charlotte quickly learned that the easiest way to avoid getting in trouble was to follow the rules to the letter.

It wasn’t all bad, though. She managed to make a handful of friends, and occasionally Sister Agnes would be at the cathedral instead. She mothered Charlotte, showed her the meaning of charity, and kept her hopeful by telling her that one day she’d look back and see how much she’d learned and how strong it’d made her.

That was what she clung to when Dad only paid attention to her as it suited his whims. When she could finally drive herself home and constantly arrived to find it empty.

Even when he came home, it still felt empty.

A strange sort of longing wound through her as she watched Lance’s family interact so easily. Every word, every gesture showed how much they cared about each other, no strings attached.

It’s okay. I have Shannon. Her roommate had become her support system these past six months, and she still had Dad, along with her hopes of repairing their strained relationship. Surely he’d be easier to get through to after he finished treatment for his gambling addiction, too.

“Charlotte, you look so familiar,” Maribelle said, pulling her out of her thoughts. Lance’s mother was seated opposite her, her husband on one side and Aaron’s booster seat on the other. “Were you at my father’s funeral?”

“Yes, I was. Mr. Price was a great boss, and I’m so sorry for your loss.” She should’ve said something sooner, but she’d been so caught up in the buzz and all the people.

“Thank you, dear.” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, and her husband wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. She leaned into the support, but her gaze remained on Charlotte. “How long have you worked for the Mustangs?”

“Seven years.” She glanced at Lance, who’d gone quiet at her side. His attention was on his mom, concern creasing his features.

Maribelle’s smile turned watery. “I loved my father like crazy, but he gave his life to that team. He could get so cranky about football.”

“Can’t we all?” Charlotte automatically said, and she swore the room quieted. “Or…am I the only one?”

Snickers went around the table, and Lance said, “I think you’re in a safe place when it comes to losing your mind over football.”

“You should see how grouchy Mitch is when the team loses,” Stacy chimed in. “I can hardly stand him.” She quickly kissed her fiancé to soften her statement, and he lightly pinched her side, making her laugh.

Maribelle shook her head. “I tried to avoid it. Swore I wasn’t going to marry anyone who liked the sport. But then I met Charles…” Her gaze turned adoring as it drifted to him. “And somehow ended up married to a football player. My dad never let me hear the end of it, either. Now I’m surrounded by football fanatics.”

Guilty smiles bounced from one person’s face to the other, and then an object flew through the air. Lance whipped up his hand and caught the projectile sippy cup, flinching when some of the liquid dripped out and hit his face.

“Future baller right there,” Chuck said, laughing, while Taylor told him to stop encouraging him. She took the blue and yellow cup Lance extended her way and set it out of Aaron’s reach. She explained to him that he wasn’t getting it back until he stopped throwing it, but as soon as she turned to see what Austin needed, Chuck scooted it close enough that his grandson could pick it up.

When Taylor noticed, she asked who’d given him his cup, but the waiters came in with the food they’d ordered, saving anyone from having to rat out Chuck.

No wonder Lance wasn’t a rule follower, although it was sorta endearing from Chuck—probably because she didn’t have to cover him by law.

“You said you’ve been working for the Mustangs for seven years?” Chuck asked, and she nodded. “That’s about the time the Mustangs started losing more than winning.”

Charlotte sipped her water. “It almost sounds like you’re blaming me for their losing streak.”

His laugh held a whole heap of false innocence and mischief. “Of course not. Just making an observation and giving you a bad time.”

“I’m afraid Lance has you beat in that area.” She nudged him with her elbow. “He’s made my job a bit of a challenge as of late.”

Lance gave her a sidelong glance, as if to say careful, I’m watching you.

Undeterred and finding she enjoyed flipping the script and putting him in the hot seat, Charlotte leaned across the table, closer to his parents. “If you have any tips on how to best handle him and his moods, I’ll happily take them.”

“Oh, he’s always been rather stubborn.” Maribelle’s fork clattered against the plate as she set it down. “When he puts his mind to something, there’s not much changing it. Really he was a good kid for the most part. Naturally he got into trouble here and there…”

“Then I’d get grounded from football usually. Sorry, that won’t work in your case,” Lance said, draping his arm over the back of her chair. “I’ve already been grounded for three years.” He said it lightly, but there was an edge to the words.

Her eyes met his, and he faked a smile, one so at odds with the easier, natural smiles that’d spread across his face since they’d arrived at the restaurant.

A pang went through Charlotte’s chest on his behalf, and she opened her mouth, hoping the right words would come out.

“Hey, Mr. NFL’s-most-eligible-bachelor, stop hogging the salt and pass it over here.” His brother sighed, extra loud and dramatic. “I knew it’d go to his head, all the fame and fortune.”

Lance picked up the salt shaker and hurled it, hard and fast. While Charlotte automatically winced, sure it’d hit Mitch in the nose and he’d end up with a black eye for his wedding, he caught it with a laugh.

“Boys!” Maribelle’s voice echoed through the room. “What have I said about throwing stuff at the dinner table? And if you tell me that Aaron got to do it, I’ll show you what I can do.”

Both of her sons hung their heads as if ashamed, but then they started kicking each other under the table. The trash talking started, along with flung-out challenges that would evidently be settled at a football game on the beach tomorrow afternoon.

Charlotte had only seen hints of this more lighthearted version of Lance—really only the two or three minutes he spent on the phone with Foster and during their mini-water fight in the ocean. His family obviously brought it out more. It was probably something most families did, come to think of it.

“Is Charlotte going to play?” Mitch asked, and she nearly inhaled her bite of potatoes.

She coughed to dislodge the food and wheezed, “Oh, I don’t play football. I just watch it.”

“It’s just a fun family and friends game,” Stacy said. “No tackling—well, the guys sometimes get carried away. But we’ve got flags, and we always have a blast.”

Everyone looked so encouraging that Charlotte hated to say no, but she didn’t have a choice. “I was born without hand-eye coordination. Or any athletic ability at all.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Lance said.

“Oh, I assure you it is.”

He smiled down at her, a genuine smile at least, but this one sent a prickling across her skin.

“What?”

“You’re going to play football with us tomorrow. When it comes to my passes, you don’t even have to work to catch them. Just open up your arms and I’ll put it right inside.”

“Not if I duck and close my eyes as I throw my hands over my head.”

He laughed as if she’d been telling a great joke. “Well, don’t do that then.”

“It’s instinctual.” Her voice pitched higher as she tried to convey that she wasn’t kidding, and she definitely didn’t want everyone to witness how truthful she was being about her lack of athleticism.

Lance dropped his arm and squeezed her hand under the table. “We’ll work on it before the game. Trust me.”

Dangerous words.

“If you want to see something really impressive,” Lance said, raising his voice, “you should see what this girl can do when it comes to stats. Charlotte, tell my brother his football stats.”

The prickling from a few seconds ago spread, along with a flush of heat. “I’m sure he knows them.”

“Come on.” Lance squeezed her hand again, making her realize they were practically holding hands, and she told herself it was a friendship sort of hand-holding so it was fine, even if it made her voice come out wobbly.

She rattled off the facts and figures that summarized his career so far, and when Mitch asked for one of his teammate’s stats, she demonstrated her party trick again.

Lance twisted toward her and bent his head. “See. It’s impressive.”

Yeah, she’d impressed people with it before, and they’d used her for it. At least this time it was to advance her career and so that her football team could have a chance at improving, but still. “I feel like your dancing monkey.”

He didn’t move, his face so close to hers, and the apprehension her past had stirred up faded to the background. “You dance?” he asked.

“Nooo,” she said with a laugh.

“Might have to teach you that, too. For the wedding.”

She patted his shoulder. “Let’s take it one impossible task at a time, champ.”

His low laughter traveled across her skin and settled deep in her core. She had no idea how long she’d been grinning at Lance, her hand on his firm shoulder, when she realized his mother was watching them extra closely.

Maribelle was utterly beaming at them, and from that twinkle in her eye, Charlotte was pretty sure she had the completely wrong impression of their relationship.