Tag stood alongside his mother, watching M. J. captivate the crowd of teenage girls. When she spoke, nobody moved, but when she paused at strategic, comedic beats, the laughter was deafening. But the longer Tag listened, the more he questioned the laughter.
M. J. launched into another story from her childhood. This one detailed the time her father and stepmother sent her to summer camp and used the week to buy her a new, more girl-appropriate wardrobe.
“Dresses,” M. J. scowled. “Back then, my reaction was this.” She stepped away from the podium and stuck her finger into her mouth in a gagging gesture.
The crowd laughed again.
M. J. waited until they settled, to continue. “I cried myself to sleep that first night home, wearing a nightgown with elastic and ruffles that made me itch and literally left indentations in my skin. I cried, because everything I loved was gone. My Jim Brown jersey with a rip in the side where a neighbor kid tried to keep me from rushing into our makeshift end zone. My red, black, and white Air Jordan high-tops that I was wearing when I first touched the rim—jumping off stacked boxes, of course. And so much more. I bawled, because it was like losing a part of me. Those things meant something to me. Those things represented what was important to me. When they threw them away in favor of what they thought was better, it was like they were throwing the real me away, too.”
She kept talking, and eventually the audience found something else to be funny, but whatever it was, Tag couldn’t laugh. He was stuck on the depressing treatment M. J. had suffered at the hands of her father, and it ignited a familiar burn inside of him.
Tag knew the brutal blow of belittlement firsthand.
Glancing at his watch, he squirmed against the memories pushing to get out, knowing this was only the beginning of the torturous trip down memory lane. In the not-so-distant future, he’d come face to face with his past again. Right about now, Jordon and Grey were on their way to Cleveland. To Tag. For a procedure that could put Grey back in the game. It was an exciting, admirable pursuit. It also made him want to hurl.
If Tag could just keep it professional, he’d be okay.
“She’s got them eating out of the palm of her hand. Always,” Mom whispered, leaning closer. “Do you know her? I thought maybe her being a football player and you . . . ”
“I do,” Tag said, nodding. He knew her well enough to know how she tasted, but he’d had no idea they had something so miserable in common.
But charismatic, self-assured M. J. captivated more than her teenage audience with stories from her depressing youth. She mesmerized Tag, and had him so damn curious. How did she project power and certainty even when she was talking about such horrible things?
God help him, but he wanted—even needed—to know more about her.
“Be a first-rate you, because no matter who you are, that’s so much better than being a second-rate whoever they want you to be.” Raucous applause and cheers accompanied M. J. as she stepped away from the podium.
The other night, walking along a darkened stretch of sidewalk, he’d likened her to a goddess. Standing before charged-up fans, she was a warrior. He didn’t need her protection, but he could use someone who could show him how to rise above the inner turmoil once and for all.
“Fabulous as always,” Mom said, grabbing M. J. by the hand as they crossed paths, and then she let go and headed for the podium.
M. J. stopped in front of Tag. He didn’t really give her a choice. Unless he moved out of the way, she was surrounded, trapped between walls of rich velvet curtain to her sides, the open stage to her back, and Tag, staring into her shocking-blue eyes.
“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked. “I know you don’t date during the season, so we don’t have to call it a date. We can call it two friends sharing a meal if it makes you feel better.”
She considered him with a blank expression on her face. It was the kind of expression that made a guy never want to open his mouth again. He knew it was a long shot, but if that kiss had imprinted on her brain the way it had on his, there was hope.
“Okay,” she said.
His eyes widened. “Tonight?” He might as well capitalize on the unexpected good luck.
She shook her head. “I can’t, unless you want to eat at midnight. I have practice and then my shift, but tomorrow I’m free after practice.”
At this point, he would take what he could get. “Does six work?”
She nodded again. “But if you tell me to wear a dress, I’ll cancel.” A little smirk tipped her plump lips, reminding him of how much he wanted to kiss her again.
He leaned closer, brushing her shoulder with his arm as his mouth reached her ear. “What if I ask you to wear those boots?”
“I’d say it was a very odd request coming from a friend.”
She wasn’t buying it either.
“What can I say? I’m an odd guy.” She didn’t know the half of it.
She smiled. “I can handle wearing them.”
He could handle that, too—from her tapered ankles all the way to her strong, shapely thighs. He could even handle more if she wanted him to.
• • •
The thought of M. J. in those boots got Tag through the next twenty-four hours. The grafting procedure wasn’t bad thanks to the protective nature of the operating room. Grey was out cold, and Jordon wasn’t allowed in, which meant it was easy to keep things professional. Too bad Tag couldn’t say the same about the next day’s follow-up appointment.
He attempted to keep his distance as he and Leanne checked for meshing in the surrounding tissues, changed the dressings, and informed Jordon and Grey of the progress they could expect to see. But then Leanne got called away. The minute she closed the door behind her, Tag knew his luck had run out.
“How are you?” Jordan asked.
It would’ve been such a benign question coming from anyone else.
“I’m well.” An uncomfortable heat clawed up Tag’s face, but he resolved to maintain his composure. “The procedure went well. The hand looks good, and I have every reason to believe this will be a success.”
“We’re happy to hear that, but that’s not what I meant. How are you? How have you been? It’s . . . ” Jordon’s voice cracked, “been a long time.”
Tag’s jaw ticked as his mind scrambled for a way out of this conversation. Leave. But his feet stuck to the floor. Jordon was right; it had been a long time. Too long to do anything about it now. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Grey’s head hung.
“Understood,” Jordon said. “So how about I talk and you listen?”
Leave. Tag didn’t care who, but someone needed to disappear for this conversation to evaporate, too. Once again, his feet wouldn’t cooperate.
“Francis Kemmons was a bastard,” Jordon said.
Grey raised his head and grunted his agreement.
“He broke us down with his angry words and volatile behavior. It practically destroyed us all,” Jordon said. “It certainly obliterated our bond.”
Grey agreed again.
Tag’s hands clenched. “Your bond looks fine to me.” So much for not talking about this.
“Tag,” Jordon stepped closer. “It wasn’t always like this. I left home as soon as I could. I left Grey, too, and I didn’t call him until a few years ago—after Francis died.”
But he didn’t call Tag. Twenty-five years, and neither one of his older brothers called to check on him. He stepped back.
“I wanted to call you, too,” Jordon continued. “I thought of you off and on over the years, but I was so caught up in my own anger and guilt that I couldn’t imagine facing you. I didn’t know what I would say. I told myself you were better off without us, and when I looked into it and found out about your medical career, I figured it was true. You were the lucky one. You got away.”
It was true, but Tag would’ve felt a hell of a lot luckier had his old life and new life never crossed paths.
“I wish it could’ve been different, that mom could’ve lived longer and taken us away from him,” Grey said.
The muscles in Tag’s jaw tightened. He barely remembered his biological mother, who’d battled cancer off and on for most of his life until she died when he was seven. “I got away,” he snapped. “And I’m not going back.”
Leanne returned, saving Tag from having to hear more, but the discomfort of a cold sweat remained. Holding all of this in, dealing with the upheaval by himself, was starting to take its toll. If it were any other topic, he’d have talked to his parents by now and asked for their advice, but this was his own private hell, one he didn’t want Edna and Simon being subjected to—again. They’d already done so much to get him past those awful, early years, to accept and forget what had happened. He didn’t want them to think they’d failed.
He didn’t want them to know he had.
• • •
Hours later, sitting in the dirt parking lot in front of Mama Mary’s bar and M. J.’s apartment, Tag took a moment to exhale thoughts of Jordon and Grey from his head. He was looking forward to dinner with M. J., and he was not going to let Francis Kemmons ruin another moment in his charmed life. Tag pushed out of the car and spent the next few minutes searching the outside of the crumbling, brick building for an entrance to the apartment upstairs. He’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t bother him that she chose to live here. It might be convenient to work and close to the people she loved, but it didn’t seem safe. He wasn’t going to bring that up tonight, though. If he did, she’d certainly balk at his concern at best, and label it elitist or sexist at worst. He wasn’t interested in taking and defending positions. At this point, he just wanted to have some fun, and M. J. seemed like his best bet.
On his way back around to try the door to the bar, M. J. was standing alongside his car, staring at her phone. Her chestnut hair draped over her shoulders, falling around her face, prompting the overwhelming urge to part the soft curtains so he could cup her face in his hands, rub his thumb over her bottom lip, and kiss her until the heat of the moment melted every last worry from his heart and his head. His heartbeat doubled, priming his body to push her against the car for leverage as he slid a hand over her skin-tight, shiny black pants until he reached the bend in her knee, just above those “ass-kicking” boots. He’d hike that leg to his waist as he deepened the kiss. Heck, after that, he may never have a coherent thought again.
His phone buzzed, and like the good doctor he was he shook off the heady imaginings and pulled it from his dress pants pocket to make sure the call wasn’t important.
It was better than important.
It was M. J.
Tag smiled at his screen, and then he smiled at her.
“I was calling to see where you were,” she said. “I came out through the bar and you weren’t there. I figured you were either down at the gym or dragged off by hoodlums in this scary, urban neighborhood.” She faked a shudder and added a sultry laugh.
Tag didn’t feel inclined to address the crack about his supposed socioeconomic prejudice, not with her happiness resounding in his ears and her beauty mesmerizing him at close range. “I was looking for you,” he said.
“You found me.”
“And I’m so glad I did.”
Without hesitation, he cupped her face between his hands and pressed her mouth to his, tasting her with his lips and tongue. All the while, he breathed in a warm, clean scent of something earthy, something perfectly suited to M. J., something as legitimate and unpretentious as the woman herself.
Seconds passed. Minutes. He wanted her—needed her—to show him more, teach him more, fill him with so much pleasure he could withstand any pain.
“Uh, I’m leaving now. So if you want to do that, you’re welcome to take it upstairs to the apartment.”
They separated at the sound of Tanya’s voice, their heavy breathing echoing in the stillness.
“Ha, ha,” M. J. called out mockingly to her friend as she walked around to the passenger side of Tag’s car.
“Hey, Tanya.” Tag flashed an extra-bright smile as he followed M. J.
With a hop-like move at the last second possible, he cut in front of her and grabbed the handle. She shot him a lopsided look that questioned his sanity.
“What? I’m opening your car door.”
“I know what you’re doing. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself doing it. Besides, it’s unnecessary. This isn’t a date, right? And I’m perfectly capable of opening a door by myself.”
Not a date. Right. After a kiss like that he wanted to call her bluff.
“Humor me,” he said, ushering M. J. into the car with the sweep of his arm.
He couldn’t resist touching the small of her back and leaning into the car as she sat. Her lopsided look faded away, replaced by something much more enticing, something that urged him to slip his hand along the seat belt and tug it across her rising and falling breasts.
“I know. I know,” he whispered. “It’s not a date, and you’re perfectly capable of doing this, too, but then I couldn’t do this.” By the time he said the last word his lips were touching hers.
Before he could do more than initiate the kiss, his face was in her hands. Their mouths opened, their tongues entwined. The kiss crossed every line of parking-lot propriety ever written. If not for the sound of crunching gravel beneath an approaching car, dinner would’ve surely been missed.
• • •
If this wasn’t a date, then M. J. didn’t know what was.
She stole a glance at Tag overtop her menu. The cheesy glow of candlelight flickered across his chiseled face, reflecting off his glasses. Glasses. Tiny tingles of pleasure tickled the back of her neck. Who knew glasses on an attractive man really turned her on? The problem was everything about him seemed to turn her on.
“Why don’t you wear those all the time?” she asked.
Tag looked at her. “I don’t need them all the time. Just to read.”
“Aren’t you a little young for bifocals?”
A splattering of wrinkles lined his forehead as he reached for his Goose and tonic. She watched him drink, thought about apologizing for the age slight, but decided against it. Either he was being too sensitive or she was being too careful, and neither one would do. If she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it right, without reservations or walking on eggshells whenever he was around.
Tag returned the glass to the table, closed the menu and removed the glasses. “I was born with a congenital cataract. I had surgery years ago. It fixed a lot, but obviously not everything.”
The longer he looked at her, the more the muscles in his face relaxed. No more lines on his forehead. No more wrinkles above his nose. Just smooth, flawless skin—skin that she wanted to touch again.
“Put them back on,” she said, so softly she didn’t recognize her own voice.
“What?” He chuckled.
“You asked me to wear the boots, and I did. Now, I’m asking you to wear the glasses.”
Dropping his elbows to the table, he leaned closer, letting the flickering flame from the candle illuminate him. “You like the glasses?”
“I like you in the glasses.”
He had them on in a flash.
They ordered, and conversation turned to his mother. They’d touched on the topic in the car, talking about the school, the health fair, and the doctor who’d cancelled at the last minute, necessitating Tag’s participation, but they never really got into the crazy coincidence of it all.
“Edna Dean is one of my idols,” M. J. said, laying her hand over her heart. “I swear. I can’t believe she’s your mom.”
Again, he sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Small world.”
“Infinitesimally tiny.”
She loved his crooked grin and the way he sort of sucked on his teeth or his tongue—Lord, help her—when he was about to release the grin to speak. “How’d you get involved with Maple Side Academy?”
“Community outreach for the team. We had to fill out a list of things we were passionate about, and I’m passionate about breaking gender barriers and instilling self-worth in young girls. Edna—your mom . . . ” she smiled, because it was just that cool, “called the team and asked if I’d be interested in speaking. I’ve done it for the past three years.”
“You’re good at it.”
“Thank you.” She’d been told that before, but she’d never blushed at anyone else’s compliment. She touched fingertips to her heated face. “I enjoy it. Maybe once I retire from football I’ll do more of it. Nationwide. I would love that.”
Another sip. This time, he tipped the glass until the ice clinked against each side. And then again. He’d done that the night he showed up at the bar, too. The motion filled the silence when he was thinking. He was a doctor. Pondering and studying were probably as common to him as breathing, but sitting there waiting for him to speak again while on the receiving end of his consideration was a little unnerving.
“You don’t mind telling hurtful stories like that about your family in public?” he finally asked.
She gathered her thoughts on a drink of her own, letting the cold water dissolve the heat in her chest. “Well, I wish I didn’t have those stories to tell, but I do. They make me who I am, and I’m all about owning who I am, so, no. I don’t mind.”
“Do you talk to them?”
“Who?”
“Your father and stepmother?”
“Too much.” M. J. laughed, remembering Felicia’s call from earlier today. “A few hours ago, I had a conversation with my stepmom that went something like this. Her: ‘Saturday is Annemarie’s baby shower.’ Me: ‘I have a game in Buffalo.’ Her: A huge sigh, and then, ‘I’ll tell them you’re sick.’ Which is crazy, because everyone knows I play football.”
Repeating it made her realize it wasn’t really funny that Felicia would rather blatantly lie to people at a baby shower than have to talk about M. J. playing football. But it was what it was, and interactions like that were not going to define her. “I’ve developed a pretty decent immunity to it all,” she said. “Probably because I talk about it, and somehow that defuses it.”
“Walking away would end it. If you cut ties, then you don’t have to deal with it at all.”
“Says the man with Edna Dean for a mother. We can’t all be so lucky. The rest of us just take what we can get.”
With his elbows on the arms of his chair, he steepled his hands in front of his mouth. He bounced his fingertips off his sealed lips enough times to send her in search of something reasonable to say.
When M. J. was about to ask about his father, Tag dropped his hands to the table with a soft thud. “Honestly, I wasn’t always that lucky, either. Edna and Simon adopted me.”
“Wow.”
Okay, that was probably the absolute worst reaction to someone revealing they were adopted. What was the big deal anyway? There wasn’t a big deal. But by the pale flush to his face, she could tell either her reaction or the subject was a very big deal to him.
Tag folded his arms across his chest and looked around the restaurant.
“Adoption is a wonderful thing,” M. J. said, scrambling to put a positive spin on her reaction. “What’s that saying? Adoption is parenthood by choice not chance.”
Tag scoffed. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure Edna and Simon would’ve chosen me had they known exactly what I came from.”
Again, M. J. had put her booted foot in her mouth. She wished to God she had put it in her ass, instead. A swift kick could’ve sent them right past this heavy conversation.
So much for a simple lust-filled ruse tonight.
Waiters and waitresses moved around them, refilling glasses, setting down plates. When they finally fluttered away, M. J. picked up her fork and knife and painstakingly cut her filet into bite-sized cubes. She could either take the pause as an opportunity to change the subject and get back to light and easy, or she could push him to confront the uncomfortable, like she would anyone else.
I do not want to be walking on eggshells around anyone, she thought again.
“How old were you when you were adopted?”
His face still wrinkled, but his arms had returned to his sides. “Nine.”
“Oh. Well then, surely they would’ve known your childhood hadn’t been easy. They chose you despite what they knew. That’s even better.”
“They didn’t choose me. They wanted a child, so they went to social services and specified an age range and checked mild neglect, but no physical or sexual abuse on the forms. They were given me, because I fit the criteria. Of course, they love me now, but I can’t help but think if they had the choice between me or, say, a biological child, they’d choose the biological child. I just can’t imagine being anyone’s first choice.” He winced. “You know what? I don’t really want to talk about this.” An extra-large bite of chicken shoved into his mouth made the statement loud and clear.
That was her cue to back down, wasn’t it? She usually missed that sort of thing, and now that she recognized it, she felt guilty not respecting his wishes—even though it bothered her that he had such a negative view on something that clearly worked out for the best. Cue or no cue, she had more to say.
“I disagree. They had the right to refuse the placement in the first place, didn’t they? They chose you then. And they chose you again when they made the adoption final. To me, it looks like you were their first choice . . . twice.”
He blinked at her while he chewed. She’d overstepped his boundaries. He was probably gearing up to throw her out.
“I’ve never thought of it that way,” he said.
She exhaled, and a smile pulled across her face. The gamble had paid off. “A fresh perspective is a good thing.”
“It is.”
“Edna and Simon sound like good parents.”
“They’re the best,” Tag said without hesitation.
“Then I say they’re compensation for whatever happened before them.”
Time stilled. She held her breath as he placed his fork on the table and reached out with an open hand, curling his fingers in a way that encouraged her to set her hand in his. When she did, the purest warmth climbed her arm and settled inside her heart.
“You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
M. J.’s breathing regulated, and the steady supply of air allowed a satisfied smile to stretch across her face. “You’re welcome. And just for the record, despite where you came from, you look like you turned out pretty damn good to me.”
He grinned. “You’re only saying that because I’m wearing the glasses.”
Maybe she was. He was that good looking, that smooth in those glasses.
Who was this man sitting across from her in a dress shirt so expensive it shined, with not a hair out of place, and eyeglasses sporting a designer label M. J. most certainly couldn’t afford on a female quarterback’s one hundred dollars per game coupled with a bartender’s minimum wage? Who was the scarred boy behind the perfectly coiffed man?
There were numerous warnings in those complicated questions, but as he smiled at her from across the table, heating her entire body with the touch of his hand, M. J. decided some questions were better left unanswered. She liked him, and she couldn’t deny that she wanted to be with him. So for now, the only question that seemed important was could she handle seeing Tag during the football season.
She definitely wanted to try.