Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line Page 6

  She nodded. Hank got the okay to make the call in her room and dialed.

  “Dad? Where the hell have you been? I’ve left a dozen messages.”

  “You have a beautiful baby girl, son.”

  “I do?” Hank heard awe in the quarterback’s voice.

  “You do. Want to speak to your wife?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Wait. Did you win?” Hank asked.

  “Was there ever any doubt?”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Were you with her, Dad?”

  “Every step of the way, son. Every step of the way.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hank handed the phone to Lauren. The nurse took Gracie and left the room. Hank sank down into one of the chairs and leaned back against the wall. Before Lauren was finished talking to Griff, Gracie’s grandad was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Trunk was grateful he had flown to Houston. Not only had they defeated the Riders, but he’d avoided Carla. It had been a chore to stay away from her the few days before the game, but he’d managed. Hiding in the workout room at the stadium helped. He was there, on the treadmill, as usual, trying to figure out his life.

  Now, he was back in Monroe, and the next game was at home in Barker Stadium. Sweat gathered under his arms. How can I face Carla? The memory of the kiss, that incredible, mind-sucking, body exploding kiss. She hadn’t fought him off. Hazy as his memory was, the feel of her lips on his, the pressure of her hips against him, came flooding back, igniting every nerve in his body. And she hadn’t breathed a word, not a syllable, the next morning, or the few times she’d run into him before he’d left for Texas.

  What the hell am I going to do now? There was no running away, and he could avoid her for only so long.

  “Two can play that game,” he said, deciding he’d ignore it, like she did. If she could pretend not to remember, so could he. At least he had an excuse. He had been drunk out of his mind. Maybe that was it. Maybe she resented his pass because he was drunk, and she chalked it up to the alcohol talking. Bullshit. The alcohol had only given him the courage to do something he’d wanted to do since he’d first met her.

  With his mind turned away from his current task, he missed a step. He fell to his knees and toppled off as the machine kept going. Swearing with every word he knew, he slammed the stop button and rubbed his knee caps. Damn it! Carla was getting into his head and that could only lead to trouble.

  “What happened?” Bullhorn Brodsky put down the weights he was lifting and went to help his friend up.

  “Nothing, Bull. Nothing.”

  “Didn’t look like nothing to me. You almost got killed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You should have that knee looked at.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay, and don’t be an asshole.”

  “All right.” Trunk grabbed his towel and headed for the doctor’s office down the hall.

  The medic pronounced it bruised and predicted it would be eighty-five percent healed by the game tomorrow.

  It was time to get dressed and get his butt on the field. He needed the distraction to keep him from playing out a hundred different scenarios in his head featuring his kiss with the sexy barkeep.

  After practice, he drove over to his house, unlocked the door, and gathered the mail on the floor. They had a mail slot, so he didn’t have to worry about a box getting overstuffed.

  There were a couple of pieces for Mary, and then the big envelope he’d been expecting. He sat down on the stairs and opened it with sweaty fingers. It was from her lawyer, requesting a settlement conference and papers putting forth the divorce. He whipped out his cell and dialed the attorney Lyle Barker had recommended.

  Then, he called Mary’s representative. The receptionist put him through.

  “Mr. Mahoney.”

  “Let me tell you something. There’s gonna be no agreement on anything and no signed papers until I get a face-to-face with Mary.”

  “I can’t agree to that. She doesn’t want to see you.”

  “That’s too fuckin’ bad. No meeting, no divorce.”

  “This is a no-fault state, Mr. Mahoney.”

  “I don’t give a shit, Lambert. I’m telling you—no meeting, no divorce.”

  “Can we have a third party there? For safety.”

  Trunk laughed. “You think I’m gonna hit her? Did Mary tell you that?”

  “No, but I know about pro athletes, especially football players. How violent they can be.”

  “I’ve never been violent off the field in my life. Never with Mary, either. You’ve got some balls saying that to me. No meeting, no divorce. No third party. Mary’s got nothing to be afraid of. I don’t want to stop it. I just want to talk to her.”

  “All right. I’ll tell her.”

  “Here. At the house.”

  “Okay.”

  Trunk clicked off his phone. He scooped up his mail, left the pieces addressed to Mary, and drove to The Savage Beast. He unlocked the door and headed for the stairs. Carla was in the kitchen talking to Doodles, so he slipped past and up to his room undetected.

  Flopping down on the bed, he pulled out the envelope from Lambert and Associates and began reading what was inside. After a few minutes, he tired and put the papers down. He lay back and closed his eyes. What does it mean when you have more passion in one drunken kiss with someone than you’ve ever had in your marriage?

  His mind refused to shut off, but his body was screaming for rest. He slipped into sleep before he could answer the questions that kept running through his brain.

  His nap lasted an hour. Then, there was a knock on the door.

  * * * *

  It’s not that Carla hadn’t noticed Trunk Mahoney sneaking by her day after day, night after night. The answer was obvious—his memory of their passionate kiss had returned. His refusal to look her in the eye upset her, making her nerves jangle. He regrets it.

  She had been nasty to Doodles for no reason. She chalked it up to this ‘thing’ hanging between Trunk and her. She needed to clear the air, so she climbed the stairs with purposeful steps and marched down the hall. An assertive knock brought it home to her. In a moment, she’d be confronting the man she wanted—and not in a good way. Her knees grew weak.

  The knob turned slowly and a sleepy-eyed Trunk, rubbing his stubbly cheek, opened the door. He wore an undershirt and boxers.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know it was you,” he said, grabbing his robe from the closet.

  “No need. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “Really? I don’t remember being undressed with you.”

  “All men have the same equipment, don’t they?”

  “Nice.” He shook his head. “I’m just trying to be polite here.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged the covering over his shoulders under Carla’s watchful eye. His body is perfect.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Can I come in?”

  He stood back, making room for her, and waved his arm, ushering her in. “Of course you can come in. It’s your house.”

  She headed for the only chair. Trunk sat on the edge of the bed. She’d hoped he wouldn’t distract her, but him being undressed and sitting where he was made her pulse kick up. “About the other night.”

  She noticed his gaze drop from her face to his hands. His fingers fiddled with his sash.

  “Nothing to worry about,” she assured.

  His head snapped up. “Really?”

  She nodded. “I mean, what actually happened?” I got the most incredible kiss of my life.

  “I kissed you.”

  “Right. Exactly. No biggie.” Huge. Beyond big, way beyond.

  “Oh? I kinda thought it was pretty big.” He still didn’t look at her.

  “Well, of course,” she began, backpedaling as fast as she could. “I mean, a kiss from you would be awesome. I mean, it was awesome. Of course. That g
oes without saying…”

  “Does it? You just said it was nothing. If that’s the way you want to play it… But it wasn’t nothing to me.” He stood up and went to the window.

  Great. Now I’ve insulted him. She followed him. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

  “It was earth-shattering to me. Sorry it wasn’t anything to you.”

  She moved up behind him, placing her hands on his biceps. “I didn’t say that. It was earth-shattering to me too. I just meant—”

  “Was it? Was it for you too?” He turned, his stare probing her face.

  The lie she was about to speak froze on her lips. She nodded, her gaze meeting his, seeing need there.

  Trunk stepped closer, his hands gently resting on her waist, easing her to him. “Then let’s do it again.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, his lips tentative, probing, waiting for her response. Carla was unprepared for his moving in on her. She had a dozen reasons all lined up in her head why it should never happen again. Now, desire had erased every single one of them in a heartbeat. His heat melted her resolve, like butter in the sun. She opened for him, and he entered, softly, coaxing her to come out to play. His fingers fanned out over her back and rump. They stood, chest-to-chest, while he kissed her into oblivion.

  Carla’s brain had stopped working. Sensation replaced thought. She was a slave to his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his chest, his hips, pressing against her, urging her to give in, to let her passion take over. Excuses evaporated like a road mirage on the highway. Her hands appeared to have a mind of their own as they parted his robe and slid up under his shirt.

  The feel of his hard muscle, warm skin, and soft chest hair under her fingertips made her moan. God, she wanted him like she had never wanted anyone else. He dropped a hand down to squeeze her rear. His mouth worked hers, teasing, caressing, seducing. All rational thought was about to flee her head when he let her go.

  “That was nothing?”

  Unable to control her breathing at first, she simply stared at him.

  He chuckled, a low, deep-in-the-chest, sexy sound.

  “That was earth-shattering,” she whispered.

  “Damn right it was.” His eyes glowed with desire as he looked at her. “But I’m still married. If only for a few more days. So, we’d better stop.”

  Carla couldn’t believe her ears.

  “I’m meeting with my lawyer in an hour. Then with Mary. I’ll probably sign some papers. I’ll be back.”

  He sloughed off his robe and nabbed a shirt from the closet. He buttoned up then shoved his legs in his jeans while she stood there, trying to make sense of his words and stuffing down her urge to throw him on the bed and have her way with him.

  “I’ll be back. And when I am, things’ll be different between us.”

  She wanted to stop him, to question him, to do something, but she was paralyzed. He stopped to kiss the top of her head, grabbed his jacket, and was gone before she found her voice.

  * * * *

  Trunk shoved the confusion in his head to one side. Okay, so if they couldn’t get married because of his “problem,” they could at least have one helluv an affair. He had to have Carla, had to spend night after night making love to her. Nothing less would quench his thirst. Her beautiful, sassy mouth tortured him. Her curvy figure seduced him. And his resistance was just about gone. He needed to wrap things up with Mary without losing his shirt and move on.

  His lawyer was ready when Trunk arrived. They talked for a bit, and Trunk signed some papers and then a football for the man’s son. Glancing at his watch, he saw he had time for a quick bite at the Dutton Hill Diner before meeting Mary.

  He pulled into the small lot and headed inside. It was cold outside. He ordered coffee and their special—beef brisket, baked potato, and string beans. A big game was coming up, the Nebraska Huskers, and Trunk had to have his mind clear so he could focus on football. As tempting as the apple pie was, he let it go, proud he followed a healthy path. The last thing he needed was to be carrying around unnecessary pounds.

  He drove over to his house, arriving about fifteen minutes before Mary was due. The place was dark and cold. Trunk turned up the heat and headed to the living room to lay a small fire.

  Since the chairs were gone, he sat cross-legged on the floor, close to the flames. As he looked around, he remembered happier times spent there. Having no family of his own, Trunk had welcomed belonging to Mary’s. He recalled occasional Friday nights doing jigsaw puzzles with them on a table in front of the fireplace. Mary’d make beef stew, or they’d order pizza.

  He’d loved those times and the holidays. Going to Mary’s folk’s house for Thanksgiving and Christmas were highlights of their marriage. There had been an eagerness from them to accept Trunk. Sometimes, he’d wondered about that, but chalked it up to their being nice people with no ulterior motive.

  He would have been happy to spend more time with them, but Mary hadn’t seemed inclined to do more than the occasional get-together. She had been a bit tense when they’d visited, but he figured it was just because she wanted everything to be perfect when they were around.

  The doorbell rang. He popped up to open it. Guess she threw away her key.

  “Sorry. I left my key at home,” Mary said, stepping out of the frigid air and into the warming house.

  “No problem. I’ve got a fire going. In here. It’s warmer.”

  “Did you sign the papers?” she asked, as she made her way to the heat.

  “Calm down. Can we talk first?”

  “Okay.” She sat on the rug, drawing her knees up to her chest. She hugged herself and looked at him with no expression on her face.

  “Are you mad at me, Mary?”

  “Absolutely not. Really, Al, this has nothing to do with you.”

  “Nothing to do with me? You’re divorcing me, and it has nothing to do with me?”

  “Not really. I’ve met someone else.”

  His ears got warm as he did a slow burn. “You’ve been messing around with another guy?”

  “Not exactly.” She avoided his glare.

  “What exactly?”

  “With another woman. I’ve moved in with a woman, Al. Her name is Connie. I’m gay.”

  You could have knocked the big man over with a feather. “You’re what?”

  “You heard me. I’m gay. I like women.”

  “Holy shit. Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “How? When? How did this happen?”

  She placed her hand on his knee. “It’s not your fault. I’ve always been gay. Just been denying it for years.”

  “Why marry me?” His voice was full of wonder.

  “My parents.”

  “What about them?”

  “They were always pushing me to get married. I think they had an inkling I was gay, and they didn’t want to accept it. They wanted me to have kids. Be normal. Like everyone else. They can’t handle having a child who’s different.”

  “Have you told them?”

  She shook her head. “Well, yes, about the divorce. But not that I’m living with Connie. So, you see, it really doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “Oh, yeah? How about you dangling in front of me the dream of the home life I never had, then yanking it away.”

  She made a face. “Come on, Al. I know you spent a ton of time at strip clubs when you were on the road.”

  “What, you’ve got spies?”

  “The guys let things slip. Every time I called you, there was tons of noise in the background. You couldn’t talk and you swore you’d call back. Half the time you did, the other half you didn’t. I’m not stupid. I knew what was going on.” She sat back, resting against the wall.

  “You’re right. I went to strip clubs. Maybe got a lap dance or two…”

  She looked at him, hard.

  “Okay, maybe more than a few times. But I never banged anyone. You’re the only woman I slept with while we were married.”

&
nbsp; “You mean, there was never anybody—nobody at all—you wanted to have sex with?”

  “Well, wanted to, maybe, but didn’t.”

  “Was there any particular one?”

  Al took the coward’s way out. “Nope,” he lied.

  Mary dropped her gaze to her hands. He noticed color seep up her neck and into her cheeks. “I thought you were being unfaithful. So, when I met Connie, I thought ‘why not? He is. I might as well.’ I guess I was wrong.”

  “You were sleeping with her?”

  She nodded.

  “The whole time we were married?”

  “Just the last year.”

  “Jesus Christ! A whole fuckin’ year?” Trunk pushed to his feet and paced in front of the back window. Outrage filled his heart. Cheated on. Beat out by a woman for his own wife. The humiliation was overwhelming. Never mind his wife was gay. Never mind he didn’t really love her. Never mind the facts. Emotion filled him, bubbling up into his chest.

  “Come on, Trunk. You’ve never loved me.”

  “That’s why we haven’t had sex in a year? Why you’re never here when I get back from a road trip?”

  “I thought you were screwing around.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “I’m sorry. I should never have married you…”

  “You can say that again.”

  “I mean, because I’m gay. I never wanted to live with a man, be a wife. It’s not my style.”

  “And you did it because of your parents?”

  “Pressure. Society. My job at the bank. My folks. Everything pushed me to do the regular thing. And when you came along…hell, you were perfect.”

  “How so?” He sat down again, across from her.

  “So masculine. So sexy. No one would have any idea I’m gay if I was married to you. If I had married a gay man, or even one who was slightly effeminate, people would talk. But no one would talk about me hooking up with you.”

  “Tell me, Mary. Honestly. Did you ever enjoy any of it? The sex? Being my wife?” Pain seared through him, as if she’d stuck a burning knife into his guts.

  “It wasn’t all bad.”