Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Read online

  “You and Buddy Carruthers make a handsome couple,” the man commented.

  “We’re just friends. Went to college together. Leave it alone.”

  “Aw, come on. Staying in his house? You mean to tell us there’s nothing going on between you two?”

  “That’s right. Nothing. Now, please, let me go.”

  “Where are you headed next?”

  “Pfft. You really think I’m gonna tell you?”

  “It was worth a try.”

  She rolled her eyes and scooted down the pathway. Blitz dashed out the door, barking at the reporters. Stash held the car door open. He took her bags and flung them in the backseat while she got in the front and slammed the door.

  Emmy turned and stared out the window as he pulled away from the curb. Goodbye, Buddy. A heaviness surrounded her heart. She blinked back tears as she watched his house get smaller and smaller.

  Stash turned the vehicle onto the highway. “Next stop. Philly,” he said, depressing the gas pedal.

  “Okay.”

  “So, did you get lover boy out of your system?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Not telling you.

  “Ready to work?”

  She sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Okay then.”

  “I miss Buddy already.”

  Stash pulled the car over on the shoulder, screeching to a halt. “Listen you idiot, you may have put Buddy in serious trouble with your stunt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Robert Carson now knows where he lives.”

  “So what? I told the news there was nothing between me and Buddy.”

  “And you think that whack-o, nut job Carson will believe that?”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s crazy, Emerald. Who knows what he’ll do, what he’ll believe. You may have left Buddy right in the hot seat.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Maybe it worked. And maybe it didn’t.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Stick with me. That’s what.”

  “But I had to get out of there.”

  “So you did. You could’ve called me, and I would’ve picked you up two nights ago.”

  “I love Buddy, Stash.”

  “Fuck love. It’s a waste of time.”

  Emmy’s head snapped back, as if he had slapped her across the face. “I’ll never believe that.”

  “Tell Buddy you lied to the media when he sees you saying you’re only friends.”

  “Oh my God. He won’t believe it. He knows how I feel.”

  “Are you sure?” Stash threw the SUV in gear and pulled back onto the highway.

  Chapter Six

  Energy flowed through Buddy’s veins, fueling his muscles, boosting his ability. He ran faster during practice. In the scrimmage, he was elusive, slippery, the defense couldn’t stop him, and he didn’t miss one pass. He silently thanked Emmy for his performance on the field. She brought him the happiness and peace he needed to play his best. Of course, an insane amount of sex the night before hadn’t hurt.

  He’d expected to be exhausted, but he could hardly stand still.

  Coach Bass patted his shoulder when practice was over. “Great job, today, Buddy.”

  “Coach, think I could maybe take off tomorrow?”

  Pete Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Planning to be sick?”

  “Nah, my girl’s in town. She’s only here for a couple of days,” Buddy said, grinning.

  “You were great today, but we can’t let that go cold. Sorry. She’ll have to wait.”

  Buddy frowned, but knew the coach was right. Still, he wanted more time with Emmy before she disappeared back into her life. He hadn’t expected to get the time off, but thought he’d ask.

  Griff stepped aside to let Buddy get the shower first, but Bullhorn Brodsky nudged Buddy out of the way.

  “Move it, Bull.”

  “Hot date?” Bull snickered.

  “You should know. Get your fat ass out of the way.”

  Bull grabbed Buddy by the neck and pushed him up against the wall. “I’m not fat.”

  “Okay, okay, you’re not fat,” Buddy choked out. “Now get out of my way.”

  Bull opened his meaty hand to release the wide receiver. Buddy rubbed his neck and turned his head left and right.

  “Watch it, Bull.”

  “Sorry, Buddy.” The big man stepped back, allowing his teammate to grab a towel and head for the empty shower.

  Under the hot water spray, Buddy thought back to the first time he and Emmy had made love. They had been friends in college, hanging out, studying and eating together for weeks with nothing but a few steamy kisses and a little petting, until the Spring Dance.

  He’d attended all the dances in high school, even though he wasn’t much beyond the lindy. His best friend and quarterback for the Kensington State team, Mark Davis, had kidded Buddy about getting a date. It didn’t take him but a second to decide to ask Emmy. Buddy had seen the beauty and sweetness of the shy girl, hiding behind her guitar.

  He sang Emmy’s ballad as he washed his body and scrubbed his scalp. The guffaws from his teammates didn’t deter him. In fact, he raised his out-of-tune voice even louder. When he stopped warbling and turned off the water, the team burst into a round of applause.

  “Jealous?” Buddy cocked an eyebrow at the lineman.

  “Of what? Your shitty singing?” Bullhorn thundered then laughed so hard Buddy swore he felt the walls shake.

  As he toweled off, he pictured Emmy, the night of the dance, in the shiny, teal blue dress. It had hugged her curvy figure like a second skin. Once she’d shed her baggy jeans and big shirts, she had been the most gorgeous girl on campus. He had wanted her.

  They had danced mostly slow dances, as neither one liked dancing fast. She’d smelled of spring blossoms and shampoo. Buddy had wished everyone else would vanish, evaporate somehow, so they could be alone with the music.

  It had been warm for April. Buddy had taken Emmy out for a hot fudge sundae after the dance then they’d ended up at the old, deserted barn on the outskirts of town. Emmy had expressed interest in exploring the dusty structure. Buddy had picked her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her across the soggy ground to save her fancy shoes from mud. He smiled at the memory. The moon had shone through a hole in the roof. He’d set her down gently on a pile of hay and joined her.

  Buddy rubbed the towel down his body before fastening it around his waist. He shaved and dressed faster than usual, splashing on aftershave before he drew on his shirt. Bull whistled to him as he left for the parking lot. Buddy raised his hand to his friend then fished his keys out of his pocket.

  As he put his car in gear, he remembered how soft her skin had been that night. She had been willing, almost anxious, to give herself to him. He’d relished the idea of being her first. They had taken their time undressing, their shyness covered by shadows. He had been gentle and tried to take it slow, but the sight of her moon-kissed, naked body had stoked his passion beyond endurance.

  Stopped at a red light, the memory of his second try in that old barn, his amazing self-control, and the pleasure he had received at satisfying her brought warmth to his heart. Tonight he was going to make love to her that same way, slow and easy. He could hardly wait to rekindle those old fires, still smoldering deep inside.

  He turned onto his street and raised his eyebrows at the sight of news vans blocking his driveway. Shit. They found her. But how? Buddy maneuvered his way through the well-dressed crowd. He evaded their questions, hammering him from all sides. After murmuring “no comment” a dozen times, he pushed his way into the house and shoved the door closed. Blitz barked, awaiting affection from his owner.

  “Gert! Gert! Are you here?”

  A soft scuffling greeted him as she appeared from the kitchen.

  “What the hell? Where’s Emmy?” He dropped his keys on the front hall table.

  “Gone, Mr. Carrut
hers. Gone.” She shook her head.

  “Dammit!” Buddy threw his small duffle on the floor. Every curse word he knew flew from his mouth. When he looked up, he saw Gert with her hands over her ears. “I’m sorry. I’m pissed, that’s all.”

  “I get that, Mr. Buddy.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “She wanted me to tell you how this happened. The name ‘Chrissy’ came up.”

  “Chrissy? She called the media? Fucking bitch!” He cursed and paced in the entryway.

  Gert grew pale. “Time for me to go.”

  “I’m sorry, Gert. I can’t help it.” Buddy hung his head.

  The housekeeper grabbed her bag and made a hasty retreat. Buddy carted the tray she had prepared for him with a roast beef sandwich and glass of milk into the den. Gert always made a high protein snack for Buddy after practice.

  He flopped down in the leather lounge chair in front of the television and flipped the tube on. What the hell am I going to do? I have to talk to her. He gulped half the milk as the local station turned to news.

  “Don’t say nothing ever happens in Monroe. We’ve had a visit from a big star this week,” the newswoman began.

  Buddy put the drink down and focused on the screen. His pug curled up next to him and slept. When Emmy came on the screen, he sat forward. Then, she dropped the bomb.

  “Wait, wait. Okay. Are you serious with this guy?”

  “We’re just friends. I needed a place to get away from Robert Carson, and Buddy offered.”

  His mouth opened, but no sound came out, his gaze was glued to the tube. Then came the second blow.

  “You’re really not sleeping with Carruthers?”

  “He’s just a friend. How many times do I have to say it?”

  Pain gathered in his chest. His appetite went south, and his mouth dried out like a dead leaf. He drank the rest of the milk, picked up the remote, and replayed the newscast. A friend? I’m just a friend? You lied about sleeping with me. Why? So people know. So what? We’re adults. We can do whatever we want. It’s romantic.

  He needed to move. Buddy shed his workout clothes and put on shorts then headed for the door. There were still a few vans packing up when he stopped to stretch his muscles. One reporter ambled over to him.

  “Come on, Buddy, a couple of nights with Emerald sleeping in your house and you never made a play for her? You’re not lovers?” The cameras were rolling.

  Buddy set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “You heard her. We’re just friends. Nothing more.”

  “Come on, man. She’s gorgeous. Weren’t you even tempted?” the newsman goaded him.

  He clamped his lips together for a moment before responding. Anger and pain bubbled up in his chest. “She’s not my type. Too flashy for me.”

  “I see? She’s every guy’s wet dream except you? You expect me to believe that?”

  “Believe whatever you want,” Buddy choked out, pushing past the man, who turned to deliver one parting shot.

  “You must be warming your nights with one of those sexy cheerleaders, right?”

  Buddy snapped. He grabbed the man by his lapels and slammed him up against the wall of the house. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with a mean, back-stabbing woman like that. Now, fuck off before I forget who I am.” The wide receiver let the reporter go and broke into a lope as he headed for the street.

  “Asshole! It’s my job! I don’t give a shit who you’re banging, you dumb jock.”

  Buddy smiled to himself. He’d gotten the guy’s goat. He increased his speed, heading toward the high school, where he could run it off on the track. He ran until he could barely breathe then sank down on the grass. He laid back, staring at the fading daylight. Pain returned to his chest as he gulped for air. His lungs screamed, and his thighs trembled.

  As his breath returned, the sting of tears wouldn’t be denied. Just friends. I loved her. Now it’s over. She doesn’t love me. Just hanging with me to be safe. Shit. He laid on the grass on his back, where no one could see him, and cried.

  Buddy folded his arm over his eyes. The faint sound of male voices reached his ears.

  “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe we should call 911.”

  A quick swipe across his face with his hand removed the wetness. He sat up. About fifty feet away, two teenage boys, dressed in running gear, stood, staring at him. Buddy waved, hopped to his feet, and trotted toward his house. Can’t let anyone see me cry. Christ, I’m a member of the NFL.

  Willpower drove Buddy home, but couldn’t restore his appetite. He chugged a bottle of water and prepared something to eat. Working out without replenishing the body is a sure-fire way to hurt it. Buddy had no intention of inflicting more pain on himself, so he sat down at the kitchen table.

  After forcing down some food he didn’t taste, Buddy roamed through his house like a caged animal. At ten, he turned on the local news, only to find himself in the spotlight this time. There he was, filling the screen with a scowl, telling the world Emmy, the woman he adored, was not his type. Calling her “too flashy.”

  His eyes grew wide. Fuck. What the hell have I done? He screamed at the television. “Don’t believe it, Emmy! I lied. Please!” The jingle of his cell caught his attention. Maybe it’s her. I can explain. He dove for the phone, but it was only Griff.

  “What the hell did you do?” his friend opened.

  “I lost my temper. After she said I was only a friend, I lost it.”

  “Real smart. You look like an asshole, and you lied about her. Damn, you called her ‘flashy!’ What the hell?”

  “I know. That’s it. I finished it off. Now, she’ll never speak to me again.”

  “That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think? Call her.”

  Griff hung up, and Buddy sat back.

  He dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail. Is that on purpose? Is she on stage? Or…shit, I don’t know. He called back and left a message full of “I’m sorry” and “Please forgive me.” Then, he rooted around in his desk and pulled out the schedule he had made of her appearances and his out-of-town games. He opened his laptop and logged on to Google.

  * * * *

  “Seems as if your boyfriend is a little pissed off,” Stash said, finishing a carton of Chinese take-out food in front of the television in the plush hotel suite in Philadelphia.

  “What?” Emmy plopped down next to him and unwrapped a fortune cookie.

  Stash picked up the remote and rewound the newscast until Buddy’s angry mug appeared. “Here you go.” He hit “play.”

  As she crunched the brittle wafer between her teeth, Emmy watched. When she heard him, her eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth turned down.

  “Still love him?” Stash snatched a fortune cookie off the coffee table.

  “That little bastard,” she muttered.

  “Who’s a little bastard?” Paula asked, joining them in the living room. Lani followed right behind.

  Stash grinned as he replayed Buddy’s cold words again and again, studying Emmy’s face as the impact hit home. “Still love him?” he inquired again.

  “None of your business.”

  “I don’t know why you do when you have Stash. Doesn’t get any better than him,” Lani said.

  “Really? He’s all yours.” Emmy retreated to her room and closed the door. She stretched out on the bed. I know it’s not true. I know you do love me, Buddy. But why did you say that? And ‘flashy’? Come on, you know it’s for my work. You humiliated me on TV. Why? She laid her head on the pillow and pulled the bedspread up over her. Buddy’s words stabbed her chest like a dozen knives. Tears filled her eyes. She closed them and fell asleep.

  Paula shook her boss lightly at seven o’clock. “Time to get ready.”

  Emmy stretched and yawned. “Okay.”

  “To the showers, lady,” Paula said, pulling down the spread and holding out a terry robe.

  Emmy smiled at her friend. “What would I do without you?�
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  “Aren’t you lucky you’ll never have to find out?”

  While the hot water pounded down, easing the tension in her muscles, Emmy wracked her brain. I’ve got to talk to him. Not on the phone. Face-to-face. When she dried off, there was no time to do any computer research on his whereabouts for the next few weeks. She got dressed then Lani appeared to apply a heavy layer of stage makeup.

  Emmy held up her hand. “Wait. One sec. Paula? Please find the game schedule for the Connecticut Kings and print it out, will ya?”

  “Sure.”

  Emmy sat back and let Lani do her stuff. Not gonna get away from me, mister. When her face was half done, Emmy listened to her messages. She clicked off after three from Buddy. Sorry? Honey, you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘sorry.’ But you’re gonna. ’Cause I’m going to teach it to you. She harnessed her anger, turning it into energy.

  Stash drove them to Verizon Hall. The scruffy, backup musicians were setting up when she arrived. Her pretty backup singers called “The Gems” were warming up and practicing their dance routines. Emmy did some vocal exercises, a couple of sound checks, joked with the band, and shoved her feelings about Buddy aside. Nothing interfered with her ability to perform.

  At nine, the lights went down. Stash, dressed to kill in tight jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket, went out to warm up the crowd. By the time he introduced Emerald, people were chanting her name. Pasting on a huge smile, Emmy strode out onto the stage and grabbed the mic.

  When the hoots and hollers died down, she slipped her bottom up on the stool. Bill, her lead guitarist, came forward to stand next to her. He accompanied her, playing her ballad to Buddy. Forcing herself not to think about the football player, she waited a moment for the cheering to die down then went into a loud piece with a fast beat. She danced around, joining The Gems and even the band members as she moved to the beat.

  At the end, she had three encores. When the lights went up, she was exhausted. Paula had a Gatorade and pastry waiting for her. She sucked down the whole drink at once. Lani had laid out jeans and a T-shirt. Emmy stripped off her glittering, green, sequined, short dress. Her assistant packed away Emerald’s monstrously high heels, along with the dress and makeup bag.