Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

Plopping herself down onto the back step, Tracy buried her face into her hands and let it all out. She sobbed uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving up and down as she sucked down air between fits of anger and frustration.

She gave herself ten minutes to cry before sneaking into the bathroom to fix her makeup. It wasn't nearly long enough, but it was all the time she had to spare tonight. Honestly, she didn't even really have ten minutes, but the last thing she needed was for people to think she was as crazy as she felt.

The rest of the very long night went about as well as Tracy could have hoped for. The guests were pleased, her staff pulled in tips that would be hard to beat in the future, and Mr. Hayes declared it a resounding success.

At long past midnight, after everyone else – including Mr. Hayes, who had to be up for a meeting the next day – had gone home, Tracy and Gordon sank down into two chairs with heavy sighs. Most of the lights had been turned off, leaving them in a spotty darkness that reminded Tracy of their sinful encounter just weeks before.

"Excellent work, Mr. Baxter," she said with a smile, stretching her arms up and over her head. The tension slowly released as she realized the day was over.

"Why, thank you." He leaned back in his chair and yanked the soiled apron off, throwing it onto the floor. "I didn’t know if you had it in you," he continued, "but I think that you handled it pretty well."

You wouldn’t say that if you had seen everything, she thought to herself.

"I don’t know about that, but I do think that we have cause for a little celebration,” she said, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “Maybe this week we can all go out for drinks."

Gordon Baxter leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. "Why wait?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why don’t you come back to the hotel with me for a little while?" he asked, taking his hand away but smiling a cocky half smile. His voice was innocent, but the memories of the other night were still fresh. Drinks often had a tendency to turn into something more.

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Don’t worry," he responded, waving his hand like it was nothing. "I had a few menu ideas and vendor suggestions to go over. The hotel’s wine selection doesn’t hurt, either, I guess."

Tracy looked across the small space, trying to read him. The way he shifted in his chair, she could tell that he wanted her again, but having her alone was something different entirely. Once, with permission- and approval- was one thing. The idea of sleeping with him without Mr. Hayes knowing or agreeing made her stomach twist. She was dating Mr. Hayes. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize what she had with him.

Still, he was her chef. Without him, this restaurant would fall apart. He was the reason for their success, and she had no illusions about that.

She let her eyes fall down to where his hands were clasped together, trying to think of a diplomatic way to tell him no and that what they had shared before would never happen again. Her eyes focused on his hands and she nearly screamed when she saw it: a small, half-circle scar just above Gordon’s right, middle finger.

Instantly, her thoughts ran right back to her visions. She saw everything again, though it passed in fleeting, quick flashes that made her head spin. That scar. She knew that scar so well. Had she been right the whole time? Was it Gordon who had actually been haunting her all along, in some way that she hadn’t even dreamed of?

There was only one way to find out.

Tracy pushed back in her chair, sitting up straight, and forced the swelling ball of fear back down into her gut. This was her best chance to find out what the dreams were trying to tell her.

It wasn't cheating if it would save her. Save Paul.

"Sure," she said, trying to sound normal and barely succeeding. "Why not?"

Chapter 22

Inside Gordon’s room at the top of the luxury tower, the fireplace had been lit well before their arrival, warming the room to a toasty temperature in stark contrast to the cold that had settled over the area. A storm had moved in swiftly, smothering everything for miles in a icy blanket.

Tracy shivered as she looked around the room, trying to relax. A track of dim, hidden accent lights circled the vaulted ceiling, giving the room an inviting glow. Tracy walked in, her heels clacking on the Italian marble flooring, and tried to take it all in.

"This place is amazing,” she said softly. It was a beautiful room.

Gordon closed the door softly. When the handle popped shut, Tracy tried not to flinch. All that she could think about was the gun from her dream.

"Have a seat," he said and walked to the bar. "I’ll get you something to drink."

Tracy sat down on the edge of the plush couch near the fireplace. Right away, she started to sink in to it. The softness of it put her sore feet and tired back into focus, making her even more aware of how unprepared she was for a showdown. She could barely even walk, let alone fight.

"So, is wine okay?" Gordon asked from the kitchen.

"Yeah. That would be fine." She played with her fingers, trying to keep herself calm.