waiting for her when she flew in for four days at the main office and she’d decided to wear it on her trip home.
She was worn out from the long, intense days of discussions and brainstorming. This was her third round trip to New York since she’d made the move back to Texas. After five months, she was piling up plenty of frequent-flyer miles, which she hoped to use one of these days.
She realized with a start the taxi, which had slowed a moment ago, had come to a standstill. The driver’s two-way radio crackled in the front seat, but she ignored its staticky sound as she checked her phone again. Still no answer from Hank. She leaned forward, seeing rows of vehicles stopped in every lane of the interstate as far ahead as she could see. Shit.
“Is there an accident ahead of us?”
“Yes, miss.” The driver was nothing if not polite. “Dispatch radioed me a moment ago. Sorry, miss.”
Well, crap. Just what she didn’t need. She wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine, and pizza delivery.
She checked her watch again. Was it really only two minutes since she’d tried calling Hank? Maybe a text would reach him. Sometimes she had better success with that.
“In cab on way home from airport. What’s up? Try a tin can for reception.”
She hit Send and waited to see if he answered. In less than two minutes, her phone chimed.
“Good trip?”
“Yes. What’s up with you? What’s with all the phone calls?”
“Just wanted 2 let you know Laura had 2 vacate condo for repairs for 2 days. Told her she could stay at house. She knows where extra key is.”
That was what was so important?
Shay snorted and wrote, “I’ll bet.”
“She’ll be gone sometime 2day. Just a heads up.” Shay ground her teeth. Damn it. Why couldn’t the damn woman have gone to a hotel? And what was with giving out the location of the key? She loved her big brother and was grateful to him for sharing his house with her but she definitely needed to find a place of her own. She didn’t need his females driving her crazy when he wasn’t there.
“She’d better be out of there when I get home. Want peace and quiet.”
“I’ll text her now. Just wanted to get yr flight info.”
“On my way home from airport now.”
“Thx. I’ll tell her. How was NY?”
“Same old same old. U home soon?”
“Maybe. Don’t know. Take care.”
“You, too.”
Traffic was still not moving. Shay bit down on her frustration, sighed again, and unzipped the front pocket of her carry-on. She’d grabbed a sports magazine in the airport, planning to check the ads her company was running, but hadn’t bothered to read it on the plane. Maybe she could use it to pass the time now.
Flipping it open, the first thing she saw was Joe Reilly’s face smiling at her in full living color. Crap. Joe Reilly. Her childhood hero, her teenage crush, and the star of her adult erotic fantasies. The same Joe Reilly who’d called her squirt and pest when she tagged after him and Hank. The football idol who had been a babe magnet since his voice changed.
The man she’d been secretly in love with all these years, a love that stilted every other relationship she’d had. When was she ever going to admit that it was an impossibility? That she needed to stomp on it, bury it, and move forward?
In Texas, where football was the number one religion, high school stars wrote their own tickets. As the star quarterback for the Granite Falls High School Coyotes, Joe had had women hanging over him like so much drapery. During his outstanding career in college and then in the NFL, it seemed every time she turned on the television or checked sports online she saw his picture with one female or another. She was sure he had a black book that rivaled an encyclopedia in size. She might as well have been chopped liver for as much attention as he ever paid to her.
She’d wasted so much of her time studying football, until she could diagram games almost as well as Joe could. She could even point out the percentage of success for each play. Joe had always grinned and winked at her. Only in hindsight had she realized he’d tolerated her because she was Hank’s baby sister, with the emphasis on baby, even as she stupidly wanted him to wait for her to grow up.
She needed to find a way to get Joe Reilly out of her head. For good. Certainly her obsession with him wasn’t helping her love life. She needed to stop looking for Joe Reilly substitutes. The men she tried to build relationships with may not have been athletes, but they were ardent sports fans and that was what attracted her.
And look how far that had gotten her. One cheated on her with a coworker, one out and out lied about who and what he was, another wanted to move in with her and have her pay the rent. Thank God she’d never said I love you to any of them, probably because, in retrospect, she hadn’t. All those experiences left her with a strong distrust of the male sex, Joe Reilly being no exception.
Yeah, she was the champion of stupid. What was with her, anyway? She was smart, savvy, successful at her work. She’d braved the Big Apple and found herself a dream job she loved, which paid her extremely well. People would be lining up to be her if she let them. Now she needed to find a way to get rid of this restless, unfulfilled feeling she hadn’t been able to shake in years.
For weeks she’d been telling herself tomorrow she’d take the first step to build a new life here in San Antonio, back in Texas where her roots were. Reach out to old friends. Meet new people. Rebuild her life and shake the ghosts of the past. Stop burying herself in the house with her work and marathon sessions with old movies and popcorn. How pathetic was that?
What she needed was the right guy, one who understood emotion and who respected her. One who wasn’t a Joe Reilly substitute. It wouldn’t hurt if he was really hot and could make every one of her erotic fantasies come to life. And also didn’t lie or cheat. Time to finally put the vestiges of her crush, her childish daydreams, where they belonged—in the mental Dumpster. She was through lusting after Joe Reilly.
Enough already.
If she was going to hero worship someone she should have stuck to Joe Montana. He’d be a lot safer. And better. Yes, way better.
She closed the magazine, putting Joe Reilly where he belonged. In her carryon.
Time to get on with life.
* * * *
Joe Reilly wheeled his rental car out of the parking lot toward San Antonio. Checking his cell phone for traffic alerts, he discovered an accident on Interstate 10 that had traffic at a standstill. He programmed the GPS for an alternate route and headed out.
He could still smell the traces of a soft drink on his slacks. He’d done his best to wipe away the stains but the rental clerk had given him the fisheye, probably thinking he was a real slob. It wasn’t his fault some idiot who couldn’t walk and chew gum, or manage to hold onto her drink on the plane, had dumped its contents over the back of her seat and onto him. Just another indication of how crummy his day was going.
He’d seen this trip as a chance to spend some quality time with Hank Beckham, who, despite geographical differences, was still his best friend. He didn’t get to see as much of him as he’d like to these days. The last time had been three years ago.
Their schedules just hadn’t allowed for any time together since then. Hank was an engineer who was always being sent to some assignment for his company while Joe ran around the country for Fox Sports One and for the Coaches Conference business he’d started. The latter was an important project for him, workshops for high school coaches on how to lead as well as coach. How to teach players personal values as well as diagrams and game plans. He’d seen too many kids come out of high school without understanding that playing was only half the deal. Personal responsibility was