Tackled by Lisa Suzanne

CHAPTER 8

“I’m going to San Diego for a couple days,” Jack says after Luke and Ellie take off. “I’m leaving after my workout tomorrow morning, so around eight.”

What he really means is we are leaving in the morning and this is his way of inviting me...even if he doesn’t really want to.

“How many days should I pack for?” I ask lightly, ignoring the little pulse in my belly that he has plans that will interfere with my attendance at my best friend’s wedding weekend.

He twists his lips and glances out the window as he thinks it over. “Just one night. Maybe two.” His eyes meet mine and he lowers his voice a little. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you back in time for your friend’s big weekend.”

A ripple travels all the way up my spine that he thought ahead to my concerns. He doesn’t need to. This is his life I’m bombarding thanks to Calvin’s unconventional job offer, and yet somehow, someway...I think he’s starting to care about me. “Thank you,” I say softly.

“We’re driving, so pack enough in case I decide to stay two nights. What time do you need to be back Friday?”

“The rehearsal is at six.”

He nods. “I have some stuff to take care of Friday afternoon, so we’ll be back by then. Oh, and JJ’s coming with us.”

He bids me goodnight, and I head upstairs to pack for two to three days with Jack Dalton and his son.

I have no idea why we’re going to San Diego or what he plans to do while we’re there, but I realize only now what a busy guy he is. From trips to Los Angeles to Denver to San Diego plus off-season workouts on top of running a company and planning a wedding, Jack Dalton’s attention is constantly being pulled in a million directions. And I think that’s why when his attention lands on me, it feels...special. Like he’s making a real effort not just because we’re stuck together for the next ten months, but something more than that.

I’m in the kitchen ready to go a half hour early, so I make myself some breakfast and chat with Brooke, who’s feeding JJ, while I wait for Jack. He walks in about seven forty-five fresh and ready to go. He sets his duffel bag by the doorway, makes a protein shake, and gets himself a cup of coffee in a travel mug before he looks in my direction. “Ready?”

I nod and slide off my chair, rinse my plate, and set it in the dishwasher while Jack talks to Brooke about all things JJ. I grab a travel mug of coffee for myself, too, and a bottle of water.

“I set his bag by the door,” she tells him. “I double checked to make sure he has everything he needs.”

“Enjoy your time off, Brooke,” he says. “We’ll see you Friday.”

He drives the Acura like slightly less of a maniac than the truck with JJ in the back, but we’re out of town and onto the highway in record time. Once we’re out on the open road with less traffic instead of weaving in and out of cars in the busier city, I feel a lot more comfortable.

JJ’s asleep in the back, and Jack has a classic rock playlist piping softly just through the front speakers.

“You know you’d get slightly better gas mileage if you didn’t floor it off the line at every stoplight,” I point out.

“Jack Motherfucking Dalton doesn’t worry about gas mileage,” he says. He glances over at me and winks, and I can’t help a small giggle.

“So why are we going to San Diego?” I ask.

“It’s sort of the closest thing I have to home,” he says.

My brows dip. “What about the house in Vegas?”

“It’s Calvin’s,” he says. “Michelle was living there with JJ when I was traded and it’s where I always stay when I’m in town so I could be close to my kid. It made sense to just move in there. Honestly, I just wanted to get out of there a couple days, and a buddy canceled a golf game so my schedule opened up enough to allow it.”

Noted: he lives at Calvin’s place so he can be close to his son...not to his fiancée.

“What’s homey about San Diego?”

“I bought a place a few years ago. I used to live there in the off-season, but now that I have a kid and a business to run in Vegas, I haven’t been back as much as I’d like. It’s an occasional vacation property now that’s probably more of a burden than anything else.” He says the last part like it’s the first time he’s admitting it out loud, and I feel for him for a beat.

His San Diego house is maybe the one thing in his life that’s just for him...which is why his next words floor me.

“I should probably get it up on the market.” He stares straight ahead at the road as he says the words.

“You don’t want to hold onto it?” I ask, surprised at the implication of his words...that he’d give up the one thing that’s just for him.

“I do, but I’m not sure it makes sense.” He presses his lips together.

“I thought Jack Motherfucking Dalton didn’t worry about things like gas mileage,” I tease as I try to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

“He doesn’t,” he confirms. “But a six million dollar house is very different from a seventy dollar trip to the gas station.”

I can’t argue with that. “Tell me about the house,” I say. Given my love for interior design, I know that the way a person decorates his home says a lot about him. The house he occupies in Vegas isn’t his. Nothing about the décor tells me anything about him and who he is. But this San Diego home is different. This is the sanctuary where he goes just to get away from his life in Vegas, the place he’d return to after a season filled with winning or losing somewhere else. This is the place where maybe he brought women back time and again.

I push that last thought out because I don’t like the seed of jealousy that takes root in my chest.

“It’s not on the beach, but it’s on top of a hill with gorgeous views. It’s more space than I need but I bought it anyway for the views, the seamless indoor-outdoor living in a place with nearly perfect weather year-round, and the upper deck.”

“What’s on the upper deck?” I ask.

“A vanishing edge pool with a waterfall overlooking the ocean and over a thousand square feet of indoor-outdoor decking. It’s incredible.”

That idea of who he might’ve taken up on that deck bogs down my thoughts. Has Michelle been there? How many other women has he entertained up there?

Does it matter? No. The answer to that should be no, but for some reason...it isn’t.

“It was sold to me with this detached man cave that I turned into a fitness room,” he continues. “It came furnished and over the years I’ve swapped out a few pieces that fit my style better, but mostly it’s all white and ocean blue with oak accents.”

“I don’t think you should sell it.”

He raises a brow and glances over at me. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve only ever heard you talk about two other topics with this much passion,” I say.

He chuckles. “What two topics?”

“JJ and football. The things you love most. And that’s why you should do what it takes to keep this house.”

He nods and keeps his view straight over the road again. “I wish I could,” he finally murmurs.

I wonder what that means, but I don’t dig. He’ll talk if and when he’s ready to.

“What do you like to do on road trips?” I ask, changing the subject.

He shrugs. “Make phone calls. Listen to podcasts or music. I usually fly, but with JJ it felt like driving would just be easier.”

“Why’d you decide to bring him along?”

He shrugs. “I like spending time with him. This is two days with very little on my calendar, and anything on it can be moved around based on his schedule. Time to bond, I guess.”

The same could be said for us, I think. This trip is giving us some time to get to know each other, which probably isn’t on his agenda but it’s likely to happen regardless since we’re two people traveling five hours in a car one way together...which begs my next question. “Why didn’t Michelle come?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t invite her.”

My brows dip. “You...didn’t?” Shouldn’t Jack’s fiancée and JJ’s mother be on this little road trip with them?

“She has to work today and tomorrow,” he clarifies, and it almost feels like he’s making an excuse for her. “Besides,” he says under his breath, “this is supposed to be a relaxing trip.”

I stifle a giggle.

Jack takes a call from his agent, who gives him some information about the commercial he filmed when we were in Los Angeles. I’m privy to the entire conversation since Jack answers through the car system.

“And I have a few new endorsement opportunities,” Tom says toward the end of the call.

“What are they?” Jack asks.

“You’re not going to like them,” Tom warns. “But you told me never to leave anything out, so...”

“What are they?” Jack repeats, but this time the words come with a bit of frustration.

“Remember, I’m just the messenger.”

Jack grits his teeth. “Just tell me.”

“Viagra, a hot new arthritis ointment, and Metamucil.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tom,” Jack mutters.

“Okay, okay, I was kidding about the Viagra and Metamucil, but the arthritis one is legit. Tell me in your old age you’re not starting to feel the aches and pains a little more than before.”

I can’t stifle my laugh at that.

“So will you do it?” Tom asks.

“Fuck off,” Jack mutters. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Aren’t you?” Tom asks, his tone suggestive. “Last we spoke, you said you’d take pretty much anything for some fast cash.”

Didn’t he just mention selling his house for some fast cash? Why does he need money? Doesn’t he make a pretty healthy sum as one of the league’s greatest quarterbacks?

All questions I want to ask but I don’t know him well enough to. And just because he’s piqued my curiosity doesn’t mean I deserve to know. It’s not my business.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jack says. “Find me a shoe deal, or car insurance, or even one of those pizza places. Just not arthritis cream. I take enough shit about my age. I don’t need to invent ways of inviting further criticism.”

“Noted,” Tom says. “We’ll talk soon.” He ends the call.

“Arthritis?” I tease lightly.

He glances at me with a look that shuts me up for a good twenty minutes, but it’s interesting to note that his age—young at just thirty-three, but supposedly old for a player in the league—is a hot topic.

We stop for gas and coffee midway through the trip, and while we’re stopped, Jack changes JJ and gives him a bottle. He’s a good baby—easy, like he inherited his temperament from his daddy instead of his mom.

We pull into the garage of his vacation home a little after noon. That’s right. A trip that should’ve taken five hours took us four with Jack behind the wheel.

Jack opens the front door, and I’m treated to a gorgeous home just as he described. From the front door, I can see through the entire home and out the back windows to the view of the Pacific. It’s simply spectacular.

He sets JJ in a playpen with a few toys. “I hate to ask this because it’s not your responsibility in any way, but do you mind keeping an eye on him while I unpack the car?”

“Of course not. I used to be a nanny, you know,” I say. I lift him out of the playpen and carry him over to the windows.

“You can just leave him in the playpen if you want. You don’t have to do anything.”

“Stop. I love working with kids and this one is such a cutie I don’t mind at all.” I can’t help the little baby voice as I talk to JJ even though the message is actually for his father.

Jack doesn’t have a ton to unload from the car—just a diaper bag, the stuff Brooke packed for JJ, and our two bags. He sets them in the bedrooms and meets me back by the windows where I’m crooning softly to JJ while he flails around on the floor in some attempt to start moving on his own.

“It seems like he’s getting so close to crawling,” Jack says.

“Just wait. Once they’re mobile, it’s all over. A whole new world.”

He chuckles. “I’ll show you around.” He lifts his son from the floor and into his arms.

My heart melts. There’s something downright sexy about Jack holding his son as we walk through the house.

He shows me the five bedrooms, the six bathrooms, his home office, and the sprawling kitchen. The kitchen counters are completely empty, which tells me he’s a total Type A personality—something I already knew very well about him. Completely barren countertops tend to say a person values appearances over functionality, and I suppose that confirms what I know of him, too. He wouldn’t be marrying Michelle if he wasn’t concerned with appearances to some degree.

He shows me the former man cave turned quarterback fitness center. And lastly, he takes me up to the patio with the indoor-outdoor decking and gorgeous views he told me about in the car.

The view from here is simply awe-inspiring. It’s overwhelming, actually, to see the ridiculously handsome Jack Dalton holding his sweet little boy with the ocean stretching to infinity behind him.

I draw in a deep breath as I push down the feelings that suddenly wash over me. It’s a crush. It’s the memories of our night together. It’s that feeling like he’s marrying the wrong woman.

It’s not love.

It can’t be love.

But something tells me it’s more than all the things I just said in my own head.