More than the Game by Jenni Bara

16

@HotShotDemoda:Heading to Helping Hands Carnival to support my girl, come spend some money for a good cause. #lifeisgreat #soproud

Beth jumped up, arching her back and kicking her feet out behind her, making a C-shape with her body before landing her toes on the ten centimeters of leather below her feet. She made it look effortless. On the other end of the balance beam, a ten-year-old—face pursed in concentration—jumped up and fell.

“So close.” Beth smiled.

“One day I’m going to beat you, Ms. Evans.” The young girl frowned.

“I bet you will.” Beth smiled for a picture with the girl, then turned back to the crowd. She’d been doing this for about three hours; usually she enjoyed it more. Today, her problem was that she kept looking out into the crowd for Marc, which frustrated her every time. But as she scanned the crowd she saw the woman who was replacing her heading their way. “Okay last one before I turn over the beam—who gets the last attempt to beat me?”

“Me.” Marc stepped forward, and Beth’s heart skipped a beat.

She hadn’t seen him since the Sunday afternoon Metros game. He’d spent most of it trying to convince Beth that PDA wasn’t the end of the world. Her worry about embarrassing them both had become a game to him, and she didn’t like how easy it was to suck her in.

In the last week, she’d had a lot of time to think without him around, using his Marc-mojo to mess with her mind. She felt stupid to admit it, but she’d missed him during his time away and was nervous about seeing him again.

He, on the other hand, looked completely at ease in his cargo shorts, black Sideline shirt, and sneakers, even though he was volunteering to jump on something that was narrower than his foot.

“Only if you’re ready to get beat by a girl, hotshot,” Beth teased, trying to sound lighthearted.

“In your dreams, sweetheart.” Marc chuckled as he kicked off his sneakers and removed his socks. He moved to the beam and ungracefully hoisted himself, then stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for her as if he wasn’t in the least bit worried about jumping up and down on the four-foot-high wooden bar.

Beth walked over, placed her hands on the beam, and slowly lifted herself into a handstand before making a quarter-turn and letting her feet down one at a time.

“Got some serious abs, Evans.” His eyes lingered on her black Sideline crop shirt before drifting down to the fitted black Sideline short-shorts.

“Don’t bother sweet-talking me. I won’t go easy on you,” Beth replied, and he laughed. “I pick the first five moves, and you copy them. If you get through those, you pick the next five. First to hit the mat loses.”

“Are we playing for dinner or control of the remote?” Marc asked. Beth raised her eyebrows. “You’re right, the remote all the way.” Beth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Marc had his own remote; he didn’t need control of hers.

She walked to the center of the beam, did a half-turn on her toes, and walked back to the edge, looking at him expectantly. He copied her walk first without issue, then nailed the leg kick, and finally mimicked her tuck jump without falling off. She hadn’t expected him to last that long. Her fourth move was a full turn on her toe, and she accomplished it without a balance check, then turned her eyes back to Marc.

A devilish smile crossed his lips as he moved to closer to her side of the beam. He put one foot in front of the other, like he would try to spin, but reached out and caught her wrist, pulling her toward him.

Taken by surprise, Beth lost her balance. Marc took advantage of that, pushing her down toward the mat and falling right along with her. She landed with an “Oof,” and he landed on top of her, his arms bracing his weight.

“You okay? I think you slipped,” Marc said, his eyes silently laughing at her.

“Oh yeah, I slipped.” Beth rolled her eyes and pushed him off so she could stand up, but he was quicker and pulled her up into his arms for a hug.

“I missed you,” he whispered, wholly unashamed. Their eyes met for a pregnant moment, and she just knew that everyone around them could feel the heavy tension.

Marc looked toward the crowd. “Don’t worry, she’s okay. She just doesn’t like to lose.”

“Lose?!” Her head snapped up.

“You hit the mat first,” Marc said, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “Everyone saw you.” Most of the crowd nodded or voiced their agreement, some more vocal than others.

“Unbelievable,” Beth muttered.

“You should be clear about the rules,” he whispered. His breath danced against her neck, sending the butterflies straight to her stomach, and she barely resisted the urge to shiver.

Marc put on a show for the crowd, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He let his lips linger—a slight turn of her head, and they would be on hers. Her breath caught.

“I hereby add a new rule.” The remark from Beth’s replacement saved her from having to answer. “Anyone who tackles me off the beam loses, and there will be no autograph or photo.”

“I second that rule, but I think you’re okay. Marc’s the only cheater I’ve had today,” Beth said as Marc chuckled beside her.

“Is that—?” Marc asked, trying to remember the name of the girl about to hop onto the beam.

“Yeah, Simone,” Beth agreed as the Olympic gold medalist did a tuck on the beam, showing off for the crowd. “Simone’s amazing. I don’t do those skills anymore.”

“You look better in your Sidelines, though.” Marc’s eyes trailed down her body.

Beth swallowed before responding. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she warned.

“Payback for a certain hole incident. If you can’t win fairly, bend the rules, right?” Marc smiled knowingly. And Beth couldn’t disagree; she’d done it to him.

She pulled on her white zip-up hoodie, then playfully whacked him in the stomach. Her hand felt like it had hit a rock, and it lingered a little too long before she finally pulled it back. Marc cleared his throat.

“Since you’re done, can I buy you a drink?” Marc asked. “Austin didn’t give me the game plan, and this isn’t what I expected.”

“Everything’s under control. You only need to be here for the press. What did you expect?” Beth asked, tipping her chin toward the food truck at the edge of the parking lot. There wasn’t a line at the moment but all the tables were full of people enjoying their food. Beth led them that way.

“I don’t know,” Marc admitted as they walked.

Marc looked around again. He hadn’t expected it to take over the Meadowlands parking lots. Two of the lots were for parking, but the rest were strictly for fundraising booths, games, and food trucks. On the practice field and in several of the lots, professional and Olympic athletes ran activities for all ages. And sprinkled throughout, Hollywood’s elite signed autographs and raised money.

“Honestly, I don’t know much about Helping Hands.”

Beth didn’t look all that surprised by his revelation. “You always refused anytime we tried to get you involved, apart from donations.”

“They’re supposed to be anonymous,” Marc mumbled, embarrassed. If he had wanted people to know he could give money away like it was candy, they’d know.

“They are,” Beth assured him. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Marc moved up to the counter, and was surprised to realize he knew the woman who turned to take his order.

“Marc! I didn’t expect to see you here,” said his housekeeper. Marie looked as genuinely shocked to see Marc as he was to see her. She glanced past Marc to see Beth standing behind him. “Beth—of course; I should have realized he would be here with you. I heard about you two. I couldn’t think of two people better suited.”

Beth’s puzzled expression almost made him laugh—he couldn’t see it either—but she continued.

“You and Marc have both been such a blessing to our family. I don’t know what we would have done if Helping Hands hadn’t found work for Tony and me. And then Marc helping pay for Tori’s dancing—”

Marc winced. “Marie.” His voice warned her that this was not something he wanted her to share. When Austin had told him their daughter would have to quit dancing because they couldn’t afford to keep up with lessons, Marc had offered to pay for it.

“And honestly, the man’s house is always perfect,” Marie continued. “It’s a showroom, and I know he doesn’t need me in there every other day. Half the time, he hasn’t even been home since I was there last.” Marie smiled. He forced a smile back, and didn’t dare look over at Beth.

“You’re going to make me blush,” he said quickly. “Can I get two Diet Cokes, please?”

“Of course! Marc needs two Diet Cokes,” Marie called to the woman working with her.

“Marc Demoda?” the woman said, looking up. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties. “I know you probably don’t remember me.” He started to worry he had slept with this woman and she was about to point it out. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. But she said, “I wanted to thank you.”

Marc groaned internally. He didn’t know what she was going to say, but he didn’t think he could stop her.

“My husband is your mechanic,” the woman continued, then thanked him for taking care of their son’s medical bills the year before.

“Just glad your son’s okay,” Marc said, and grabbed the sodas before someone else could publicly thank him for things they’d promised not to share with anyone.

“Does everyone from Helping Hands work this carnival?” Marc looked around desperately for anyone else who might know him.

“Unless they have a reason they can’t. It’s an ‘everyone-pitch-in’ type of organization, and this is our biggest fundraiser of the year,” Beth said. Her voice sounded strange, like she was trying to keep whatever she was feeling in check.

“Then you might as well know that there are about ten more people who are going to make similar comments. Austin hooked me up with all of them, so I have to assume they’re all here. We have an agreement that they don’t tell people, but for some reason, they don’t seem to think you count as ‘telling someone,’” Marc said. He turned to look at Beth and frowned. “And don’t look at me like that,” he added.

Her mouth turned up at the corner, and then she took a sip of her drink. “Like what?” she finally asked.

“Like you suddenly forgot what a jerk I am,” Marc said, taking her hand.

“Trust me, the whiplash reminds me of what a jerk you are.” Beth smiled up at him again. “I’m surprised you get it.”

Her eyes sparkled like they did when she watched her son playing baseball or her daughter singing her ABCs. His stomach tightened: She was proud of him. He frowned again.

“‘Pay it forward’ is the basis of the entire organization. It’s about doing something for someone without wanting or expecting anything. Helping each other because we can. That’s what you do,” Beth explained.

He needed to clarify this before she started thinking Marc was something he wasn’t. “I can’t spend the interest I make in a month. These people need money; I need to get rid of it. That’s all it is.”

“Exactly. You’re not doing it expecting attention or praise,” she agreed, smiling. “That’s what I mean. That’s why when Austin approached me with the idea, I signed over my inheritance to get it off the ground.”

“Wait—you did what?” Marc asked. He suddenly remembered the conversation about squandering her money. Knowing her parents, he’d bet Beth had invested money in Helping Hands, and they thought it was a waste. “Like, all of it?”

“Well, I invested some in Will’s gym and in Grant’s farm, but the rest I turned over to Austin.” She shrugged.

“You gave away millions of dollars?” he asked.

Beth looked at the ground. “The simplest answer is yes. But, after Bob and I got married, that money was the last link to my father. I was no longer living with them, didn’t share their name—not using their money was the next step. It made sense to give it to something that could do some actual good.” Beth finally looked up to meet his eyes. “The money gave Helping Hands a solid start, and leaving it behind gave me a fresh one.” Beth waved her hand around her. “This means a lot to me.” Her eyes twinkled, and her face lit up with contagious energy.

Marc couldn’t help but smile. “Everything Helping Hands has done is great, and this carnival is amazing.” But it was the woman who stood next to him, blushing, who was truly wonderful.

He didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable, so he decided to change the subject. “So, where are the kids?” Marc asked, looking around before realizing how ridiculous it was to think he could spot them in a group this large.

“They’re with Danny, over by the trucks bonding with the other firefighters.”

“Let’s go find them. I’m looking forward to seeing them again.” Then Marc froze as his father’s words echoed in his head.

“What?” Beth looked up.

You’re going to get attached.

He wasn’t getting attached. Marc could look forward to seeing Beth and the kids without it meaning he was getting stuck.

“Nothing,” he said quickly and then placed his hand on the small of her back. He liked Beth and the kids. It was that simple. It was nothing he couldn’t walk away from and come back to see periodically, like he did with other people.

Marc and Steve spent the next hour dragging the girls to every game in the parking lot, having more fun than he’d had in years as they moved from one booth or activity to the next. Marc even won a Disney Cinderella doll for Mandy, which put a smile on her face.

The paparazzi and press were everywhere, so he gave Beth plenty of space, keeping her comfortable and spending his time with Mandy on his shoulders. Finally, as the kids prepared to play a water-gun game they could both handle on their own, he decided he was going to get Beth a little closer.

He was using the excuse of helping Beth get over her issues with the press to keep her close. However, his hands had been itching to touch her since he’d seen her in the barely-there Sideline outfit. He might be the spokesman for the brand, but he’d never loved it as much as he did seeing her in it. A natural smile spread over his lips as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her soft body tight to his chest. Although she was tense, he liked how she felt in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but kept his hold firm as she tried to wiggle away. “If I don’t start touching you, people won’t believe we’re dating. Everyone knows I’m all about giving the cameras the money shot.” He didn’t plan on sticking his tongue down her throat as he’d done with women in the past, but he wanted to be able to touch her in public.

“You’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf,” Beth hissed.

“I am. Instead of hanging all over lots of girls, I’m just hanging all over you.” He kissed her hair. Man, she smelled good. He took another breath, drinking in the scent of her. It was fruity—maybe peaches? The familiar burst of lust that Beth brought out rushed through him.

“Hey, Marc!” someone called, and he turned his head, keeping his arms around Beth’s waist. He scanned the crowd for a minute, but didn’t recognize anyone. A camera flashed, taking their photo, and people milled about, but no one stood out. It was a familiar occurrence—strangers thinking they knew him because they knew of him, having seen him on TV or in the papers. Although it was irritating, he was used to it. He turned back to what mattered.

“Relax,” he whispered to a tense Beth.

The kids moved to the next game, a giant ball pit. Beth settled against his chest as they watched. Marc let his finger run along the edge of her hoodie before lightly skimming the satin skin of her waist. Marc hadn’t been lying when he’d said she had some nice abs. His fingers danced up along her ribs; she felt like heaven under his hand. Her breath caught again, and he sighed. This ‘just friends’ thing sucked. But he pulled his hand back, releasing her before he got carried away.

“Mama, Marc, see me,” Mandy called out to them, drawing their attention as she launched herself into the air and somersaulted into the pit.

“Good job!” Beth called back.

Beth struck a perfect balance in parenting and it impressed the hell out of Marc. She gave them space to be themselves and try things, but she was there if they needed her. He’d never had that as a kid, so he hoped his parenting style would be like Beth’s.

His parenting style?What the hell? He didn’t plan on having kids, which hadn’t changed, so he wouldn’t need a parenting style. He shook his head.

Marc moved to the bench to sit down, and Beth walked over to sit beside him.

“Don’t suppose you would sit on my lap?” he teased.

“Marc.” She sighed. He took her hand in his, simply to touch her. “I know you see this as a personal challenge because you need some sort of competition in your life, but I’m not a game.” She looked down at her shoes. Today she was wearing flip-flops, not those fuck-me heels she’d worn too many times lately. He missed the heels. But at the moment, he needed to focus on what she was saying. This was important.

“I don’t think you’re a game. We’re friends, and I’m trying to help. It’s been ten years; you need to let it go,” Marc said. She tried to yank her hand away, but he held on. He wanted to understand how she felt, and that meant he had to push her to talk.

“You have no idea.”

He was sure there was more to that statement, but he interrupted anyway. “So tell me.”

“It would be easy if it had been ten years ago and I could move on, but it’s not,” Beth said, turning to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

“When was the last time you saw the pictures?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow.

Wow, he didn’t want to admit that.

“See?” she said pointedly. “Recently.”

“I googled you, and they popped up,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Embarrass you?” Beth asked, flatly looking toward her kids again.

“It made me mad.” Marc left out the other emotions.

“Yeah. It made lots of people mad at me.” Beth sighed, and her entire face fell.

“No!” The woman was exasperating. “Not that—not mad at you. Mad for you.”

“What?” The confusion in her face was utterly absurd. Why she thought what had happened was her fault was beyond him.

“It’s an invasion of your privacy,” Marc snapped, although he was trying not to direct any of his anger at her. He’d like to kill the nineteen-year-old who’d thought it was no big deal to sell photos Beth didn’t consent to. More, now that he knew how much it affected her. “Seeing them made me want to hit something.”

“It doesn’t embarrass you?” Beth asked, looking at him like she didn’t believe a word he was saying.

“What do you mean? What would embarrass me?”

She took a minute to play with her ring before she answered. “That you’re dating me—well, as far as the world knows, anyway—and anyone can google me and see…” She couldn’t finish, and she crumpled into his shoulder. Her compact frame curled into his side as she burrowed her face into his neck; her breath danced on his skin, sending tiny pulses of electricity through him. He swallowed, forcing his attention back onto their conversation.

“No,” Marc said honestly. Pissed off, jealous, turned on—any of those worked, but not embarrassed. And then Marc figured it out. “That’s what you’re afraid of, embarrassing yourself with a picture of us that will bring it all back up.”

“Not only me,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Your family?”

“Them too, I guess.”

“Who else?”

Beth shrugged like it didn’t matter, but the deep blush of her cheeks told him.

“Me?” He spun so he was facing her. “You’re worried about embarrassing me?” Marc said, looking down at this sweet, stupid woman resting on his shoulder. He smiled above her head and bit back the laughter that was bubbling up, because she was serious. But the idea that she might care sent a surge of happiness through him.

“You want me to help you fix your image, but look at the other people around me. My parents, Corey—I embarrass them.” Beth sighed. “And every time we’re out together, supposed to be fixing things for you, I’m waiting for whatever ruins it.”

Marc bit the inside of his cheek.

“Beth, I don’t think you could do anything to embarrass me.” He had made an ass of himself regularly for the last year. His image and reputation could only improve with her no matter what happened, but it was so damn sweet that she was worried about it.

“You don’t know me that well.”

And he laughed. She might not think he knew her, but he did.

“I already told you to yell at me in public. I want you to if I piss you off. You’ve been told you say the wrong things, but you could spout all your opinions and although I disagree with some of what you say, unlike your father, I won’t mind standing there next to you smiling while you say it.”

Beth frowned at him. Marc smiled. “I already told you I don’t care if you trip or dump something on anyone. And I’ll include the president in that statement, because I’d have to laugh if that happened.”

“What about my outfits? You don’t like them.”

“What?” This one he couldn’t explain.

“You hated that blue dress at the hospital, and earlier, you glared at my Sidelines until I put on my sweatshirt.”

“I wasn’t glaring.” ‘Staring’ would be the correct word, and inappropriately so—which was why he’d been glad when she put on that white hoodie.

Beth pulled her head up off his shoulder and shot him a look that said she didn’t believe him. But the truth was, he couldn’t think of anything he’d ever seen her in, including her sweats, that he didn’t like way more than he should, considering this whole platonic thing they had going on.

He had to correct this ass-backward idea. “Beth.”

“What?”

“Speaking strictly as your friend, you have a hot little body, and it looks good in pretty much anything—or nothing.” Marc shrugged. “Even if it were you and me in those pictures, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. I’d be mad, but honestly, ninety percent of men who see it are thinking what a lucky son-of-a-gun Corey is.”

“I doubt that.” Beth rolled her eyes.

“I would doubt that.” Beth might be a smart woman, but she missed things–very obvious things.

“You mean it, don’t you?” Beth said, looking up at him with those big emerald eyes that made him want to promise her the moon and the stars.

“Yes, so you don’t need to worry about it. And Beth, no matter how many pictures people take of us, they will always be strictly PG; you can trust me on that. I promise I won’t ever embarrass you.” Marc tilted her chin up with his index finger. She smiled, and he forgot they were just friends. He leaned in and brushed his lips lightly across hers, just as a camera flashed behind them. “Son of a gun,” he huffed, but Beth smiled as they both turned.

“Wanna bet that’s one of the highest retweets for the next twelve hours?”

“And I’ll bet it’s very PG,” Marc said, but for the first time in his life, he felt like a photographer had invaded his privacy.