Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance Read online

  "He must very good."

  "He is. Coach Blanchard and I both agree that he can be the key to a very deep run at the Cup this year, especially with our holes on defense. Miss Gray, I cannot stress this enough. Tyler Paulson must stay out of trouble, and stay happy here in Toronto. I don't need to deal with anymore issues from immigration because American players get into trouble with the Mounties or the Toronto police."

  The name hits me like a punch between the eyes, and I blink, stunned. "T-Tyler Paulson?"

  "Yes, Tyler Paulson. Originally from San Diego, California. Why, are you a fan?"

  The GM's question is asked in jest, he knows I don't know a lot about football, but when I don't answer, his expression grows more serious. "Miss Gray?"

  I know I'm blushing, I can't help it, but I swallow the lump in my throat and continue. "Well… if it’s the same Tyler, he and I went to summer camp together when we were kids. I'm just surprised, that's all."

  "Good. Then you at least have a way to break the ice. Miss Gray, I don't want to put any extra emphasis on this, I know you’re under stress, but this assignment . . . I need you to get the job done. You understand?"

  "I do, sir. I’ll do my best."

  “I know you will. Just remember to be forward with him, and don't let him steamroll you. I can deal with someone who's too forward — I can't help you if he just rolls over you like the others did. I'll send you an email with his information, you can start getting some things for him now. Good luck.”

  As I leave the office and retreat to my desk, nervously searching for my keys, I think about what has just been dropped into my lap. Tyler Paulson… after all these years.

  The Pacific Ocean thunders in the distance, but we're a few hundred meters inland, along a patch of trees that I didn't think would grow so close to the ocean. I thought pines and big trees like this would hate all the salty air, but they tower above us, as tall as anything in the London area where I live.

  "So what kind of tree is that, Pocahontas?"

  Rolling my eyes, I don't turn around at the voice behind me. I don't know trees, except that pine trees make good Christmas trees. "I told you to stop calling me that, Tyler."

  Tyler catches up with me, walking next to me on the trail. Summer camp is supposed to be full of outdoor adventures, but so far, the majority of it has been 'nature walks,' and not a lot else. I guess I can't complain. I mean, this whole thing is being paid for by my grandparents while Daddy goes through another round of chemo. The doctors say that they're sure they're going to get it this time, and he'll be cancer free. I hope so, his hair is all gone, and without it, he looks sad all the time. I want to see that black brush cut again, and not the coppery dome he's currently sporting.

  "Come on, you know I'm just joking," he says, taking my hand. We stop on the trail, and I'm caught up in his cute face. Unlike all the other boys in the camp, he's already starting to mature, his cheeks losing the chubbiness that almost everyone else still has. "I just think it's really cool that you're part Indian."

  "First Nations, Tyler. I prefer the term First Nations," I remind him, but still I smile a little. He may ask all sorts of questions that make him look ignorant, but there's nothing in them that makes me think he's trying to be a jerk or anything, and he's kinda cool to hang out with, for a boy. Actually, he's really cool to hang out with, which is why I like talking to him so much. "I don't wear a sari, and there's no dot on my forehead."

  Tyler smirks and taps me in the forehead with a dusty finger. "Now you do."

  I push him away, laughing despite myself. He's just so cute, darn it! "Your mouth is going to get you into trouble some day."

  "Maybe," he answers as we start walking again. As long as we stay between the two camp counselors, high school students who are working this for a summer job, we're free to go our own pace, which I think is best right in the middle. We’re away from the kids up front who want to treat the walks like some sort of workout and the guys who are gawking at the lead counselor Missy, who likes to wear tight khaki short-shorts, and the group of kids in the back, who are either struggling to keep up, or just want to bring up the rear. In the middle you get privacy, and a chance to just enjoy yourself.

  "Maybe?" I tease. "Tyler, you've already got like . . . five people here who hate you."

  "Not worried about them," Tyler says with a chuckle. "I'm worried about what you think of me."

  I feel fresh heat on my neck, and I know it's not because of the summer sun, most of this trail is shaded before we reach the beach. "I'm still thinking."

  Tyler gives me a look, and I can see that he's anxious, not the cool collected guy he is with everyone else. "Really? Because, like, the camp barbecue is tomorrow, you know."

  I know, I know. And as a big part of it, the counselors are insisting that everyone have a 'date' for the party. Something about social skills or something. But I've never been good with social skills, even back home in Canada. I hang out with my friends and play some basketball, that's it. I'm not one of the cool kids, and I certainly never hang out with the Cutie-Pies or the Princesses. And now the cutest guy in camp is telling me he wants me to be his date for the barbecue. Why?

  "I know Tyler, but . . . well, why me? I'm not exactly pretty like Gina Hernandez is. She's already got boobs."

  “No one cares about Gina,” Tyler replies with a look on his face and I have to agree. Gina’s not the nicest girl, but I don't mind her that much, she just doesn't know when to drop a joke. “I’m asking you because you're kinda cool to talk to, you know, for a girl."

  "You just like the fact I can start a fire without matches," I reply, thinking back to both the good and bad of that. It was fun, but once it became public knowledge that I'm part First Nations, the jokes started. I really don't like the jokes. In Canada, so many people are at least part First Nations that we don't even think about it, but here in California, it's enough of a difference that somebody felt it was worth a joke, and everyone else ran with it. Tyler's the only person though that makes the jokes not feel bad, though, which is why I don't mind them from him.

  "Actually, I liked the fact that you're like, the only girl who isn't afraid to go out and body board in the surf. I know the water here is colder than San Diego, but I love it too much. You get out there right with me."

  "It's why I'm wearing my swimsuit underneath," I reply, showing him the strap of my suit. "You know, us girls can't just jump in the ocean in our shorts and a t-shirt like the guys."

  "I don't wear my t-shirt," Tyler counters, showing off his arms. He's nearly as tan as I am, a deep sun-kissed chestnut brown, and he's already got muscles. A strange tingle goes through me whenever he takes off his shirt, like chocolate and batteries.

  "I've noticed," I say, accepting it instead of trying to force out all the weird stuff in my head, and point ahead. "We're nearly there."

  Tyler takes my hand again and pulls me to a stop. "So . . . will you go with me to the barbecue?"

  I'm not sure why my head is moving, but suddenly I'm nodding, and Tyler's smile makes it cool. "Great. Come on, I'll race you to the beach."

  Tyler takes off up the path, and I'm laughing, chasing after him as we jump over the tree roots and little rocks. There's no way that I can catch him. I'm out of breath when I finally catch up to him on the sand, and I see he's already stripped off his tank top. Chocolate and batteries, chocolate and batteries . . .

  "Hey Pocahontas, come on!" Tyler laughs, and heads for the water. I strip off my own shorts and shirt and run down, careful about the shells. They're really pokey, and I don't want to walk the mile back to camp with a cut on my foot.

  I shake my head, the memories of years ago making me smile. I go out to the parking lot and drive over to the car rental place that the Fighters use for new players. We have a corporate account, and it's convenient. I go inside, where Hank, the day manager is looking at something on his computer. "Good morning April!"

  I smile but can't work up a reply, and Hank shakes his
head. "April, how are you ever going to climb that corporate ladder when you can barely give me a good smile after us knowing each other for what, nearly a year?"

  "About that," I half whisper. It's not that Hank is a scary guy, in fact he's really nice. It's just that he's older, and he's in management. I know he told me he doesn't blame me for the time one of the players got into a car accident after I'd turned over the keys, but still . . .

  "Then relax. What can I do for you today?"

  I take a deep breath and get to business. "The Fighters have a new player coming in, and I need to get a car for him."

  "New player, huh? Cool. What's he play?"

  "Quarterback. Tyler Paulson, from California."

  "Nice, we need one," Hank, who's a big Fighters fan, says. "What's he like?"

  I stop, embarrassed. So much of being a personal assistant is knowing what sort of things a player likes, and here I am, having not even picked him up, and I'm already forgetting parts of my job! Shit!

  "Ahh . . . I don't know," I finally say, turning red. "I just know he arrives in three days and that he's a quarterback. The team's asked him to skip walking at graduation, and he's coming straight from his final exams."

  "Then let's do some research," Hank says amiably. He turns to his computer and clicks around with his mouse. "Let's see . . . Tyler Paulson . . . quarterback . . . oh wow, he's got great stats. Not that it helps us . . . let's see, car . . . well, maybe this helps."

  Hank turns the monitor toward me, and I feel that old feeling, what was it I called it back then, chocolate and batteries? Yep, it's chocolate and batteries time again as Hank shows me a picture of Tyler from the Internet. He's got even more of a surfer boy look than when we were kids, with his hair in a total Abercrombie and Fitch lanky half-comb over thing with brownish-blond hair, but he's lost some of the tan that I remember him with. I guess college football will do that to you . . . that and remembering to wear sunscreen.

  "That's him all right," I say for some damn reason. I take a closer look, and see he's leaning against the hood of a car. "What is that he's driving?"

  Hank peers intently at the screen. “That's a Mustang badge just on the right of his hip there. Looks like your new boy likes sports cars."

  "Mr. Larroquette would throw a fit if he found out I rented Tyler a Mustang," I reply, groaning inwardly. Not sports cars, although I guess that's not as bad as the Escalades and giant trucks some of the guys drive. "Got anything a little more sane?"

  "Oh come on, they're not as bad as they used to be," Hank replies with a smirk. “You can get him the EcoBoost model… pretty small engine for a sports car. Sure it looks sexy, but it's a PUA."

  "A what?" I ask, trying to keep up.

  Hank laughs. "Sorry, got it from my kids. A PUA, pick up artist. All talk, no real go behind it. Come on April, you work with football players, you've got to be more up on the slang than that."

  "I try," I say, blushing again. I do keep up, but I'm not all that cool, I just do my job. "Okay, well, I guess a Mustang will work then. Can you get me the calmest one?"

  “No problem,” Hank says, turning his monitor back around and typing away. "I can get you one that you can pick up tomorrow if you like."

  "Yes please. Oh, and can you get it in electric blue, do you have that option?"

  Hank raises an eyebrow. "Electric blue? Why?"

  "Blue is Tyler's favorite color," I say without thinking, my memories coming forward again.

  Hank chuckles and taps at his keyboard. "Doesn't know the car the man likes . . . knows his favorite color. April, you are one funny woman. All right, I'll see what I can do."

  The night is almost totally black, but there's no chill to the air as the counselor lights the big bonfire that takes up the middle of the sand. We're really pushing the limits on the fire code, but it's cool with the flames nearly as tall as I am. And the food was great, and we've still got dessert to make with S'mores on deck.

  "Whoa," Tyler says as the fire shoots up. "I guess Tom wasn't lying about helping it out with gasoline."

  "Stupid," I comment, still feeling funny. Tyler's been really nice all day, and now at the barbecue he's been awesome. When the food came around he got me a plate and brought it over to our spot on the sand like a real gentleman, and when the other boys ran off to play football, he stayed and we talked. He told me about his life in San Diego, and how he dreams of playing professional football, and he listened as I told him about my life in Canada. In fact, he listened more than he talked, which most people don't do at all.

  "Hey Tyler?"

  "Hmm?" Tyler asks, the flames still dancing in his eyes.

  "Earlier, why didn't you run off to play football with the other boys? You could have, you know."

  Tyler turns to me, a little smile on his face, and shakes his head. "I thought this was supposed to be a date, not a football game."

  Tyler looks at me strangely for a second, then leans forward, and we kiss. It's my first kiss, so it's not like I have a lot to compare it to, but I know that his lips are soft, and it's not yucky at all. Instead, it's really nice, and I can feel my heart speeding up. I want to kiss him more, but suddenly there's a call from the other side of the fire.

  "Woooo-ooo-ooo! Tyler and Pokey!"

  Tyler breaks our kiss and looks embarrassed. "Shut up, Gina!"

  The party wraps up after we make our desserts, and afterward, we walk back through the dark to camp, flashlights bobbing as we walk through the woods. I'm not so much surprised as happy when Tyler reaches over and holds my hand again. “Sorry about those girls."

  "It's okay," I whisper, but it's not, really. I've never been all that social, and I don’t like being called out like that. "You didn't mean to."

  "Actually . . . I kinda did," Tyler says with a little chuckle. "I wanted to kiss you.”

  "Why?"

  Tyler shrugs, and before he can answer, we both trip over a root, stumbling a bit. He grabs me, and in the darkness I can feel his hand on my chest. Chocolate and batteries, chocolate and batteries . . .

  Tyler realizes where his hand is and pulls back, and suddenly it’s his turn to be tongue tied. "Ah, well, ah . . . sorry."

  "It's okay," I say, taking his hand again. "You weren't trying to feel me up, right?"

  "Right," he says with a soft laugh. “I don’t know, I just wanted to. I've been thinking about it, that's all."

  We start back on the trail, and Tyler sounds a little sad the next time he speaks. "So tomorrow's the last day."

  "Yeah. You're going back to San Diego?"

  Tyler nods. "I've got football practice starting next week. You're going home too, right?"

  I nod. "Yeah . . . Canada's going to feel really cold after this summer. And London's not as much fun as here."

  Tyler laughs, and I know why. Mixing that you're from London, Ontario instead of London, England can be worth a joke every once in a while. "Well, maybe before you leave, you can give me your address?"

  "I'd like that," I say, and as we keep walking, he takes my hand again.

  "He never did write," I whisper sadly to myself, three days later sitting in the baggage terminal at the airport. I shake my head, wondering why the hell I should care. It was a long time ago, and we were kids. I wasn't good at keeping up with people either then."

  I check the displays, and see that I've got a few minutes until Tyler's flight is supposed to land. I double check my little soft briefcase, making sure I have all the paperwork that I'm supposed to have. Car contract? Check. Initial apartment listings? Check. Welcome packet including the emergency numbers? Check.

  I wish Mr. Larroquette had given me Tyler's phone number, some of this could have been much more easily handled that way, but he didn't. Ah well, it wasn't on the paperwork either, so maybe Tyler didn't give it to the team. I make a note to get that as soon as I can as well.

  "Air Canada Flight 784 from Los Angeles now arriving," the PA system announces, and I put my stuff away. Tyler's going to be arriving
soon.

  I wonder if he remembers me?

  Chapter 3

  Tyler

  The plane circles Toronto in a holding pattern, and I'm excited. Sure, I'm missing graduation, but the Dean still gave me my diploma in a private ceremony yesterday, so I guess I can still say I did graduation. Cross that off my bucket list of things to do.

  More exciting though is looking down on the city. It's beautiful, and I've spent a decent part of the past few weeks looking up Toronto.

  It's high tech but without the craziness of California, I read. I can check out music, sports, and it's not that far from the US, so it's not like I'll be in the boonies either.

  But best of all, at least according to the things I read, is the girls. Without all the cultural hang-ups of the US, Canadian girls are supposedly more laid back and freaky, and Toronto's the freakiest of them all.

  And, I hate to put it bluntly, but I’ve grown bored of fake bottle blond California girls. I know I sound like a dumbass, and not all the girls in California are like that, but for some reason that’s what I attract. I could use a change of scenery.

  If the stewardess on the Air Canada flight is any example of what I can expect, I’m going to love it. She makes eyes with me as the plane descends. "Please make sure your seatbelt is fastened, sir," she says, a little purr on her use of the word sir. "I'd hate to chastise you again."

  "I doubt that," I reply in a low voice, just enough she can hear. "I bet you'd like to chastise me more."

  "Maybe," she says with a naughty glint to her eye telling me that I guessed right. Not my normal scene, but I'm up for some adventures. "But my Master would have issues."

  I grew up in California, and while San Diego and Los Angeles are no San Fran, I've run into this scene before. "Well, we wouldn't want that. You serve well, you should be proud."

  She blushes a little, her smile growing a fraction past professional and into personal. "Thank you Sir. Now, please keep your seatbelt fastened."