He adjusted the bed and pushed the disgusting hospital food away. His hand
bumped the television remote and the box flashed on, sound coming up long before the picture cleared, but he knew the voices. Monday evening local sports talk.

"How many lives does this guy have?"

Laughter from the co-host. "Nine? What's he on? Gotta be something like seven or eight, right?"

"Exactly, Shane Falco the cat just keeps rallying back. And now, after a semi-sterling half season performance with our Seattle Seahawks, a freshly broken left arm and torn left rotator cuff thanks to Jamaal Cromwell, at the end of his contract, when you think this is it for the struggling quarterback, that all is lost . . . the Pittsburgh Steelers want him? Unbelievable!"

"Always lands on his feet, Falco. But you've got to admit, that semi-sterling performance was a hell of a lot better than any of us expected. He does just keep getting better with every set back."

"And older. But now, on to hockey news . . ."

"Semi-sterling," Shane grunted, pushed his long hair back and eyed the mushy meatloaf on the table he'd shoved too far away to reach. Blessedly, just hours after surgery and the recovery room, he had enough morphine in his veins to kill the pain. Not enough to stop thinking. Was that only yesterday? It was all a blur. He did know that Beckley had hooked up with the pass and the Seahawks had won the game before he passed out cold on the field. Another concussion. Ah well, he was familiar with those. Between the drugs and the soft bed, the dim Seattle evening light coming through the window and his growing depression, Shane could care less about the Pittsburgh Steelers. But his last thought before drifting off was to thank God it was his left arm and not his right.

He dreamed about the game. It was a tough one. They all were, but this time there was a ton of shit on his mind. Even so, he was juiced for a win. So juiced that for the first time in his life, Shane was completely aware of every nuance, every flinch of movement around him, and he was playing like a pro.

Last play of the game, if he did it right. He wanted the ball . . . not the tying filed goal. But shit happens in a game that even a pro can't sense is coming. He stepped back out of the pocket, knew the 49er's Cromwell was charging him, but he saw his target clear as a bell. The perfect release. Even as Shane soared through the air doing an impressive Olympic 9.99 flip, his eyes tracked the ball's spiral toward Beckley, wide open and poised for the end zone catch. Not much after that to dream, except the final score. 24-21 Seahawks.

The dream shifted to the things on his mind, buried deep during those few seconds between the snap, the release and blissful unconsciousness.

Shane saw his life in quick flashes, a rapid up and down roller coaster ride since he'd played replacement football for the Washington Sentinels. Two delicious weeks of peace and quiet with Annabelle, long hours of sweaty passion and simple joys before the first call came from Jimmy McGinty. The speeding bullet of thrilling negotiations that brought him to Seattle. The struggle to retain his long distance relationship with Annabelle, but on the bright side, he had airfare money to get home to see her.

The ongoing battles with his insecurities on and off the field. Two years mostly on the sideline as secondary quarterback to the aging Seattle hero, Marty Zwieback. Then the six games he had all to himself, old Marty suffering from a broken toe and aching ego. It was a loosing season all around and Shane had several ups, but twice as many downs. Two more games and his contract was up. He knew they weren't going to keep him, so what did he have to lose? He played those last few games like there was no tomorrow.

With a decent bank account under his belt, he took the chance and asked Annabelle to marry him. Her answer came by e-mail the morning of the game. Simple, honest, just like Annabelle. "No."

The next e-mail should have had no bearing on his emotions, but somehow it had. His long estranged father had passed away that week.

And these were the things fogging his playbook thoughts during Sunday's game. His drug induced dreams were not creative or solution forming. Just a reiteration of what Shane Falco already knew. Life had become just like quicksand.

w

Floating up from sleep, the pain was raging and he kept his eyes closed to feel it fully. Some things are important, and if nothing else in life ever went his way again, he'd earned the gnawing ache in his shoulder and arm.

"What're you doing?"

Shane grinned, he knew the voice. Old McGinty. Since talking with Jimmy that day, years ago on his boat, he'd become Shane's mentor, his agent of sorts and a kind of valued surrogate father.

"Watching the game," Shane grunted.

"Well, that game's over, buddy. Wake up and meet your next coach."

Shane squinted bleary eyes until the face come into focus. Bill Cowher of the Pittsburgh Steelers smiled and reached out.

"Hey," Shane groaned and shook the man's hand.

Cowher settled on the bedside chair as Jimmy leaned against the window sill.

"Thought we should meet, have a talk," Coach Cowher said. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't ask. What's this all about?" Shane shifted restlessly, switched off the television and raised the bed to sit up. "A couple of years carrying a clipboard? If so, I gotta say, Coach, I'm not all that interested. Been there, done that."

"Shane," Jimmy grunted a reprimand.

"Yeah, sorry. How am I feeling? Like shit. How are you Coach?"

Cowher grinned his big chinned grin. "Great." He leaned forward in his seat and looked right into Shane's eyes. "Listen, Falco. I don't make promises I can't keep and don't expect you to either. The Steelers are in the same situation the Seahawks were at the beginning of this season. Porter is aging and retiring at the end of next season. He's asking for no less than three games, no more than five and I'll give him that much. He's earned it. That would leave you with the rest. But," he cleared his throat. "You will spend your time with a clipboard. You'll be coming to the 'Burg for your rehabilitation so that we can help you as much as possible and you can get comfortable with your new home town. You will deal with training camp and you will be evaluated as you heal and get stronger. I have three back up quarterback options. Two rookies will be in training camp along with our resident crybaby, Billy Pasky. He thinks he's a shoe in, he's not."

"So," Shane interrupted, wincing with pain. "I get to scare Pasky into behaving himself and secure a possible three year contract on the sidelines?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jimmy groaned and Cowher put up his hand.

"Let the man talk, McGinty. Lord knows he's had his share of shitty deals."

Shane blinked. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful here Coach, but I have had my share of shitty deals. Granted, I've done my share of fucking up too, but --"

"That's not how I see it, Falco," Cowher stood and began a slow pace the length of the bed. "You have never," he glanced over at Jimmy. "Well, almost never had the right kind of coaching or the right kind of guidance. I can see the glory inside of you, Falco. And I know about the kind of man you are."

"Like that matters," Shane grunted bitterly.

"It does now." Cowher stilled and squared a serious look on Shane.

"Yeah? Why?"

"Because it's Pittsburgh. Until you get there, you can't know what I'm talking about. And, buddy. You ain't never seen me in action."

Shane turned to Jimmy. "And you think I should do this?"

Jimmy grinned, that glint in his eye. "It's done, Shane. Sign the contract and start playing football for real."

Shane stared at Jimmy, then at the darkened television screen for several silent moments. Turning to Cowher, he painfully shrugged. "Got a pen?"

w

A coast to coast flight is always uncomfortable but when someone is physically miserable, hurting enough to scream, it can be downright unbearable. Shane shuffled and groaned in his first class seat and thought about taking more pain meds to help him sleep. Another city, another team, another life. But there was one good thing; The Pittsburgh Steelers didn't have a cheerleader squad. Shane's heart as well as his aching body needed a rest.

Pittsburgh, Seattle, to him it was all the same, it wasn't home and never would be. Not that he loved living on a houseboat, which had probably rotted and sunk to the bottom of the Potomac by now. He hadn't even seen the damn thing in three years, but it was home. His place, his space, his peace.

He shifted again in his seat and grinned, thinking about how Cowher talked about Pittsburgh, like it was someplace special or different. One thing Shane had learned the hard way; pro football is a business, plain and simple. It was about putting butts in the seats and playing well. Otherwise, there were the boos and cat calls and a few tossed hot dogs for good measure. Damn, Shane hated when that happened. Suffered a sprained ankle slipping on one in his first game that season. Nice. Read fucking nice.

Early December and his season had already ended. Just two more games and at least he'd have felt like he'd finished it. The Steelers were still playing. He knew the stats and the players' names, even their faces. Knew they were heading for greatness again, trying to get that fifth Super Bowl ring, but even Coach Cowher said it was going to be a while. Shane wondered, what would it be like to be a part of something like that? Maybe everything about Pittsburgh would be different after all; maybe he could help the team. Or . . .

Looking down as the plane descended for landing at Pittsburgh International, he saw snow. Lots of snow. Well, the weather wasn't any different than he'd just left. The flight attendant collected his coffee mug and smiled, asking if he had a comfortable flight.

"Yeah, thanks," Shane lied.

Off the plane and onto the moving walkways, down two sets of escalators and into an underground shuttle. Then the long walk to baggage claim. His carryon was pulling at his good shoulder making the injured arm ache even more. He followed the signs and stood at the carousel awaiting his luggage. Glancing around he wondered, where was his ride? Someone was supposed to meet him. He dug the crumpled paper from his pocket. Peter Banks. Where the hell was Peter Banks any way? He reached for his first piece of luggage and a small woman reached at the same time.

"Uh, that's mine I think," he said as she hauled it with a grunt.

"I know," the woman smiled, set aside the massive suitcase and put out her hand. "You're Shane Falco, right?"

He shook her small, warm hand and smiled. "Yeah, you can't be Peter Banks."

"No," she chuckled and reached for his garment bag, pulling it off the carousel and setting it next to the other. "I'm Reena. Nice to meet you."

"Reena? That's an unusual name." They both reached for the next bag.

"No, no. I got it." This one was very heavy and the carousel nearly carried the woman and bag ten feet away before she heaved it over the rail. "Maureena Polanski." She looked at him and shrugged. "It's very Polish. Almost everyone in Pittsburgh is either Polish or Italian."

"I'm neither." He watched her scan the passing bags. She was pretty. Long blond hair twisted in a neat French braid. Dressed sharp in an attractive sage wool suit, a bright fuchsia scarf tossed carelessly around her neck and matching gloves poking from her pockets.

Her smile was pleasant. "Oh, trust me, you will be. Won't take long for this town to adopt you. Hope you like kielbasa and lasagna. How many more bags?"

"What?" He was wondering why he couldn't take his eyes from her. She had a comfortable way of moving, talking. Welcoming.

"How many more bags are we waiting for?"

"Uh," he looked down, counted. "That's it. Sorry."

"Cool," she collected a baggage cart and loaded his luggage onto it. Shane hated that, but knew he couldn't actually lift anything more than his carryon, and that alone was killing him.

"Here, let me take that too."

"Nah, I got this one. So, where's Peter?" He followed her toward the door, tugging his leather jacket collar up.

"Ah, well, Peter Banks had a bit of a confrontation with management yesterday. Got his ass fired and got me a promotion." At her car, Reena opened the hatchback and grunted the bags in then brushed off her hands. She turned blue eyes to him. Eyes that sparkled. "You're looking at the new public relations director for the Pittsburgh Steelers."

Shane climbed into the passenger seat and belted in. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," she carefully pulled out of her spot and drove from the parking garage.

"Ah," he cleared his throat and wondered how far they were from where ever it was he'd be staying. He needed a pain pill and needed it bad. He'd had surgery just two days earlier and was feeling the need for a mattress. "What do you do? Besides shuttle injured players around?"

"Oh, you'll be seeing a lot of me, Shane. Can I call you Shane? Or would you prefer Mr. Falco?"

He laughed. "Please, Shane is fine."

"Well, I will be showing you around town, helping you get acclimated and comfortable here. I'll be taking you for your rehab, which by the way we need to go to right now." She turned to see the fearful scowl on his face. "Oh, don't worry; they just want to talk to you. No work today, they promised."

He let loose a loud sigh and she chuckled.

"And I'll be developing the press kit on you, getting that together means we'll be talking a lot. That's okay, isn't it?"

"Sure, sure. Talking is okay." Why not, he figured. He reached into his pocket for his pills, planning to choke them down dry but Reena reached behind his seat and handed him a bottle of water.

"Thought you might need this."

He gulped pills and water, running his hand across his mouth. "You think of everything."

Expecting a cute retort, she surprised him. "Nah, but I thought it would be nice. I mean, you are in pain; it just makes sense to have some water for your meds. I arranged for an apartment on Mount Washington, figured I'd show off the city. But you don't have to stay there. If you don't like it, I'll take you around to look at other options. You have a four o'clock meeting tomorrow afternoon at the head office, and depending on what the rehab guys say, you may have an appointment there tomorrow too. Tonight, if you're up to it, I made reservations for dinner. Um," her eyes turned to him again. "But you don't have to. I mean if you don't feel up to it, it's no big deal."

She had his head spinning. When he moved to Seattle, he lived in a Super 8 Motel for six weeks till he found an apartment himself. Maybe she was just over enthusiastic with her promotion and all. "Dinner. What, in a few hours? If I can get some rest and a shower, it'll be fine."

"Yay," she said quietly.

"Reena, I'm not that great a conversationalist or anything, nothing to be excited about."

"Oh." And she was silent for the remainder of the drive, making him feel like a real jerk for saying that. He leaned his head back and let the meds do what they were supposed to do. And he prayed that the rehab people kept their promises.

w

Unfortunately, when Reena showed up to take him to dinner, Shane could hardly keep his eyes opened. Yeah, the rehab techs did talk, but they also did x-rays and some serious manipulation of his left arm before making their evaluation. Consequently, even the percs weren't easing the gnawing pain.

He stood at the door, rumpled, crusted sleep thingies at the corners of his eyes and yawned. "Sorry. Not going to make it to dinner."

"Aw." Her blue eyes expressed concern. "I was afraid of that, so I brought dinner to you."

Shane stepped aside and rubbed the bridge of his nose watching her carry a bag into his kitchen. Another yawn and he shook his head clear. His kitchen. His apartment. He hadn't even really looked around the place yet, his primary goal upon arriving was locating the bed. To his right was a wall of windows and outside, way down there, was sparkling Pittsburgh. He stepped closer and looked. Pretty nice. He could see Heinze Field and that PNC Baseball park. Nice looking city. He idly scratched his belly and headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving Reena to fuss in the kitchen.

Spitting toothpaste, he rinsed his face and glared at his reflection. Reena was a nice girl. A little over enthusiastic, but that wasn't necessarily a flaw. He'd been accused of such himself at times. She took her job seriously but maybe a little too seriously. He was sure that it wasn't in her job description to take care of a grown man who could order pizza if he got hungry. But after hurting her feelings in the car, feeling the disappointment radiate from her, he was sure he'd best tread carefully. "After all," he said to the mirror. "She's the closest thing you've got to a friend right now."

In the kitchen she'd set the table for one and was placing a loaded plat of Chinese on it. She licked her finger. "Come on and eat. It'll help your pain medication work better." She didn't look at him, the blush on her cheek indicating that she was still smarting a little from his earlier remark.

"You're not joining me?" He sat, watching her.

"Ah, no. You probably want some peace and quiet so I thought I'd just . . ."

He reached out and tugged her hand until she sat with him. Pushing the plate between them, he chose the fork and slid the wooden chopstick to her fingers. She didn't move to take them, her eyes had settled to focus on the clasped hands in her lap.

"Reena Polaski," he started slowly. "I am sorry about earlier. Listen, I'm tired, miserable, in so much pain I could cry like a girl," he watched her fight a small smile. "I'm worried about what's behind and worried about what's ahead. Basically . . . I'm a fucking bear right now. Sorry."

She took the chopsticks.

"Good," he lifted a fork load to his mouth. "I though everything about this town was Polish or Italian." He grinned, thrilled to see her return it.

"Oh, we're a pretty cosmopolitan little city, Shane. You won't always have to eat kielbasa or lasagna. It's a Mecca of international cuisine. Chinese, Japanese, Caribbean, African, German, you name it, we eat it. I know the Chinese food in Seattle is wonderful, so I thought I'd get something to make you feel at home."

He leaned back, took in a good long look at her. "You really do think of everything."

She shrugged. "I have some bad news for you."

His fork lowered and brows curled.

"Sorry, but you start rehab tomorrow morning at ten. They called."

"Yeah, and did they promise to go easy?"

"No," her eyes were soft. "I tried, I swear."

A laugh escaped his chest. Reena said the city would adopt him, he just didn't expect she'd do it first. Watching her shy response to his pleasure, Shane Falco decided that he'd give the new town a chance. He just might like it here.

That night after she'd left, Shane sat at the edge of his bed and stared at the phone. His heart was reeling. Should he or shouldn't he? He lifted the receiver and dialed. Three rings and she answered.

"Annabelle. Hi."

"Shane. How are you?"

His eyes closed with the comfort of hearing real concern in her voice. "Hurt like hell. How are you?"

She was silent.

"Um, I thought I'd call. Let you know where I am. I'm in Pittsburgh."

"I know where you are." More silence. "Shane, I really am proud of you, you'll do so well there."

"Yeah? Proud. But not proud enough to marry me, right?" His heart ached worse than his shoulder and he lay back on the bed, his hand settled over the pain. Over his broken heart.

"I am sorry, Shane." And she hung up.

w

Two weeks later, Reena was driving him back from a meeting with the head office. The weather had turned treacherous with the first snowstorm since the day before he'd arrived. Several cars were pulled over, fender benders everywhere.

He looked over at her intense concentration and smiled. "Why don't we pull over and wait till it clears?"

"Trust me, it'll be worse then. Besides, I wanted to get you home so that I could work on your press kit."

"My what?"

She grinned. "The world wants to know everything about you. You're going to be our next quarterback, Shane! Take us to the Super Bowl and get us that fifth ring. What did you think I've been asking all those questions for?"

"I donno, I thought just maybe I'd become an interesting guy."

"You are an interesting guy and it's my job to make sure this city knows you so well that before Training Camp, they already love you. What about Christmas?"

"Huh?" Would he ever get used to her habit of changing tracks mid thought?

"Christmas. Are you going home? Shall I arrange your flight?"

"No, no and no."

"What?"

"No Christmas plans, not going home and don't need a flight. The best thing about Christmas day is that the rehab techs are off."

She pulled over, surprising him when she threw the car in park and undid her seatbelt to turn fully toward him. "Shane, you're not spending Christmas alone!" Reena gasped.

"It's no big deal, won't be the first or the last time. Honest, it's fine. Really." He wasn't going to win and he already knew it. The problem was that he wasn't sure he wanted to win this one. He was curious to see what she'd come up with. It had become like a game for them. Reena was always the victor, but Shane was always pleased with the results anyway.

She chewed her lip and tapped her fingers on her knee then grinned. "It is a big deal, being alone is unacceptable. Shane, it just ain't happening. Let me see what I can arrange then I'll let you know how you'll be spending the holidays." She smiled. "This can work!"

"Ah, Reena? What can work?"

She turned a playful grin, put the car in gear and once again merged into the crawling line of snow covered cars.

Two days later, his phone was ringing as he got out of the shower. Towel in hand he reached it before whoever was calling would hang up. He didn't like to admit it, but every time the thing rang, he still hoped it would be Annabelle. It never was.

"Here's the plan, finally." It was Reena.

"Okay." He rubbed the towel over his hair.

"Rehab is giving you all of Christmas week off."

He thumped down on the bed. "Really? What was that word? Yay!"

She giggled. "Then, you and I are invited to a private Holiday party at Coach Cowher's house on the twenty-second. But pack your bags because we leave right after the party."

"For?"

"Christmas with my family. We rent a huge place up at Seven Springs and mom and dad are thrilled to have you -- "

"Reena, no."

"No, no, I'm serious. Mom is a huge football fan, she even remembers you in the Sugarbowl."

He groaned. "No, Reena. I'm not intruding on your family holiday. It's bad enough you spend most of your free time babysitting me. I've so taken advantage of you . . . this is way beyond the call of duty. They can't really expect you to do this."

"Shane," her voice was soft, strained. "Maybe I thought it would be nice."

"It is nice, Reena. Way too nice. And I do appreciate it but --"

"And," she sighed softly. "Maybe I want to do it."

He stared into space, blinked, the Annabelle fog suddenly lifting. "Oh."

"But you don't have to. I understand."

"No! Reena, don't hang up!"

"Seriously, it's fine."

"No, listen." He took a deep breath and let it out slow, carefully controlling the tone of his voice. "I will be honored to spend the holidays with your family . . . with . . . you."

w

Pittsburgh hospitality, Christmas style. There were greeting cards from fans already looking forward to his first season and well aware that he was rehabilitating his injury among them. Invitations to numerous get-togethers came from the team and staff. Never a social animal, Shane was unsure of which to attend and which he could gracefully decline. Reena had the best advice and he followed it to the letter, blessedly offending no one and avoiding having to go to everything he was invited to.

Despite his reprieve from rehab, Shane pushed his body anyway, using hand weights and sweating in his reach toward full recovery. The cast was off of his arm, and his range of shoulder motion had drastically improved over the past three weeks.

Twice that week, Reena had dawned boots and her ski suit to play catch with him at the park as he worked at keeping his good right arm sure and precise while protecting the left from further injury. It worked well, she was a girl and he wouldn't throw far, feeling guilty if she had to cover too much ground to retrieve the ball. The best part? Seeing her face flushed pink from the cold, smiling and laughing as they played.

And Shane wondered, what did he want from Reena? What did she want from him? Their friendship had developed to the point where he would tell her things. Things that had nothing to do with the press package she was developing on him. Things that worried him and things that scared the living shit out of him. She knew about Annabelle's refusal to marry him, but she didn't know how recently that had happened. Reena knew he wasn't much of a family type guy, as he had just his mom till he left home for college. And she knew he was lonely. Not that he told her that, but he did show her, often begging her to sit and watch television with him or accompany him to a game. Was that a bad thing to do?

The Coach's private holiday party was a formal affair in an impressive house. Reena had been doing her job well. He was welcomed like an old friend by everyone, including the caterers who recognized him even before some of his soon to be team mates. He was comfortable and chatted at length with quarterback Gary Porter. Porter was entertaining and happy to talk at length with the new guy, admitting to Shane that he was more than ready to hang up his helmet.

"You'll do well here, Falco. Just be yourself. And play the way you did those last few games."

"Comatose?" Shane joked.

"With heart. You have no clue how this town loves that. You give it all you have, and they'll love you, win or lose. I swear, it's the strangest place I ever played. And I am honored to end it all in Pittsburgh. But," Porter waved to someone across the room. "Watch out for Pasky," he leaned in and whispered. "The fucker's poison. Stay clear if you know what's good for you."

"I will. I will." Just then he noticed who Porter had waved to and Reena joined them, receiving a bear hug that gave Shane a small heart pump of jealousy. Porter's big arms wrapped around Reena then swung her in a circle.

"This," he grinned, settling her on her feet. "This little dynamo is what I'm gonna miss most."

"Yeah, right," she smiled and pushed back her silky hair. "No more Reena tossing in the locker room."

"Reena tossing?" Shane took the opportunity to tuck her possessively under his arm and tug her close.

"They think I'm a toy."

Porter leaned in, a twinkle in his eye. "She is, Falco. Maybe you can figure out how to get her to play willingly." And he laughed before leaving for parts unknown.

"Reena tossing?" Shane repeated, looking down into her raised face. "What are the rules?"

"They try to toss me to each other, and I run like hell."

"Good girl." He snuggled her closer.

As the night wore on, Shane took a good look around, wondering what he'd found with this new town. Wondering how much of the welcome was Reena's doing and how much was real. After meeting everyone there, sharing food and way too many drinks, he discovered that there wasn't anyone he really didn't like. Through his pickled brain, even Pasky was seemed friendly and well behaved. Reena informed him that that was only because there were several press friends of the Coach's there. Otherwise, it might have dissolved into mayhem and arguments before dinner was even served.

He noticed the smiles, noted the genuine handshakes and thuds on backs. And he noticed the women. Noticed that they were all pretty and decided without a doubt . . . that he was with the prettiest one. And Shane was most certainly with her, keeping close and deterring many of the team's intended hugs and flirts. The guys were crazy about her, and why not? All that personality and she looked like an angel.

Reena glowed in a dark blue silk dress that showed her curves. The tiny diamond at her neck reflected the sparkle in her brilliant eyes and made her smile glow. Feeling bold, he took her aside to a quest alcove in the entry hall.

"Hey, when can we leave?"

"You're not having a good time?" Concern curled her pretty brow.

"Yeah, yeah. I just thought maybe we need to hit the road."

"It's not that far away," she said, hiding a smile.

"Well," he leaned close to her ear, making sure his lips brushed the softness of her neck along the way. "I thought maybe we could just . . . I don't know . . . be alone for that hour . . . now instead of later."

"You did, did you?

Shane blinked. He'd had a lot to drink, making him braver than usual, but he knew he wanted to leave. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked quite like that. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, we can leave when ever you were planning."

With that, she stood tall on her toes and whispered a sweet kiss on his lips. "I wanted to leave an hour ago, Shane."

w

The car windows were steamed and their embrace was hot and tangled. His lips were on her neck, working their way to her cleavage, teasing at the low neckline of that blue dress. Blue. That could easily become his favorite color, should things move as he was hoping. But what he was hoping for was never a quick fuck in her car. Her soft hands on his face, Shane pulled away with a smile, turned to kiss the palm of one of those hands then reached for his seatbelt.

With a sigh, Reena started the engine and they were on their way. His hand lay on her knee and they talked easily during the ride. Talked about the next season, about her growing responsibilities and Shane wondered. Would a relationship with her jeopardize her job?

"Hey, you sure it's okay? You and me? Your job and all?"

"I don't know. I had a long talk with Coach Cowher tonight and --"

Shane blinked. "You did what?"

"I talked with Coach."

"About us?"

"Well, technically Shane, there is no us . . . yet. But I was thinking that if there would be a . . . a chance then maybe I should clarify it with management . . . about . . ."

His head shook and his hand pulled away. Somehow he thought any possible relationship was his and Reena's decision, not something the fucking management needed to know about. It was one thing to fall for someone, but completely another to have to get permission first. They would deal with the ramifications of the relationship when it was solid and real, but he wasn't prepared to defend it before it even started. "Jesus, Reena."

"I'm . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

They drove the last half hour in complete silence and when they arrived, he was polite with her parents, but excused himself to his room the moment it seemed appropriate to do so.

w

Hung over. It wasn't till he woke feeling severely green around the gills that Shane knew without a doubt that he'd had way, way too much to drink at the party.

"Ahhhh, shit," he groaned as he sat up. Then he remembered the conversation and really felt sick. What the hell was it going to take to fix this dilemma? He eyed his suitcase. There were several gifts in there, some for her parents and two for her, but they were hardly enough for the apology he had to make. He grunted his way to the shower, determined to start his day. He'd do his work out, he'd take a run outside, he'd eat breakfast, then he'd deal with it.

He didn't work out, couldn't face the cold for a run, and had no interest in food. The huge house seemed deserted as he went in search of coffee. In the kitchen he found Reena's mother. Her eye's glittered and she laughed aloud.

"Well, you look better than I expected, and way better than Maureena looks."

Accepting a steaming mug of coffee gratefully, Shane blinked. "Huh? Reena's sick?"

"Hung over just like you. I gave her coffee and a lecture about driving drunk then sent her back to bed. God," she chuckled. "It must have been some party. Her eyes were red and puffy. I warned her to avoid drinking wine. The sulfites, they make her eyes swell every time."

"Yeah," he sipped. "The wine." He thought hard. Reena drank nothing. Not wine, not beer, not a mixed drink. She was not drunk last night and not hung over this morning. Shane rolled his neck "Where is everyone?"

"Off skiing. I don't suppose you'll be doing any of that. Can't risk another injury, can we?"

"No we can't." Christ, he had to get away from the woman, she was threatening to talk his ear off and he could hardly stand the sound of his own voice, much less hers. "I suppose I should get myself back to bed too, huh?" He focused bleary eyes on her.

"Definitely. I'm heading to town for a few things, do you need anything Shane?"

He wondered if she could pick him up a good helping of courage, but though better of asking. "No, no thanks, Mrs. Polaski. I brought aspirin."

She chuckled, gathered her coat and left the house. Shane took no chances, he checked every room quickly then, locating the locked door, knew he'd found Reena.

"Reena? Reena?" He tapped and called.

"Go away. I'm sleeping."

"No, you're not. You're not hung over and you're not tired. You're . . . avoiding me."

Silence.

"And I don't blame you. Reena, I'm an idiot sometimes . . . well, maybe most of the time . . . I don't know what the hell I was so upset about. Reena? Reena, you listening to me?"

His head leaned against the door and his voice dropped. "Christ, I hope you're listening to me. Baby, your job is important and I don't want to jeopardize it. But . . . shit Reena," he slid to sit at her door. He leaned back against it, his head turned to speak and his heart thumped. "Reena, I don't want anyone or anything to stop what's starting here. I mean . . . we can work things out with management . . . I just don't want to even think that I can't love you just because they say it's against the rules."

"What?" Her voice was close and he smiled thinking she too was leaning against the wood.

"I just wanted you to understand that . . . hell."

"What?"

He rolled his head against the door, rubbed his aching eyes.

"What did you say, Shane?"

And suddenly the door swung opened. His back slammed against the hardwood floor nearly knocking the wind from his lungs. "Ow."

Reena stood looking down at him. Her mother was right; her eyes were red and swollen. And Shane was right; she hadn't had a lick of anything the night before. She had been crying.

"What did you say, Shane?"

"Um, ow."

"No, before that."

"Uh, I don't want to jeopardize your job."

"No, after that."

"The part about I love you?"

More tears, but Reena was smiling. She knelt at his side. "Do you love me?"

"Uh-huh," his eyes scanned hers, searching for and finding the truth there. "And you love me too, right?"

She nodded. He stood with a groan but took her swiftly into her arms and closed the door. One kiss and he looked around the room then he pushed the dresser to block the door, grunting all the way.

"What are you doing?" She giggled.

"The house is empty, but you never know, any minute someone could come home." This time his grasp on her was sure and unyielding. Kissing her madly, Shane continued. "Your mom's gone to the market. Everyone else, whoever that means, if off skiing," another kiss and he was tugging her night shirt over her head, walking her backwards to the bed. "Christ, Reena, I've given up so many chances for this, let so many opportunities pass us by," more kisses, his tongue diving to dance with hers. "This is it, baby. I'm not letting anything interrupt."

She desperately pulled at his sweatshirt, tugged his tee shirt over his head and fumbled with his snap and zipper. Her mouth sucked his nipple and her tongue lapped as she gasped. Shane was holding her close, his face buried in her hair, his hands massaging her sweet ass.

"Ahh, Reena. I know. I know. It's your family, and I don't mean to take liberties right under their nose . . . but God . . . I want you."

Reena had lowered to her knees, nodded with a sweetness in her eyes then took him deep into her mouth. Hang over? What hang over? Shane couldn't remember the last time he felt so intensely, completely, insanely good. His head dropped back with a hiss and his knees weakened. With a thump he sat on the bed and they laughed quietly. Hands deep in her golden hair, he looked into her eyes.

"God, I love you. I don't know how or why it happened, but I love you."

She stood and pressed his shoulders tenderly until he lay back on her rumpled bed. Looking down into his eyes, she smiled. "Maybe it was just your chance? Your time?"

"Maybe, but baby," he tugged her to lay over him. "What the hell do you get out of this?"

"I get you, Shane. Because," a tear dripped down onto his lips and he licked the salty flavor. "Because, I'm thinking maybe this is my chance. My time too." She wiggled lower and lower to catch his swollen cock into her mouth again.

"Wait," Shane gasped the chuckled. "Wait."

She looked up, that hurt look again in her eyes and he smiled. "Reena, let's slow down. The dresser should hold them back. Let me do this." He tugged her up and rolled over her. "Let me introduce myself." He nuzzled into her cleavage and mumbled. "Let me learn all of you."

Reena sighed and ran her hands through his hair. As he licked and nipped at a nipple her back arched up to him. God he was enjoying her deep responsiveness. Her desire. The softness of her flesh. Shane wanted more. What did she taste like? He did his own version of a wiggle and nestled his face between her thighs. With raised brows, he asked, "May I?"

"You may," she gasped and moaned as his tongue slid to open her to him. The sweetness of her, the abundant moisture was driving him nuts. He licked and settled the tip of his tongue on her clit, moving it smoothly, with rhythm. Fingers found their way inside and she sighed. Did it get any better than that? Shane Falco didn't think so. And as he brought her to a frenzy with tongue and fingers, he suddenly realized why Annabelle refused his proposal. He was meant to meet Reena. Move to Pittsburgh and have a real relationship with a woman right in his new hometown.

His mouth worked her higher and higher until she stiffened and cried out his name. Rising quickly on his knees he positioned for entry. No way he was missing the party going on inside her. He wanted to feel it, tight and trembling all along him and with a slow, long press he managed to fight the tremors and bury himself in her. Shane lay over his love, kissing her face and whispering as his hips did what they did best; moved to make them both feel incredible. Whole. Completely connected.

Reena moved with him, raising her legs high for more and he accommodated, thrusting harder and deeper.

"Ahhh, Reena," he groaned. "Jesus!" His head leaned against her forehead and his hips jerked and jutted, completely out of his control, pouring his soul into her just as her path shuddered and clasped over him, sucking every last drop he had.

w

Hours later, Reena cradled in his arms and exhausted from loving her again and again, they talked in whispers, fingers intertwined, legs comfortably flopped over and under each other.

Her finger drew circles on his chest. "That was so sweet, Shane. That stuff about my family."

"Well," he kissed the top of her head, his brow curled in deep though. "The way I figure it, we live in Pittsburgh. It's kind of a conservative place, right? And I definitely don't want to piss of your parents. Someday they might be my in-laws."

She chuckled and nuzzled closer.

"Well, I am going to be the Steelers' next quarterback, so I was thinking it might be a good idea to settle my heart so that I can concentrate on the play . . . on helping the team get another Super Bowl ring, right?"

Her head rose and her eyes sparkled. "Do you hear yourself?"

"What?"

"We live in Pittsburgh. You're the next quarterback. Super Bowl ring. Shane, you're finally believing everything I believe about you."

"Yes, and it's all your fault," he grinned.

"And about my family, I'm sure they're okay with this. That's why mom left us alone, you know."

"And what about Big Butch Polasky. Somehow I'm not thinking this is what your dad wants to know is happening right now."

She giggled. "Probably not, but I can guarantee, mom will set him straight."

"Huh," he sighed. "Now, I'm guessing we're going to have to hide this from management."

"Well, Coach said --"

Shane groaned.

"Coach told me that it's no one's fucking business."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh. And he said was hoping you'd stop the Reena tossing too."

Shane laughed aloud. "Oh, trust me. No one's tossing Reena but me."

A knock at the door jolted them both, they sat ramrod straight and turned terrified eyes to each other.

"Um, yeah?" Reena said.

"Mom and dad wanna know if you two are coming down for dinner or what?" Reena's brother, home from college grumbled through the door.

"Uh," Shane said. "In a minute, we'll be down in a minute."

"Yeah, well Falco. That's my sister you got in there. I'll keep my mouth shut if you get us to the fucking Super Bowl, got that?"

"Got it."