It Had to Be You by Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page B

know about wide-outs and $8 million contracts? She could converse with art lovers in four different languages, but that wasn’t any use to her now.
    The door opened behind her.
    “Are you all right?” Ron inquired softly.
    “I’m fine.” As she turned, she saw the concern in his eyes.
    “You have to understand about them. About football.”
    “I hate the game. I don’t want to understand.”
    “I’m afraid you’ll have to if you’re going to be part of this.” He gave her a sad smile. “They take no prisoners. Pro football is the most exclusive boys’ club in the world.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It’s closed to outsiders. There are secret passwords and elaborate rituals that only they can understand. None of the rules are written down, and if you have to ask what they are, you can’t belong. It’s a closed society. No women allowed. And no men who don’t measure up.”
    She walked away from the window to one of the file cabinets and regarded him curiously. “Are you talking about yourself?”
    He gave an embarrassed laugh. “It’s painfully obvious, isn’t it? I’m thirty-four years old. I tell everyone I’m five feet ten, but I’m barely five-eight. And I’m still trying to make the team. It’s been that way all my life.”
    “How could it still be important to you?”
    “It just is. When I was a kid, I couldn’t think about anything else. I read about football, dreamed about it, went to every game I could—playground, high school, the pros, it didn’t matter. I loved the patterns of the game—its rhythms and lack of moral ambiguity. I even loved its violence because somehow it seemed safe—no mushroom clouds, no litter of dead bodies when it was over. I did everything but play. I was too small, too clumsy. Maybe I just wanted it too bad, but I could never hold on to the ball.”
    He slipped a hand into the pocket of his trousers. “My senior year of high school, I was a National Merit Scholar and I’d been accepted at Yale. But I would have given it all up in a second if I could have been on the team. If, just once, I could have carried the ball into the end zone.”
    She understood his yearning even if she couldn’t understand his passion for football. How could this sweet, gentle man have such an unhealthy obsession?
    She nodded her head toward the papers he was carrying. “You want me to sign those, don’t you?”
    He came closer, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “All I can do is advise you, but I think this team has an exciting future. Dan’s temperamental and demanding. Sometimes he’s too hard on the players, but he’s still a great coach, and we have a lot of young talent. I know these contracts represent a fortune, but in football, championships make money. I think it’s a good long-term investment.”
    She snatched the papers from him and quickly scrawled her name in the places he indicated. When she was done, she felt dizzy knowing that she had just given away millions of dollars. Still, it would ultimately be Reed’s problem, so why should she worry?
    The door opened and Dan came in. He saw the pen in her hand as she returned the contracts to Ron, who gave him a brief affirming nod.
    Dan seemed to visibly relax. “Why don’t you take those back to Steve now, Ronald?”
    Ron nodded and left the room before she could stop him. The office felt measurably smaller as the door once again closed and they were alone. She had felt safe with Ron, but now something dangerous sizzled in the air.
    As Dan walked behind the desk and took a seat, she realized this was his office. Unlike other parts of this building, this room had no ego-inflating wall of commendations and photographs. Utilitarian steel bookcases and file cabinets stood on one side opposite a well-worn couch. The desk and the credenza behind it were cluttered, but not disorganized. A television occupied the far corner along with a VCR. She averted her eyes from an ugly hole in the wallboard that looked as