by RC Boldt
“Copy that, bird catcher. The eagle is— Hey!” Sounds of a scuffle come through the speakers. “Better watch yo’self, son.”
There’s more scuffling. Then a deep voice says, “Hey, what’s the good word?”
I can’t place the voice. Kyler glances over at me and mouths, “Myers,” before turning his attention back to the road.
“On the way as we speak. Should be there in about ten minutes.” Myers mentions something about stalling, and they quickly end the call.
I stare at Kyler. “Ten minutes? Have you lost your mind?” Jacksonville traffic is pure insanity on a good day. There’s no way we’ll make it there in that amount of time.
“Sit back and close your eyes. Let me handle this.”
I do as he says and try to ignore every jostling move the car makes while he drives. Instead, I attempt to come up with the perfect thing to say to Dax. To apologize for not fighting harder for something—someone—I knew was perfect for me. Even though I was trying to protect him, I should’ve fought for us.
Doubts begin to edge their way into my mind.
What if he didn’t mean me? Maybe he and Monica realized they really do have chemistry after all? What if he fell in love with her? She probably wouldn’t whine about those damn kale smoothies.
Oh, God. What if I show up at the stadium and make a fool of myself? What if she’s the one he referenced in the press conference? Maybe she loves drinking kale smoothies and going to Zumba class with him?
“Stop psyching yourself out.”
“I can’t help it,” I whisper to Kyler. “I’m scared shitless.”
“Open your eyes.” He says this a second before I jerk forward with the abrupt skidding stop he makes.
He parks at the entrance for the players and rushes around the front of the vehicle to help me out. He does his best to shield me from a handful of reporters gathered outside the stadium entrance. I scramble to keep up with him as he guides me to the manned gated entrance. The attendant unlocks it and lets us inside before quickly securing it after us.
Once safely inside and away from the press, we’re approached by three familiar men. Tank, Becket, and Myers. They each offer an encouraging hug while the walls of my stomach convulse with anxiety.
Kyler ushers me farther into the stadium, and finally, we draw to a stop at the edge of the field near the five-yard line. He turns me to face him, hands resting on my shoulders. “You can do this.”
My nod isn’t the least bit confident.
His expression grows fierce, and he tips his head toward the far end of the field, where a man stands with his back to us.
“You can do this.”
“Okay,” I whisper faintly.
“Go get ’im.” He moves aside and swats at my ass.
“Ouch!” I hiss and rub at my butt cheek, glaring at him.
He just grins and jerks his chin, silently commanding me to get going. Then he backs away and heads to join the three men, disappearing from sight, leaving me.
“Taking that first step after I catch the ball, I don’t even think. The noise around me fades. I tuck the ball in my hold and run with one thing on my mind: helping my team secure a win.”
I once asked him about the game—what goes on in his mind while he’s on the field—and this is how he described it.
For me, though, it’s far different. I don’t have a football tucked to my chest, and thousands of fans aren’t packed into the stadium.
Instead, I stand alone with my toes on the edge of the field carpeted with crunchy Bermuda grass. The sheer enormity of this place is overwhelming.
Of course, it isn’t the only thing that’s overwhelming. I’m faced with one challenge. One feat.
Forcing my nervousness aside, I turn my focus to what’s ahead of me.
On the man standing on the fifty-yard line.
There’s a vast difference between me and the men who take their places on this field on game days. I don’t plan to merely win a game. I have so much more at stake.
I’m here to secure my own forever.
I’ve come too far not to risk it all; to employ courage only in certain aspects of my life.
It’s time to be brave, be bold, and put my heart on the line.
50
Dax
“Hey, man. You planning to change shirts?”
Jesus. This is what I get for taking one last pass through the locker room before I leave and not forcing the guys to give me a moment alone.
Now, they’ve gone into full-on mothering mode.
“Are you sure you want to wear that shirt? You don’t want to change?”
I flick my gaze back and forth between Becket and Myers suspiciously. “Why? What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“Just thought you might want to say goodbye to the field in one of those shirts yo’ mama got for you.” Let it be known Tank sucks at nonchalance.
“Just wear the damn gaudy shirt.” Becket sounds exasperated.
Tank turns to him. “Simmer down with the adultin’, old man. You left while we stayed behind to play ball and raise this”—he jerks a thumb in my direction—“youngin’.”
I gawk at my friend. “Are you kidding me right now?” Tank’s barely a year older than me.
Becket crosses his arms and fixes a hard look on Tank. “My wife’s the reason you found religion in that all-you-can-eat crawfish joint in New Orleans.”
“Nawlins,” Tank corrects. “It’s pronounced Nawlins by us locals.”
We all stare at him. Becket looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “You’re not even from there.”
Tank thumbs his own chest. “After I fell in love with those beignets and crawfish, I consider myself an honorary local.”
Myers pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, and mutters, “Here we go.”
After twenty minutes and two more ridiculous “arguments,” I finally change shirts just so they’ll shut up. Once they agree to finally give me some peace and quiet, I leave them to bicker about which one of them has been the best-dressed Jags player.
As I make my way onto the field and look around at the stadium, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe. It’s been a privilege to play here, to be a part of the Jags family and a part of this city.
I know some might think it’s dumb to take a moment to say goodbye to this place since I’ll be back at some point. But it won’t be as a player. Instead, I’ll be a correspondent for ESPN.
When I sense someone’s approach from behind me intermixed with the faint sound of footfalls on the crunchy grass, I first assume one of the guys has determined I’ve had enough time alone and decided to join me.
Then it dawns on me these footsteps aren’t heavy. They’re much lighter.
A slight fraction of the weight that’s been bearing down on my chest lessens. Maybe she saw the press conference after all.
I wait until the footsteps stop before I speak. Without turning to face her, I say, “I tried to bide my time with you.”
I can tell I’ve caught her off guard because she sputters, “W-what?”
I turn around, and my knees nearly buckle beneath me at the sight of her. God, I’ve missed her. I drink in the sight of blond hair that’s tousled and slightly messy as it drapes her shoulders. Jeans hug her petite figure, and the bottom of each denim leg meets a pair of Chucks I recognize.
That’s got to mean something—I hope. Well, that and the hideous shirt she has on.
She frowns, a crease popping up between her brows. “You bided your time?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” It’s clear I’ve thrown her off.
I take a step toward her, my eyes never leaving hers. “I waited you out. Once I realized there was more to it.” I step closer. “Once I learned you lied about wanting someone else.”
Her lips part, features drawn. I know she’s about to apologize, but I cut her off.
“I figured out you lied because you were t
rying to protect me.”
Her lips snap shut.
“But what you don’t seem to realize is”—I advance another two steps, slowly approaching—“you didn’t need to protect me at all.”
“I didn’t?”
I shake my head slowly. “No, Duchess.” Another step. “Because all this—all the money, the Super Bowl rings, the endorsements—it means nothing to me without you.”
Her breath hitches.
I finally draw to a stop when barely half a foot separates us. I let my eyes skim over her again and lift my chin, gesturing to her button-down shirt covered in tropical palm trees. “That’s one god-awful shirt you have there.” Now it dawns on me why the guys harassed me into changing. Should’ve known they had something up their sleeves.
Her mouth spreads into a tentative smile. “I had some help finding this gem.” She cups her hand to the side of her mouth in a mock whisper. “For a whopping seventy-five cents.” She gestures to my identically hideous shirt. “If I’m not mistaken, yours is a match.” There’s a vulnerable hesitance in her voice that I hate hearing.
“You’re right. It is.” I reach for her, cupping her face in my hands. My thumbs skim her cheekbones as I lose myself in her blue eyes. “But I have something even better.”
“What’s that?” she whispers. Hopefulness shines in her eyes.
“I’ve got my own perfect match right here.” I dip my head and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You.”
Breath rushes out of her, like she’s been holding it nervously. “Really?”
I nod. “But I have something important to say.”
She raises her eyebrows, waiting.
“We’re in this together. You don’t have to take on everything alone. I want it to be us against the world.” I lower my voice, my tone softening. “I need you to trust me.” My eyes drift over her features before I whisper, “I really wish you had told me.”
Her eyes glisten. “I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for what I said to you. I just—”
“I know,” I interrupt softly. “You wanted to protect me, but I need you to understand that it’s okay to let someone join you.” I briefly press my forehead to hers. “To let someone fight alongside you.”
She nods as tears trickle down her cheeks. I swipe them away with my thumbs. “I’m honored and humbled that I fell in love with a selfless woman. But if I have my say, you won’t be alone ever again.”
I bring my lips to hers, brushing against her mouth with each word. “I love you, Duchess.”
Her words come out in a breathy wisp. “I love you, Dax.”
My mouth finds hers in a kiss that I hope tells her just how much I love her. That I’ll always be hers. That I never expected this—her—but I’m so damn grateful.
Our kiss grows more heated when her tongue darts against mine. Her taste spurs me on, and our tongues spar, gliding and tangling together. Her fists clench the fabric of my shirt, and a moan escapes her.
The sound of hooting and applause has us breaking apart with a laugh, our combined breathing a bit ragged. At the other end of the field, the guys stand, looking all too pleased with themselves.
“Told you so. There’s somethin’ ’bout that boy’s cocoa skin.”
Tank’s loud announcement has us chuckling. I shake my head and tug Darcy closer, wrapping my arms around her. She nestles her cheek against my shoulder, her arms holding tight around my waist.
“So, what do you say? Want to head home to my place?”
She hums in agreement.
“I’ll even make you a kale smoothie.”
She groans in disgust, and I grin over top her head.
“Why do I put up with this?” she complains good-naturedly, shoving me away with a little laugh.
I slink an arm around her shoulders, and we head down the field toward the exit. “Because you love my beautiful cocoa skin, of course.”
Epilogue
Dax
“I can’t wait to see Violet tonight,” Darcy says from inside the master bathroom. “She’s been practicing nonstop, so I know she’s going to kill her solo performance.”
My niece has a dance recital tonight, which includes a solo she’s been anxious about and taking every opportunity to practice.
While I fasten the buttons on my dress shirt, I step into the bathroom, where Darcy’s doing her makeup.
It never fails. Every time I lay eyes on her, she takes my damn breath away. We’ve come a long way since shit hit the fan with Garner.
He’d attempted to retaliate and paint Darcy and the others as the ones with questionable morals. Luckily, her lawyers handled things swiftly, and nearly a dozen other women came forward with claims backed up with either evidence or by multiple witnesses. That had shut him up pretty quickly.
Thankfully, Darcy bounced back, and her business didn’t take as much of a hit as she’d expected. In fact, she’d seen an increased interest from potential clients.
I’m enjoying my position with ESPN more than I expected. It’s a different perspective when you’re not on the field in the mix of things. I still get my fix of the adrenaline rush before a game and get to interview some friends, so I call it a win.
I can’t say I don’t look forward to the off-season, though, when I have more time with Darcy and my family. I live for moments like this. Getting ready to go see my niece perform. Watching my gorgeous woman get ready. God, she looks damn good in that dress.
I trail my eyes along the blue wraparound dress that stops at her knees before returning to her hair that’s twisted up and looks sexy as hell. I can imagine pulling out the clip and sliding my fingers in it while I—
“Don’t even think about it.”
My gaze flicks up to meet her amused one in the large bathroom mirror.
I fix my expression into one of exaggerated innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes with a little laugh, and I finish buttoning my shirt. Stepping behind her, I settle my hands at her hips and drop my lips to the side of her neck. Her tiny sigh when I nip at her soft skin has my dick hardening.
“We can’t be late.” She’s unconvincing. Especially with that breathlessness.
“I can be quick.” I rock against her, letting her feel how hard I already am.
Her laugh is ragged. “I don’t know…”
From Darcy, that means yes.
With my lips at her ear, I whisper, “Bend over. Palms on the counter, Duchess.”
Without hesitation, she leans forward, placing her hands flat against the vanity. My gaze locks with hers in the mirror, and I revel in the aroused excitement in her eyes.
When I hike up her dress to reveal a tiny G-string, a muttered curse falls from my lips. I slip my fingers beneath the sides of her panties and tug them down until they drift to her ankles, and she steps out of them.
With one hand holding her dress up, I command, “Spread those thighs for me. Let me see that pretty pussy.”
She does as she’s told, and I groan at the sight of her bent with her ass out, legs spread, glistening and ready for me. I caress the insides of her thighs before I veer between them and trace the pad of my thumb along her entrance. When I slide two fingers inside without any hesitation, she arches her back on a gasp.
“You’re so fucking wet.” I slowly pump my fingers in and out of her pussy before adding a third. “You want my cock inside? Or do you want me to fuck you with these fingers?”
Her breathing is labored. “Your cock.” She gasps when I add a fourth finger, stretching her, readying her. “Please.”
I’m already unfastening my pants and shoving my boxer briefs down. When I wrap a hand around my thick shaft and guide the blunt head to her entrance, our groans co-mingle at the contact. But I don’t press in just yet. Instead, I tease, dragging the flared tip along her pussy lips to gather her moisture.
“Dax, please,” she begs.
“You want this?” I press inside a fraction before withdrawi
ng.
She groans. “Yes.”
When I slide nearly all the way out and graze the tip against her glistening pussy, she makes a sound of disappointment.
Her whimper morphs into a moan when I finally drive deep inside her, bottoming out. I grip her hips in my hands while I watch, mesmerized by the sight of my cock disappearing inside her slick heat.
Even though it’s been a while since we made the decision to go bare since she’s on birth control and both of us are clean, I still nearly lose my mind at the incredible sensation of sinking inside her with nothing between us.
“Where do you want me to come, Duchess?” My hips piston, and her inner muscles begin to clasp me tighter, indicating she’s close. “All over this pretty ass?”
“Inside me.” She heaves out a breath. “Please come deep inside me.”
Fucking hell. She knows what it does to me when she says that.
I reach for her clit, gently toying with it between my thumb and index finger while I thrust deep. It doesn’t take long before her pussy clenches me tight.
She gasps, back arching, muscles going taut. Goddamn, the way she spasms around my cock sets me off. She drenches my cock with her release. My thrusts get wild, even faster as I tighten my grip on her hips and drive deep twice more before I lose myself. I lock my knees to stay upright against the overwhelming euphoria as I shoot my release deep inside her.
I rest my forehead against her back with a heaving breath. “This is all your fault,” I murmur playfully.
Her body shudders, and she lets out a little laugh. “Sure. Blame it all on me.”
“If you weren’t so irresistible, this would never happen.”
I slide out of her, and we both gasp. Grabbing a fresh washcloth, I carefully run it between her legs before I clean myself up and redress.
Now that she’s dragged her panties back in place, she smooths out her dress before turning to face me and taking my face in her hands. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are bright. “I love you, you know that?”
“I love you, too.”