Home Field Advantage

by Liz Lincoln

  “Natalie, this is…” His voice broke off on a groan.

  “Quinn, please.” She didn’t know what she was asking for. For him to keep making love to her, yes, for him to pleasure her. But he always did that. This morning, she was asking for more.

  She was asking him to love her.

  * * *

  —

  “Natalie.” He couldn’t stop saying her name. If he did, he might reveal his truth. The one he’d realized sometime last night as he licked chocolate éclair from her fingers.

  He was in love with Natalie Griffith.

  He hadn’t had time to think it through, but if he did, or if he explored it with Meg, he’d probably realize he never stopped. The line between love and hate was so thin, and even when he hated her, he loved her.

  Something was different this morning. Something had shifted between them. Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought she felt it too. Today wasn’t the time for a discussion of their feelings or where the relationship was going. Not with the division championship on Saturday, a trip to the Super Bowl on the line. It could wait until after the season.

  In the meantime, he would show her. He would let her know every way he could in this moment, how he felt.

  The pleasure that had been slowly, slowly building began to swell. The climb got steeper. The swing of his hips got faster as he pounded into her body. As much as he wanted their slow, lazy lovemaking to last forever, as much as he never wanted to leave the private hideaway of her bed, he couldn’t hold it back. And they couldn’t stay here forever.

  “Quinn.” She pressed her lips to his, tingles of pleasure shooting down his spine. Her fingers dug into his ass, pulling him tighter on each thrust.

  “Say it again,” he demanded. “Say my name.” Repeating her name earlier had been as close as he could get to admitting he’d fallen in love with her. He’d always been in love with her. Even if it didn’t have the same meaning for her, he needed to hear his name from her.

  “Quinn. Oh god, Quinn. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop. Quinn.”

  Her words thrilled him as much as her pussy squeezing around his cock. They were just sex words, uttered in the heat of passion. But in his lonely, yearning heart, they meant more. They meant everything.

  “I can’t last, Natalie.”

  “So close.”

  Yes, he could feel it, the way her hips shifted under his, the way her pussy clenched him tighter with each thrust. She was close. He made sure with each thrust to press on her clit as hard as he could.

  It only took a few more times, then she arched beneath him, her lips pressed to his as she cried out, sobbing her release. As much as part of him wanted to close his eyes and escape into the deep recesses of intense pleasure, he forced them to stay open. He pulled back just enough to see her whole face, to watch it tight with pleasure as it broke through her, knowing he’d done that. He’d given this to her. He couldn’t freely give her his love yet, but he could give her this.

  Then he stopped being able to think as her pleasure became his, as the orgasm rolled up from the very tips of his toes through his entire body, making him shake, making him groan, making him whole. He forced his eyes to stay open, to watch her watching him as he pressed as deep as he could get inside her, knowing it would never be enough.

  His muscles released all at once and he was barely able to catch himself from crushing her. He angled himself slightly to the side so he was draped across her, one arm still wrapped around her waist, legs tangled together, his softening cock still inside her.

  He reached down and slowly withdrew, hating that he had to leave her body. Especially knowing that soon he would have to leave her arms and her bed. He loved practice, loved football, and was excited as fuck to be this deep in the playoffs. He’d never gone this far. The coaches were working them extra hard, mentally even more than physically, installing new schemes designed to keep them one step ahead of Kansas City. All to ensure they got the chance to bring home the Lombardi Trophy.

  He couldn’t wait. But in that exact moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay in this bed, with this woman, holding her tightly and never letting her go.

  “That was…” Her voice trailed off as if she didn’t have the energy to finish the sentence.

  He could relate. “Yeah.” Had she felt it too? The emotional connection between them, the connection that went beyond just good sex? Or was she only talking about getting fucked well?

  He needed to get the hell out of his head. Brooding about it wouldn’t do him any good. For the next few days, he needed his focus to be entirely on one thing: winning. And when they did that, the next two weeks would again hold the same goal.

  Then he could deal with Natalie.

  “What time is it?” She trailed her fingers up and down his arm, a lazy, idle caress that made him smile.

  He pressed a kiss to her lips before rolling over to check his phone on the nightstand. “Six fifteen.” He scooted back into her. He wasn’t ready to stop touching her. Not quite yet. Five more minutes.

  She ran her nails along his jaw, his beard making a scratchy sound. “I like your playoff beard. Gives you a sort of hipster lumberjack look.”

  He laughed. “Yeah? And hipster lumberjacks turn you on?” If she liked it, he’d keep the beard after the playoffs. Just to have her smile at him the way she was right now, soft and drowsy and sated.

  “I never realized it before, but apparently yes. Hipster lumberjacks turn me on.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He pressed his lips to her temple, trailing them down the side of her cheek, along her jaw, until he reached her lips. They nibbled at each other gently, slowly. Perfect.

  “We should get up.” She made no move to leave his embrace. “You can shower here, before you go home.”

  “I could.” Natalie naked, wet, and slippery. Yeah, like he’d ever turn that down.

  They spent a few more lazy moments in bed before finally dragging themselves out. They headed for the bathroom and Natalie turned on the water. As she waited for it to heat up, she got her toothbrush.

  Something about the intimacy of waking up with her then watching her brush her teeth naked punched him right in the chest. He never wanted this to end.

  She put her toothbrush away and reached behind the shower curtain to turn on the little Bluetooth shower speaker she had in there. “Do me a favor? Go put on the music on my laptop?”

  Quinn dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “Sure. Any requests?”

  “I have a playlist called ‘Wake Up.’ That should get us moving.” She pulled back the shower curtain and swung one leg into the tub. “Thanks.”

  Quinn headed out to the dining room, surprised by how comfortable he felt walking around her apartment naked. Good thing Annie lived in a separate flat rather than the women being roommates.

  Natalie had left her laptop on the dining room table. He woke it up, opened her music program and found the playlist she wanted. Just as he clicked play, a notification popped up that she had a new email.

  He didn’t mean to snoop. But his eyes naturally went to the message. And two words jumped out at him.

  Quinn Lowry.

  The message was from her boss, Ellen Blake. And the subject line was “Re: Where the hell is my Quinn Lowry Exposé?”

  Quinn Lowry Exposé.

  Cold fury tore through him, prickly and painful. Exposé? Natalie was writing a motherfucking exposé on him?

  Again?

  Under the anger was a hurt so deep, he wasn’t sure he could shoulder it. He’d let himself trust her again. And once again, he’d been a goddamned fool to do so. He thought it hurt when she left him last time. He thought it hurt when he read all his fuck-ups laid out under her byline. But they had nothing on this.

  His knees actually buckled and he stumbled back into a cha
ir. Because he was hurting, because he couldn’t think of any other way to lash out, he rubbed his bare ass on that chair as he gathered the strength to get back to his feet. His entire body ached deep into his muscles and bones. How could he go from the heights of pleasure to the very depths of hurt in such a short time?

  Fuck her. And fuck his stupid, glutton-for-punishment heart. He should have known better than to trust her again.

  If he were a better man, a stronger man, he would probably confront her. Talk to her, give her a chance to explain. But he wasn’t. So he dressed as quickly as he could, not answering when she called, “Quinn, you coming?”

  Pulling out his phone to call Meg, he got the fuck out of there.

  * * *

  —

  Where the hell was Quinn? Wrapped in a towel, Natalie smoothed lotion over her face and yelled for him again. “You missed your shower. Please say it’s because you’re making coffee.” She needed caffeine stat. Sooner than stat, if that were even a thing.

  A quick tour of the apartment revealed he was nowhere to be found. Frustrated and annoyed, she started coffee brewing and dressed quickly. Why would he disappear and not say anything? Even if he’d run out to get breakfast sandwiches, or decided to go home to shower, surely he’d have told her.

  After the morning they’d shared, the emotional connection she’d felt and was certain was mutual, this wasn’t how she’d envisioned her day unfolding. She dropped down on a dining room chair and rubbed her eyebrows, trying to work out the tension forming there.

  More out of habit than conscious decision, she opened her email program. At the top of her inbox was a message from Ellen with the subject line “Re: Where the hell is my Quinn Lowry Exposé?”

  Dread creeping up, she checked the time stamp. Six twenty-four. Right when Quinn would have been starting the music on her laptop. And now he was gone.

  Oh. Shit.

  Chapter 22

  Natalie: Will you read my resignation letter. Let me know if it’s good?

  Natalie sent the text, then returned to mindlessly scanning the document in front of her. She’d been working on the letter off and on for the past two days, when she wasn’t at practice or writing stories for SLNT. She wasn’t going to send the letter to Ellen and her boss, JB Fairlane, until the Dragons’ season was over. But she wanted it written so she could submit it immediately.

  In all her spare time, when she wasn’t covering all the hoopla that surrounded the divisional championship game, she was trying to figure out what to do next. Her frustration with Ellen and SLNT had been growing all season. And while it wasn’t Ellen’s fault her email had arrived with the shittiest possible timing, it had spurred Natalie to take the action she should have decided on weeks—hell, months—ago.

  It was time to move on. She didn’t even want the promotion anymore if this was the direction SLNT was moving.

  She’d responded to Ellen’s email saying she’d been trying all season but she could not write the article SLNT wanted about Quinn. Just the fact that Ellen referred to it as an exposé, not a profile or story, was why Natalie refused. “If you want someone to dig up dirt on Quinn, try to find a way to hurt him again, I’m not the reporter to do it.”

  Ellen hadn’t responded yet.

  Banging on her kitchen door startled Natalie out of her thoughts. A second later, Annie stormed in. She held up her phone. “What the hell? You’re quitting your dream job?”

  Natalie scrubbed her hands over her face. She was so, so tired and she didn’t know if she had the energy to explain it all to her friend. They’d been living such separate lives, Annie hardly knew any of the story.

  But Natalie also needed advice. And a shoulder to cry on. She didn’t have a mom or a sister to go to—her sister would say something mean then hang up on her. She didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. Girl-quaintances, sure. But not close friends she could spill her guts to. She should probably work on that.

  In the meantime, she needed her best friend. “You have time to kill a bottle of wine and hear a sob story? This could take a while.”

  Annie bent over and draped her arms around Natalie’s shoulders. “I always got time for you, baby doll. Sleep’s overrated anyway.”

  So Natalie got a bottle of zinfandel and two glasses and they drank it as Natalie explained the whole situation. How Ellen had been increasingly pushing for more gossipy stories and less sports reporting. Especially how hard she pushed for an article about Quinn. “She wanted something that could make a huge splash, the way my last article did. She wanted juicy and damaging. She didn’t want ‘He worked his ass off to get clean and back to the league and is having a great season.’ So I kept putting her off.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nattie.”

  Natalie smiled at Annie’s use of the nickname only she called Natalie.

  “She was, like, your idol, right? Man, I hope when I meet Michelle Obama someday, she doesn’t turn out to be as much of a disappointment as Ellen has been for you.”

  “The only way Michelle could possibly not match your expectations is by being more awesome than you expect.”

  Annie grinned. “Good point.” Her smile faded. “So what are you going to do? I mean, of course I’ll look at your letter for you. But do you have any options out there?”

  Natalie leaned her head back and stared at the white plaster ceiling. “No. I mean yes, all the usual places. I can send out feelers. I’m a good candidate. I’m just not sure I want another beat reporting job. I was aiming for those promotions at SLNT. Which is why it took me this long to tell Ellen no. But I suppose I could look for jobs like those elsewhere too.”

  Annie poked Natalie’s leg with her foot. “Duh.”

  “I’m not turning it in until the Dragons’ season is over. It would be shitty to do it this week, and hell, if they win Saturday and go to the Super Bowl? Like I’m passing that chance up. I’ll just write the articles I want for that and ignore Ellen’s emails. Like they’re gonna fire me on Super Bowl week.”

  Annie laughed. “The lady has a point.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Natalie finally broke it by saying, “So, the thing is. I’ve kinda been, well, sleeping with Quinn.”

  Annie sat up straight, gaping at Natalie. “You what?”

  So Natalie poured out that whole story. How they’d started as one amazing night for closure, but it hadn’t been enough, and occasional had turned into almost daily. And how they didn’t just have sex, they hung out. They’d rekindled the fledgling sparks of their friendship alongside their sexual relationship.

  “And the other night, Annie. We…” Natalie’s throat closed off. She couldn’t talk, the memories so powerful they choked her off. She would never forget the way Quinn looked at her, so fierce and passionate, as he made love to her yesterday morning.

  “It was intense. And I think I’m in love with him again. Or maybe still. I don’t know. And I’m not going to flatter myself and say he’s in love with me too, but it feels like he’s more than just horny.”

  She explained how Quinn had seen the email from Ellen and disappeared. He hadn’t talked to her at practice the past two days, and when she was part of the crowd around his locker, he very pointedly didn’t look at her.

  She couldn’t even be mad at him for it. He deserved to be hurt and angry. “I was a jerk. I kept stringing Ellen along, thinking I could find a different spin on the article that Quinn would agree to. And I could get my high-profile piece that would help with my promotion and not hurt him again and have my cake and eat it too. Instead of just telling Ellen that he was off limits.”

  “OK, first, you’re not a jerk.” Annie held up a finger to tick off her first point. “Second, you’re right, he has a right to be mad. I’d give him a little space. Third, let’s get this fucking resignation ready to send the instant the season’s over because you need to no longer
work for that woman. And fourth, you’re not a jerk. You were doing your job.” She waved her four fingers in Natalie’s face.

  Even from a biased best friend source, Natalie needed the reminder that she wasn’t a jerk. She’d fucked up that situation, but she’d intended to keep from hurting Quinn. She was never going to do another exposé, she just hadn’t had the ovaries to stand up to Ellen.

  Except she was a jerk. Because she’d written that first exposé. To further her career. And she—

  “Stop it.” Annie smacked her on the knee.

  Natalie recoiled. “Ow. Stop what?”

  “You’re guilt-tripping yourself about the old article. And you need to get the fuck over it. We’ve been over all the reasons you didn’t betray him. If he didn’t want those things in print, he shouldn’t have done them.”

  “Yeah, but…I didn’t have to be the one to write it.” Natalie’s guilt had lessened over the years, but she would probably always carry a piece of it with her.

  “I think you did. I think it absolutely had to be you and there isn’t a single other sports reporter who could. Who else would write it with compassion? Who else would shine the kindest light on why he struggled? Who else would seek out teammates who would give quotes about what a great guy he is and they’re worried about him, instead of finding and quoting the officers who arrested him for his drunk driving charge about what scum he is? Only you could write that article and show the whole man, good and bad, instead of just the problems. If someone else did that story, it would’ve been about the NFL drunk. You made it about a man who plays in the NFL and has a disease. Plus, you were trying to help him. You even told me that at the time. You didn’t want him to end up like your dad. It was your cry for help on his behalf. So stop beating yourself up for doing a good thing.” Annie kicked her in the shin, but it was a gentle, affectionate sort of kick. A best friend knocking some sense into her.

  Natalie hadn’t realized she was crying until a tear ran down the crease on the side of her nose. She brushed it away, her chest aching for how long she’d punished herself for that article. For how long she’d carried that guilt. And she ached with love for her best friend for finally helping her see the truth.