The Backup Plan: A Friends to Lovers Sports Romance (One Pass Away: A New Season Book 2)

by Mary J. Williams

  “Any plans to jump ship?” The questioning look tucked inside Claire’s gaze was clear and direct. “Just by association, you’re bound to be pulled into the wave of crazy that’s about to descend on Levi. Will you stand with him? Or turn and run?”

  “As his friend, I’ll be with him all the way.” Piper took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Suddenly, with everything else that’s going on, Levi wants more.”

  “Suddenly?” Claire seemed skeptical. “You’ve always been attracted to Levi. Right?”

  “Well, sure. Levi is gorgeous. He’s sexy. And he smells so good—all the time. Even after he’s worked out. And—” Realizing how much her ramblings had revealed, Piper cleared her throat. “We date other people. Have sex with other people.”

  “Now, Levi wants to have sex with you,” Claire said as though the concept made perfect sense. “You want him. He wants you. What’s the problem?”

  “I could lose him.” The idea terrified Piper to her very core.

  “Friends to lovers is an adjustment, but—”

  Piper cut Claire off with a shake of her head.

  “I think we might be good together.” She smiled at the understatement. “Correction. We’d be great.”

  “Then I repeat,” Claire said with a puzzled frown. “What’s the problem?”

  “Levi knows everything about me.” Piper closed her eyes and sighed “Almost everything. Early on, I lied to him about something. At the time, I thought what I did was for the best.”

  “You don’t think Levi would forgive you?” Claire asked.

  “He would.” Piper had no doubt. “But I had a good reason to lie and nothing’s changed. The crazy that Levi is about to face because he’s the Knights’ starting quarterback is nothing compared to the insanity he’d be forced to deal with if he and I became romantically involved.”

  “I won’t ask for details. Though I’m dying to know,” Claire said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Maybe another time?” Claire asked. The hopeful look on her face made Piper laugh.

  “Maybe.”

  “Fair enough.” Claire nodded. “May I give you one piece of advice?”

  Piper already knew what Claire wanted to say.

  “If I tell Levi everything, I know what his reaction will be,” Piper said. “He won’t think there’s a problem. He’d be wrong. But convincing him would be a herculean task. The man’s middle name should be changed to stubborn.”

  “I’ve had my say on the subject. You know Levi better than I do.” Claire handed Piper a red bag emblazoned on the side with T in silver calligraphy. Her company’s logo.

  “What is all this?” Piper asked, peeking inside before removing a bottle from the bag.

  “Some Claire Thornton magic elixir.” Claire nodded toward the item in Piper’s hand. “The first products I developed were to help athletes recover from injuries and sore muscles. They’re still some of my best sellers.”

  Flipping up the lid, Piper took a sniff. She expected a strong, medicinal smell. Instead, the scent of lemon mixed with sage filled her senses.

  “Mm.” Piper gave Claire a surprised smile. “Very nice.”

  “After his workout with the team, I thought Levi would appreciate something to soothe his aches and pains.” Claire waggled her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t hurt if you applied the balm with some personal TLC.”

  “Too intimate,” Piper said with an emphatic shake of her head. “Levi wants a more physical relationship. Until I decide if that’s a good idea, I don’t want to do anything that could be construed on his part as leading him on.”

  “Unless I miss my guess, Levi will barely be able to lift his head when Mac and the rest of the Knights’ coaching staff are through with him. If he can get a rise out of anything else—and you know what I mean—he’s freaking Superman.”

  “You’re right,” Piper said with a nod.

  “On the other hand. What’s the saying?” Thoughtfully, Claire tapped her chin. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Question. Are you trying to encourage me, or discourage me?” Piper asked.

  “Whatever works.” Claire gathered her purse. “If you don’t want to play masseuse, I have a friend who’d be happy to stop by Levi’s house and massage away his discomfort.”

  “Man or woman?” Piper demanded.

  “Woman.” Claire smiled at the sour expression on Piper’s face. “From what I understand, she has magic fingers.”

  Hell, no, Piper thought. She would personally drop off Claire’s wonder lotions. Levi could take care of the rest himself.

  “Let’s have lunch one day soon,” Claire said. “I’d love an update on everything.”

  “Thanks, Claire.”

  “One last thing.” Claire paused at the door. “Logan gave me a bit of wisdom for you to pass on to Levi. Tell him not to listen to any of the local or national sports news programs. Whether the talking heads are on his side or completely against him, nothing good can come from tuning in. He has enough on his mind without letting strangers screw him.”

  “I’ll pass along Logan’s advice,” Piper promised. “If Levi will listen, is another matter.

  “Do your best,” Claire said with a sympathetic smile. “Because Levi is someone you care about, you’ll suffer when people trash talk about him. You’ll want to hit back—with your fists and your words. Believe me, I know. But don’t. Any kind of reaction just gives the uninformed idiots more power than they deserve.

  Alone in her office, she mulled over Claire’s parting advice. Until now, Piper hadn’t considered anything besides what Levi had to deal with on the field. She wasn’t naïve. She knew how brutal social media bullies and loudmouths could be.

  Because Piper had been fortunate enough to stay away from online fracases, she’d always been a casual, albeit appalled, observer. She had the feeling that her lack of experience on the subject was about to change.

  Piper had always used numbers to do her talking. But if anyone came after Levi, they would feel her wrath. She had a motto. Hurt her friends, hurt her.

  Despite Claire’s sage advice, Piper wasn’t sure she could stop herself from standing up for Levi—with her words, or even her fists.

  Amused—though no less determined—by the idea of physically taking someone down, Piper picked up the bag of goodies Claire had left behind. Curious, she dabbed a bit of lotion onto the back of her hand. The texture was silky, the scent intoxicating.

  Slowly, a feeling of warmth penetrated her skin. She could picture Levi’s reaction as she messaged the balm into his weary muscles.

  Piper had seen Levi without a shirt on numerous occasions. He looked good. Exceptionally good. However, she’d always stopped herself from imagining what would happen if she reached out and touched—until now.

  Oh, boy. Suddenly, her office felt stifling hot. Entering the attached bathroom, she turned the faucet on cold and splashed the icy water onto her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she sighed.

  Levi’s kiss had opened a Pandora’s Box full of suppressed desires. Was she brave enough to explore the possibilities? Or would she do the smart thing and try to put the lid back on the box?

  Only time, and her willpower, would tell.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲

  “THE SEATTLE KNIGHTS are desperate. Why else would they name an over the hill player like Levi Reynolds as their starting quarterback? He isn’t a has-been. More like a never was. Everyone with half a brain knows the Knights’ season is over. Management has decided to play out the string.

  As for Reynolds, his days of raking in a hefty salary for doing nothing are over. After the Knights throw him to the wolves, he’ll be done in football He’s not prepared. After watching from the sidelines for the past ten years, how can he be?

  For his sake, I hope he’s able to retire in one piece because if he survives without sustaining a major injury, I’ll be surprised.<
br />
  Lying face-down on the floor, Levi listened as a respected member of national media tore him, his career, and his team to shreds. Luckily, he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel simply because of someone else’s opinion.

  Yes, the words hurt, and Levi’s ego had suffered a few bruises. But in sports, results were what counted. After he had a few games under his belt, if he proved to be a failure, then he might take the criticism to heart. Maybe.

  “You won a few Super Bowls. Big deal” Levi sneered at the man on the television. “Where does an ex-linebacker get off pretending he knows what’s needed to be a successful quarterback? Looks to me like all his muscle has turned to fat—and most of the blubber went straight to his head.”

  Satisfied with his assessment, Levi wanted the jerk broadcaster’s face out of his living room, pronto. However, reaching for the remote control was easier said than done.

  Stiff, sore muscles rebelled against the idea of lifting his arm. When he tried to roll over, Levi groaned in pain.

  “I should have kept moving.” Levi sighed and gave up. “The second I stopped to rest, every inch of me decided to rebel and go on strike.”

  Practice went well—for the most part. Levi spent most of the morning working with the coaching staff on the basics. Relearning, as Coach McClain explained. Muscle memory was fine, but his mind and body needed to be reintroduced to the rigors of four quarters of smashmouth football.

  No amount of simulations could prepare a body for the reality of an NFL game.

  Run, throw, repeat. Levi ran the plays until he thought his arm might fall off. Or explode. Or both. After a break for lunch—and lots and lots of ice to soothe his tortured muscles—he faced the defense for the first time.

  Even at half-speed, Levi felt overmatched. He missed routes and missed receivers. Every ball that left his hands was either under or overthrown. His timing sucked. He sucked.

  Then, as if the football Gods took pity on him, things began to click into place. Levi’s footwork improved, his vision of the field sharpened, and though his arm felt like melting rubber, he managed to get some zip on the ball.

  When on the last play of the day Levi threw a long bomb, straight into Dylan’s waiting hands, he almost wept with relief. He wasn’t back—not yet. But he was on his way.

  Gingerly, Levi tried to stretch his arms over his head, failed, and winced. He’d showered in the locker room and spent a blissful hour sprawled in a heated whirlpool tub. After he was dressed, the members of his offensive line invited him out to dinner. He turned them down with a promise to join them for a meal after their first victory together—his treat.

  Levi drove home and parked his car in the garage. As he climbed from behind the wheel, he felt his muscles rebel but was able to walk into his house without more than a wince and a muffled groan.

  Stripping, Levi dumped his clothes in the hamper, pulled on a pair of dark blue sweatpants, and took a beer from the refrigerator. Taking a long, satisfying swig from the bottle, he headed into the living room and turned on the television. Mistake number one. His fatal error was when he didn’t change stations before lying down—perhaps never to rise again.

  The floor wasn’t a bad place to spend the night, Levi decided. A bit on the hard side, but he’d prudently grabbed a pillow and blanket before collapsing in a tired heap. At least he wouldn’t freeze to death.

  Levi’s stomach growled. Great. Forget protecting himself from the cold. He needed food. Sustenance. Fuel so his weary body and mind could properly refuel and recuperate.

  Just as Levi was about to gird his loins and crawl to the kitchen, the doorbell rang. He sighed with relief. Right about now, he would have welcomed a serial killer into his home if the man agreed to feed him before the dismemberment began.

  “Shit. The door’s locked,” Levi hissed. “Should I starve, or yell out the security code?”

  Thankfully, the decision was taken out of Levi’s hands.

  “Are you home?” Piper called out.

  Relieved, air gushed from Levi’s lungs. He wanted to kiss beautiful Piper’s feet in gratitude. If she came close enough for him to reach.

  “In the living room,” he told her.

  “Why are you on the floor?” Levi couldn’t see Piper’s face, but he could hear the trace of bewilderment in her voice which quickly turned to exasperation. “And why are you watching SportsCenter? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Don’t scold,” Levi pleaded as she turned the television off and tossed the remote onto a table far, far away. “Be nice. I hurt all over. Plus, I’m one step away from starvation.”

  “Let me guess, old man.” Piper snorted. “You’ve fallen and you can’t get up?”

  “Ha, ha.” Levi turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Piper. Unfortunately, she refused to stay in one place long enough for his tired eyes to focus. “No more jokes. Laughing hurts. Breathing hurts. Hell, the hairs on my arms hurt.”

  “Poor baby,” Piper said, almost sounding sincere as she knelt by his side. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your skin is like ice. Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

  “Can’t raise my arms above my head,” Levi explained, feeling more and more pitiful by the second. “Help me.”

  “I’m going to kick Joshua McClain’s ass,” Piper said as she gently rolled Levi onto his back. “What was he thinking? Bastard Mac. Did he let the defense tackle you on the first day? Are you hurt?”

  The more Piper vented, the angry she became on his behalf, the better Levi felt. His body still felt like ten miles of bad road, but emotionally, his outlook had improved by leaps and bounds.

  “Mac only did his job,” Levi said in defense of his head coach. “The guys went easy on me.”

  “If this is easy, what happens when they ramp things up?” Piper asked. She shook her head. “Don’t answer. Knowing the details won’t stop you from putting yourself through the torture gauntlet.”

  “Football is hard,” Levi explained.

  “Football is stupid.” She let out a fatalistic sigh. “Which do you want first? Food or a massage?”

  “I get a massage?” Levi grinned. “From you?”

  “Let’s feed you first,” Piper said, making the decision herself. “After your stomach is full, we’ll see if the lotions and potions Claire left with me live up to their reputation.”

  “Claire Thornton?” Levi asked, groaning as Piper helped him into a sitting position. “I’ve used her products before. They’re magic. And what the hell are you wearing?”

  Rather than answer, Piper grasped Levi’s hands. Standing, she tugged and grunted and struggled until he was on his feet. She gave him a quick glare before heading toward the kitchen.

  Levi hobbled behind which gave him the perfect opportunity to visually critique her choice of wardrobe. A cotton blouse, baggy, in a color he could only describe as washed out dirt. Her long skirt skimmed her ankles—limp and lifeless and her top—was dark, the shade of mud. On her feet, Piper wore thick socks rolled down to the tops of a pair of scuffed leather army boots.

  Piper had scraped her red hair back into a tight bun and left her face free of even a dash of lipstick. Which was fine in Levi’s book. She was beautiful with or without makeup.

  However, as an overall look, the best thing he could say about Piper’s current fashion choice was that everything was clean. She might fall on the skeevy side of the appearance scale, but—Levi sniffed the air—she smelled great.

  “Piper.” Levi hobbled after her. “Since when did you start to dress like the dowdy cousin of Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies?”

  Ignoring him, Piper poked her head into the refrigerator.

  “What sounds good?” she asked. “I can whip up a quick tomato bisque and grill you a cheese sandwich. Or would you rather I order out? Pizza? Fried chicken? Chinese?”

  Deciding he was better standing than sitting, Levi leaned against the counter. As he watched Piper, he was reliev
ed to discover that while almost every inch of his body ached, smiling at her antics didn’t hurt a bit.

  “Soup and two sandwiches,” he said.

  “Go and wash your hands. And splash some water on your face,” she instructed as she expertly chopped a whole onion into small pieces—without a tear in sight. “And put on a shirt before you freeze to death.”

  “I’d buy into the idea that you’re worried about my health—if you didn’t keep stealing a glance at my manly physique. Want me to flex my pecs?” He asked, then groaned when his body protested.

  “Serves you right.” Piper stuck out her tongue. “Think you can make it to the bathroom and back in twenty minutes, old man?”

  “Time me,” Levi said with more bravado than common sense.

  “Should I use a stopwatch or an hourglass?” she asked with a grin. She held up a cherry tomato. “Open your mouth.”

  Doing as she instructed, Levi caught the small red sphere without moving an inch. As usual, Piper’s aim was dead-on accurate.

  “Tell me again why you didn’t play a sport?” he asked. “You’d have killed at basketball.”

  “I hate to sweat,” Piper explained. “Even more, I hate to be mauled by sweaty bodies.”

  “But you like sex,” Levi reminded her.

  “There’s always an exception to every rule.” Piper shrugged. “With the right partner, sex is the only contact sport I enjoy.”

  “I’m game.”

  “Not interested,” Piper said with a decisive shake of her head.

  Levi grinned. He loved exchanging words with Piper. Her mind was quick, her comebacks sharp. The sexy banter was a new wrinkle. One where he was a happy participant.

  “I’ll give you a home-field advantage,” he told her with a wink.

  “You plan to get in your car and drive to my place? In your condition?” Piper scoffed. “Right now, you can’t get half-way to the bathroom without crying like a little boy. Anything else—especially sex with me—would probably kill you.”

  “But I’d die a happy man,” Levi said.

  “Leaving me unsatisfied.” Piper met his gaze, a glint of humor twinkling in her green eyes. “My last memory of you would not be a good one.”