Mr. Modiess,
You don’t know me other than my abrupt entrance into your office. I’m a football kicker for Standom Community College. I’ve played football for five years and I can kick a football as good as any man can. Most of the time better. I would like you to represent me as the first female player in pro football. I’m not exaggerating my abilities. I’m that good.
My only dream has been to play football. It takes love of the game and a gift from God to be above average and play in the big leagues. I have both.
The next page holds my college stats. My field goal average is 87.062. This places me above Stephan Gostkowski, who is the number four kicker in the league. Yes, I know mine is a college stat but it’s all I have right now.
Sincerely,
Jordan Givens
I flip the page and look at Jordan’s stats. She’s good. Damn good. Then I flip to the next page to find a message to me from Modiess.
Aiden,
Jordan staked out my office for a month. She followed me at ten AM every morning when I walked a block to get my coffee. I never realized she was there. On the day I met her, she arrived at my office at nine thirty in the morning with my coffee in hand and told my secretary I ordered it. When the secretary buzzed my phone, Jordan barreled through the door during an important meeting. She introduced herself, handed me these papers, and walked out. It wasn’t until that night that I took the time to read what she wrote. I checked her high school football record too. She’s damn good.
I sent her stats to Buck Mitchel and because ‘Jordan’ is a unisex name, it got her in the door for negotiations. She convinced management that she has what it takes regardless of gender and she’s earned the opportunity to play with the big boys.
Larry’s signature scrawl is unreadable.
“Damn,” I say aloud. Her story is one the media will love. Unfortunately, Jordan Givens will be annihilated in the first preseason game if she even makes it that far. No way will the players protect her. They want her gone and the sooner the better. Coach Mitchel knows what’s going to happen. It’s men like Rick Dove, who never played the game, who don’t understand.
My only hope is that Jordan’s capable of walking off the field and they don’t need to call an ambulance.
“Double damn!”
Chapter Seven
Jordan
I survived the early morning show bedlam and answered the same ten questions three times in a matter of hours. I even signed a few autographs, which threw me for a loop. Larry stayed by my side up until we returned to the airport for our flight back to Albuquerque and his cell phone rang. One of his star athletes had a crisis and Larry changed his flight and left me on my own.
I send off a quick text message to my college coach saying I’ll call once I’m settled. I do the same for my dad and promise to call him tomorrow. I press speed dial for Reg.
“Holy shit, sister, I can’t believe you’ve kept this from me.” He’s called me sister since he hooked up with Laura and discovered it was serious. To some, his use of the word might seem weird. But even when we had our friends with benefits relationship, we both knew we made better friends than lovers. It was only a matter of time before one of us found someone. Thank God it wasn’t me.
“Let me talk to her, you phone hoarder,” I hear Laura demand in the background.
The phone makes a garbled sound and she takes over. “You’re playing with Aiden-fucking-hottest-quarterback-in-the-NFL-Patrickson?”
“Hey,” Reg yells.
“Hey yourself. You’re nothing to sneeze at but you’re no number fifteen. I’ll make it up to you later, promise.”
“And dream about number fifteen?” I add to their conversation.
“You bet your booty, girlfriend.”
Laura always makes me laugh. “He’s hot,” I tell her.
“Smokin’,” she fake whispers.
“He smells delicious too,” I say in the same whisper, very aware there are ears all around me.
“Is he hotter than Killian?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met Killian…yet.”
“Yet?” she screams and I pull the phone away from my ear.
“I’ll meet him eventually, I’m sure.” I don’t add if I survive training camp and preseason, because I refuse to let doubt fill my mind. When I meet Killian MacGregor I’ll give Laura a full report.
“I could so tap that. Ouch, don’t pinch me,” she says with a giggle. “I promise no quarterback tapping if you’ll do that special thing with your tongue tonight.”
I really don’t want to hear this. I also don’t remember the special thing she’s talking about with Reg’s tongue. Gross is all I can think because he’s my brother now by default. “It’s time to board my flight. Tell Reg that Aiden’s dick is small. That should make him feel better.”
“Oh my God you saw his dick?”
I glance around to be sure no one heard her blaring yell into the phone. “No, but I don’t want Reg leaving you because then I’ll be forced to let him cry on my shoulder.”
“You’re right and I don’t want him crying on your shoulder either.” We both laugh. Getting to this stage in our friendship has been a long process. “Bye bye, buttercup, and don’t you dare let anyone keep you away from your dream,” she says.
I hate hanging up without talking to Reg again but I know I can’t ask. “No way, no how,” I answer her. “Bye, Laura, and tell Reg bye for me too.”
I click End and head to the gate. An hour later I’m comfortably seated in first class. “Would you like a beverage?” a steward asks before we take off.
“White wine, please.” It’s been a long day and maybe if I mellow out a bit, I can sleep during the flight. I sip on my wine as other passengers board. Minutes before the plane takes off I tip my head to the side and shut my eyes. I don’t even realize when the steward removes my glass and adjusts my tray to the upright position. The last thing I recall is a vision of Aiden Patrickson staring at my lips.
∞∞∞
Saturday morning I make phone calls. I’m worried about buying a place to live before the regular season starts. I should just bite the bullet and start looking but it’s like a bad omen or something. I need a rental until I’m solid as the Pronghorns’ kicker. I walk to a convenience store down the street from the hotel to purchase a newspaper so I can check apartment ads. I’m in line waiting to pay when I receive a solid bump to my hip and I stumble sideways.
“You think you can play with the big guys?” sneers a large man who’s puffed up and ready for a confrontation. He’s shorter than me but broad shouldered. He’s somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. A baseball cap is sitting backward on his head and he looks like a typical redneck wannabe who probably thinks football is more important than world peace.
He assaulted me and my brain is slow in processing exactly how I’m getting myself out of this situation without leaving him with a black eye. The other customers are staring at me and stupid guy to see what happens.
“I think you’ve mistaken me for your wife or girlfriend.” I take a defensive stance balanced on the balls of my feet. “I hit back and if you touch me again, you’ll discover how hard.” I’m seething and more than ready to defend myself if it comes to that.
The man looks around. “See her,” he says pointing at me like he’s a two year old. “She’s the new kicker for the Pronghorns. I didn’t think the team could get any worse. Some player’s going to lay her out in practice and there will be too many pieces to pick up.” He laughs loudly following this announcement.
There’s an older gray-haired woman in line. She steps in front of me and gets right in the man’s face. “You’re a bully. You want to try pushing me around or any of the other women in this store?” She balls her hands and moves them up to chest level. “When I fall, I’ll break something and your sorry ass will sit in a jail cell until hell freezes over. When they push me in front of the judge in a wheelchair you’ll look like the moron you
are. Didn’t your mamma teach you manners?”
To my surprise, several people actually clap. The man backs off, shouts a few choice words, and walks out. My hands are shaking.
“Don’t worry about slimy pond scum like him,” the older woman assures me. “As much as I would have enjoyed seeing you put that man on his ass, I’d rather see you stay out of trouble and play a game. Nothing good was coming out of that.”
“Thank you.” I add a genuine smile to show how much I appreciate her help.
The woman tucks in behind me and gives up her place further up the line. “My name’s Doris,” she says and shakes my hand. “I liked the way you handled Mike Goodwyn at the press conference Thursday. He’s a blowhard and he thinks his poop don’t stink. It’s easy to get behind a winning team. Wearing your team colors with pride when they’re losing is another story.” She sticks out her chest and I feel like an idiot for not noticing the Pronghorns’ shirt she’s wearing. This woman is amazing.
“Do you mind if I get your name and number? I’d love to give you a ticket to my first game.”
She gives me a quick hug. “You’re a sweetie. My husband and I would love it if you could spare two tickets. He was a Detroit fan before the Pronghorns came to town.”
Even if I never play a pro game, I’ll find a way to get this woman and her husband the best opening day tickets available, despite the fact that her husband was a Detroit fan.
Being assaulted in public is something I never considered. I need to ask other Pronghorns’ players if they receive this type of treatment too. Somehow I don’t see the man who pushed me doing it to Mason Jackson without a death wish.
When I arrive back at the hotel, I comb through the apartment rentals. Most require a six- or twelve-month lease. Maybe a lower-priced hotel room than the one I’m currently staying in is the answer. If they have something with a kitchenette, it would hold me over until I prove I’m capable of playing with the boys.
I head out for a long run before settling in for the night. The run was exactly what I needed for a good night’s sleep. My cell phone ringing at seven o’clock the next morning wakes me up. I check the number and don’t recognize it.
“Hello?” I say sleepily.
“Miss Givens?”
“Sorry, you have the wrong number.” I know exactly who’s on the other end. His deep voice sends a tingle clear to my toes.
There’s a pause before he barks out a laugh.
“I thought you were going to call me Jordan,” I answer, instantly awake.
“Jordan,” he says and my insides melt a little more. Aiden Patrickson is so damn hot and that includes his steamy bedroom voice.
My mother and sisters would like to meet you and you’re invited to dinner tonight at my mom’s house. She’s the best damn cook in the state and you’d be a fool to pass up the invitation. If your league of fans can do without you for the evening, I’ll pick you up at five.”
“Hell,” I whisper under my breath.
“What was that?” Aiden asks with a smile in his voice. He heard exactly what I said.
“I mean, um, great. I’d love a home-cooked meal. Are you sure this isn’t a way to lure me into the desert and hide my body?” I hope he knows I’m teasing.
“Truthfully,” he says with a chuckle, “I thought about it, but I’m too afraid my mom would ban me from Sunday dinners. I tried to explain that you’re a big girl but she’s decided you need support and she and my sisters are your new cheerleaders.”
Wow. The man of few words has sisters and a mother. I thought he rolled out from under a rock or something. “I’d love to come and I’ll be ready at five. Are you picking me up at my room or do you want me to wait in the lobby?”
His voice sounds a little strangled when he replies. “Reporters are everywhere and you’re a hot commodity right now. I’ll pick you up at the west side entrance of your hotel at five sharp.”
The call ends and I actually sigh. “This isn’t a date, this isn’t a date,” I recite as I head to the bathroom. If it was a date I couldn’t go. The fact that Aiden’s speaking to me in a civil voice could go down as the first miracle of the season. Yeah, I’m reading way too much into this and I need to stop.
I take a run to work off my nervous energy and find myself at the stadium gym. I show my ID and the guard lets me inside. He also gives me directions. After a couple of wrong turns, I find the gym.
“Oh my heck,” I whisper when I look around. It’s amazing, and the athletic smell of sweat I expected in the locker room is alive and well here. It does something to my insides. The odor may be repugnant to others, but for me it’s like coming home.
A couple of players walk in while I’m lifting weights. They don’t appear happy to see me. “Good morning,” I offer. One grunts and the other gives a quick “Hey” and then they both ignore me. Really there isn’t much that could destroy my good mood at this point. I’m going to dinner at Aiden Patrickson’s mother’s house. I finish my workout, jog back to the hotel, and send Aiden a text.
Me: jeans or dressy?
A few minutes later.
Aiden: Jeans
Jeans it is. I call my dad after the “proper attire” situation is settled.
“Hi, Dad.” Tears well in my eyes for the strangest reason.
“Sugar bear. How ya doing?”
A single tear rolls down my face and I wipe it away. His voice is so comforting and I can’t help growing emotional. “I’m great. Did you watch my interviews?”
“More than once.” He laughs. “I taped them and replayed them again an hour ago. I’m so darn proud of you.”
I twirl around in a slow circle and laugh. “Save the recordings and we’ll watch them together when I come home. I’ll point out each time I almost blew an answer and in what parts my nerves stuck it to me.”
“You were ice cream on a warm day, honey.”
“You always know just what to say.” I sniff and change the subject so I’m not a mess of tears. “I have a question for you. Guess who I’m having dinner with tonight.”
“Uhh, Larry?”
“Larry had a crisis and had to leave early. No, this is a player.”
“At this point in the season isn’t there something like ninety players?”
“There are. This one will be on the team after they trim to fifty-three.”
“Aiden Patrickson,” my father answers.
“You’re no fun. It is Aiden. His mom and sisters want to meet me, so he’s taking me to his mom’s for Sunday dinner.”
It’s my father’s turn to laugh. “That was a wild guess. I’m glad things are working out.”
I can’t be dishonest with my father, and I tell him about the incident in the store when I went for a newspaper. He’s not happy and wants me to report it to the coach. He finally relents when I agree to talk to a coach about it.
I hate hanging up the phone. “Our first regular season game is at home. Can you make it?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, sugar bear.”
Tickets were part of my contract, but I’m not sure how many I receive. I text Larry with the question as soon as I hang up with my dad. I have a lot of time to kill, so I turn on the television and watch sports news. That ends quickly because they’re all talking about me and all I want is some football insight for this season. I already know about me. I start combing the internet on my phone. I’ve looked at all the Pronghorns’ player stats for weeks now. I skim back through them anyway and stare at Aiden’s list of achievements.
Last year he was ranked twenty-seven out of thirty-four starting QBs. He’s more talented than his stats give him credit for because unfortunately his team doesn’t let him shine. The Pronghorns’ best asset is their defense, which is currently ranked at number four.
Larry answers my text.
Larry: Four tickets per game bottom section.
Me: Thanks!
I’m one short if I want Reg and Laura to have tickets too. I’ll figure somethin
g out. I kill hours memorizing stats and learning everything I can about my teammates. When I notice the time, I head to my suitcase and take out what I plan to wear to Aiden’s. I hop in the shower to remove the dried sweat from my earlier workout. Once I’m clean, I consider my hair. It’s brown and long with curly waves in all the wrong places. Nine times out of ten I wear it braided or in a ponytail. With a frustrated huff after trying to twist it into some semblance of normalcy, I decide to leave it down and let it do its thing.
I pull on jeans and add a pair of strappy, one-inch, pink sandals to my feet. I wear my “Like a Girl” T-shirt accented with glitter and rhinestones. My dad gave it to me years ago. From what Aiden said about his mom and sisters, I have allies and the shirt will ring true with them.
I head out of my hotel suite three minutes early. I walk off the ground-floor elevator and head around the corner only to come to a halt and quickly duck behind the half-wall. The media is out front. So much for fifteen minutes of fame. I take several hallways until I end up at the west exit. Or at least I think it is. I open the door and Aiden is leaning against a red monster truck. The roof is taller than he is. I expected some kind of sport car. This goliath is way over the top.
And then there’s Aiden himself. He’s in jeans that ride low on his hips, a plain white T-shirt, and cowboy boots. I lift my eyes and he’s giving me the once over too. When his gaze shifts to mine, he smiles.
It’s like I undergo an instant lobotomy but that’s only my brain. My female parts go haywire—nipples hard and panties wet. Aiden Patrickson smiling at me is like my brain on crack cocaine and my body sitting on the biggest vibrator on the market.
He drops the smile. “Is my zipper undone?” he asks.
My eyes go straight to his zipper and his laughter shatters the spell. I’ve been playing football with guys for two years and it’s next to impossible to make me blush. Aiden does it with four words. There’s a sparkle in his dark eyes. Seeing him like this is nothing like the pictures online or even at the meeting two days ago. Right now he’s the ultimate bad boy and every woman’s fantasy. It’s the white T-shirt against his tan skin that shows off his lean, hard muscle. Or maybe it’s the way his jeans fit his long legs that makes me think of him holding me up against a wall and using those legs to drive his cock deep. Hell, it could even be his bedroom eyes or wavy brown hair that begs for my fingers to run through it.
Goal (Completion #6) Page 4