Goal (Completion #6)
Page 9
When it’s time to finally settle down, I want a relationship like my mom and Ty. Until then, I’ll play the field while looking for that special woman. I can’t imagine cheating on the woman I love. My thoughts travel to Jordan and I don’t dwell on why memories of her crop up while I’m thinking about eventually entering a permanent relationship. Marriage is not in the cards for me right now. When that day comes, I want a woman who’s sexy, supports me, and loves football.
“No, not Jordan,” I say under my breath to assure myself. I barely know her and just because she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, it doesn’t make for a lasting relationship. Both of us need only one thing on our minds right now and that’s football.
The locker room grapevine was full of bitching about what happened on the special teams’ field today. I can’t interfere. Players need to make their spot on the team. It’s part of building unity. Disregarding the rules is another matter, and Coach Morely handled that aspect correctly. This doesn’t take away from my need to bust a couple heads. Hopefully, a beer will do the trick and I can unwind.
Once I’m inside the apartment, I drop my sports bag in the hallway and head to the kitchen. There’s a note on the counter from Carma, which leads me to the fridge where there’s an eight inch by eight inch casserole dish waiting. I pop it in the microwave and place my finger on the timer to program the setting.
Hell. I take my finger off the timer.
Thirty minutes later, I find myself knocking on Jordan’s hotel room door with dinner and everything else we’ll need stuffed in a medium-sized black bag. I nuked the casserole minutes before jumping in my truck and driving over. On the first evening of training camp most players eat in their rooms. Tomorrow night we’ll be going out and doing a little partying before leaving for White Sands. I knock again when Jordan doesn’t immediately answer. It’s possible she didn’t get the memo on staying in her room and went out to grab something.
A shadow passes over the peephole and then the door opens.
Her hair is wet and dripping onto a plain white tee that hugs her upper curves. “What are you doing here?” she whispers like the hallway is wired for sound. The wet tee leaves nothing to the imagination.
I lift the bag and do my best to ignore her wet breasts and sexy lips. “Dinner.”
She studies the bag for several long moments and I almost think she’ll turn me down. “What’s for dinner?” she finally asks.
I nudge my elbow into the door, opening it wider, and Jordan steps back. Holy shit. “You always open your door in nothing but a shirt?” And no bra I want to add.
She tugs down the bottom of the tee, which tightens it across her breasts. Her move makes me wonder if she’s also minus panties. “Five minutes earlier I wouldn’t have answered at all because I was in the shower,” she replies grumpily. Jordan, naked in the shower, is not what I should be thinking about, but the vision sticks in my head. “Hey.” She waves at me and her boobs jiggle. “If you can pull your eyes away from my breasts long enough, would you tell me what’s for dinner?”
I lift my gaze and give her an unapologetic grin. I love a woman who’s comfortable in her body. “A casserole made by my housekeeper, so it should be edible.”
“And you’re sharing it with me?” Her eyebrows scrunch together. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”
I shrug. “Why not? We’re friends, right?”
Her eyes travel down to the front of my shorts where my erection presses against the zipper. “Friends?” she asks with skepticism.
Hell. I really don’t know why I’m here. As much as I try to forget about this woman she creeps into my thoughts at least ten times a minute. “I’m trying here. You want to eat or not?” I add a little grumpier than I should. I don’t like the fact she’s becoming permanently ingrained in my head.
“Eat,” she says and walks over to the dining table. The T-shirt barely covers her ass and I catch just a glimpse of white panties. White. The color should be banned from every woman’s wardrobe because it’s so damn wholesome. She proved how unwholesome she could be last night. She glances back over her shoulder. “You sure you’re able to sit at the table with that boner?”
Yeah, completely unwholesome and it turns me the hell on. “I’ll manage. It would help if you’d put on a bathrobe…or something besides white panties.”
“I bet it would, but just so you know I own nothing but white panties. It’s a football tradition I picked up in high school and it’s worked so well I won’t be replacing with another color anytime soon.”
This doesn’t help my painfully hard dick. All I can picture is a drawer filled with silky white. Damn. I rest the bag in front of her and pull out everything I brought, which includes napkins. “I heard about your run-in with a couple of players today.”
She pulls a plate and utensils in her direction. I remove the lid from the casserole and the aroma of southwestern pan enchiladas fills my nose. Jordan looks at the dish with eager eyes. I place a slice on her plate. “I’d rather not talk about what happened today,” she says with finality. Her wet hair continues dripping down the front of her tee.
I take a seat and she’s right about one thing—a hard dick is uncomfortable. “If they get too rough, take it to Coach Morely.”
Her eyes pinpoint in consternation and a small wrinkle appears on her brow. It’s actually adorable but I’m growing wiser by the minute and don’t say this aloud. “You wouldn’t be saying that if I were a man,” she snaps.
She’s right. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need to hear it,” I offer as a way of saving my ass in this conversation. I dig into the corn, melted cheese, and enchilada sauce. You can’t say something stupid if your mouth is full.
Jordan also takes a bite. She closes her eyes as she slowly chews. She’s not wearing lipstick, but that doesn’t detract from the sensuality of her lips. She slowly opens her eyes and puts another bite on her fork. “Lane is helping me on that score. We’ve got this covered.”
I make a low, deep sound in my throat and my fingers tighten on my fork. I’m surprised the damn thing doesn’t bend in half. So this is what jealousy feels like. “Lane, huh?” I ask in a deceptively mild tone.
“Yeah. You know, the punter?” Her mouth opens and she slips the fork between her lips again. She licks the bottom one after swallowing the bite and I almost come in my pants.
“I know who Lane is.” The words slip out much harsher than I planned to let on.
She gives me a closed mouth grin and chews another bite. Very daintily, she wipes her mouth. Hell, I’m fascinated with everything to do with this woman’s lips. “I’m sure normally you don’t give him a thought.” Her eyes flash. “At least he’s interested in more than my bra size and what’s between my legs.”
“Don’t count on it,” I grind out.
Her laughter fills the room. “Last night was a mistake on both our parts. I don’t plan on a repeat no matter the orgasmic food you bring over to bribe me with.” She licks melted cheese from her fingers and my dick does the mambo inside my jeans. “I won’t be having sex with any other players either, including Lane,” she volunteers when the cheese is licked away. Hell, I need to buy loser pants, shorts, whatever if this torment continues.
Her hair is almost dry and is turning into an untamed mass of curls. I want those curls fisted in my hand and her lips against mine. “I don’t think last night was a mistake.” I make my pitch. “We’re adults, neither of us is in a relationship, and we’re attracted to each other. You’re making this complicated.”
She digs into her food once more and doesn’t answer immediately. I stand and walk over to the small kitchen area of the suite and grab two glasses and bottled water from the fridge. I turn and she’s looking at my ass. I wait for her eyes to lift. She smiles and shrugs when she sees she’s caught. “I can look.”
I have no problem with her looking. It’s getting to the next obvious stage that I want. “As I said a few minutes ago…we’re adults and what’s be
tween us is none of anyone’s business.”
She takes a glass from my hand. “You and I,” she waves the glass at the door we had sex against, “have nothing between us but sex. It’s not complicated in the least.” She pours water into her glass then leans around me and looks at my ass again. “It’s a good thing that I’m stronger than my need to fuck your brains out.”
Direct hit. The complication comes in because I think about more than sex when I’m with her. I flash my most charming grin. “I rather like the idea of you fucking my brains out.”
“I’m sure you do.” She rolls her eyes. “I need to keep my focus on playing football. Any chance we can just be friends?”
She even rolls her eyes sexily. “Friends,” I say, testing the word. I want a whole hell of a lot more than friendship but maybe I’m missing the point here. “Friends with benefits?”
She decisively shakes her head and makes the cutest pouty lips imaginable. It puts me in my place and I let it drop, for now. We finish the meal and head over to the couch to watch the news. We’re both exhausted, but I’m enjoying her company. She turns on a major sports network and her face flashes on the screen. She starts to flip the channel and I stop her. “You need to know what they’re saying.”
“Mostly it’s BS,” she responds with a grimace.
“Doesn’t matter. The last thing you want is them hitting you with a surprise question relating to some scandal where you’re the last to know.” I move closer and throw my arm around her shoulder. She looks at my hand, which settles on her upper arm. When she directs her gaze back to mine, I see something in her eyes that almost makes me pull my arm back. “Friends,” I whisper a few inches from her ear. I feel the shiver that runs through her. She glances back at the television, which now shows her and Lane talking while they set up drills. Yeah, jealousy sparks again and her next words don’t help.
“Lane treats me like a teammate.” There’s condemnation directed toward me in her tone.
“Right up until he gets inside those white panties of yours,” I answer before I can stop myself.
She wiggles to get out of my hold. “Thank you for dinner. You may leave now.” She stands and points to the door.
“Hey.” I come to my feet facing her and lift my hands in apology. “That was uncalled for.” I take a step forward and she backs up. Fuck, I blew it again.
Her hands go to her waist and she’s so damn cute when riled up. “I’ll see you tomorrow and you can ignore me like you did today and pretend I’m only there to give players their sexual kicks.”
“Jordan—”
She cuts me off. “I’m tired and I’ve asked you to leave.”
If I could kick myself in the ass, I would. I gather up the dirty dishes, place everything back in my bag, and head to the door. I try once more before leaving. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
She doesn’t reply and I notice her toe tapping angrily on the carpet. I leave before she kicks me in the balls.
Chapter Fifteen
Jordan
Aiden Patrickson is the most aggravating human being alive. He has a strong mother and two strong sisters and he still can’t get over the realization that a woman can possibly play football.
I sink back against the couch cushions when the door closes behind his amazing ass. Today’s practice wore me out physically and emotionally. Aiden showing up with dinner doesn’t help. Aiden might be fucking gorgeous but he’s also a class “A” dick.
After a long sigh into my clasped hands, I go to bed. Tomorrow will be rougher than today and since I didn’t manage sleep last night, I really need to catch a break tonight. I toss and turn for about an hour and then exhaustion wins out and I fall into a deep sleep.
My alarm goes off long before sunrise. I splash water on my face and pull on my running clothes and shoes. I decide not to risk the chance that Aiden is waiting for me at the side door and head straight to the front lobby. It’s too early for the media to be here, which is a relief. The run to the stadium clears my foggy brain and helps me mentally prepare for today’s practice.
I put in an hour of warm-up and stretches before other players and coaches arrive. I don’t see Aiden until we sit down for morning practice tapes. These highlight everyone’s performance yesterday. I try to ignore Aiden while the coaches analyze plays. It’s dammed hard. My heart doesn’t want to accept what my brain knows. Aiden is not the man for me. This unfortunate silent recital doesn’t keep me from checking him out, though. He’s wearing a practice jersey that’s cropped mid chest. His ripped abs beg for my tongue. God, I can practically taste him. The way his black cut-off sweats hug his muscular thighs doesn’t help either. We catch each other’s eye occasionally. When it happens, we quickly turn away.
What are we, twelve?
It’s a relief when we head outside for the morning session. Lane and I add a little muscle building into our routine, which helps pull my thoughts away from Aiden. He also helps me work on-side kicks. I’d love to say they improve but it’s going to take more practice.
See goal, kick ball through posts. That’s how my brain works for kicking. Sending the ball end over end more than ten yards is my Achilles heel but I’m determined to increase my success ratio.
Working with Lane is no hardship. He has the man goods and I can’t help but enjoy watching him sweat. Unfortunately, Lane’s good looks don’t have the same effect on me that Aiden’s do. This is why I need to stop checking out the guys and focus. There’s no room for anything besides football in my life right now. This becomes my new mantra.
Lane and I head to a local restaurant for lunch. We enjoy sub sandwiches and get to know more about each other. He’s a city boy from Detroit. He also has a degree in bioengineering, proving jocks can be as smart as the next person. He signed his contract with the Pronghorns and left his mom and dad behind. He also left a girlfriend, but the long distance relationship didn’t last, so he’s single and spends a lot of his off-season time working with some area charities. What a guy. Of course it still doesn’t help take my mind off Aiden, because I’m attracted to the douche.
I don’t see the star quarterback until the late afternoon wrap-up. His freshly washed hair leaves drops of water sliding down his neck. I mentally kick myself as my tongue flicks behind my teeth, and the only way I can stop the longing to lick him is to dig my fingernails into my skin. I look away as a means to save my sanity. When I glance back over, Aiden is staring at me. More precisely—he’s zeroed in on my mouth. Ever so slowly, I lick my lips to see what happens.
Aiden’s expression changes subtly as he watches me make a sweep of my lower lip and then the upper. I then bite my lower lip and his eyes snap to mine. His grin is evil. His eyes start perusing my body until they stop at my lips again and we play our little game over. When I’ve just about reached the point of grabbing him and pulling him to the nearest closet, the coaches cut the evening meeting short. Tonight is the team’s traditional dinner party.
“You’re going to the dinner aren’t you?” Lane asks as we leave the meeting room.
I shake my head. “I think I’ll pass and work on my beauty sleep.”
“Come on, I’ll meet you at your room. I don’t drink and I’m staying at the same hotel. I’ll give you an early lift back if you want. You can even have a couple of drinks. They’ll help you sleep.”
It’s entirely too tempting and after a brief hesitation, I take him up on the offer. Lane drives me to the hotel and we part company in the elevator when he gets off on the floor beneath mine. I shower and then look over the few clothes that are hanging in the closet. I have one black sequined dress with me and a pair of red Manolo Blahnik pumps that I found at a thrift store. The entire ensemble is probably too fancy for a dinner with a bunch of rowdy football players looking to let off a little steam. I don’t care. Evenings are my own and the last thing I want to look like is one of the guys. I slip into the ensemble and add the locket my mom and dad gave me for my eighteenth birthday.
“I bet you say that to all the kickers,” I say with a small laugh.
“No, I can honestly say I’ve never complimented another player’s choice of clothing.”
I look him up and down. “You’re not so shabby yourself.” He’s wearing a black polo with khaki slacks, a thick gold chain around his throat, a very nice Rolex watch at his wrist, and several large rings on his fingers. His dirty blond hair is slicked back. I’m not really into the hair style, but Lane carries it and doesn’t make me think sleazy car salesman.
“You dance?” I ask as we head to the elevator.
He stops, takes my hand, and twirls me around before bringing me in close. His other hand splays on my waist beneath my breasts and he whispers in my ear. “I’ll dance that little black dress right off your hot ass.”
Ah, oh. I don’t want this to be a date. “How about I keep the dress on and you keep your hands in the proper place.” I don’t smile.
He immediately releases me and lifts both hands in surrender and laughs good-naturedly. “Understood. I hope this comes off the table when you kick a field goal so I can slap your ass.”
He’s being a goof and when he winks at me, I go back to being comfortable with him. “One ass slap after a field goal or extra point is in our rulebook.”
“The other players have no idea what they’re missing.”
“We’ll keep it that way.” We banter until we reach the restaurant. Lane comes around the car and helps me out.
“This will be good for the team,” he assures me. “You need to see them when they let loose a little and they need to see you in the same light.” He takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. He opens the restaurant door and we enter Dominque’s Grill. A section in the back is sectioned off for the team. From the sounds coming from their direction, the drinks are flowing freely.