Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  I land fists on my hips and watch with everyone else. Even Mike stops making drinks. Nobody cares about one right now, happy to wait until we can all breathe again. The Falcons have the ball and the offensive line on the field, a close up of Eric behind Mott, waiting for the pass. My chest kicks, and our crowd breaks into, “Come on Number Three! Show ‘em what you’re workin’ with!”

  “He’s workin’ with a bad case of poison ivy,” someone jokes, but nobody laughs. He shuts up, comedian career put on hold, hopefully for good.

  Mott throws to Eric who catches it, jogs back as the Patriot’s linebackers lunge for him. Our running backs take off and Eric spots the rookie, Sooks, open, running sideways, hoping for a chance. Eric pitches the ball at him, a perfect throw. Sooks catches, cuddles it like it’s his own child he’s gotta save from a bomb about to detonate. The bar gasps as the rookie almost gets taken down by one Patriot. Immediately after he narrowly escapes, another one is hot on his tail. Tony Sanchez grabs the second Patriot’s legs and the guy goes down. Sooks keeps running, running, and he crosses the touchdown line!

  The stadium goes wild.

  But the bar roars ballistic.

  Maybe it’s because we can hear our screaming up close, or maybe because the Falcons come here after every home game, or maybe because Eric just singled me out and everyone here felt like they were a part of that, making this victory more personal than it would normally have been. Whatever the reason, joy clamors through our veins and we are all shouting our asses off. Mike runs over, picks me up, spins me around, sets me down and fist pumps the air. “Yeah! That’s. How. We. Motherfucking. DO IT!”

  Not only did Eric follow through with what he said, even with that hand, he took a chance on a rookie everyone knows has been hungering for a chance. It’s one thing to try to run the ball himself, or pass it to a veteran he could rely on when the stakes were this high, but Eric took a chance on Sooks and that made this all the more legendary.

  And the game just gets better from there.

  The reception our players get when they walk into O’Neal’s is pure jubilation. Everyone high fives or pats them on the back. Most of the team showed up tonight since the game was so epic. All the Falcons have huge grins on their faces, just like the ones they had when they lifted Sooks and Eric above their heads in a cheering stadium at the end of the winning game.

  Since everyone’s distracted, Mike walks up and whispers in my ear, “Bet your mind’s off scratchin’ those itches now, huh?”

  I’ve been miserable for hours, keeping my fucked-up face as friendly as I could and he knows it. “What itch?”

  He laughs and I glance over to Eric who looks so handsome, cracking up with a bunch of familiar fans giving him shit for being a pussy and sitting out the first half.

  Mott says over the din, “Yeah, Cocker, what took you so long to grow some balls? Or are they too blistered they crawled back up in ya?”

  Everyone guffaws!

  Eric glances to the bar, searching for and finding me. As our eyes lock he lights up and gives me a wink. I swear to God I’ve never felt so special, so happy, in my whole life.

  But people need drinks and I’m on the clock. While he makes the rounds of stardom I go back to working, my hands moving fast and light.

  When he left my apartment yesterday morning after two days in my bed, kitchen sink filled with delivery cartons and plastic silverware, his hand was a disaster, not to mention the rest of him. We took what felt like twenty-baths filled with chamomile tea we boiled on my stove. Swathed ourselves in numbing cream he had delivered from a physical therapist the team employs for player’s injuries. And while we tried not to have sex we didn’t always succeed in abstinence despite the fact that the redness stopped us mid-coitus more than once. I think if it had been a romantic few days, that might have been fun. But the laughter and the agony we shared trying to combat his foible of handing me a grouping of poisonous leaves to blow my nose with, then rubbing it all over his pants which then rubbed all over me, was way more bonding than some sweet words and heavy petting could ever have accomplished.

  From virtual strangers to his human compassion forcing him to tell me the truth, to our attraction losing the leash that held it at bay, to lovers, and finally to something even more concrete than that…to friends.

  Eric Cocker no longer feels like an abstract idea of a jock stereotype to me. He’s tangible—kind and thoughtful, sidesplittingly funny, incredibly protective, masculine and cocky as hell, panty-meltingly sexy, and maybe a little sweeter than he’d like to admit.

  “What’re you thinking about, Wren?” Eleanor asks as she loads her tray with the drinks I just made. “Or do I even have to ask?”

  With a private smile I tell her, “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows lift.

  “I was wrong about jocks. They’re more complicated than they first seem.”

  Rolling her eyes yet happy for me, she heads into the crowd, throwing, “Duh!” over her naked shoulder, tank top tight in the hopes of alluring Dion Lewis to her bed again. She didn’t tell me that, but I know that lipstick is her come-and-get-it shade.

  “Were you watching,” I hear from my left.

  Turning at his familiar voice, I see Eric on the other side of the counter, in a v-neck T that fits him to perfection. His hazel eyes are on fire, lopsided grin adorable.

  Feigning boredom I ask, “Who are you?”

  He roars with laughter and jumps mermaid-style on the bar, his torso stretching across and knocking over empty glasses. I grab his face and kiss him, making out like this in front of everyone as word spreads, applause following.

  Eric grins and presses one last hard kiss on me, dropping back to his side of the bar. He glances around, nods to the masses, then cocks an eyebrow my way. “Can I get a beer or what? Fuck, the service in this place sucks!”

  With a lift of my eyebrow I dryly say, “Drop your pants and see if you can say that.”

  He whoops along with all those close enough to have heard.

  CHAPTER 29

  WREN

  I know I’m smiling way too much.

  So happy and carefree.

  My dry humor and detached snarky-bartender attitude are gone as I ask the pretty, dirty-blonde, “What can I get for you, Bethany?”

  She’s a regular on game days. I saw her go home with Tony Sanchez the day I met Eric, and Eleanor confided in me that she was toying with another player last season. We’re not judging, we secretly admire her. If she has a thing for extremely large men who are the best in their field, party down, I say.

  She slyly leans in and whispers, “I guess he gets the thousand bucks after all, huh?”

  “Excuse me?”

  People are pressed in around her, deep in conversation and not paying attention. Everything feels normal except I have no idea what she’s talking about, and the glint in her eyes is confusing me. We’re not friends, but it feels like she thinks we are.

  “Not that he needs the money,” she smiles, “but you know how guys are. Dare them and they’ll do anything. Especially if you add money and everyone watching, right?”

  “I’m sorry, you lost me. What are you talking about?”

  “The bet. Tony bet Eric he couldn’t fuck you.”

  My heart evaporates. “What…?”

  Leaning closer she goes on to say, “I would have told you earlier but I thought there was no way he’d succeed after Tony said your legs were closed all through college. You guys went to school together, didn’t you?”

  Numb I cut a stunned look to where Eric is laughing with Mott and Tony. He glances to me, his smirk set on his face as he gives me a nod. Tony leans in and says something in his ear and Eric’s lips curve into a grin, looking away from me as they all toast.

  The cleavage-heavy messenger hammers the nail to my coffin one last time. “But did he really have to announce it on live television? I mean, the wink…come on. That was in really bad taste to soil your reputatio
n like that, especially after you’d made it so clear he was the slut and not you. Remember that night, you guys here on the bar, him on that table? He’s such a sneaky bastard, right? Disgusting! So I just had to tell you. Us girls have to look out for each other, right?”

  I dart out from behind the bar and push my way to the back exit because this is definitely an emergency. In the alley I bend over, grab my hair, the back of my calf, and hurl. It’s not pretty and there are no witnesses. I’m too stunned to cry so as soon as everything is out of my stomach I gasp for air, walking in jagged circles amidst painted over graffiti and industrial trash cans, recycling bins, the garbage left behind when it’s used up.

  Like me.

  My head swings up to the stars and I hold my chest. God how I ache.

  But I’m on the clock.

  What am I going to do?

  It’s too busy to leave Mike by himself.

  I wish I could beg off and use the itching as an excuse.

  But I can’t do that to my friend.

  I don’t fuck people over.

  Yanking the now heavier door open I push past people waiting for the bathroom, and make my way into the crowd.

  Eric appears. “Hey, I was looking for you. Where’d you go?”

  I want to disappear.

  Or hit him.

  Or punch him and then vanish.

  But he’s the hero here.

  I have to be nice.

  I’ve no choice.

  To lash out at him today would make me the villain and further ostracize me. All of this rushes through my mind as I stare at the man I’d begun to really care about. I thought he was my hero. But he punched Peter with an ulterior motive. To get me to have sex with him. And it worked. Right there in the woods where he gave me the news.

  I was right.

  I am so dumb.

  Such an idiot.

  Always picking bad guys.

  “Oh, uh,” I stammer, shoving a hand in my hair. “I wasn’t feeling well. Had to puke. Sorry about my breath.” I’m not sorry at all.

  He shrugs that he doesn’t care, reaching for my stomach, “You eat something bad?”

  I recoil, pushing my back into strangers. Eric’s eyebrows shoot up and I mutter, “Sorry, it’s just really queasy. Don’t touch…it. I have to get back to work.”

  “Have Mike cover for you.”

  I wish I could.

  “It’s too busy, Eric, but thank you. I’ll be fine. Excuse me.” I step around him and he moves to let me by. Glancing over my shoulder I see he’s following me. “I’ll talk to you in a bit, okay?”

  He stops walking, “Sure, yeah. Drink some soda water. Might help settle the nausea.”

  Escaping behind the bar I throw myself into my work. That girl is gone.

  In a daze, slinging drinks on auto-pilot I finish my shift. Forced smiles. Quick hands. Throbbing chest.

  What was I thinking?

  That something real had happened between us?

  My initial instincts told me what he was.

  Why didn’t I listen?

  “Hey Wren,” I hear him say, as I hand a credit card to a customer.

  Steeling myself I meet his eyes. “Yeah?”

  “You need a ride home?”

  “Um, I just want to go to bed, still not feeling well.” I touch my stomach.

  He nods once, “I could drive your car and make sure you get back, have one of the guys follow so he can drive me to mine after. Let me help.”

  Rolling my eyes I mutter under my breath, “Oh my God, just give it a rest,” and meet his confused look. He heard me but you know what, who cares? We’re almost closed. The nightmare is nearly over. “I just want to go home, Eric, okay?”

  He throws up his hands, and has the gall to appear hurt. “Okay! Sorry.”

  How long are you going to keep this act up, Eric?

  I turn away and grab a waving credit card, hear the girl say, “We left a tab open but I want to use this card instead. Name is Turner.”

  “Got it,” I mutter, begging the clock to move faster, just this one night.

  Please just make it all end.

  “Wren?”

  My heart slams, and then I realize it’s Mike calling me. I glance over and see the bar nearly empty. It’s like I checked out of my body for the last hour. “Yeah?”

  “Eric told me you weren’t feeling well. Why don’t you go home? I’ll clean up. The big stuff is for the janitors anyway. I hire larger crews for home games, don’t worry about it.”

  Covering my face with my hands I struggle against tears, breathing deeply to plug the faucet before it breaks and I make a fool of myself. Untying my ponytail and redoing it way too tightly I blink around the mess and ask, “You sure?”

  “Yeah, you’re pale!” He comes over, places his hand on my forehead. “You need to go to a hospital?

  “No, I just need my bed. I’m okay. Long night. Poison Ivy is killing me.” I grab my keys and phone.

  With concern he touches my back as I walk by him. “Sure, get some rest. I’ll wrap the tips up for you.”

  Muttering thanks I go out the back, terrified I’ll run into swarming Falcons out front.

  When I get to my car I see them all in the distance around his Jeep. Bethany is hanging on Tony’s arm, laughing at something they’re saying. Eric spots me and waves, starts to come over.

  I hold up my hand in the universal signal for STOP. His footsteps slow and he frowns, raking his hair back.

  Dipping into my car I lock the door and turn the ignition fast, before I start to cry in front of the man who has no heart.

  CHAPTER 30

  ERIC

  Watching her drive away I just stand here in the middle of the street, confused.

  Mott asks, “Hey, wasn’t that your girl?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, still following her taillights as I head back to my friends.

  “Guess she’s not into you, huh?” Bethany frowns from under Tony’s bicep.

  He shushes her.

  “She’s not feeling good,” I inform them all. “You know how it is when you’ve got food poisoning. You just want to be alone. Add that to this hell.” I hold up my hand.

  Bethany’s eyebrows jog up a little as she looks at me like I’m a lost puppy dog. “Is that what she told you?”

  Everyone’s glancing from her to me as I ask, “Yeah, and did you see how pale she was—”

  Bethany smiles, head tilting. “You know how easy it is to fake that? I don’t want to break your heart, Eric, but no girl who likes a guy holds up her hand like Wren just did. I mean that stop sign was a bit much, don’t you think? If she was feeling ill wouldn’t she have wanted to at least get a hug, or I don’t know, a ride home?”

  “I offered her a ride home,” I mutter, starting to suspect that I’m naïve and Bethany might be right.

  “And she didn’t take it?”

  “No…”

  “Tony, if I was sick and you wanted to drive me, I would let you.” Turning back to me she adds, “I’m sorry, Eric.”

  They’re all quiet. The guys know I wouldn’t have said Wren’s name on live television if I didn’t care about her. I was already calling her my girlfriend, a title I’ve given nobody, ever. “Doesn’t matter. I’m good.”

  “Good?” Tony asks, brown eyes huge. “Man, you’re a fuckin’ star today. You think the offers were good before? The hero who yanked us out of the shitter and brought us to victory—with a hand blistered up like yours—he is getting some motherfuckin’ phone calls, man!”

  Mott grins, his deep voice filled with vibrato as he agrees, “It’s gonna rain sponsorships now. You are sitting pretty for the season, Super Bowl or no Super Bowl. Everyone’s gonna want your mug on their mug.”

  “Nice,” Tony says, and they high-five.

  I couldn’t care less. I have enough money. As the years pass, I’ll save more. And sure, it’s nice to have a cushion in case anything happens and I can’t play. But right now the last thing I car
e about is being the face on someone’s product.

  It’s not my face I’m thinking about.

  It’s hers.

  She looked disgusted.

  “I’ve gotta take a leak. I’ll catch you later.”

  Tony calls after me, “Not coming drinking with us?”

  “Hand hurts. Probably goin’ home.”

  “No way! Come back to my place!”

  Walking to O’Neal’s I call over my shoulder, “Maybe. I’ll text you if I’m feeling it. Otherwise, have fun!”

  Sooks had been quiet this whole time but my abandoning the party inspires him to speak up, “Cocker, your ass is coming with us tonight! We’ve got all these girls here. They would be extremely disappointed if you didn’t go.”

  Laughing I wave, “Do they know how squeaky clean your balls are, Sooks? If they did they wouldn’t want me and my Poison Ivy!”

  As I disappear inside I hear Mott shouting at me.

  I’m sure I’ll get a million messages from them demanding my attendance but the thought of some girl grinning at me, trying to get in my pants, isn’t interesting to me. There’s only one girl I wanted to spend the night with.

  “Hey Mike! Eleanor! You guys mind, I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

  They wave and I pass the bar-back whose name I don’t know. He smacks my arm with a proud fan-smile as I head into one of the two unisex stalls that just happens to be where Wren and I cleaned up. A frown pierces me at the memory. Loved to hear that laugh. I don’t have to pee, but I might as well since I’m here.

  Might give me the time I need to figure out how to ask Mike about her without sounding…desperate. Washing my hands I stare at my reflection. Is this what insecurity feels like?

  Fuck.

  This.

  Feeling.

  Quick strides take me outside and over to the people with the answers. “Mike, Eleanor, was Wren really sick or does she want nothing to do with me? Give it to me straight.”

  Blank looks stare back at me before shock registers and they both speak at the same time.

  “She’s sick!”

  “Are you crazy?”