The Unforgettable Kind

by Melanie Munton

  I was such a fucking idiot.

  Damn my dick for wanting inside this girl.

  Damn my heart for offering up any part of itself to her in the short span of a few hours.

  Now, I was going to have to go to school and see her with him every single day. I would have to play on the same field with him and act as if I didn’t want to steal his girlfriend away. I’d have to mask every expression around her because otherwise my emotions would be far too obvious. My need of her, my want for her, would be on display and I’d be destroyed.

  And shaking her ass in that damn cheerleading skirt, practically right in my face, wasn’t helping. I definitely wouldn’t be at this scrimmage, standing on the sidelines, if I didn’t have to be.

  Pure. Fucking. Torture.

  “How long have Trent and Sam been together?” I asked Matt, our kicker.

  The question was impulsive and stupid. No one needed to know how I was feeling about her, let alone someone who was likely Trent’s friend.

  “Uh, like, two years or something. But they’ve been friends forever.”

  After several beats of silence, he added, “I wouldn’t go there, man.”

  Shit. Apparently, I was that transparent.

  “What are you talking about?”

  His laughter carried an undercurrent of I’ve got your number, bro. “Dude, don’t bullshit me. I saw the way you were looking at her at lunch. Hell, it’s how most of the guys at this school look at her.”

  My stomach tightened. Turned out I didn’t like the thought of any guy going near her, not just Trent.

  “But Trent’s dad is your dad’s boss at the plant. And everyone knows you don’t cross the Cantons without risking your job. He likes to fire people with little reason.”

  Aaand this day just keeps getting better and better.

  Not only did this guy have the girl I wanted, but he also held my father’s job in his hands. And Dad needed this job. He hadn’t received as much as he should have in the divorce settlement. Selling our old house unexpectedly and buying a new one hadn’t helped his credit situation, either. And since I wouldn’t have time for a job until after football season was over, we really needed his income.

  I said nothing in response, but Matt was undeterred by my silence. “Even if he wasn’t your dad’s boss, though, I still don’t think you’d have a chance with her. Not while she’s with Trent. None of us would.”

  Ah, geez.

  “What, do they have some kind of impenetrable history or something?”

  His expression turned pensive. “Something like that. I mean, they’ve been friends since we were kids, but they never dated before high school. He sort of stepped in when she was all messed up about shit that went down with her family. If you ask me, he took advantage of the situation.”

  I felt a pang in my chest at the thought of her ever being in pain, emotional or physical.

  “What happened?”

  He winced. “I probably shouldn’t say anything. Not really my story to tell. But I guess you’ll find out sooner or later, anyway. There are no secrets in this town.” He blew out a heavy breath. “Her dad was our old football coach. He played college ball at Georgia, was kind of like the town celebrity. Everyone liked him, and he was a good coach. Then her mom found out that he was having an affair…with her best friend.”

  I flinched. God, that sucked. Worse than my situation, considering I hadn’t personally known any of the men my mom had cheated with.

  “Word quickly got out and it became the scandal of the year,” Matt continued. “You couldn’t pump your gas without hearing someone talking about it. Sam’s older brother Drake was already away at college, so he wasn’t here for all of it. But Sam took it really hard. She and her dad were pretty close. Anyway, the two of them left town together, and Sam’s mom filed for divorce. We haven’t seen him since.”

  Jesus. I could only imagine what Sam had to have gone through. In a town this size, people didn’t forget that kind of thing.

  “When did that happen?”

  “A little over two years ago.”

  Just before she and Trent had gotten together. I understood now what Matt meant by taking advantage. Good ‘ol Trent had seen his opening and taken it. He’d probably looked like a knight in shining armor, riding in and rescuing the girl. What a douchebag.

  “But what do I know?” Matt said, shrugging. “They’ve been together a while now. Maybe it was good for her. Maybe it is love and all that shit.”

  It better fucking not be.

  I wasn’t sure I had it in me to accept that she was actually in love with the guy.

  Fate just couldn’t be that cruel.

  Chapter Five

  “I Hate Myself for Loving You”

  by Joan Jett and the Blackheads

  Now

  Sam

  He’s coming here.

  I’m going to see Kade today.

  Talk to him.

  After eight years.

  I’m already hyperventilating.

  Once I finally snap out of the unwelcome reminiscence into the past, I shoot up from my chair at the conference table and stomp out the door, my lungs constricting with each step I take. As I head for my office, my eyes dart all over the studio, fearful that Kade will suddenly sneak up on me when I’m least expecting it. I refuse to be found unawares when I finally see his face again.

  Take a hike, vulnerability.

  I’ll have my strongest, toughest armor in place—a.k.a. my award-winning-worthy bitch face and trusty ice pick stilettos—so that if he wants to go a round or two, I’ll be locked and loaded for a tussle.

  Of course, that brings to mind the time we tussled all night long. In bed.

  Stop.

  Well, that’s what I get for going multiple months without sex.

  Remembering that night isn’t really what hurts. We were best friends for years before that ever even happened. He’s that person in life you never forget, never get over. He was my constant for so long, there was a time that I never could have imagined him not being a central figure in my life.

  It was what happened right after our night together that still leaves a gaping wound in my heart.

  The argument we had the last time we spoke had closed the door on our entire relationship, friendship or otherwise. Things were shouted that night that you can’t un-say to someone. Then he just up and walked out without a word. And I don’t mean walked out of the room. I mean walked out of my life. Because he couldn’t deal.

  He ruined everything.

  Right after the first and only time we’ve ever had sex.

  Sam and Kade were no more after that night.

  Eight long years ago.

  After shutting myself inside my office, I fall into my desk chair and scrub my hands down my face, uncaring how much the hair and makeup people will bitch at me for the action. Through my parted fingers—because obviously, the world around you disappears as long as you can’t see it—I spy the cinnamon roll John left on my desk. I know I shouldn’t. My nutritionist will lecture me, and somebody somewhere will probably tweet that I look fatter on camera today.

  Fuck all of them.

  Kade is coming back, for God’s sake.

  It was his choice to end whatever we had. His decision. Which means I’m calling the shots now. And if he doesn’t like it, I’ll eagerly remind him of where he stands. At least twenty feet away at all times.

  I tear off a section of the pastry and shove it into my mouth.

  “Still can’t lay off the sweets, Sam?”

  Son of a bitch.

  I’d know that deep growl anywhere.

  Seriously, all I want is a moment where I can enjoy my hydrogenated fat and sugar and putting on half a pound in peace.

  Reluctantly, I look up at my now open doorway—I really need to get a damn bell for that thing—to find the man himself casually leaning against the frame in a bespoke three-piece gray suit, hands in his pockets.

  Kade Mothereffing Je
nnings.

  My heart sinks for a brief moment as the initial anger at seeing him sweeps through me. I never thought I’d ever think of my former best friend as the enemy. I hate that it’s come to this. I also hate that a considerable part of me has missed him. And after all the years I’ve spent trying to forget him.

  “Hey, Sam.” His voice is low and even, his face inscrutable. I can’t get a read on how he feels about this situation.

  I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Are you new here?”

  I don’t really know what makes me repeat the words I first spoke to him the day we met. They just popped into my head, and I couldn’t keep them inside. He looks just as taken aback, obviously expecting a sour reunion and rightfully so. I should be snarling and baring my fangs at him right now. There will be plenty of time for that.

  “Yeah.” His mouth spreads into a hesitant grin. “First day. I take it it’s not yours?”

  And that’s where I’m ending that. He’s still way too attractive when he grins, so I can’t give him a reason to do so. He has to know we are not on friendly terms.

  “Nope,” is all I say.

  His grin slides off his chiseled face at my clipped tone. And yes, it’s chiseled. Even more than I remember it being in college. These years have certainly been kind to him, the bastard.

  “Been a long time.”

  I keep my expression placid. “Surprised you noticed.”

  He at least has the decency to look guilty. “Believe me, I noticed. We should probably clear the air before we start working together, don’t you think?”

  Not fucking likely.

  Time to lay this shit out very clearly for him.

  “I’m not interested in venturing down memory lane with you anytime soon. Or ever.” I straighten a stack of papers on my desk before standing and walking toward him. “Our personal issues, whatever they were, are in the past and that’s where they’re going to stay. We’ll be professional to each other on and off camera. Nothing else is relevant.”

  He steps in front of me, blocking my exit with his entire body. Somehow, I’d forgotten how big he is. That suit doesn’t detract from his muscular form one little bit. In fact, his broad shoulders are accentuated by the material’s custom fit. He may have been a man back in college, but now he’s definitely a man. The ways he’s aged only make him more deliciously masculine. That alone is enough to piss me off, and I haven’t even gotten to his face yet.

  His chocolate brown hair is cut shorter now, so much that you can’t tell it’s naturally wavy. The crooked bridge of his nose from when he broke it during a game in college isn’t quite as pronounced as it used to be, but it’s still visible. To top it all off, he has a beard. Not a big, lumberjack-type burly thing that looks like a dead animal on his face. Oh no, it just has to be sexier than that. In between day-old stubble and something you can really grab onto. The scruff makes him look both suave and debonair, with a hint of dangerous.

  He actually has the nerve to look even hotter after all these years.

  What an asshole.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “That’s not very nice,” he says smoothly. “I can’t even get a ‘please’?”

  I grind my back molars together. “This is my office. I don’t have to say please.”

  “See, this is why I think we need to hash everything out. Maybe then we could remember our manners.”

  His confidence is one thing. He’s always straddled the line between self-assuredness and cockiness. But this casual arrogance is new and isn’t sitting well with me.

  “Excuse you,” I snap. “You’re the one who barged into my office uninvited. I think you’re the one whose manners are a tad rusty. I’ll be civil to you, but that’s the best you’re going to get. Don’t expect more.”

  He still doesn’t move out of the way. Instead, he leans in closer to me, invading my space. But I keep my feet rooted in place. If he thinks he can bully me around and bend me to his will, he has another thing coming. I’m a seasoned pro at dealing with stubborn pricks every day in this business. He’s just another one in a line of many that I’ll have to knock down a peg or two, regardless of our history.

  A muscle ticks in his jaw, his eyes intent on mine. “I didn’t tell anyone about our relationship—”

  “We don’t have a relationship—”

  He cuts me off with his raised hand. “I didn’t tell Mike or anyone else with the network about our past because I thought we could be adults and not let it affect our work. But if this is going to be a problem for you, we need to figure something out right now because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

  I prop my hands on my hips, my sass exploding to the surface. “And you think I’m going somewhere? This is my home, my life. I worked hard for this, dammit. I’m not about to let some guy from my childhood swoop in and screw it all up because he decided to be a dick.”

  Anger sparks to life in his hazel eyes, a sight I remember well. The first physical signs of his frustration are still the same. Hands curled into fists. Pursed lips. Why is it always that the smallest, most inconsequential things in life become the most memorable ones?

  “I’m more than just a guy from your childhood, Sam, and you know it,” he growls.

  His face is way too close to mine, but I can’t let him see me back down. Can’t let him know how much his sudden presence rattles me.

  “Maybe you used to be once, but it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

  His eyes narrow. “Really. So, I’m just some dick you work with now, huh?”

  I only shrug.

  What the hell does he expect? That’s all he can be. If I start thinking of him as anything more, then I won’t survive this. I have to remember that we had something special once upon a time. Something that could have turned into more—so much more—but he chose to walk away.

  His choice.

  “Interesting that you’d choose the word ‘dick.’” He smirks, gaze traveling down to my lips before coming back to my eyes. “Is it because you remember how big my di—”

  I shove my way past him and—oopsie!—my knee may or may not come a little too close to his balls. A love tap minus the love. Heh.

  He’s still grunting as I start strutting down the hall.

  “Come along, Mr. Jennings. I’ll give you a tour around the studio.” My voice is sweet as honey. But newsflash, this honey is laced with arsenic.

  I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter “football’s sweetheart, my ass” under his breath, and I smile in self-satisfaction.

  That’s right, Jennings. You’re in my world now.

  I can practically hear the imaginary bell ding in the background.

  Round one goes to yours truly.

  Chapter Six

  “Patience”

  by Guns ‘N Roses

  Kade

  Sam is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. In fact, she’s more gorgeous now than ever. Big surprise there.

  Christ, but I’ve missed her.

  Our first encounter after all this time went about as well as I’d anticipated. It’s not like I expected us to sit down and have a heart-to-heart, let alone have her welcome me with open arms. That would have been a miracle. I knew she’d be pissed, maybe even hurt, which is far worse. And judging from how black and blue my balls probably are, I have a long journey ahead of me. Which I’ll probably have to spend the majority of crawling on my knees and begging.

  You deserve it, dumbass.

  The first several steps I take after her shot to my groin are agony. If I didn’t feel like throwing up, I’d be tempted to smile.

  She hasn’t changed much in the last eight years.

  She’s still my Sam, even if she’s not actually mine.

  I follow dutifully behind her as she takes me around the studio, showing me the set for each segment, and introducing me to the staff members we pass.

  Pride. Admiration.

  I feel both in overwhelming force as I watch
her in her element. She’d set out to accomplish what most people thought was a highly improbable goal—and she beat all the odds. She made history. Not that I’ve ever had any doubts about her abilities. Sam has always been special.

  I’m paying attention to everything she’s saying, but that doesn’t mean I’m not also fighting the monumental task of not staring at her ass in that goddamn pencil skirt.

  Sam is all woman now, no doubt about it.

  She’s always been thin and fit, but now there’s a more developed hourglass shape to her svelte figure. She’s filled out more in all my favorite areas—hint: her boobs and butt—giving her the type of curves that draw every man’s attention. I love that she hasn’t changed her hair. It’s still as long and voluminous as it always was and still free of hairspray or gel or whatever the hell women put in their hair these days. And she still smells of those damn cherries that have haunted me for eight years.

  The one noticeable difference? Those fucking high heels. Years ago, I rarely saw her in anything but Converse, boots, or ballet flats. Now she walks in stilettos like she was born wearing them.

  Another difference? She has a smile for everyone but me.

  Her face used to light up every time she saw me.

  Now she only scowls.

  That hurt like a bitch.

  And it’s my own moronic fault that I’m essentially back at square one with her. I’ve made some huge, gigantic mistakes, and I’ve paid dearly for them. It’s been one consequence after another since I left her. It didn’t take long for me to realize that giving her up was the worst decision I’ve ever made in my life. But by the time I came to that conclusion, it was too late. She’d already written me out of her life.

  But maybe it’s not too late.

  Those were the words that finally gave me the courage to approach Mike Raddick about hiring me on at FNN. Sam and I have spent years in the same sports media arena, circling each other without ever actually running into one another. Every event I attended, every game I was present at, I looked for her, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of her somewhere. After years of endless torture, I decided to finally stop denying the truth.