Hmm. This was no ordinary tantrum. Her picture-perfect mother had just said the ass-word.
“I handled it. Coach and HR helped me take care of it. Davis cooperated. There was no further incident, no need to drag you and Dad into it.” Waverly smiled encouragingly, crossing the room to touch Joan’s shoulder. “I’m okay, Mom. Who even brought this to you?”
The tension in the room seemed strong enough to shake the foundation they stood on. Joan nudged Waverly’s hand off her shoulder. She twirled and the skirt of her daisy-yellow summer dress floated around her legs. “Tell us, Waverly. If you were to write a ‘what I did at summer camp’ list, would the name Jeremiah Tarantino appear on it?”
A shuffling sound came from the hall where Veronica and Aly waited. Waverly ignored it. Now she was pissed with a capital P. “Oh, it’d top the list.”
The daredevil in her couldn’t resist the snarky answer, and though Waverly winced at her parents’ shocked expressions, she was blown away to discover…it was true.
Jeremiah had given her a type of friendship she would never find with anyone else, because with him she’d held back nothing even as her career and hunger for her parents’ approval hung like an overcast sky.
A sharp bump on the other side of the door had J.T. cutting across the room. The door swung open to reveal Veronica and Aly, who’d barely been able to stop themselves from tumbling onto the floor. Like children again, the three Greer daughters. Waverly was getting punished and the other two wanted to escape the line of fire but be close enough to get the scoop.
At thirty-two, Waverly was living a child’s life, sneaking around to find her way because her parents didn’t trust her to make her own choices.
“To throw away a lucrative career for sex? For a tryst that won’t go anywhere?” Joan said with a tsk of regret. “Amazingly foolish.”
“There is no probationary term, is there? You want me off the staff now.”
“I meant Jeremiah Tarantino. The man who ‘fucked up and lost’ you? Whittaker Doyle had practically groomed him to be his successor. Now he’s gone. He quit.”
Waverly winced in surprise. A scuffle with Royce Davis and now this? What kind of game was Jeremiah playing?
There was no time to even scratch the surface of his motives. The distaste in her parents’ faces was a painful liberation. It was as if she’d been shoved into the sunshine after a lifetime of darkness. “You are bullies.”
“Luca Tarantino—”
“I’m not talking about him,” she interrupted J.T. “I’m talking about me. The intimidation, the unfair way you handled the Omar Beckham rumor, how you badger me into dates?” She sighed heavily. “Mom. Dad. I love and respect you both, but if some guy treated me the way you treat me, I would’ve dropped him on his ass by now.”
Aly’s gasp bubbled with laughter. “Sorry. Veronica and I should leave.”
“No, I’m leaving,” Waverly decided. “The villa. I’m moving out.”
“Dramatics?” Joan said archly. “Do the adult thing—”
“I have been. I’ve done adult movies! You just don’t approve. Fortunately, I do. I finally get that my own approval is all I need.” Waverly pointed to the glass panels. “I wanted to get on those sidelines more than I wanted my next meal. I have plans and proposals and hopes. But if caring about these players and being with a man who made me happier than I’ve been my entire life makes me an undesirable employee, then I’ll take my talents elsewhere. Life will go on. It’s kind of crazy that way.”
Waverly turned her back to the field and started for the door. “Whether I make it to your sidelines or not is up to you.”
◆◆◆
A decision came from the front office several days later. Waverly had found a temporary place to crash on her best friend’s couch and was devoting her every lunch break to house hunting in the city. She’d just returned to camp from a tour of a Fairway Pointe three-bedroom town house when her sister Veronica entered the staff lounge.
With a single look, the woman cleared the room. Lockers slammed, papers were shuffled, footsteps pounded the floor as the other staff filed out of the lounge, leaving Waverly alone with the woman who quite literally was holding Waverly’s fate in her hands.
Thankfully, Veronica immediately gave her the sealed envelope and waited mutely as Waverly tore it open.
“Suspension.” Waverly looked to her sister.
“For the remainder of preseason. Effective end of day today.” Veronica gave her a considering look. “I’m going to ask you the tough questions, Waverly. When did you start having sex with Jeremiah Tarantino?”
“The night of the team party at the Bellagio. I met him at the Rio, didn’t know who he was then.”
“We were sorry to lose him. That kind of talent, those instincts don’t come naturally to every trainer who makes it to the NFL.”
“I don’t like the idea that he quit so you and the owners would be forced to keep me on board.”
“Good. Because the truth is, you would’ve been cut anyway, Waverly, if the owners and I thought you weren’t a valuable trainer. You deserve this shot. Finn and Whittaker tell me you have something that even Tarantino didn’t have—fire. This is where you want to be, not just where you think you should be. There’s a difference.” Veronica came over to stand beside her, nudging her gently with her elbow. “So, this thing with Jeremiah. Was it just sex?”
Waverly started to turn away, dodge the question that would force her to confess aloud what she was trying so strongly to tamp down. Maybe if she ignored love, starved it, it would wither and she could shake off how much she missed Jeremiah.
“Just say it,” Veronica urged, but her voice was soft with compassion.
“I love him. Crap, everything’s so messed up.”
“Not necessarily. The way I see it, you have until the season starts to get it together. I’ll handle the media. You’re going to come back to the Villains ready to do what’s best for this team. In the meantime, you’ll do what’s best for you.”
When Veronica left, Waverly grabbed her cell phone. “Hi, roomie,” she said when Meg answered. “A punishment’s been handed down. I’m suspended for the rest of preseason.”
“You’re still gainfully employed,” Meg reasoned. Then, “Let’s celebrate. I know just the place.”
After camp, Waverly met her friend at UNLV’s Health Sciences Building, and, crossing the parking lot to where Meg was carefully getting out of her car with her cane in tow, she said, “I thought you were kidding on the phone. Did you get us invited to a frat party?” A more serious thought occurred. “Are you about to raid?”
“No and no. We’re sitting in on a lecture. See? Notebook, highlighters. And look—” she pointed at her hair gathered up with a pink scrunchie “—high ponytail. I’m all college-y.”
Waverly waited outside while Meg went into the building to confirm the location of the lecture she was bent on attending. Within ten minutes they were settling in the back row of a room with auditorium seating and a massive projection screen.
Students trooped in, chattering as they unzipped backpacks and powered down cell phones. Meg whispered, “I heard the guest lecturer is muy caliente and not such a bad guy.”
A hot professor was something Waverly’s college experience lacked. When she told Meg so, her friend snorted. “Probably a good thing. I heard about your college shenanigans, Porn Star.”
Waverly muffled her giggle with a hand across her mouth. Then, when the class quieted and the lecturer took his place at the front of the room, she stopped laughing altogether.
Jeremiah. She hardly heard his words as he dove into a lively presentation about forensic kinesiology. He spoke with a passion that gave her chills and with authority that captivated the class.
A sheet of notebook paper appeared in her periphery. Meg rolled a purple highlighter to her. Waverly glanced at the all-caps note. YOU’RE HOT FOR TEACHER.
Waverly’s smile couldn’t be stopped. She scribble
d, GUILTY.
Meg scrawled something on the reverse side and slid the sheet over. I WAS WRONG ABOUT HIM. I’M SORRY.
When the students trickled out at the end of the lecture, Meg took her notebook and highlighter to the hallway and Waverly moved quickly to the front of the room, where Jeremiah was gathering his notes.
“Waverly.” He set down the pile of papers, crossed his arms, and she had to clear her throat to keep from sighing at how impressively his muscular form filled that textured striped shirt.
“Are you happy? Doing this, I mean?” she hastened to add, gesturing at their surroundings with the purple highlighter she’d forgotten to return to Meg. “Did you walk away from something you love just so I could keep my job?”
“You should be on that staff, Waverly. But when I resigned, I walked toward something I love. I gave up doctoral study and teaching to be a part of my father’s legacy. There’s no legacy now. No reason to keep lying to myself and fighting for something I don’t want.”
“Teaching is what you want?”
“Yeah. But that’s not all.”
Tell me, Jeremiah, and I’ll know the truth.
Jeremiah uncrossed his arms, raked a hand down from her shoulder to her fingertips, sending little shock waves through her. “I miss you so fucking much.”
Waverly swallowed. “Oh…okay, so…” Thinking fast, she grabbed the sheet of paper on the top of the pile and wiggled the highlighter. “Can I write on this?”
Puzzled, he gave a semblance of a nod.
“I’ll call you on this date.” As he frowned at what she jotted on the paper, she pressed, “Please. Want me enough to wait for me.”
Waverly hurried out of the room to where Meg waited near a cluttered bulletin board. “I have a date,” she whispered as they started down the hall.
“Ooh! A new reason to celebrate. There’s a drive-through cupcake joint downtown. We can rent a couple of 007 flicks, get a dozen cupcakes, and be in sprinkle and frosting heaven by midnight.”
“Or we can get the cupcakes and drop them off to Las Vegas’s finest. I heard there’s a muy caliente cop working the night shift.”
Meg paused. “You’re absolutely devious.”
Grinning, Waverly kept walking. “Thank you.”
◆◆◆
Waverly had accepted her NFL penalty and the media backlash as fair, but now, as she sat on the edge of a stadium seat surrounded by excited football fans and the August afternoon heat and watched the Villains’ kicker send the ball whizzing into the sky for a forty-eight-yard field goal—seven yards farther than his career record—she was itching to be free.
The official announced the kick as good as the stadium erupted in cheers, but with less than thirty game seconds left, the opposing team still dominated the scoreboard by a touchdown and the Villains were running down the clock to secure a win.
The game clock rolled to 00:00 and Waverly pumped her fist. Her suspension had just officially lifted.
She hurried to the sidelines to join the sea of players, staff and media personnel. “Congratulations on the field goal,” she said, tapping Omar Beckham on his shoulder, though she half expected him to ignore her.
Omar turned with a towel draped over his head, sized her up for a quick moment. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be going to Heaven and Hair soon. All this wildness needs a trim. In case Georgiana or Boo asks if we’re still friends…?”
“We’re still friends, miss.” And he gave her a fist bump.
Anticipation built as Waverly left the stadium. By the time she checked in at the Rio, got showered and dressed in the Cariocas Suite, she was heavy with eagerness. Confronting the mirror, she fussed with the ruffles on her plunging-neckline dress, applied lip gloss, and, finally, picked up her phone.
“Waverly.” Jeremiah’s voice sizzled her nerve endings. “I said I’d call.”
“I like how you say my name. I really like watching you say it.”
Complete silence answered her. Then, “I can make that happen.”
No going back now, Waverly thought after she gave Jeremiah her location, ended the call and set her phone to Do Not Disturb. No disruptions, no intrusions, no second-guessing. The last time she’d been in this suite, with Jeremiah, life had interfered. She hadn’t known him then, hadn’t had an inkling of what they could mean to each other. She’d made the right decision to leave that night. But tonight… Tonight was theirs.
At the firm knock on the suite door, Waverly turned away from the glimmering Las Vegas cityscape outside the windows. She silently congratulated herself for not swinging open the door and throwing herself at him. Chill, Waverly, remember? Be chill.
Jeremiah’s gaze was a wave of heat that traveled from the softly curling dark hair hanging loose over her shoulder to the flirty ribbon straps of her high heels. “God. Damn.”
Well, that could be interpreted a few different ways. “Uh…thanks?” she said, letting him into the suite. “Not sure what you mean by that.”
“I don’t know what you mean by booking the Cariocas and inviting me here. We could fuck tonight, but where would that leave us tomorrow? Do you even forgive me for what happened with Izzie?”
Waverly lifted the corner of her mouth in a smirk she knew was a one-two punch of smug and naughty. “Would I lure you to a hotel suite wearing no underwear whatsoever if I didn’t forgive you?”
“Hell, yeah, you would. To punish me. To get me all hot for you, only to have you take off. You know that’s torture, right?”
“Then you agree—we do have unfinished business.” She walked backward and he matched her steps, maintaining the same close distance as they moved farther into the suite. She spun on her heel, indicating the mini basketball hoop that she’d hooked onto the master bedroom door. “We never did finish that game at camp.”
Jeremiah took a set of keys and his phone from his jeans pocket, dropped them onto the coffee table. One-handed, he grabbed the small-size basketball from the sofa and pointed it at the hoop. When he looked to her, his green eyes were so serious, his stare so seeking. “How do you want to do this?”
She took the ball. “Hard. Fast.”
“First to twenty-one?” He stripped off his checked overshirt to reveal the fitted gray tee beneath, and her body responded with something that felt a lot like hunger.
“Make it seven.” Waverly leaned to bounce the ball on the floor, her legs straight and the short dress inching up her thighs.
“Rules?” he asked, obviously admiring her ass.
“Full contact. Anything goes. But do not go easy on me.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
Waverly took the first shot, shoving hard against him in order to have an unobstructed drive to the hoop. But he recovered fast, snagged her around the waist, ruined her aim, and caused the ball to strike the backboard. With a grunt she hit the wall of his body, and, using her position to his advantage, he gripped the nape of her neck and brought his hot mouth down on hers.
The kiss was fierce, almost violent. A promise and a plea. When he released her, she gasped to clear her head, then dove for the ball to secure the first point of the game.
He claimed the rebound and managed a bank shot even as she pushed up his shirt to drag her fingernails down his back. Determined, she grappled for the ball and sank a two-pointer.
In minutes the living area was hot, as heat rose up from their bodies to mingle in the humid air. Jeremiah was a formidable opponent, but even in high heels with her hair in the way, Waverly challenged him.
With four points to his five, she bumped her body against his and yanked the ball free. Arms raised, she twirled away from him to shoot. But his arms circled her like steel bands, his hands closed possessively over her breasts and she whimpered with need as the ball escaped her grip.
Still, it dropped through the net, tying the game.
“Impressive,” he acknowledged, swiping the rebound.
Waverly was patient, letting him get all cocky
as he showed off dribbling the mini basketball. At the precise moment that he moved in close for the next attempt, she dropped to her knees in front of him and within seconds had his marble-hard dick in her hands.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting for you to score.” In response, Waverly took him into her mouth. She was starving for him, for the future they could have together.
Eventually he let the ball fly. Another point for him.
Perspiration gleaming on her skin, she scrambled up for a desperate shot, only to miss. She rushed him, determined to block the shot that could give him victory. But, maybe in retaliation for her below-the-belt move, Jeremiah used his body to hem her in with her back against the door, beneath the hoop.
Pressed against the door, Waverly tangled her fingers in the net as she watched him lower before her and yank up her dress. She shimmered in sweat, was beyond hot. Yet the feel of his lips, tongue, and teeth on her flesh spiked her temperature further.
On the edge of delirium, gripping the net with one hand and his head with the other, Waverly struggled to keep her eyes on Jeremiah as her body weakened with spasms—one intense wave after another. “Wanting you—it’s not enough. I tried to make it be enough. Loving you, being caught up in you, won’t be easy, Jeremiah.”
“You don’t want easy. You want hard. You want fast.” Rising, he kissed up her body, nipping the swells of flesh exposed by the deep cut of her dress. “You want love, Waverly. I love you.”
“Easy to say,” she teased. “Show me.”
Jeremiah hauled her to him, then slammed the ball into the hoop with enough force to make the structure sing under the assault. Seven points.
Waverly laughed, bowing up and taking him into her. “Game. Fucking. Over.”
◆◆◆
All he’d built was on the edge of collapse. It would fall to dust, tragically, as most empires did.
Retribution was inevitable. Unhurriedly, methodically, he would invade her world before taking without mercy her sense of safety, her capacity to trust…her life.
The Penalty Page 19