“I mean he’s throwing great, but I don’t wanna be called back in six months due to an elbow injury. If he throws using his joints and not his muscles, that’s what’ll happen… eventually.”
The pair started walking back toward the opposite end zone again when the Coach stopped at the fifty-yard line. Rubbing his jaw, he asked, “Why aren’t you working for me?”
Roxy tossed her head back and laughed before she slipped her sunglasses back on. “Because in all honesty… I’m a die-hard Broncos fan.”
She heard Gary chuckle as she walked away, leaving him there shaking his head.
********
“Roxy’s here.” Michael Brooks motioned with a nod of his head to the woman making her way down the field.
“Where?” Unbuckling his chinstrap, he turned, and clapped Brooks on the back. “I’ll catch up with you in five—”
“You coming with us?”
“Yeah, just give me five.” After giving Brooks a knuckle pound, he jogged toward her—not caring who was watching.
Roxy saw him coming toward her and her stomach betrayed her; it felt as if it was competing on the high bars in the Olympics. A gold medal performance.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming today.”
“Didn’t want you to know.”
Her reply made him nervous instantly. Was she here to tell the coaching staff something he didn’t want to hear?
After a few moments, he had to know. “Care to elaborate?”
When she finally smiled at him, he smiled, as if on autopilot, back at her. He didn’t have a choice.
“It’s not our official meeting or anything but I told Gary…you’re ready.”
And there went that weight off of his shoulders like a shit ton of bricks. He was back! Clayton Karz was back!
Without thinking, he dropped his helmet, wrapped his arms around her, and swung her in a circle. Not one thought about the fact anyone could see them. Roxy didn’t panic too badly since her time with Clayton was about done. She’d most likely be in Dallas by the end of the month, her job well secured. Dating him wouldn’t be an issue any longer.
“Okay! Put me down you whack job!”
He did. Then, she saw as his eyes change from ecstatic to aroused.
“God, I want to kiss you right now—”
“Clay—”
“Let me finish.” He stepped closer and took her hand in his. “I’d love to push you against the chain link fence and fuck you until you scream. Then, I’d take you to the fifty-yard line and bury my face in your pussy… until you scream.”
Her breath hitched. “Graphic much?”
Shaking his head, he growled. “I can get a helluva lot more graphic if you like, Samantha.”
“Roxy!” Coach Gresser broke the tension—the sexual tension between them when he yelled her name. “Tell him about the wrist.”
“Wrist?”
He had her body so revved up that out of meanness she answered him. “Jacking-off is gonna damage your wrist. You need to stop.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s true, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” With that she walked away leaving a very confused Karz.
Clayton was about to laugh when the coach approached him. “She explain to you about your wrist?”
Jesus, he didn’t even know how to answer. Instead, he bent and picked up his helmet, and just as he suspected, Coach Gresser went on.
“We don’t need you injuring your wrist or elbow, next. Best stop now.”
“Sir?”
“I know we haven’t said much to you about your upper body, but Roxy’s right; coaching from the waist down is the old school way of thinking.”
He heard the coach talking. He saw his lips moving, but he was still lost.
“It wouldn’t hurt to practice a bit with your left, either. I know you’re a righty, but in a bind a man’s gotta be able to rely on his left as well.”
What in the fu—
“Tomorrow, we’re gonna give it a shot. Be ready to work that arm in the morning, son.”
The coach walked away slowly with the slight limp he’d had since his playing days on the field. Clayton watched the man and considered the possibility that it could be him in a handful of years. He’d be all right with that. Shit, he’d give his left nut to have Gary Gresser’s kind of football career.
Maybe he’d go into coaching. It was something to think about. Hopefully, he still had a few years in pads first.
Still clueless on what the coach had been talking about, he’d be asking the hellcat later, because there was no way had they talked about him masturbating. Clayton wore a shit-eating grin. Not that he’d had to take matters into his own hands lately anyhow. Not since he’d bedded the mystery woman with the curves and the horsepower that had awakened his libido. Even her tattoos he found fucking sexy.
They gave him something to read as she slept. Many times, he’d traced the designs with a fingertip as she drifted off to sleep. He’d traced the design with the tip of his tongue, enjoying the way goose bumps rose across the dampened inked skin. After worshipping her body, he couldn’t even imagine her flesh without the art. The ink, the piercings, the blue streak, the killer hour glass figure, hell, even the smart ass attitude was all Roxy—all Samantha. All his Samantha.
Chapter 24
The meeting early Friday morning with Pittsburgh coaching staff and trainers had gone well. Everyone was relieved that Clayton was being given the full okay to play and without restrictions. Next week would be his final days in the Cherry Hill clinic. It would also be Roxy’s final week.
Bittersweet, she supposed. It felt good to show the men that sat around the board table that their faith had been well placed. Oh, Roxy wasn’t that naive; she knew more than a few of them had their doubts but nobody would go head-to-head with Gary about it. Smart on their part. The sweetest part? Busting all of Clayton Karz’s prior bullshit thoughts to hell. They’d done it. Together. Clayton hadn’t been successful until Roxy entered the picture. She wasn’t even sure how many different alterations she’d made to his therapy before it was right. It didn’t matter anymore.
Roxy would never admit needing other’s approval, but vindication felt good. Almost as good as knowing she’d assisted in bringing another player back into the game. The game she loved… football. A quarterback was being given the chance to complete his legacy. It felt good—she felt good. Well, for the most part, anyway.
********
The same bartender that served him and Roxy that first night was back behind the bar. Just looking at the man made him clench his teeth. He hadn’t liked the appreciative way she had looked at the bad-boy in the loose fitting ripped jeans and tattoos. Now, the memory pissed him off more. The slimy fucker had eyed his woman with intent and promises. Maybe then, she hadn’t been his, but now? She sure as hell was.
Jesus, she’s not even here tonight—what the hell is your problem, Karz? That is your problem, dumbass; she isn’t here tonight.
“Miller Lite, right?” the bartender from hell asked.
Shaking his head, “Ahh… no, I’ll take a MGD, tap if ya got it.”
Douchebag snapped his fingers. “That’s right! The shapely honey you were with had the Lite; you had the MGD. My bad.”
Shapely honey? Did he just call Roxy a shapely honey?
He watched as the man filled a mug from the tap. Froth spilled over the side of the tipped glass. He was happy that he had that time to calm himself. Why the hell did this guy irk him so much? He was right though… Roxy was a shapely honey.
Clayton grabbed the beer as the bartender slid it over the pocked and well- worn shellacked bar top. Nodding his thanks, he made his way back to the group.
Brooks was angled over the pool table with the cue in his hand. They were stripes, and he’d already sunk a few, but Brooks was the real pool shark. He hadn’t even wanted to play. He hadn’t even wanted to be there, but it’s what they did on Thursday nights. Som
e drinks, some pool—maybe, some darts, and checking out the scenery.
He took another drink as he examined his surroundings. Not their usual bar. He had suggested it, but it felt strange without Roxy there. After all, they had found First Downs Sports Bar together and now here he was. Like he gave a shit about any scenery now. After a man had found paradise, there was no need to keep searching. Roxy—Samantha rather, was his forbidden fruit, his paradise.
Clayton rubbed his jaw. Why the hell was he here when there was somewhere else he’d rather be? Someone he’d rather be with. Laughter from across the bar drew his attention to a stunning blonde that had her body up against some shmuck whose smile said he knew he was about to get lucky. The man’s hand rested on the small of the woman’s back and that’s when he missed Roxy even more. Shit. He was whipped. Pre-Roxy, he would’ve enjoyed the floor show and appreciated the blonde’s tight jeans and low-cut top. Now he couldn’t help but think that his lady filled out her jeans ten times better. And, no way could she have worn that top—her rack would’ve been spilling over the bar in that little number. Damn, did he love her tits. Then again, he loved the sway of her hips and the way her waist was so much smaller than the rest of her. She was the definition of an hourglass figure.
“Why didn’t you just invite her?” Brooks said breaking him from his internal skin flick that was just about to start; starring role was a voluptuous Miss Samantha Aurora Shaw.
“Since when do we bring women on pool night?”
“Ahh… since you’re exclusive with one in particular and not looking to pick-up a playmate for the night.” How the hell did Michael Brooks know what he was thinking? He wasn’t even sure of himself nowadays. “What is the sassy therapist up to tonight?”
Clayton shrugged as he watched Remme White line up his shot. The linebacker was practically the size of the damn table and coincidently, he wore a green polo shirt that blended with the felt on the table. Too funny.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered, chalking up his cue with the blue cube.
“You goin’ over to her place later?”
Again, he shrugged. “Not sure.”
He felt Michael’s eyes on him but resisted meeting his glare.
“Don’t you talk to her, man?”
Damn, Remme sank a solid blue ball in the left corner pocket. They were catching up quickly.
“We talk… sometimes—”
“What the hell does that mean, Karz?”
Jesus, he felt like a fucking girl, but, oh well. “She doesn’t ask where I’m going or what I’m doing.” He took a deep breath. “Women always want to know where you’ve been and with whom, right? Sa—Roxy never asks me anything. She doesn’t ask me shit.” Downing the rest of his beer, he set the mug on a nearby table.
Michael crossed his arms and wiped his mouth only to disguise his smile. Remme came over, “We playin’ pool or havin’ us a pow-wow?” Remme and Michael exchanged looks that had Remme ordering them another round of suds for the show about to happen.
Remme’s partner laid his cue on the table before he pulled up a high-back chair and propped himself by the table. “What are we talking about?”
“Women,” Brooks smirked.
“That right, huh?” Turning his attention to Clayton, he asked, “That tattooed chick still changing your oil?”
Tattooed chick?
“What tattooed chick?”
“He’s talking about Roxy, you idiot.” Throwing up his hands in innocence, “I never said shit to nobody; don’t look at me like that!”
“Brooks didn’t tell me shit, Karz—”
“Then how the hell do you know I’ve been seeing Roxy?”
Terrell Langston, defensive end grinned. “You were eye bangin’ the fuck outta her at the banquet,” he chuckled. “Where’d that little blonde bombshell take-off to that night?”
Clayton looked at Terrell. “Good riddance to that one.” He paused and briefly thought about the night of the banquet. What a night that had been.
“She was a looker.”
“I prefer blue hair over blondes, I guess.” He winked at Brooks who handed him a bottle of Corona that Remme had ordered them.
“And, since when do you like ‘em thick?” Terrell put in.
“Never thought about it. I’ve been with women of every shape, I guess.”
“Thick is where it’s at, bro!” Remme clinked his bottle against Clayton’s.
“I prefer petite, blonde, big tits, and no gag reflex.”
Clayton groaned at Terrell’s wish list—nothing he hadn’t heard before out of the man’s mouth. But he’d seen the women that Terrell brought home occasionally, and he practiced what he preached. Clayton tried to recall if he had been that hung-up on a checklist before… probably. Young and dumb, right?
“I heard she’s headed to Dallas, that right?”
“I don’t know,” Clayton muttered. “Possibly—”
“Probably,” Michael said as he helped himself to one of the beers on the table.
He was probably right, but it still annoyed him. Last thing he wanted was for her to leave. The last time, she’d only been gone a few days before he’d started losing his mind. Long distance relationships weren’t for him. Of course, there was a time when relationships weren’t for him—any kind of relationship.
He had no clue how long he had sat in silence, brooding with his beer, peeling off the label. It didn’t come off in one smooth piece like he hoped but rather a hundred little shreds. Fitting. Hours earlier, when he had her in his arms on the practice field, he’d felt as if his life was back to normal—no, better than normal. Because, Roxy was in his life. Now, cloud nine had burst open and released a downpour of reality onto him.
Yeah, he had football back, but now he’d be losing the woman who had given him that gift. Of course, she’d done so much more than that, but he was still leery of the words. It wasn’t that he feared missing the bachelor life, but the rejection he might get. Roxy wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who was waiting for her knight in shining armor. Hell, she’d saved him—not the other way around.
“There gonna be weddin’ bells soon?”
Clayton’s eyes widened, and he choked on his last gulp of beer. “Hell, no!”
Remme, Brooks, and Terrell all smiled after exchanging a look.
“What are you all smiling about? I’m not getting married anytime soon. Roxy and I are just having a good time—that’s it, nothing else. She’ll be gone soon enough.” He heard himself say the words—it was his voice. However, it wasn’t his heart. Not that he needed to give these three any more ammunition against him but still, the words felt wrong to think, let alone say out loud. Fuck. A few more drinks sounded better now than they had a half an hour ago. It wasn’t as if he had a woman waiting at home for him.
Roxy had been downtown running a few errands when she’d seen Clayton through the window of First Downs Sports Bar and decided to throw caution to the wind and go in. She hadn’t planned on staying—it was a guy’s night deal and she wasn’t about to leak estrogen on their testosterone territory. But it wouldn’t hurt to stop in for a minute or two, right? Her first instinct was to walk straight on by the bar and pretend she hadn’t seen them but that was the last thing she wanted to do. Clayton hadn’t tried to hide their relationship earlier on the field so she felt okay walking into the bar.
That’s what a woman gets for not trusting her instincts…
The bartender approached the men, who were now back at their pool game. “Round of tequila shots for you from your lady.”
Clayton realized the man was looking at him. “My lady?”
“Yeah, she said to tell you ‘congrats dickhead’, then bought you all a round of shots.” He set the four small glasses on the table along with a small dish with lime slices then turned to leave.
“Yo! Where is she?” Clayton asked before he could disappear back behind the busy bar.
“She had a shot herself, paid for yours, then
left.”
Roxy had been there? Why hadn’t she came over to him? Who does that? No mistake it was her—with the way the bartender douche-bag had referred to her as the tattooed honey earlier it was clear he hadn’t forgotten what she looked like. Plus, nobody else would’ve called him a dickhead.
Pride wouldn’t let him smile—not this time.
Chapter 25
She hadn’t slept the greatest. Who was she kidding? She hadn’t slept at all. Yesterday, Roxy’d had so many questions running through her head and today they all had answers. Not exactly the answers she’d wished for, nor the ones she’d wanted, but answers just the same. Big girl decisions had to be made, and she had made them. Now, it was up to her to move forward.
Looking around her apartment, for once, Roxy was glad that she hadn’t fully unpacked. Not that she had planned to leave Pittsburgh so quickly, but Dallas was waiting for her. Her job here was done and Texas held not only a job, but also a career. No longer a gypsy, Roxy was ready to settle in one spot. Briefly, she had thought that place might be Pittsburgh, but one can’t be right all the time, right?
When the sun had just begun to rise so had she. She might as well stop wasting any more time. The quicker she left the better it would be. Clayton hadn’t called or shown up, which she half expected, especially when she heard Michael get home around two in the morning.
Roxy started packing. It was nothing new to her. She had this packing and moving thing down pat. The kitchen was already done: cupboards empty and drawers cleaned. She could live out of a single suitcase for a few days—no problem. Folding her clothes into boxes was depressing. Normally, come moving day she was ready for her next adventure. However, this time? This time, it felt different. She didn’t want to flee. She liked it here. Reconnecting with the Gresser’s was one good thing. Just yesterday, she thought that Clayton might have wanted her to stay here, too. After last night, she no longer felt that way.
She’d have to call movers Monday since tomorrow was Sunday and she doubted they’d be open. Although, she still hadn’t found a place to live in Dallas, hell, she’d only made her final decision to move to the lone star state last night. It’d probably be best if she stayed at a hotel while she searched for a house. She was so over apartments. Her things would have to be put in storage, she supposed.
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