Once my foggy-mirror-after-a-hot-shower vision started to clear, the great mystery was solved. Yes. Those were, in fact, toes not even an inch from my face, tipped by nails painted bright red.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I watched the foot—which had been resting on my chest—drop beside me. My gaze traveled down the toned leg the toes were attached to and found a gloriously naked woman draped over my left side. During my visual journey, flashes of the night before began playing in my mind.
I remembered meeting the blonde at Game Time, a bar that was right around the corner from my hookup apartment. She told me that she’d been a Cole Carson fan since I’d played in college. She asked me to put my John Hancock on her bare breast and, like the true gentleman I am, I obliged. After I’d penned my signature on her skin, she suggested that we, “get out of here.” I was more than happy to take her up on the offer.
If memory served, that was as far as the conversation went. We didn’t say more than ten words to each other before our clothes started coming off.
Honestly, I didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt for having no idea what her name was. We’d never made it to that portion of the meet and greet.
My morning wood twitched with awareness as my bed buddy rolled onto her back and stretched her slender arms over her head with catlike grace. Baby-blue eyes seductively locked with mine and I watched as she temptingly pulled her full bottom lip between her teeth.
The stretch caused her back to arch and caused her long, blonde hair to fall off smooth, tan shoulders like curtains opening to reveal two perfect breasts.
Damn. My mouth watered at the sight of those double Ds, a slim waist, and flared hips. Well, that took care of my bone-dry throat. Unfortunately, my head was still pounding, and the sporadic buzzing wasn’t going away, but I ignored them both for more pressing matters—specifically, the sex kitten who was purring and pressing her warm, soft body up against my side.
As I reached for her hips to pull her on top of me, she asked, “Are you going to get that? It just keeps going off.”
Her voice cut through the half-awake-half-asleep lust fog I’d been floating in. With new awareness, I sat up with a start. My phone. Everything clicked into place. That’s what the buzzing had been.
Looking over at the nightstand, I grabbed the device mid-buzz.
“What?” I answered before I even checked to see who was calling. Only close friends, family, and my agent had this number.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. How about you drag your sorry ass away from the blonde and get it down to the stadium?”
I immediately recognized the voice of Sam Maddox, head coach of the Los Angeles Legends and my best friend.
My eyes cut to the aforementioned blonde. “How did you know I was with—”
“Lucky guess, lover boy. Hurry up. There are kids waiting on you.”
Maddox disconnected the call and I found myself trying to process what he’d said. Inside my head, it still sounded like a small army was marching across my brain, which did not make dissecting Sam’s riddle any easier.
Kids waiting? Why would kids be…? Oh, shit!
An e-mail scrolled through my mind’s eye like the NYSE ticker tape. Damn. I’d agreed, under duress, to show up at the launch for Legend Youth, a football program for at-risk and low-income kids, even though it started at eight a.m. on a Saturday. It was the brainchild of the team’s new public relations liaison, Josephine Walsh.
When Josie had sent out the request for participants in the program, I’d initially ignored it.
But then Maddox had informed me that, as the starting quarterback, I would be attending the first practice. It was a good look for the organization. The Legends had had some players suspended for bad behavior. I myself was featured on TMZ for my extra-curricular activities on a regular basis.
I hadn’t been all that excited about the program, but since I didn’t have a choice, I figured I’d look at the bright side. Namely, that it would earn me points with Josie. She’d been hounding me about cleaning up my image. Plus, I’d get to spend the day with Maddox. He’d been a mentor to me since I was drafted six years ago. At the time, he was the offensive coordinator, but he’d played pro ball for five years.
After setting the phone back down on the nightstand, I scrubbed my hands over my face as I calculated how much coffee I was going to need to shake this hangover so that I could handle forty screaming kids. A groan escaped me, because deep down I knew there was not enough caffeine in the world to face that many amped up preteen boys.
Why had I gone out last night? I should’ve just kept my ass at home and familiarized myself with the profiles of the kids I’d be working with on the practice field today. I should’ve gotten a good night’s sleep. At my house. Alone.
But instead of doing what I should’ve done, I’d gone to Game Time, gotten more than a little wasted, picked up a groupie, gone back to my hookup apartment for some fun, and basically taken a two-hour nap instead of getting a solid eight.
Fuck.
I sat up, swinging my long sluggish legs over the side of the king-sized bed. My body was not happy with the new position.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
I looked around the bare apartment that I used for casual encounters. As a pro athlete who valued my privacy, I never brought women back to my home. To call this place a bachelor pad would be generous. The space contained only a bed and a couch. There was no paint on the walls, no pictures hung, no life in this place—just bleakness. It was sterile and cold.
Letting out a sigh, I had what I’d heard my mom describe as a “light bulb moment.” The playboy lifestyle I’d been engaging in since high school didn’t really hold the appeal it once had. Random women. Partying every night. No commitments. No connections. Nothing real.
I used to thrive off of those things. Now, I just felt…empty.
It was a sobering thought considering there were only two things that I’d ever excelled at in life: women and football. Women had always come easy to me, whereas football had taken sacrifice, hard work, and dedication.
This year, unlike the past six, I’d been feeling restless since the season had ended. I’d never suffered from what I’d witnessed other players go through, I didn’t get depressed when I wasn’t playing. Sure, I’d always been happy to get back on the field, play, and be around my teammates. But when I wasn’t, I just concentrated on having a good time. A lot of easy, no-strings, good times.
I was beginning to think that my lifestyle was catching up to me. Physically, I felt like shit. Mentally, I was frustrated. And emotionally, I felt empty.
Running my fingers through my hair, I made an executive life decision: I needed to start doing things differently. No more late nights. No more nameless, meaningless encounters. I was done. I was going to make some serious changes. It was time to grow the fuck up.
Starting with getting my “sorry ass” down to the practice field and living up to my commitment. A new leaf—that’s what I was going to turn over. With a renewed sense of purpose, I pushed off the bed to stand up.
“Where you going?” Blondie asked as she slipped her hands around my torso and gripped my morning wood, stroking it with an impressive level of expertise.
I hissed through gritted teeth as I watched her slim fingers slide up and down my length, a whirlwind of arousal spinning through me from head to toe and obliterating my newfound sense of purpose.
I was already late. What would another hour hurt?
Tomorrow. My new leaf would be turned over tomorrow.
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Whisper of Love
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CHAPTER 1
“Are you looking at porn!?”
“What?!” KJ’s brow furrowed as his eyes remained glued to the device he was clutching in his hands. “No!”
The grunts and groans Allison Walsh had heard from the hall that had sent her to where no man dared to go—a teenage boy’s bedroom—were silenced n
ow. Thanks to the homemade blackout curtains her nephew had put up a few months ago, the room was dark even though it was four in the afternoon. The only thing she could see through the small crack in the door was her nephew’s face illuminated by the screen of his iPad.
“Give it to me.” Ali did her best to sound authoritative as she shouldered the door pushing it open slowly. The task was made difficult due to an enormous pile of laundry halting its path. After putting her back into it, she managed to budge the blockade enough for her to finally squeeze inside.
The first thing to hit her was the overwhelming, pungent smell—a combination of dirty socks, rotten food, and the distinctive funk of teen-boy aroma—that was so thick she was choking on it. Lifting her hand to cover her mouth, she instantly regretted that she’d let the room checks slip over the last few months.
That’s not the only thing you’ve let slip, her inner—somewhat judgmental—voice chimed in.
She shook off that truth and forged ahead into the funk cloud, expertly navigating the minefield of dirty laundry, pizza boxes and general debris that covered his floor. When she reached the bed, she snatched her nephew’s iPad out of his hands.
“Hey! What are you doing!?” he shouted angrily.
Making sure you’re not watching porn. Her eyes quickly glanced at the screen and relief swept her when she saw there were no naked bodies. “You’ll get it back when your room is clean and the yard is mowed.”
Her nephew shot up to a seated position and extended his hand in an entitled belligerent manor. “You can’t take that, I need it for schoolwork.”
Shit. Ali’s mind raced as she searched her nephew’s light green irises for any hint of deception.
Was he lying?
Was he telling the truth?
She had no idea.
A year and a half in as his legal guardian, she’d yet to develop any kind of parental radar skills. Her bullshit meter was either broken or non-existent. She was officially in over her head and since he and his twin brother had only just entered the dreaded teen years, she was afraid the worst was yet to come.
Trying to get a clue as to whether KJ actually needed the device for scholastic reasons, she looked down again to see if she could figure out what he’d been watching. It didn’t take much detective work since the YouTube video was still playing. It was an MMA fight that she’d seen at least a dozen times, which for her was a dozen times too many.
“This is not schoolwork.”
“Yes, it is! It’s for my essay.”
“What essay?”
“The essay I have to write on who my hero is.”
No. Not that. Not him.
Of course she knew that her nephew looked up to the man that he was named after. Kade Jameson McKnight, the twins’ godfather, was an MMA fighter who got more press for his extra-curricular behavior than he did for his profession. He’d been the reigning Bad Boy of MMA for nearly ten years, which was not an easy title to gain much less hold. That line of work didn’t normally attract choir boys. To stand out as trouble in it was quite a feat.
She didn’t want to discourage KJ from doing the assignment, as getting him to do any homework at all was like pulling teeth, but she wanted to guide him in a different direction so she suggested, “Why don’t you write it on—”
“You can’t tell me who to do my project on. I already emailed Uncle Kade the questions!” His anger was palpable as he grabbed the iPad from her hand.
“He’s not your uncle.” She knew that she was being petty but it was better than what she’d wanted to say which was, He’s not your uncle, he’s an asshole who showed up at your dad’s funeral drunk with a stripper, got in a fight with the caterer, and then when he found out that he was as legally responsible for both of you as I was, disappeared, leaving me to raise you and your brother alone.“
Considering the alternative…petty wasn’t so bad.
Ali knew that she wouldn’t get anything accomplished by arguing with her nephew and if she didn’t start dinner now she wouldn’t have it done before he left for jiu-jitsu, so she decided a strategic retreat was the best move.
If there was one thing she’d learned over the past eighteen months, it was to pick her battles. As much as she wished her nephew being rude was one of the fights she could take on, it wasn’t. Vandalizing property, getting in fights in school, drinking, stealing—all of which he’d done—were much higher on her list of priorities than a bad attitude. At this point she just wanted to get him to eighteen alive and without a juvenile record, which the way he was going seemed almost impossible.
“Clean your room,” she instructed as she made her way back through the mess, even though she knew it was pointless.
Before she’d even made it out into the hall, he yelled, “Shut the door!”
She did.
And then she leaned back against it as tears formed in her eyes. She and KJ used to be so close. They’d had a secret handshake and shared inside jokes. She used to be the person he’d come to with any problems he had. Now, their relationship was combative and distant. She’d been told, by more than one person, kids take out their anger on the person they feel the safest with. If that was the case, KJ must feel really safe with her.
She sniffed as she took in a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. It was becoming glaringly obvious that she was doing a horrible job raising the twins and she was letting down her hero, her brother Patrick.
Growing up, neither of them knew who their father, or fathers, were. Their mother was an alcoholic who’d been in and out of jail for DUIs multiple times before she’d wrapped her car around a pole and died. Ali was twelve at the time and Patrick was eighteen. He’d petitioned the court and with the help of some influential members in the Whisper Lake community, he was able to gain custody of his sister. She’d only had to spend a year in foster care, but it had been a nightmare. She wasn’t sure she would’ve survived if she’d had to be there until she’d turned eighteen.
So, three years later when Patrick’s girlfriend took off and left him and their twins before their first birthday, Ali had been more than happy to step up and help take care of the boys. Patrick didn’t like to ask for help, but she pitched in any way she could.
She’d loved being an aunt. She was a kickass aunt. She could’ve won awards for her aunting.
When she turned eighteen and her brother had asked her to be the twin’s legal guardian if anything should happen to him she hadn’t hesitated, but she’d never thought she’d be called on to actually do it. When he’d told her that he would also be leaving her their grandfather’s house and business Whisper Lake Rentals, she’d said great, never in a million years thinking either would come to pass.
In her eyes, her brother was invincible. He was larger than life. He was her hero. But she found out that brain aneurisms didn’t care about any of that.
It had been eighteen months, three days, and seven hours since her brother’s tragic and sudden death. She missed him so much her body physically ached. Her grief often caused flu-like symptoms that seemed so real she’d been to see Dr. Williams on several occasions, only to be told that she needed rest, which she interpreted as him telling her, “It’s in your head.”
Ali felt so lost, so scared, and so alone without Patrick in this world.
She closed her eyes and tried to hear his voice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t. For as long as she could remember, whenever she was scared or nervous, or overwhelmed, he’d look her straight in the eye and say, “You got this.” Whether it was being afraid to fall asleep because she was having nightmares, facing a bully at school, or even being taken away by a social worker after being told her mother was dead, all her brother had to do was lock eyes with her and say, “You got this” and she believed him.
Whenever Patrick said that phrase she was instantly infused with confidence. Whatever she was facing suddenly wasn’t as terrifying. For the first few months after his death, all she’d had to do was close
her eyes and she could see and hear him saying those three magic words. Lately, though, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t.
The dryer buzzed loudly downstairs and she pushed off the wall, wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and put one foot in front of the other, just like she’d been doing for the past year and a half.
As she started down the stairs, she saw her other nephew, Patrick Benjamin Walsh Jr. sitting at the kitchen table reading The Lord of the Rings.
When the twins were born, Patrick named his first born after himself and when KJ showed up ten minutes later he named him after his best friend Kade. The boys were called Ricky and KJ so as not to confuse them with Patrick and Kade version 1.0.
Ricky had always taken after Patrick and had grown to be the spitting image of him with his huge hazel eyes and light brown hair. Every day he looked more and more like his dad. Luckily, he had his dad’s temperament as well. He was calm, hardworking, always ready to help if anyone needed him, and a frequent flyer on the honor roll.
In a strange, and in her opinion cruel, twist of fate, KJ had taken after his namesake as well. From his dark hair and green eyes to his rebellious attitude; his affinity for all things sports-related and total lack of interest in school.
The two of them reminded Ali so much of her brother and Kade at their age. Tears started to threaten her eyes again, but she sniffed them back.
“Hey, Ricky!” she greeted him sounding as chipper and upbeat as she could.
“Hey,” he answered, his focus still on his book.
She grabbed a pair of KJ’s shoes that had been left in the middle of the kitchen floor. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d asked him to clean up after himself, especially his shoes since his size thirteens were a serious tripping hazard, but it was like talking to a brick wall. She set them in a cubby off of the mudroom and saw Ricky’s science project sitting on the folding card table.
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