by Vi Keeland
The league had set up extra security and a valet, with a roped-off parking area for each team. I navigated the signs to the Steel entrance. “Once we get inside, keep a close watch on those two. The fans can get pretty rowdy.”
Grouper smiled. “Such a big softie under all that hard ass. Do your teammates know what a wussy you really are?”
“Bite me, Flounder.”
The valet sped off with my car, hitting the gas with a lead foot, and the four of us walked to the entrance through wooden police barricades. Both sides were lined with fans who had probably camped out all night. I hoisted Grouper the third onto my shoulders and walked to the crowd lined up three deep to sign autographs.
A kid about fourteen or fifteen had half his body leaning over the wooden barricade. I took his first, scribbling my name, then held the pad and pen up to my passenger. “You want both our autographs, right?”
The kid nodded, even though he had no idea who the boy on my shoulders was.
“You sign too, little fish.”
“I don’t know how to write my name in script.”
“Just fake it. That’s what I do. Scribble a lot.”
Guppy balanced the pad on top of my head and did as I told him. The crowd got a kick out of it. We signed for fifteen minutes and then went inside before I got fined for being late to the pre-event team meeting.
I handed Grouper and the guppies VIP badges to wear around their necks and fan admission tickets. “Back here at six?”
“You got it, boss.”
“Boss? Now you’re talking.” I grinned at Grouper. “I like it.”
***
Fifteen minutes before the event was to start, I stood alone in a luxury box high above the swarm of people on the arena floor. I looked out through the glass window and sipped from my water bottle. Both sides of the arena were lined with booths set up for each of the starting players to sit in. Microphones dangled from wires high above the ground, and I knew from experience that crowds of reporters would soon be yelling their questions and shoving even more microphones in our faces.
This week was the pinnacle of what every player worked for—making it to the Super Bowl. Yet I hadn’t felt like celebrating with the rest of the team after our meeting. Instead, I’d ducked into the first private area I could find so that I could take a few minutes to look for her. It had been ten long days since I’d seen her face, and I would take whatever glimpse I could get. Now I knew what a fan felt like stalking a player.
Part of me was still pissed at her for saying she didn’t love me. But a bigger part of me didn’t believe it was true. Her eyes had said something different than her lying lips. After my anger had subsided, I’d replayed the last few months over and over in my head. A wounded chick playing a mix tape that her ex made her before he dumped her had nothing on me. The only good thing was, every time I was exhausted at practice, I thought of that douchebag Langley with his hand on my girl’s back, and I suddenly had a fresh burst of energy. Angry energy, but it worked at my job.
Finding her in the crowd of thousands took less than a minute. I guzzled the last of my water bottle, following her with my eyes. She was wearing a black dress, a fitted red blazer, and had on high-heeled black leather boots that came up to meet the hem of her dress. Sexy as all fuck, while showing barely any skin.
Suddenly she stopped walking and looked up, scanning the arena as if searching for something. When her eyes found mine, even across half a stadium, it was all the sign I needed. This shit was not over. And I was going to find out once and for all why she was pretending it was.
Chapter 41
Delilah
I’d thought about calling Brody dozens of times over the last week. Even called up his contact on my phone on more than one occasion, but each time I only ended up staring at his name. What would I say? There wasn’t much that I remembered clearly from that last night in the hotel room, but the way he looked when I told him I didn’t love him back was burned into my memory. It was the one thing I didn’t want to remember, and yet the only thing that kept haunting me.
You know that feeling you get when someone is watching you? Well, multiply the intensity of that times a thousand, and that’s what made me look up. I felt it in my bones, in the acceleration of my heartbeat, in the sheen of sweat that broke out on my skin. The question was definitely not Is Brody looking at me? The only question was Where is he watching from? It didn’t take me long to find out, and I couldn’t look away, even when I should have. When he turned away without looking back again, it was like pouring salt on an open wound that refused to heal.
Staring up at an empty luxury box, I paid no attention as I walked. The mass of people swarmed in all different directions, and I smacked straight into the back of another reporter. It had to be Angie Snow of all people.
“Delilah Maddox.” Her smile was sugary sweet, but the intonation in her tone was false.
“Angie. How are you?” There were very few women in the world of men’s professional sports. It wasn’t like we had a club or anything, yet we all knew each other’s names and faces. I’d met Angie at an event a few years back. We were both covering college games still.
“I’m good. A little disappointed, though.”
“Disappointed?”
“Easton. You’re a lucky girl. I thought you were done with him, and he was back on the market. I didn’t realize you were still together.”
I’d had my nails done that morning. The thought of getting them shaved into sharp points next time suddenly popped into my head. “We’re not together anymore.”
“Oh. Good to know.” She smiled, and I folded my fingers into my hand, digging my nails into my skin. “Well. Good luck today.” The blonde bombshell flipped her hair and turned to walk away.
“Wait. Angie. What made you think we were still together?”
“Well, usually when a cowboy shows me his horse, he lets me take a ride on it.”
I cringed. “And Brody didn’t?”
“Wrapped the towel back around his waist after he intentionally let it fall. And after my interview, when I suggested he give me a private viewing of what was under the towel again—alone at my place that night—he blew me off.”
I breathed a little. “Oh. I’m sure that doesn’t happen often.”
One of her perfectly plucked and dyed eyebrows arched. “Often? It never happens.”
I felt Brody come up behind me before I heard his voice. Angie’s eyes rose above my head as he took my elbow into his hand. “Excuse us a minute, Andy, would you?”
“It’s Angie.”
The next thing I knew, I was being steered out of the arena and into the hall. Brody kept moving, clutching me tightly to his side as if I might run if given the opportunity. When we got to the entrance to the men’s locker room, it was being guarded by Henry Inez.
“Hi.” It came out just as nervous as the first time we’d met, maybe more so.
He nodded. “Dam. Mr. Easton.”
Brody scrunched up his brow. “I need to use the locker room for a few minutes.”
“Not supposed to let anyone in. Even players.”
I sensed Brody’s anxiety. “We won’t be but a few minutes. It’s just impossible to escape all the reporters. They can be pretty annoying,” I joked.
Henry stepped aside, shaking his head. “A few minutes. That’s it. We rotate when the interviews start inside.”
“Thanks, Henry.” Brody wasted no time pushing the door open. But I stopped. “How’s Larissa’s arm doing?”
The security guard smiled. “Cast comes off tomorrow. It’s a good thing, too. She’s threatening to take a saw to it herself to get back on the court.”
“That’s great.”
Brody tugged at my arm, pulling me into the locker room. Inside, I glared at him. “That was rude. I was talking.”
“We only have a few minutes.”
I folded my arms over my chest.
He grinned. “But it never took me that long to get
you off.”
“Brody . . . ”
His eyes darkened as he moved to me. With every step he took, I retreated, until my back hit a tiled wall. He lowered his face to mine, our mouths inches apart. “I think you lied.”
“About what?” I had the immense urge to lean forward and press my lips to his.
He shifted and leaned toward my neck, running his nose along the vein that pulsed with my heartbeat. It was beating out of control, and my breath was joining in on the race. “About how you feel about me. I think you lied.” He moved to my ear, his voice raw. “I think you feel everything I feel.”
I said nothing, but the hitch of my breath spoke volumes.
“I bet if I slipped my hand into your panties right now, you’d be as wet as I am hard.”
“Brody . . . ”
He pulled back a few inches and cupped my face with both hands. “And it’s not just your body that has a reaction to mine. I think you feel it . . . ” He slid one hand from my chin, down my neck, and stopped when his palm covered my heart. “Here. I think you feel it here, too.”
My heart was pounding under his hand.
“What are you afraid of, Delilah?”
He stared into my eyes, so open and vulnerable, and like a coward, I closed mine. Neither of us moved for a long time.
The door to the locker room creaked open. “Easton. Interviews are starting, and the shift is changing. Time’s up,” Henry yelled, and then the door closed again.
I opened my eyes. My words were barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
He pushed my hair back, and his thumb stroked my cheek. His smile was real, but sad. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’ll figure it out.”
He let go of me and took a few steps toward the door before turning around. The cocky smile I hated to love was back now. “Oh, and Delilah? Now it’s your turn. You’ll come around. But when you do, I think I’ll make you beg for another chance.”
Chapter 42
Brody
I felt like a twelve-year-old boy again. In two days, I would play in the motherfucking Super Bowl, there would be an arena half full of women wearing my name on their backs, and here I was jerking myself off in the shower. To say I was frustrated was an understatement.
When I’d told Delilah last week that the ball was in her court, I hadn’t been thinking of how often I would see her. Super Bowl week was a media frenzy, and I saw her beautiful face every day. After our locker room understanding, something changed—the anger and hard feelings between us were gone. We were friendly even. Which made it exceedingly harder to keep my hands to myself.
Last night, she’d been at the practice field for a coach’s interview. I’d waited around like a damn puppy just to walk her to her car after she was done. When we got to her Volkswagen, she stood with her back against the door, and I knew if I had leaned in and claimed her mouth, she wouldn’t have objected. I was more certain than ever that she wanted me; what I needed now was for her to be certain it was what she wanted. She needed to push past whatever was holding her back and make the decision to be with me. So I’d intentionally brought up Marlene and how Grouper had cleaned out the last of her things before I brought him and the guppies to Media Day. I casually mentioned that I’d mailed Marlene’s cross to Willow, who now lived upstate. She had said that she believed nothing happened between Willow and me, but I needed her to know that Willow wouldn’t be part of our lives going forward.
That night at the hotel, after Marlene’s service, Willow and I had a long talk. She admitted she had come to my suite hoping for us to get back together. As much as I hated that I hurt Delilah, the conversation between the two of us needed to happen. I needed to say goodbye to her once and for all, and she needed to hear me tell her to move on. It was a long time coming for both of us. While I wished her luck, there was no connection holding us together anymore. And I was good with that. Whatever crack of the door that I had left open for Willow, it was finally shut once and for all.
I had offered to pick Delilah up to drive her to the stadium today for the final press conference since we were both attending, and I was shocked as shit when she agreed. She’d told me to text her when I arrived so I wouldn’t have to park, but a car ride to the stadium wasn’t enough time with her. So I showed up an hour before our planned departure time and rang the buzzer, pretending that she had gotten the times mixed up.
“I’m sorry. I thought you said eleven.”
I did. “Nope. Ten.”
When she opened the door, it was obvious she had just gotten out of the shower. Her hair was wet, and she was dressed in a pair of logoed Steel sweats and a pink ribbed tank top—sans bra.
“Nice sweats.” Nice tits. The damn things were saluting me.
She stepped aside for me to enter. “I’m not ready. But I’m fast. I can get done quick.”
I quirked an eyebrow. Good thing I took care of myself not an hour ago.
Delilah chuckled. “Such a perv.” She waved toward the living room. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I watched the sway of her hips until she was out of sight, and then made myself at home. The entire place smelled like her perfume. I sat down on the couch with the remote and flicked on the TV. Every station was talking about the upcoming game. Athletes were superstitious—I didn’t like to know the odds before a game, so I hit the off button and looked around. The end table held a photo album that I’d never seen before. Not thinking twice, I grabbed it and started to flip through.
It was page after page of Delilah and some guy, who I could only assume was Drew. He was in a football uniform in half the pictures, and apparently Delilah didn’t have to grow into her looks as many women did—she was smokin’ hot at every age. Most of the photos looked like they were from high school, but some looked like they might have been from college. The two of them were arm-in-arm in most pictures. Smiling, laughing. A pang of jealousy reared from within when I flipped to one of them kissing. It was probably eight years old, and the poor guy had been dead for almost as many years. God, I was an asshole.
I put the book back on the coffee table and closed my eyes for a few minutes to clear my head. I smelled her come back into the room.
“Do you want something to drink?” She was smiling, and then suddenly her face dropped. I followed her line of sight to the photo album. She walked to the coffee table and picked it up, storing it in the console beneath the TV.
“No, thank you,” I said.
She scrunched her face.
“You asked me if I wanted something to drink. I’m good.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” She paused and looked around the room. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
When she disappeared, I stared at the cabinet that Delilah had just put away the photo album in. Young love. Loss. Football. It was like a light bulb had turned on for the first time. My head fell back against the couch. How had I not figured it out before? Had I been hit one too many times in the fucking head at practice? I smacked myself in the skull and groaned. Jesus Christ, Brody. It’s so obvious.
I stood and paced back and forth for a few minutes, trying to gather my thoughts before walking into the bedroom.
“Hey.” I leaned against the doorframe and waited for her to come out of her closet.
She came out wearing a navy skirt and a white shirt, with a set of pearls that caught around one breast and hung down to her waist. Classy, yet sexy. Although I preferred the pink tank top without the bra as long as it was just the two of us. “Am I taking too long?” She was carrying a pair of navy heels in her hand.
“No. Can we sit?”
“In here?”
“I just want to talk a minute.”
She hesitated but then walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. I kneeled, balancing myself on one knee, and took the shoes from her hand, slipping on one at a time. She looked down at me, confused. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” There was so much I wanted to say, yet I wasn’t quite sure of the word
s.
“Everything okay?” she asked
“Other than I’m a dumb fuck? Yeah, everything is fine.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“And you’ll answer?”
“I’ll try.”
“Why aren’t we together anymore?”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were sad. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Try. I’ll listen.”
“Well. That night when I came to your suite and Willow was there, I was upset. Jealous even. I hated the thought of another woman near you. But when you told me nothing happened, I believed you. I never doubted you would keep to your word and be faithful.”
“But you still think I have feelings for her. The same kind of feelings I have for you.”
She looked away. “I don’t know what I think.”
“Look at me, Delilah.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“You wanna know what I think? I think you loved Drew the same way I loved Willow. And when you lost him, it hurt for a really long time. So much so that you were afraid to do it again.” I wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “This whole time I thought you were afraid to fall in love with me, that I was the problem.
“It’s not you.”
“I know that now. You’re just afraid to fall.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. This makes my job much easier.”
“Easier? How?”
“Changing me was going to be a lot of work, but proving to you that if you’ll take a chance on me, I’ll be there to catch you won’t be as hard. Let’s face it, I’m an asshole. It ain't easy to change an asshole.”
She laughed through her tears. “I think I just need time.”
“I’ll be right here waiting.”