by Stacey Lynn
A month had given me a lot of perspective. Melissa and Beaux’s persistent cataloging his faults and the things they’d always hated about him had given me greater insights into things I hadn’t seen, or had refused to admit earlier.
I was angry and hurt, but beneath it there was still the love I’d thought I had for him for years, simmering. I couldn’t dig deep enough to scrape it out.
“When are you moving your stuff out here?”
“Whenever Patrick tells me when I can get the movers into the apartment. He wants to see me first, though.”
“Fuck that, Shannon. Melissa has a key. She can meet movers any time of the day. Stop fucking bending to his will.”
“I know.” I scrubbed my hands down my face and wrapped them around the back of my neck, popping my knuckles. “I know that. I was hoping—”
“You were hoping he’d be a decent human being for once.”
Ugh. I hated my baby brother. Such a pain in the ass. His words were still truthful.
“Yeah.” A breath fell from my puffed out cheeks. “I guess I was.” I spun in my chair, my design tables between us. “How was practice? Ready for the upcoming game?”
He pushed off the doorway and walked to the tables, his fingers brushing against bracelets I’d pounded and shaped earlier.
“Won’t play much the first couple games. Can’t have their new stars getting injured before the season really begins.”
He seemed to avoid meeting my gaze. I didn’t often see him uncertain or worried, unless it came to me and my life. This was football.
His dream. His goal since he was five.
“How was practice?”
“Powell’s still being an asshole. Jesus, he’s not letting me get away with shit. Every play he’s on my ass, screaming in my face.”
The name alone sent a spark of awareness to places it shouldn’t have—deep in my belly, the apex of my thighs.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah? Is he right?”
Beaux huffed and looked at a spot on the far wall. “I’m good. I know that. I’m good enough to be a starter, but every damn time I make a mistake—or when I don’t, for that matter—he’s right there, telling me what to do different. I’m not Mason, and I don’t want to be. They got rid of him for a reason, but he and Powell were friends. I don’t know if it’s something he has against me, against my playing, or because I took his friend’s spot.” He looked at me then, a gleam in his eye. “Or if he just really wants to fuck my sister and is pissed I’ve cock-blocked him.”
He choked over the word. I wanted to laugh at his grossed-out expression, but I couldn’t. That heat in my belly unfurled into something larger.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Really?”
I squeezed my eyes closed immediately. How desperate would I have to be for that to happen? He was worse than Patrick. Just as big of a player but didn’t feel the need to hide it.
“While this whole discussion is making me want to puke up my protein shake—”
“That’s probably just the protein.” I pulled a face. Those things smelled gross and tasted nastier. Add the kale, chia seeds, and spinach and it was shit in a cup.
“Shut up.” He smirked and went back to looking at my jewelry. “You know he was married once, right?”
My head spun while I tried to figure out who he meant before he continued speaking.
“High school sweetheart. Gossip in the locker room is he loved the shit out of her. She used him as a meal ticket and once he made it big, she left him and took over half of everything he owned.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Not sure.” He shrugged and pulled back from a necklace charm before sliding his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Beneath all the bullshit, all the asshole behavior, and all the crap that’s said about him in the papers, I guess I don’t think he’s that bad of a guy.”
It was as close to permission as I was going to get from Beaux. Not that it meant anything. I wasn’t going to be the next woman on Oliver’s arm on a photo spread of NFL player’s wives and girlfriends webpage, only to be replaced the following week.
“He’s been named captain of the team for a reason, you know. Is he right about you and your playing?”
For an athlete, Beaux was pretty humble. More than most. He was usually pretty open to criticism and always took feedback, evaluated it to see if it was true. Hell, he scanned his Instagram feed, reading comments from guys who couldn’t pick a decent fantasy football team, to see if their Monday quarterbacking had merit.
That he’d be so angry about Powell’s input told me it wasn’t the criticism getting to him.
“Yeah.” He looked up at me and grinned. It was lopsided and made a dimple pop in his cheek. “He might be.”
“Then you need to work harder.”
“And you need to get out of this office. Come to Kolby’s house with me tonight. He’s throwing a pool party.”
“Beaux—”
“Just a small gathering. Nothing big, I swear—not with our game in a couple days.”
My cheeks heated as I asked, “Will Oliver be there?”
“Fucking hell,” he moaned and dragged a hand through his hair. “Probably.”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I’m going.”
He grinned. “I figured you would.”
Chapter FOUR
OLIVER
The small crowd gathered on Kolby’s outdoor patio made my skin itch.
Over a dozen kids jumped and splashed in the pool. Long Styrofoam noodles, plastic wings, and inflatables tossed all over the place made the simple act of walking a minefield.
I was trying to relax. It wasn’t easy. Every year, the men on my team became younger and faster. They were tougher. They fought harder, partied louder, threw away their millions as soon as it hit their pockets.
For some, it filled them with a greater drive to succeed, to be the next big name known and shouted in small-town basements and garages all over the country for three months a year. For others, it became one big unending party…until the party came to a crashing halt.
I still hadn’t figured out our new quarterback. Beaux Hale had talent. That couldn’t be argued. But the man owned a fucking a RV that he drove around the country during the off season, partying wherever he parked it. He was determined on the field, a fucking clown off it. It was hard to take him seriously, and as his captain, it was fucking with our teamwork on the field.
I pushed him hard because his arrival meant we finally had a chance at the fucking coveted ring. Eight years in the league and I’d come close twice during my first two years. For the last six, it’d been a crapshoot.
Realistically I had two, maybe three decent years left in me. At thirty, I was becoming an old man. The pain in my knees, the hits to my ribs, the sore muscles…all of it took longer to recover from. I fucking ached everywhere already and the season hadn’t really begun.
I wanted to walk away with that damn golden ring so badly I could taste the metal in my mouth, between my teeth.
It was all so fucking close with the team we had this year. Hale was being touted as the guy who could take us there.
I was an asshole because I doubted he had it in him, but I hoped like hell he did.
Unfortunately, I kept thinking about the way his sister’s ass had felt in my hands last week on the dance floor. The fact that she’d doused my lust with her threats and then Beaux had made it clear at practice he’d follow through with them had made me a bigger asshole than normal.
Kolby, on the other hand, was the first rookie I’d ever met who seemed to have his eyes focused on the only two things that mattered: his daughter and his career. At his party, he was in the pool with her, holding on to her stomach while she flapped and kicked, making more of a splash than getting anywhere.
But he was patient, focused on only her and the other little kids around.
It forced a wei
ght to my chest. One I hated thinking about so much that I refused to do so—but when I saw moments like that, I couldn’t help it.
I’d lost every fucking thing I ever wanted and it was all Serena’s fault. Not that I gave a shit about the money I was still forced to send her. Spousal support, my ass. She’d walked away two years into our marriage, and six years later I was still paying for her to go do whatever the fuck she wanted.
Our phone calls were once a year, her calling me, me letting it go to voicemail. The taste of regret and disgust were heavy on my tongue every time I heard her voice wondering when her annual payment was going to be deposited.
I figured the next conversation we had would go drastically different.
An elbow bumped mine and a cold beer was placed in my hand. “Take this and drink it. You look like you want to kill someone.”
I glanced at Danny Rudolph. He was only a year younger than me and had been traded to Raleigh the same year I had been—the year after everything in my life went tits up. He hadn’t known me before, when I had my shit together, but he’d been there since my downfall.
“I don’t want to kill anyone,” I said and realized where my glare had been.
On her.
Shannon Hale. She ignited something inside me that went beyond the thought of an hour or two between the sheets before I kicked her out of my bed, like I did with most women since Serena. It had been different from the moment I saw Shannon.
Something dark and twisted, something that told me I’d be able to do whatever I wanted to her and she’d only scream for more.
Thinking she was draping herself all over Hale to get her hand into his back pocket had pissed me off more than it should have.
The way her gaze had gone a bit hazy when she’d looked at me that first time had made me jealous of the young kid.
“You go after her and you’re looking for trouble. Word is Hale’s her only family. You fuck with her and he’s going to go apeshit on your old ass.”
I had heard that. Their mom died a few years ago. They came from nothing. Word was Shannon was more of a mom to him than his own had ever been. Not to mention they had different fathers, neither of them around. Beaux didn’t hold shit back. He wasn’t ashamed of where he came from.
Plus, Rudolph was right. Guy could probably take me, too, unfortunately. I might have doubted his ability, but he still had an arm of steel, built for throwing. He could be the best in the league if he didn’t always fucking hesitate that half-second in the pocket.
It was going to get him sacked and concussed before the third game.
“I don’t want her.”
The words tasted as nasty as the swig of beer I took to wash away the lie.
I wanted her. I’d thought of a thousand ways to apologize to her for being such an asshole. They all involved her naked, her thick, dark hair spread all over my white sheets. Her jaw slack while I pleasured her, over and over again.
I caught her gaze, that same hazy, wanting look from across the pool where she stood with a half-dozen players and their wives or girlfriends.
Being the prick I was, I dropped my hand to my crotch and adjusted myself where she could see I was already growing hard.
The thought of her…the mere fucking sight of her did that to me.
I hadn’t been this hard, so constantly and so easily, since I was fifteen and Serena let me touch her tits for the first time.
Next to me, Rudolph laughed. It was loud and gathered the attention of most of the people nearby. I glared at him, but still sensed Shannon’s gaze at my back.
A little prickle of interest.
I smirked at my friend. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Hell yeah,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder. “But there’s a lot of things you are and a liar isn’t one of them. Might as well get it out of your system. Let Beaux beat the shit out of you and then we can all move on. You keep looking at her like you want to fuck her naked in front of all these people and rumors will start.”
Fuck. He was right. A football team was worse than a frat house when it came to gossip running rampant.
“I’ll get right on that then,” I muttered, setting my drink down. Last weekend’s splurge at the club where I’d seen Shannon had been the last real alcohol I’d touch until hopefully February—
After a Super Bowl win.
“Can’t you just go find another easy lay and fuck her out of your mind? Pretend she’s someone else? This has trouble written all over it.”
I’d tried that. Saturday and Wednesday.
Unfortunately I’d only pictured Shannon, and the women beneath me, their faces buried in my pillows, hadn’t helped.
I wanted to see her face—those coffee-colored eyes, her pouty lips parched and dry.
“I like your first idea better.” I slapped Rudolph on the shoulder. “You’re right. Fuck her. Get her out of my head. Move on to the next one.”
“This is going to go south real quick.”
I didn’t respond. I was already walking away. Toward the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about. The woman who was barely covered in a swimsuit cover—it was strapless, hitting just below her ass. A bright peach color that showed off her tan, and fuck…those legs.
Toned and long. Painted toenails to match the light blue suit I’d seen her in earlier when I’d first arrived and she was lying out on a lounge chair.
With every step bringing me closer to her, her grip tightened on her water bottle. She moved slowly away from the group of men she’d been talking to. Beaux glanced at me, but he was missing the scowl I had become familiar with this week.
The pink color blossoming on her cheeks held my attention. The slight quirk to her mouth. Lips that tilted up at one corner, practically daring me to do all the filthy things I wanted to.
I’d take her up on it, as soon as she let me. It’d been a while since I’d had to persuade a woman to let me do what I wanted, but I had a feeling she’d make it worth the effort.
“Come talk to me,” I said, sliding right up next to her and not giving her any doubt what I really wanted.
Her eyes flared—hesitant and surprised at my boldness. “We are talking.”
“Privately.”
I held out my hand, wanting more than anything to wrap it around her elbow and pull her toward me, pull her into a dark corner where I could slide her knee to my hip and sink into her. She was short, and in sandals. I’d find a way to make it work.
But I didn’t. I kept my hand still, palm outstretched.
The first move had to be hers. I’d take care of the rest.
Slowly, she nodded. Her whispered “Okay” was so quiet I barely heard her over the clamoring of the kids in the background.
She slid her hand into mine and that same shock of electric energy swam and slithered up my arm to my chest.
It was unnatural. Scared the hell out of me.
I gripped her tighter and pulled her to me. My hand went to her hair, pushing it back so I could lean down to whisper in her ear.
“You know everyone’s watching this right now?”
She nodded once.
“You know what’s going to happen when I get you alone?”
She cleared her throat. Her nerves were evident in the rapid blink of her eyes. “Talking.”
I drew closer to her so my lips brushed over her earlobe. “We’ll talk. And then you’ll scream.”
She didn’t pull away. I was still being an ass.
I expected a punch to my back from Beaux at any moment.
But none of it came. Instead of pulling away like she should have, her chest pressed to mine.
“Then let’s go talk.”
Chapter FIVE
SHANNON
Almost every woman at the party stared as Oliver led me through the small crowd of players and their wives and girlfriends. They glanced at us once, quickly looked away, only to surreptitiously slide their gazes back to us as we passed them.
I swallowed
hard in an effort to push down the apprehension and focused on the tingling in my stomach, the way my heart jumped and pulse pounded as he guided me inside the house. His confidence and the way he seemed to not care about what anyone thought of him—along with the sexual magnetism between us—flooded my veins in preparation for what would happen next.
What he wanted was obvious. The desire and need written all over his face from the moment we made contact was clear.
That look, along with Beaux’s permission to do whatever I wanted earlier, made me want to toss my morals to the ground and stomp all over them.
I’d never had the freedom other kids had.
Now, I was free to do whatever I wanted. Live how I chose without the risk of screwing things up for anyone.
First, it was Beaux. If I was too hung over, too caught up in the arms of a stranger, I could miss getting him where he needed to be. I could miss a game or a practice or a meeting with a college recruiter. I could miss giving our mom her meds when she needed them, or running her to doctor’s appointments.
My entire life had been spent taking care of my family, and then later, making certain I wasn’t screwing up anything for Patrick or his family.
I was so, so tired of the responsibility bearing down on my shoulders, I could break at any moment.
So why not throw it all away for a quickie in a stranger’s house with a sexy man whose confident and warm touch held the promise of pleasure and wild abandon?
Oliver led me through an enormous house with more floors and windows and doors than they sold in most home improvement stores until we reached a room at the end of a hall on the top floor.
I looked at everything from the incredibly fancy decor to the windows that overlooked the pool outside, to the overly dramatic chandeliers and woodwork so expensive and well-oiled it gleamed when the sun hit it.
“Kolby’s house is a mansion,” I murmured.
Beaux and Oliver could probably afford something like this. Oliver probably lived in something like this. With years in the league and millions to his name, he probably had houses and condos in fabulous vacation spots and private planes to take him wherever he wanted to go on whatever random whim he had. He had to travel all the time, whenever he could, to be seen in so many different places with so many different women.