Devon

by Tessa Frank

  Devon

  Second Chance for the Quarterback

  Tessa Frank

  Contents

  Tessa’s Gossip Column

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Tessa’s Gossip Column

  Thank you from Tessa

  Also by Tessa Frank

  Tessa’s Gossip Column

  This reporter witnessed Brentwood’s star quarterback catch a coffee cup…

  …in his lap.

  The coffee thrower was none other than his ex-girlfriend.

  Ohhh my, when styrofoam flies!

  With Brentwood High’s 10th Reunion nearly here, this reporter wonders what other juicy “reunions” are about to happen.

  1

  Claire

  “I told you already that I’m going tonight,” I mutter into the phone, slamming the door of my car and juggling everything. Brooklyn wants to know if I’m coming to our ten-year high school reunion. She wants a known friend there for support. I’ve got a book to finish.

  “Where are you?”

  I push my sunglasses up my nose. I hate getting blinded when I exit the parking garage. “Out.”

  “Out. Right.” An annoyed huff cuts off with a sigh. “How soon until the next book drops?”

  “Who wants to know?” I can fully picture Brooklyn’s diminutive grandmother demanding she get an update from me the last time she visited her at the nursing home. Brooklyn may not care much about my stories, but her grandmother is my number one fan. “Tell her I’m on my way to the coffee shop to finish it. I’ll have it out in time.” Fans, supportive and excited ones, are one of the best things about my growing author career.

  Which means I really have to meet my deadline. “I need to go.” I dodge around a dog marking a tree.

  “Right.” Brooklyn pauses to run water in something, then says, “Listen, is there any chance you can kill off some guy named Gerald Barton? Gram is driving me crazy telling me I need to find a guy just like him.”

  I crack up on the sidewalk, no matter that I’m in the middle of town. I base Gerald Barton on my only high school romance, which simmered out right after graduation. My laughter covers a hard truth: I don’t want anyone to figure out who inspired Gerald Barton. “No dice. I’m not killing off my most successful hero.”

  Brooklyn groans. “How hard can it be? Just start another series with a new guy.”

  Snort. “Right. Why don’t you just start another nursing job?” Sure, I’m being snarky, but she’s got to give me some credit. I might not be generating a full-time income with my romances. Yet. But I am paying most of the bills with it. That’s something.

  I reach Brentwood Rehabilitation Center, my primary place of employment and home of my favorite coffee shop. “I’ve got to go. Coffee time.”

  Brooklyn groans again and hangs up on me. If hanging up on each other weren’t a normal occurrence, I’d be mad. As it is, I’m in a hurry to get some writing done. The automatic doors swoosh open as I approach. I’m busy setting my phone to Do Not Disturb when I walk straight into a tall wall of muscle.

  Wham.

  Ouch.

  “That’s gonna leave a bruise” is the actual thought going through my head when I look up, rubbing my sore nose. “Devon,” I breathe out in horror.

  No. Freaking. Way.

  This is insane in the most horrible way. “What are you doing here?”

  How is it possible that the guy who secretly inspires every romance I’ve written is standing in front of me right now?

  My hand drops. My eyes widen. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” I jump toward him, realizing as I do that our collision has sent the cup of coffee he was holding down his left jeans leg. I pat at the damp brownness spreading across the blue. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

  “Claire Reynolds.” It’s a growl. Not the swooning way a hero would say his heroine’s name. My stupid heart still jumps in reaction.

  Devon glares at me as he jerks my hand away from him. From his, ah, crotch. Where I was using my sweater cuff to dab up coffee.

  Heat floods my face. This is utterly embarrassing. “I’m sorry. I’ll just, ah, um…” Ten years may have passed since high school, but I am still a bumbling idiot in front of Devon Parker. The Devon Parker. Starting quarterback for the White-Tails. Not that I watch football. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally watch the White-Tails play solely to catch glimpses of Devon.

  He’s sooooo much better looking now than in high school. Pro football does not do wimpy men and Devon fills out his button-down shirt far too well. And his jeans.

  I’m staring.

  My eyes flick up to Devon’s. He’s watching me, a strange look in his eyes.

  “Brave man indeed.”

  The left side of Devon’s mouth quirks upward. “What did you just say?”

  My mind goes blank as blood rushes to my cheeks. “Nothing,” I stammer.

  “Hm.” He rubs his jaw. The dimple on his left side appears as he smiles. That dimple always got him his way when we dated. “It sounded like you offered to buy me another cup of coffee.”

  I blink. Twice. “What?” Then my mind catches up to my mouth and I blurt, “Of course. Of course, I’ll buy you another cup.” Under my breath I add, “That’s the normal thing to do, Claire.”

  I look up into dark chocolate eyes flicked with caramel — my favorite Hershey’s kiss. I point to the right of where we stand. “The coffee shop is this way.”

  “I’ll follow you,” Devon says, not commenting on the fact that he’d obviously come from there and knows where it is.

  “Right.” I step forward, feeling him beside me. “This is unexpected.”

  2

  Devon

  This can not be heavy bangs and thick glasses Claire Reynolds. I’m stunned by the transformation of the nerd who made me sweat in high school.

  Not that it was all her fault. As a freshman, having a bottle of water dumped over my head had been the pinnacle of ego crushing moments. That Claire caused the jealousy that led my recent ex to douse me, well, I had not handled it with grace. I’d blamed Claire and then ignored her existence. Until senior year. Then I’d fallen hard only to get the rug ripped right out from under me.

  Considering this creature beside me, all long wavy hair and sparkling eyes, I was a teenage idiot. Add in that this delectable sprite has dumped coffee down me, and I’m nearly happy about it, it’s a wonderful thing that my ego is not fragile.

  And her comment, I can’t let it go. “I’ve developed a thicker skin since freshman year. Had to with all the attention.”

  “Reporters?”

  I shrug a bit. “Them. Mostly coaches yelling at me and pointing out my mistakes.” I smile down at her, pulling her a little closer to me when I realize she’s about to walk into a nurse. Still accident prone. “It’s all part of becoming the best.”

  Poor Claire. Her face keeps blanching then turning bright pink. If I hadn’t walked out on her, turning our plans for college and after into a solo gig, I’d think she might like me.

  Me? I play it close to the chest now. Poker face. Bored poker face most of the time. I’ve been burned, most recently by my ex-fiance. Never gonna forget walking in on that scene.

  But Claire isn’t someone I’ve met since becoming a pro quarterback. A fact that has me thinking maybe there could be something here again. Assuming she’d ever forgive me.

  “And you are the best.” H
er cheeks turn red. She practically trips over air and her own feet.

  I pretend not to hear, even though it’s like a salve. “Am I walking too fast? People are always telling me to slow down.”

  “No.” Claire puffs out her cheeks, her feet double timing it.

  I slow down. I’m at least eight inches taller than she is. And I’m not as prone to walking distracted. Here’s hoping I’m the distraction this time. “So, how do you know about the coffee shop in here? Do you work here?”

  “Uh…”

  “Claire, darling, I’m so glad you could make it in today,” the little white-haired woman at the coffee shop counter says. “Your regular, dear?”

  “Yes, please, Julia, and one of whatever he wants.” Claire motions toward my legs. “I owe him.”

  Julia's eyes go wide. “Oh my, do you ever. Dark roast? No cream or sugar, right?”

  I grin, making sure to flash the dimple in my left cheek. “That’s right. You remember.”

  “Charmer.” Julia waves at me, smiling. “You’ve ordered the same thing the last three days.”

  Claire looks up at me. “You have?”

  I nod, grinding my teeth together. “Mom broke her hip.”

  “Oh, my. I didn’t know,” Claire whispers.

  “Don’t you worry none, young man. Brentwood Rehab is the best place for her to recover,” Julia says, pushing a cup across the counter to me. “Your mama will be walking again in no time.”

  “Thank you,” I say. The coffee tastes good. “So, do you come here often?” I keep my eyes trained on the coffee, but I’m watching to see how Claire reacts.

  “Uh…”

  Julia points a knobby finger at Claire. “Don’t for one slick second think I’m letting you off the hook. You’re on a deadline, girl, and I’m aching for the next story.”

  “Story?” I know there is definitely one here because Claire is beet red and hissing at Julia to shut up. I’m impressed. Not sure I would chance telling Julia to be quiet.

  “Our Claire’s an author.”

  “Julia!”

  I grin. “I can’t wait to read your book.”

  Julia comes out from behind the counter. She hands Claire an ice drink of some sort, whips off her apron, then links her arm in mine. “I’ll give this young man the four-one-one while he walks me to my car.” She pats my hand. “Don’t you worry none, you can talk another time. Right now I need you to help me bring Old Man Kittermann to attention.”

  I can’t believe a pint-sized grandma is as strong as Julia. I play football and she’s handling me like a pro. Granted, I was also raised right. No way would I let my mother down. Julia wouldn’t hesitate to snitch on me, I’d bet. As I’m being hauled away, I glance back once. Claire waves.

  I look at the top of the white head. “You owe me.”

  Julia pats my arm. “Don’t you worry your purdy little head about it.”

  “Pretty little head?” I’m a grown man, for goodness sakes.

  Julia grins up at me. “I know everything about everyone in this town. You just wait. I’m sure I’ll pay up.”

  Well, dang. Remind me not to get on Julia’s bad side.

  “You going to that class reunion tonight?” Julia asks, waving enthusiastically at a group of ladies. Two of the biddies nearly fall out of their seats. Julia chuckles as she drags me along. “You should. Claire will be there.”

  “Will she now?” I know I’m grinning. A huge crowd sounds like the perfect opportunity to see Claire again. No pressure.

  3

  Claire

  Brooklyn’s eighteenth text is pinging my phone when I finally make it to the reunion. I’m late. Not that I really care. I’m on a cloud. There’s something about meeting deadlines and finishing a book that leaves a person floating no matter what.

  I grab my name tag off the table and head inside.

  “Oh my goodness,” squeals a voice. “Claire Reynolds, is that really you?”

  I barely have time to look in the voice's direction before I’m swallowed up into a hug. “Hey,” I say, patting the person on the back.

  She jumps back. “It’s me, Darby. I’m so happy to see you. Isn’t it amazing? Ten years.”

  “Yeah.” I smile and nod along with Darby because why not. We may not have been besties in high school, or grade school, but we also weren’t enemies. That counts for something.

  Darby grins. “How are you?”

  I note that she’s got a drink in her hand, hoping I can get one soon. “I’m good. How about you? Environmental lawyer, right?” I made a point of reading the bios everyone posted. Well, that some of us posted. I decided against telling my former classmates that I write romances. That’s not the type of information I tend to share. It’s not exactly a secret though. There aren’t a lot of secrets in a small town. Less when you work at a place like Brentwood Rehab.

  Darby tells me about herself. She’s obviously proud of what she’s working on. It’s really nice how pleasant Darby is.

  Darby’s best friend, and I assume they’re still friends since they’re standing here together, wears a sour look. I figure she’s probably put out by me talking to Darby. “Didn’t I hear that you’re teaching now and in charge of the cheer squad, Candy?”

  From the look that crosses her face, I evidently asked her to eat a live bug. So much for trying to be nice.

  “I’m married now. I don’t have to work outside the house…” There’s a metric ton of venom in her voice. “…unlike some people.”

  “Ha.” The laugh bursts out of me without planning. I know she meant to insult me, but I couldn’t care less.

  From her narrowing eyes, my reaction doesn’t meet her expectations. Whatever. I can’t be bothered with someone like her. I’m not in high school anymore.

  But poor Darby. She definitely got stabbed. “Well, it’s been really nice catching up with you.” I grip Darby’s hands, giving them a good squeeze.

  “You too,” Darby whispers. She’s looking at Candy with hurt eyes. Candy doesn’t even see, too busy smiling daggers at me.

  “Later.” I turn to walk away and run smack into Devon Parker. Again. Rubbing my nose, I say, “Seriously. This has got to stop. I’ll need a nose job if we keep running into each other like this.”

  Then I freeze. Devon and Candy moved in the same circles in high school. They were friends. This moment suddenly looks like it has yellow caution tape wrapped around it.

  “Oh my, Devon Parker. It’s so good to see you.” Chocolate wouldn’t melt in Candy’s mouth. Her voice drips sugary sweetness. She leans in for a hug.

  Devon shifts. The angle on Candy’s hug changes from full body to bro style. I bite my lips to avoid smiling.

  “Hello, Candy.” Devon nods to Darby, saying her name. “Give me a minute with Claire, would you?”

  I know my eyes get bigger. Attention. From Devon Parker. I can’t seem to make my heart stop beating like I’m running.

  Candy sends me another dagger glare as she and Darby walk off. Darby, saint that she must be, sends me a thumbs up.

  Very few people knew Devon and I dated in high school. Brooklyn is one of them. And where is she? Because she’s not here rescuing me.

  Devon steps close. “Would you like to dance?”

  Despite being shocked, I’m opening my mouth to say no when he adds, “It’d mean a lot to me.”

  My mouth goes dry. There’s more under those words. Pull yourself together. You’ve built your own business. You are over Devon Parker.

  Instead, I nod and let him lead me out onto the dance floor. The music isn’t slow. A blessing. I feel the tightness in my chest loosen as Devon begins a comical set of moves.

  “White Man’s Overbite,” he yells. “What do you think? Am I doing it right?”

  “If your plan is to look like an idiot, then you’ve done it correctly.” I laugh though. This was what I loved about Devon, he turned awkward situations for me into fun. I’ve never met another guy who was willing to do that for me.<
br />
  Just as I’m getting comfortable, the music changes. A ballad comes on. Devon straightens. He holds out his hand and takes one step closer to me. My hand slips into his without my meaning for it to happen.

  His other hand slides around my waist, pulling me close to him. Like an old habit, I rest my head on his shoulders. There we are, dancing close. I need to remember how to breathe because Devon looks completely unaffected.

  4

  Devon

  Staring down at Claire’s head is dangerous. I shouldn’t have asked her to dance. To slow dance. Holding her against me makes me think of other things. Things that are long past being able to happen again.

  And yet I very much want those things to happen. I realize as soon as she looks up that kissing her lips is fast becoming a need.

  Very. Dangerous.

  Claire is far prettier now than in high school. Age has caused only improvements. I ease back to put a little distance between us.

  “What have you been doing since, um,” I can’t believe I have to swallow like a teenager, “high school?”

  Claire blinks once, her eyes snap into focus. Reminding her of high school is the right thing to do even though it hurts.

  She blows out a huff of air. “Well, after you left for college, I worked two jobs and went to nursing school.”

  I mange not to wince at the not subtle reminder. “I had a scholarship. I had to go.”

  Technically, I didn’t. Claire knows it, too. But my father was adamant. It was go and make something of myself or stay and marry Claire while working for him. Staying and marrying Claire, that I wanted. Working for my dad, that I had to avoid.