The Rookie (Calling the Signals Book 1)

by Ann Jacobs

  I can always use some ideas to try out on Bobby. She grinned at the thought of driving him crazy as she settled in to read the first story, written by one of her favorite authors. When she put the book away before getting out of a sleek silver limousine and heading into the stadium, she’d just finished the last titillating, steamy story.

  She could barely wait to blow Bobby’s mind. Would he like the idea of a ménage? Or would fucking where they might be seen turn him on? Marly’s favorite fantasy scenario was one where the lovers were into light bondage and discipline. Maybe that was why she loved the sense of helplessness that came over her when her big, powerful man gripped her wrists, held her steady as he claimed her.

  Would the sex be even better if he sometimes tied or cuffed her while they fucked? Her flesh contracted and her panties felt damp when she pictured Bobby claiming her every possible way, the way the two heroes took their woman in that vampire ménage. She imagined Bobby would like that sort of a scene, minus the bloodletting.

  That thought made her laugh, even as she felt her sex contract. Bobby was pretty damn possessive, and as far as she could tell in the short time they’d been together, his tastes ran to one woman at the time. Right now she was that woman, and she was glad. Finding her seat, she settled down and watched the Rangers cheerleaders go through their routine.

  Chapter 5

  “She’s up there, kid.” Ellis used the clipboard to point up to the second row of seats along the fifty yard line. “Show her what you’ve got.”

  Bobby waved and grinned at Marly then trotted onto the field for the coin toss. The Rangers called heads and won, so Bobby had to stand on the sideline and watch Weldon throw the ball almost the full length of the field for a quick touchdown. The Gamblers had some catching up to do. The return team at least gave them decent field position at the thirty yard line.

  On the first play the left guard lost out to a Rangers defensive end, and Bobby got sacked by a linebacker who burst through the resulting hole. Marly finally let her breath out when the pile of players broke up and Bobby got up, seemingly unharmed. He got a drive going with a thirty yard pass down the left sideline then stalled again until he handed off to Morales on third down and the running back broke loose and took the ball to the Rangers’ three. First and goal. Marly stood, a lonely Gamblers fan in a sea of Rangers jerseys.

  Wish I’d worn Bobby’s jersey. No, she didn’t. If she had, the Rangers fans surrounding her probably would have devoured her for lunch.

  She clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white when she saw Bobby line up in the shotgun. He took the snap then handed off to Morales, the tailback. No, he still had the ball and was rolling left, looking downfield for his wide receiver in the end zone. Was he going to throw into double coverage? No. Tucking the ball, he ran, a play just like his first one for the Gamblers. A naked bootleg. He straight-armed a defender then turned in and scored as another Ranger laid a vicious hit on him. She shuddered when she pictured the array of bumps and bruises he was going to have tonight.

  She was bad luck for him. Marly sensed it as she watched Bobby limp off the field, accepting congratulations from his teammates. Unlike the first Rangers drive, this one was unfolding slowly, with incomplete passes and short runs into coverage, several measurements to see if they’d managed first downs. Marly hoped it would give Bobby time to recover as she watched a trainer tape his left knee. But his expression was pained, and she couldn’t help worrying.

  The rest of the first half went uneventfully, with both sides moving by inches and kicking field goals or having to punt the ball away. When the Gamblers went into the locker room, The Rangers were up by three. Bobby had looked a little off since taking that vicious hit. Marly prayed he’d be all right.

  The Gamblers fan in her hoped Bobby would be back. The lover prayed they’d pull him and play Ellis instead. But she knew that wasn’t likely to happen as long as Bobby was conscious, upright and moving. Apparently admitting weakness wasn’t something any quarterback ever wanted to do—at least the best of them. Favre had played almost a whole season with a broken thumb on his throwing hand. The Rangers’ sure Hall of Famer quarterback, Casey Weldon, was playing now with his left forearm in a cast. The best of them just wouldn’t give in to anything short of a torn-up knee or a messed up shoulder like the one that had Keith sidelined.

  Marly was confident Bobby would be one of the best, like Keith Connors and the other great ones who’d come before him. But he was her man, and she hated to think about him playing hurt. She distracted herself for a few minutes, watching the Rangers cheerleaders do their thing, until the second half was starting with the Gamblers getting the ball.

  Bobby was moving better, she thought as he went onto the field and into the huddle. He led the Gamblers on a determined drive, only to settle for a field goal when the drive stalled on the Rangers’ thirty. The kickoff was short, though, and the Rangers return man raced down the sideline for a touchdown. Rangers were up by seven and it wasn’t even two minutes into the second half.

  Marly said a prayer as the Gamblers offense took the field again. Two wideouts lined up on either side of the field, a tailback and fullback in the backfield. Bobby was under center this time, just a foot or so away from a three hundred fifty pound nose tackle with only his center to keep the monster out of his face. It seemed like hours before the handoff, centuries as Bobby dodged a tackle, moved up into the pocket and threw downfield not to a wide receiver but to the tight end who’d run a pattern up the middle.

  The receiver leaped, wrestled the ball out of the hands of a Ranger defender and cut downfield. Touchdown! Bobby had just thrown a seventy-yard touchdown pass, his longest as a pro. Marly stood and screamed, oblivious to the incredulous looks of the Rangers fans around her. He’d come through in the clutch, but now he lay on the ground clutching his knee. Not for long, but long enough to make Marly’s heart practically stop beating until he got back up and limped to the huddle.

  “Thank God!”

  They went for two, made it on a pass from Bobby to the same man who’d caught the touchdown pass. The Gamblers were ahead by one, but there were still nearly nine minutes left in the third quarter, plus the whole fourth quarter to go. The next Rangers possession ate up the rest of the third quarter, mostly with short ground gains. Weldon wasn’t passing as much now, and Marly wondered if he was getting tired. After all, he was thirty-eight or thirty-nine years old.

  Oops. Too soon to write the guy off. Just as Marly thought the Rangers would have to go for a field goal, Weldon threaded a perfect shot to his slot receiver through double coverage and got the lead back for his team. In a matter of seconds, the Raiders were up by six.

  When the Gamblers took the field again, Marly held her breath. But nothing happened. The Gamblers went three and out as the third quarter ended. Both teams seemed to be off a little as they ate up the clock for twelve more minutes.

  Three minutes to go in the game, and the Gamblers needed a touchdown. They also needed to eat up time, keep the Rangers from getting another shot. But no! Bobby came out throwing, complete for thirty-four yards to his tight end, then on third down after two no-gain runs, he hit Morales out of the backfield and he ran for the touchdown. The kick was good, and the Gamblers had a one-point lead again.

  But Weldon had thirty seconds and two timeouts left. The game wasn’t won yet. The Gamblers had to stop the run, force Weldon to throw. Marly clenched her fists, tried to ignore the noise from the Rangers fans. The snap was good, the handoff made to a fullback who tried to power his way through the Gamblers’ defensive line. No gain, nineteen seconds left.

  Weldon called time-out. This time, when they lined up, Weldon was in the shotgun. This would be it. They weren’t close enough to try a field goal. And she didn’t believe Weldon was mobile enough to attempt a bootleg. The Gamblers’ defense lined up to protect the deep pass. But they were fooled. After a pass fake to the right, Weldon handed off to the tailback who made it all the way to the
Gamblers’ ten yard line before getting taken down. They had just three seconds to kick a field goal and win the game when Weldon called the last time-out.

  Marly couldn’t bear to look. The Rangers’ kicker was deadly accurate from this close, and the Gamblers hadn’t blocked a field goal all year. Eyes closed, she prayed for the guy to miss, or for the Gamblers to get a hand on the ball. When moans and curses surrounded her, she opened her eyes. The Gamblers had blocked what would have been a sure three-pointer, and they’d held on and won against an incredibly tough foe.

  Standing, tears running down her cheeks, Marly hurried to the gate and moved onto the field, just in time to catch Bobby and give him a huge, wet-mouthed kiss.

  “Great game, honey.” She stroked his sweaty face. “Is your knee okay?”

  “It is, now that you’re here. Thanks for coming.”

  “Love you, big guy,” she murmured as he turned to go to the locker room.

  “Wish I didn’t have to send you out there,” Coach Lyle’s usual booming voice was at about half-strength, and he looked pale when he came out of the interview room and stopped in front of Bobby. “Those reporters are out for blood. Apparently one of the women the idiots mauled has started bleeding internally and may end up dying. Just try to keep your cool. I don’t want the entire damn world thinking all the Gamblers literally live up to the name.”

  Now Bobby’s head ached to match his sore, taped knee. “I’ll try.” These interviews hadn’t gotten to be fun, even when the Gamblers won, but Bobby had managed to control his nerves a little better with each trip before the press corps. At least he thought he had. He doubted the dripping forehead had much to do with his damp hair, and he tugged nervously at the knot in his tie. “What the hell do I say when they ask me about Willis and Mort?”

  “As little as possible. Platitudes about innocent until proven guilty, maybe a comment about how much you missed Willis on the field today. You can even say you’ve been told not to comment further when they start going for your throat. Good luck.”

  Good luck indeed. Bobby would not only be facing the press, he’d be looking at Marly while he sweated blood, because he’d already glanced inside and spotted her on the second row of reporters. Why the fuck had he sent her a press pass along with her game ticket?

  He recalled her teasing him about being nervous before his first interview. Well, he was more nervous now.

  Damn it, doing interviews was part of his job. Most folks would say it was less dangerous than staring over his center’s back at nose tackles big enough to kill him without putting forth much effort. Bobby doubted the reporters would literally knock him down and trample him the way defenses wanted to do so badly, but they had the power to make being trampled seem to be a better option. “I’ll be okay, Coach.” If I don’t lose my voice or say something I’ll regret. He squared his shoulders, stepped into the interview room and strode to the microphone, making an effort not to limp and bring on more questions.

  This wouldn’t take long, he hoped, because he wanted to get Marly alone. He tightened a fist around the ring box in his pants pocket, found her among the horde of reporters. Hers was the only smiling face in the room. Glad she was there for him, he shot her a heartfelt grin.

  “So what do you think of your teammates now, rookie?”

  “What does it feel like to throw passes to a thug who assaults women?”

  Marly wanted to turn around and whack the reporter behind her who’d just bellowed the question. She hoped Bobby didn’t feel he had to answer. It had been bad enough, watching Coach’s face turn red then deathly pale as he fielded questions from the hostile crowd. Now she focused on Bobby’s face, tried to lend him the support he wasn’t likely to get from the LA reporters.

  Bobby cleared his throat, took the mike off its stand. “Okay. I know and believe that NFL players should set good examples. From what I’ve heard, two of our players exercised poor judgment yesterday, and I apologize for that. But I’m just a player. I’m not a team spokesman, so I won’t be talking about what happened or what I may think about it. If you want to ask me about the game, I’ll be happy to answer your questions.”

  Then he smiled straight at Marly. “Marly, come up here. Guys, Marly’s one of the Gamblers cheerleaders. She flew out today to see the game. She’s also the woman I love. You want a piece of news, try this on for size…”

  He wasn’t, was he? She was going to kill him as soon as she got him to herself. As Marly made her way onto the platform, inwardly seething, she hoped she wasn’t shaking so much that everybody would notice. Did her hair look okay after getting whipped around in the wind? She’d kill Bobby. The big lug should have asked her first if it was okay for him to call her up here in front of all these people.

  But he’d just told the world he loved her, at least those few million folks who were tuned in to ESPN or the NFL Network postgame interview. Oh God, that would include her dad and brothers, wouldn’t it? Taking a calming breath, she told herself this would be okay. After all, she was no shrinking violet. She loved performing in front of a crowd and Bobby knew it.

  She gave the assembled reporters her brightest smile, and when she got to Bobby, she dragged his head down and gave him an enthusiastic kiss and hug. “Show-off,” he whispered before wrapping one arm around her and facing the reporters.

  “Marly Ragusa, will you marry me?” There was no mistaking the words, recorded as they were for everybody to replay.

  Her eyes blurred from tears that had started rolling down her cheeks. She really was going to kill him now. No, she was going to hug him tighter than the Rangers linebackers had been doing most of the afternoon. “What? Omigod, Bobby.”

  “Will you marry me?” This time his words were soft, husky, meant for her alone. His hand tightened at her waist, and he pulled her even closer. “Please?”

  There’d be no mistaking her reply. She spoke out, so even the vultures in the back of the room could hear. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Bobby Anthony.” Her heart pounded when he set a small box on the dais, opened it, and held a ring up to catch the light from the strobes. And the reporters stared, apparently distracted for the moment from their line of vicious questioning.

  Marly gulped. She could hardly believe Bobby had actually gone out and bought this gorgeous engagement ring, so his proposal must not have been just a spur-of-the-moment impulse intended to take the vultures’ attention away from what had happened. Unless…

  Apparently he guessed what she’d been thinking. “I bought this for you yesterday after practice. I’m hoping you’ll wear it.” The look he gave her held a little apology, but she couldn’t be too mad when he slipped the sparkling diamond solitaire onto her ring finger then brought her hand to his lips. “I’d intended to take you out for dinner and give this to you over dessert, but then I thought why not do it here, so your folks and my mom can watch us on TV.”

  Marly felt tears sliding down her cheeks. She couldn’t help it. And she could barely wait to show Bobby just how much she loved him…wanted him. Any time, any place. She could hardly wait to be in the quiet intimacy of their bed, wrapped around each other, him buried deep inside her, a physical reflection of the promise he’d just made to be connected to her forever. “Better let your guests ask you a few questions, hadn’t you?” she asked instead, and the reporters cheered. “I’ve got something for you, too, but later when we’re alone.”

  For the life of her, Marly couldn’t remember a word Bobby said after he turned back to the microphones and tackled the reporters’ shouted questions. She was glad when he cut off the questions quickly and herded her off the platform and out the door.

  “I’ll take that kiss now, for real.” Stopping in a hallway Bobby lifted her off the floor, backed her against the wall and took her mouth. “Welcome to LA, Ms. Marly. How about we go find the nearest horizontal surface and celebrate our win.”

  She’d drink to that.

  “Nice room. Nice view, too.” When they finally got to his room afte
r dinner for two at one of the hotel’s four-star restaurants, Marly looked out the window at a tropical courtyard. A lagoon-shaped pool glowed with reflected light from torches set around a tiki bar and in each of the lush plantings. Yesterday she wouldn’t have believed she’d be here with Bobby. She still was having a hard time digesting the fact he’d asked her to marry him on national TV.

  She barely managed to avoid pinching herself. Bobby loved her and she adored him, too. The nagging doubts wouldn’t quite go away—she knew he’d be tempted and wasn’t a hundred percent positive he wouldn’t succumb—but she shoved those fears firmly to the back of her mind.

  He came up behind her and nibbled at her earlobe. “One thing I’ve learned this season is that all hotel rooms are pretty much alike. The view from this one is pretty spectacular, though, but nowhere near as gorgeous as you. Come here, my brand-new fiancée.”

  When she turned and settled in his arms, she started to kiss him then pulled away just a little. Enough, though, that he felt her withdrawal. It stunned him until she asked, “Where’s Ellis?”

  Was that what had her suddenly reluctant to get up close and personal? “He moved over to the room Willis and Mort vacated when they got slapped into jail cells. Coach thought you and I might like some privacy, but if you want Ellis to join us, I’ll give him a call.” Unlike some of Bobby’s teammates who occasionally bragged about their nights of debauchery with groupies in the plural, Ellis wasn’t likely to accept an invitation to join a ménage a trois. The man was squeaky clean and still wild about his wife after more than ten years together.