by Max Monroe
Not that reading the same goddamn text messages over and over again is going to tell me anything I don’t know.
“Would you pay attention?” Sean grumbled as I once again got lost in my thoughts. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough getting yelled at?”
He was right, of course. But that didn’t stop me from discreetly giving him the finger.
He shook his head with a smirk, and I finally started paying attention.
The stadium-style seating of the Mavericks’ meeting room was packed to the gills, without an empty spot as far as I could see.
There were plenty of familiar faces, but the number of unidentifiable ones nearly corresponded. This season, it seemed, we’d be getting a lot of fresh talent. Of course, that also meant more personalities we’d have to fight to mesh.
“All right,” Mr. L said, wrapping up what had been one of his more long-winded speeches. I hadn’t been paying all that close attention, but if the smirk on Georgia Brooks’s, our Marketing Director, face was any indication, I’d wager he’d been reiterating the importance of maintaining a professional social media.
Our owner and boss was a fairly young guy with a whole lot of money, but when it came to protocol and technology, he was a fucking dinosaur.
If he had his way, we’d all still be communicating via carrier pigeon. He forever lived in fear of the damage one cocky, young SOB could do to his organization with a single tweet.
“I know you all have an attention span similar to that of a gnat, so I’ll get to the real point of this meeting. Normally, we wouldn’t bring in the new drafts and mix them with the old guys this soon…”
There were a few comical grumbles about being called old, but they didn’t last long, and Mr. L didn’t pay them much mind. When the hammer of his point dropped, however, there was a bit more of an uproar.
“But we’re doing random drug testing today. Congrats. I hope you’re hydrated and ready to pee.”
Sean glanced my way with a smirk, and I returned a smile. Of all the things that could worry me on any given day, random drug testing wasn’t one of them.
I’d never been much into the feeling of losing control of my faculties, other than indulging a few times in my youth in the name of experimentation. But now that I was a professional athlete, I never even considered it.
There were trade-offs in life, and to me, this was a tiny one.
I could kick back with a beer or a whiskey, and I could still have a good time. But if I wanted to partake in anything more, I’d have to choose a different career path.
For me, there was no other career path.
I’d been into football since the day I could walk. My dad tucked a ball under my arm as I took my first steps, as legend has it, and I haven’t taken it out since.
That’s a little bit of an exaggeration, but not much. I’d played peewee and Pop Warner until I was old enough to join the team at school. The middle school team had taught me discipline to mix with the basics, and by the time I’d gotten to high school, football had become a whole other layer to my course load.
I’d studied players and game film every night, for just as much time as it took me to do my homework, and practiced my conditioning every weekend. Aside from regular practice, my dad had made me a half field in the backyard, and the neighborhood kids and I would pick up a game for fun at least once a week.
It had become a life rather than a hobby, and a college scholarship was the only possible option I’d considered for my future.
Making it all the way here, to my dream job, where I got paid to play the game I loved every day, was something I wasn’t willing to trade for anything.
Either it fit in with the life I had now, or I didn’t do it.
It made for a one-dimensional life at times, but I never even considered any other way.
As Mr. Lancaster closed out his speech with no mercy for the grumblers, we all rose to our feet and started the process of emptying the room. I could see the arrogant newbie I’d met in the locker room at the bottom of the room, smooshed between others I assumed were just like him, and I took a minute to assess the look on his face.
Panic was all in the eyes, and if he were worrying about the testing, I would have been able to see it.
As it was, he looked steady, and I gained a little respect. The youngest guys sometimes had the hardest time taking the life seriously, too drawn to the parties and the fame and the easy access to recreational items.
But if Leo had his head on straight like he appeared to, he might actually have a chance to be as important one day as he already thought he was.
“What are you looking at?” Sean asked, confused. “I keep trying to match your stare, but all I see is a whole bunch of young puppies.”
I laughed. “The new guy. In the blue shirt. His name is Leo Landry. I met him the other day in the locker room.
“Landry, huh?” Sean muttered. “He’s a cornerback, right? Played for LSU?”
I nodded. For as much as I’d pretended to be clueless of Leo’s reputation to his face, the reality was I’d heard more than plenty about him. He apparently had fast feet, laser focus, and even better instincts. Rumor was, his recruitment to his college team had actually been the catalyst to the revival of the Tigers football program altogether.
It wasn’t any wonder he had an ego problem, actually.
“He’s cocky as hell.” I shrugged. “But seems like maybe he’s good too. Might be able to live up to the pressure. I guess we’ll find out.”
Sean waggled his eyebrows gleefully. “I’ll set up the tests for the first practice together.”
I shook my head at his enthusiasm and smiled. There wasn’t anything Sean liked more than putting the screws to a new guy and seeing how long it took him to come undone.
Speaking of undone, I was already there. Now that the meeting had dismissed, my thoughts made a hard right turn back to Lana.
To last night, to the way she’d felt around me…to whether or not she’d ever let me close enough to feel it again.
Just before stepping through the door to the hall, I dug in my pocket for my phone with one hand and pulled Sean to a stop with the other.
“I’ll meet you down there.” The lab was downstairs, built right into the medical wing of the stadium to avoid having to send us out for testing. I knew it wasn’t an expense every team deemed necessary, but Wes Lancaster was all about having everything at the Mavericks be the best. Plus, it made logistical stuff like Quinn having to be tested when he got back from his honeymoon much easier. “I’m just gonna make a quick phone call first.”
Sean looked skeptical but refrained from questioning me. Honestly, I was surprised by his restraint.
Surprised, but thankful.
With the way my nerves danced and skimmed over the surface of every inch of my body, I didn’t know if I would have been able to keep a straight face if he’d asked me any detailed questions about who or why I was calling.
When the last straggler finally made it out of the room, all I had to do was hit the call button. I’d wasted absolutely no time in getting her contact cued up and at the ready while I waited.
The ring echoed in my ear and only sharpened the zing of my anxiousness. I’d never been this worked up over calling a woman I’d slept with in the past, but Lana felt like something different. There’d been an electricity between us, a spark. Something that felt like it fit in a way I’d never been shaped properly for before.
After two short rings, my nervousness shifted to disappointment. A standard voice mailbox with no personalized message gave me instructions to leave a message after the tone, but I hung up instead. Just to be sure, I redialed and went through the motions again, but the destination was the same.
She either wasn’t answering or wasn’t around her phone to know I’d called.
Disheartened by the inability to connect with her, I exited the room and moved on to plan two.
If she didn’t see I’d called and call me back, maybe I
’d just plan a surprise visit to Skins tonight.
I was already well on my way to pathetic; might as well take the fastest route there.
After taking a quick dinner break to grab a sandwich across the street, I headed back into the station, dropped off the updated Sabella file on Sergeant Miller’s desk and made my way back to my office.
With the majority of my work time focused on being undercover at Skins, I was using today to catch up on the dreaded paperwork side of things.
I’d had a huge breakthrough in terms of the Sabella case, though, so it wasn’t all bad news. Not only had I gained enough evidence to end his career in prostituting women, but I’d also found some leads in relation to his drug business.
I was certain once my sergeant had time to look through the file, he’d be more than happy with the progress that’d been made.
A pinged notification filled my ears, and instantly, thanks to the hideously annoying ringtone my cousin Steve had selected for my texts during family dinner, I knew it wasn’t my personal phone.
It was Trixie’s phone.
And unless it was Star asking me to work one of her shifts, there was really only one person it could be. I was smiling before I’d even pulled that sucker out of my purse.
Magic Mike: No need to apologize, I understand you were probably just too busy to answer my call.
My smile grew wider at his words, and without hesitation, I typed out a quick response.
Me: Maybe I was just ignoring you…
Magic Mike: Impossible.
Me: Lol. I guess you’d know better than I would, huh?
Magic Mike: Exactly.
Me: Was that all you needed?
Magic Mike: Nope. I have an important question to ask you.
Me: Let me guess… Is it my favorite color, favorite food, or whether or not I prefer boxer or briefs?
Magic Mike: Wrong. And I pictured you as more of a boxer briefs kind of gal.
Me: Oh yeah, I just love the way those suckers hug my ass when I’m wearing them.
Magic Mike: I’m certain I’d love to see that.
Me: Of course you are.
Magic Mike: ;) What’s your favorite movie?
He’d been doing this ever since I’d given him my number three days ago. Sending me random, silly questions and making no effort to hide that he was trying to get to know me better. They were especially frequent after I missed one of his calls, and I suspected, his way to find out if I was really busy or avoiding his call on purpose.
It was adorable.
Sadly, it was also unsettling.
I’d already given him way more personal information than I should’ve to begin with. Every time he texted me with some pithy, playful question, I gave him a little more of myself. I always got wrapped up in the fun of them before remembering not to.
Me: That’s an impossible question to answer.
My movie tastes were too damn eclectic to choose just one. Not only did I love a good action flick, but contrary to what my tomboyish tendencies would have you believe, I also loved me some swoon.
Magic Mike: Just give me two of your top favorites.
Gah. He was relentless.
Me: Dirty Dancing and G.I. Jane.
I realized the humor in my first choice the instant I hit send—just a millisecond too late. Of course, the stripper loves Dirty Dancing.
Magic Mike: Dirty Dancing? Talk about hilariously ironic. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me Striptease was a close third.
I rolled my eyes and typed the only appropriate response.
Me: Shut up.
Magic Mike: HAHA! Relax. I just didn’t picture you as the cheesy romance type. G.I. Jane, I definitely get, though. Badass chick. Stubborn as hell. It makes sense.
For a man who didn’t even know my last name or my real job or where I lived or, yeah, a lot of fucking things about me, he sure hit the nail on the head with that one.
Me: What can I say? I’m a sucker for the cheese.
Magic Mike: Nobody puts Baby in the corner.
I giggled and rolled my eyes at the same time.
Me: Exactly.
Magic Mike: While I appreciate your taste in cheesy romance flicks, I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed that you haven’t realized Dirty Dancing is a mere runner-up to Notting Hill.
Me: Notting Hill? As in Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant in London?
Magic Mike: I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. C’mon! That’s one of the best lines in the history of cinema.
His apparent love for swoony romance endeared me.
It also surprised me.
Notting Hill was definitely the very last movie reference I’d have expected a big and bad football player to make. The sheer idea of him sitting at home and binge-watching Julia Roberts movies made me grin like a loon.
Before I could type out a witty response, he sent me another text.
Magic Mike: I know. I know. I’m fucking adorable, right? Probably so adorable that you’re already wondering when you can see me again. Don’t worry, sweetheart, all you gotta do is say the word, and you can see me whenever the fuck you want.
I laughed at that. The man was relentless, and yeah, pretty fucking adorable when he wanted to be. He hadn’t given up trying to see me for even a day in the last three, and I’d been forced to painfully turn him down or meticulously avoid the subject every time. I was running out of things to say without being horrible to a person who’d done nothing but treat me well.
Me: Wow. I feel almost as lucky as Julia Roberts right now.
Magic Mike: ;) When can I see you again?
I sighed. Cam was persistent through and through. Apparently, no amount of wishing on my end would be enough to make him stop.
Me: You just saw me.
Magic Mike: That was nearly four days ago. That’s practically a week.
Me: THREE days. Not even a half of a week.
Magic Mike: Let me take you out.
Me: I’ll think about it.
Magic Mike: You’re so stubborn.
Me: As are you.
Magic Mike: You love it.
Me: I’m annoyed by it.
Magic Mike: You want to know what I think?
Me: No.
He told me anyway. Turned out he was a master at reading between the lines of my real feelings.
Magic Mike: I think you like me.
Me: I think your ego might be bigger than your…
Magic Mike: OMG, say it. Say my dick. Please, I’m begging you.
I blushed. That’d been exactly what I was thinking. Evidently, I needed to have a talk with my thumb about impulsivity with the send button.
Me: I wasn’t thinking that.
Magic Mike: You so were. But that’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I’ve reconsidered wanting you to say anything is bigger than my dick—even my ego. It has no bearing on the facts anyway. You like me. You can’t stop thinking about me. And you, without a doubt, want to let me take you out.
I laughed as I read his little diatribe.
Me: LOL. Do I even need to be here for this conversation? It appears you have all the answers…
Magic Mike: The only thing you need to do is tell me when I can see you again.
God, this guy was trouble. Real, devastating, heartbreaking trouble.
Me: I’ll think about it.
Magic Mike: Don’t take too long, Baby. Or should I say, Frances?
The fact that he even knew Baby’s real name in Dirty Dancing made me grin.
I couldn’t remember the last time a man had ever made me feel this good.
I both loved and hated him for it.
“Knock, knock,” Steve greeted as he stepped into my office, and I discreetly slipped Trixie’s phone into the top drawer of my desk as quickly as I could. “I should say I’m surprised to see you here, but that would be a lie.”
“Shut up,” I said through a laugh. “I do have a life outside of work, you know. But today,
I needed to come in and catch up on the Sabella file.”
“You have a life outside of work?” he questioned with a raise of a brow. “Please, tell me the last time you did something besides undercover shit and paperwork in the station.”
“I had a date this weekend.” Before I could stop them, the words flew straight out of my mouth.
I shouldn’t have said it.
I should’ve kept that tidbit of information to myself.
But when Steve’s blue eyes brightened, I knew it was too late to take it back.
And, technically speaking, it wasn’t really a date, but it wasn’t like I was going to tell my cousin I’d gone home and engaged in a sex marathon with Cam Mitchell.
“A date?” he asked, and I wanted to smack the smile off his face. “Like, a real date?”
“No, it was a virtual date inside an online chat room,” I said, and sarcasm dripped from my voice. “Yes, I had a real fucking date, Stevie.”
“Well, hot damn,” he said and rapped his knuckles against the door. “I’m happy to hear my cousin is finally being a normal human being and living her life. Only took you twenty-eight years, but I guess it’s never too late, huh?”
“You’re such a shit,” I retorted. “And unless this visit has an actual point to it, you can go ahead and see yourself out of my office. Be sure to let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”