“Hmm,” he murmurs, not really responding.
Putting the remaining tools in a large bucket, I push it to the corner then take the seat next to him. I try to brush more dust off me, but it’s not helping. I’m dirty.
Turning to face him, I prop my feet up next to his. “You’re not how I expected you to be.”
He chuckles and his brows pop up. “Really? How did you expect me to be?”
“I don’t know. The way you carried yourself at the wedding and reception, I think I just thought you would live more of a bachelor lifestyle. You’re young, successful, outgoing, and handsome, but here you’re so dedicated to what you do, quiet, almost introverted.” My voice is almost a whisper as I finish my sentence.
His forehead wrinkles with worry. “You were warned that it was going to be boring here.”
“I’m not complaining, not at all. Quite frankly, I have zero interest in any kind of excitement. Being here is exactly what I needed. So, again, thank you.”
He lifts his hand and rubs his chin as he thinks about what I’ve said. His eyes lower as he takes in the dust and the flecks of paint stuck to my skin, and then they slide back to mine. “You’re not really what I expected either.”
“What did you think I would be like?” I grin at him.
“Snobbier.”
A laugh busts out of my mouth, and he smiles along with me.
“Admit it, princess, given what I saw in Savannah, that’s a fair assessment.”
“Yes, I believe it is.”
That wedding was so over the top, the people so pretentious, I would be thinking the same thing. Reaching for the beer, I take a sip and hand it to him. He drinks after me, and I immediately decide his lips on my bottle is sexy.
“Tell me about this music.”
“What about it?”
“Why do you like blues music so much? You played it on the car ride down here, and you turn it on nightly. I’m curious.”
He leans over and tries to brush the paint flecks off my leg. His hand is warm, and the paint doesn’t move. I laugh at his attempt and he just shrugs his shoulders.
“I do like blues—more specifically, soul blues. I grew up listening to it.” He reclines more in his chair.
“What is soul blues?”
“It’s a combination of soulful music and urban contemporary music. It allows more than just the typical three-chord boundaries found in traditional blues. Think Etta James, Ray Charles, B.B. King.”
“I love B. B. King.”
“Me too. I saw him once. He was performing in the city, so Mr. Dan bought us three tickets.” He breaks eye contact with me and looks out over the city, thinking about the memory. “Instead of going to the concert with his friends, he wanted to take me and Nate. It was my first concert, and to this day, the best.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” I pull my legs underneath me and curl up in the chair. “Tell me more—who’s Mr. Dan?”
He looks at me, reaches over, and picks up my hand. He starts rubbing my fingers, and I have to forcefully keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head at the sensation.
“After school, while my mother was still working, Nate and I would sometimes go across the hall and visit with Mr. Dan. He was about ten years older than my mother and played in a blues band at night. This man was born with music in his bones. I asked him once what he loved about it so much and he said, ‘Music is the only thing that understands and can respond to all emotions of the heart. When you’re happy you hear the melody, when you’re angry you focus on the beat, and when you’re sad you listen to the lyrics.’”
“Wow, I’ve never thought about it that way, but I can totally see it.”
“He played the piano, the saxophone, and the trumpet. He tried to teach Nate to play the piano for a while, but Nate was never one to sit still for very long. He always had to be moving.”
I smile thinking about Nate racing around the tennis court. “I don’t think that’s changed.”
“No, it hasn’t.” He chuckles. “Music was always floating through the hallways. No one ever complained, and before someone new moved in, they were informed. Griping about the music was not permitted.”
“Do you play an instrument?”
He sets my hand down and reaches for the other. “No. Football has always been my thing. For some reason I’ve always been able to run really fast, and look at my hands—they’re huge, better fit to hold a ball than an instrument.” He does have really large hands . . . hands I’m certain could do magical things to me.
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Yep, he’s the musician in the photos I have framed and hanging around the condo.”
I turn around and look through the sliding glass doors, over to the dining room wall, where there’s a black and white image of a three-man band.
“My mother dated a few guys over the years and some stuck around longer than others, but the only male constant I’ve ever had in my life was him.” He chuckles. “He wasn’t super friendly, he hated kids, and the only thing he ever talked about was music. He never asked about our day, our friends, or our life . . . it was music or nothing. I suppose we’re friends now, but back then he barely tolerated us. We were loud and rambunctious, but he never turned us away when we showed up at his door.”
“Where is he now?” I turn back to Reid and see he’s fondly looking at the photo.
He takes a deep breath and shifts back to me. “Still living across the hall from my mother.”
“Wow. Does he still play in a band?”
“As far as I know.”
“Is this him playing now?” I point toward the stereo in the condo.
“No, this is just a playlist I put together a while ago. Hold on, I’ll put him on.”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he taps a few times and then the song changes. Soulful piano music reaches us on the patio and is shortly followed by a solo trumpet player. The music is seductive and hypnotic, and as his gaze lands on me, the air around us seems to warm, becoming charged.
“In all the years I’ve listened to his music, I’ve never played it purposefully for someone else,” he says as he lays his phone on the small table between us and stands.
Strangely, of everything we’ve shared over the last week and a half, this—his confession about the music—suddenly feels the most personal. There’s vulnerability and wariness present in the lines across his forehead and around his eyes, and I can see how his past is colliding with his present.
“Dance with me.” His voice is rough as he reaches for my hand and gently pulls me up into him.
My heart starts racing as I step closer and wrap my arms around him. His shirt is so soft and so clean, I worry about getting him dirty, but he doesn’t seem to care. His body wash, deodorant, shampoo—all of it swirls around me as I breathe him in. He smells like him, what I’ve come to associate with him, and it smells so good.
Resting my face against his chest, I feel his steady heartbeat under my cheek. His hands run from my neck to the base of my spine as we sway to the music, and I can’t help but close my eyes as I soak in this moment. I know this isn’t a forever type of relationship and these moments are fleeting, but standing here in the golden warmth of the setting sun and being wrapped up in his arms, I take as many mental pictures as I can. I want to remember this and him forever.
Too quickly, the song ends and silence falls over us. I pull back and look up at him, but he doesn’t let me go. Long eyelashes sweep down as his hooded eyes drop to my lips. The muscles in my stomach clench in anticipation of feeling his mouth on mine, and I lick my lips. A low groan escapes him as he bends forward. His thumb rubs across the wetness of my bottom lip and he pulls it down, but instead of kissing me, he pulls me flush against him and lays his head on top of mine.
BILLY’S HOUSE IS on the water, on Davis Islands. It was originally built by a baseball player, but once he retired from playing, he decided to move. Billy, who had just signed a nine-year contract with the Tam
pa Tarpons, decided to put down some roots.
“Oh, you’re here!” Missy squeals as she comes barreling toward us. I knocked on the door, but instead of waiting, we just walked in.
“Hey, Missy.” I pull her in for a hug. “Thank you so much for all of this. We really appreciate it.” I glance at Camille and narrow my eyes. She’s slipped into the role she knows how to play so well, the socialite role . . . and I hate it. Her back is straight, her shoulders are pulled back, and she’s smiling at Missy, but her lips are closed. She’s perfected that perfect closed-mouth smile you see on actresses and well-known people. They carry it around like it’s their permanent facial expression.
“Are you kidding! It’s not every day we have newlyweds on the team.” She’s beaming from ear to ear and her gaze bounces back and forth between the two of us.
Pulling Camille tight up against me, I squeeze her hip and she gives me a confused look then looks back at our host. “Missy, I’d like to introduce you to my wife.” My voice catches on the last word, and Camille picks up on it as her eyes shift from Missy to me.
“It’s so nice to meet you. Billy and I just adore Reid, and we are so happy for him.” She leans forward and gives Camille a quick hug even though my arm is still wrapped around her. “Of course, it would have been nice if he’d told us about you before the wedding so we could have celebrated then.” She backhands me in the stomach harder than necessary and I let out an unexpected oof.
“Don’t blame him.” Camille jumps in and places her hand on my chest. “If you’ve seen any of the press about where I come from, you’ll understand why a little bit.”
“Girl, no explanations are necessary here. We’re just excited to have you. Come on in, I want to introduce you to everyone.”
“Okay.” Camille goes to pull away, but I clamp down on her.
“Missy, give us five minutes. We’ll come find you.” I nod reassuringly.
She looks at us, smiles brightly, and then heads off into the house.
Pulling Camille in front of me, I wrap my hands around the sides of her head. “Hey, don’t do that.” I shake my head and stare down into her face. My thumbs trace underneath the edge of her jaw, pausing to take in the softness of her skin.
“Do what?” she mumbles, my fingers hovering close to her mouth. Her eyebrows slant down.
“Play the part.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She breaks eye contact with me and looks at something over my shoulder.
“Yes, you do,” I say gently, one hand slipping around to the back of her head and tilting it, this time using my thumb to trace her lips just like I did earlier in the week. I swear I could stare at her mouth and her lips indefinitely and never tire of it. The pink gloss she has on smears, and I can’t help myself as I bring my thumb to my mouth and suck it off. Her breath hitches as she watches, and my heart rate picks up as silence shortens the distance between us.
I didn’t kiss her earlier on my balcony, and for days it’s all I’ve thought about. Don’t get me wrong, I sure wanted to, but I wanted to think back on that night after all this is over and just remember dancing with her.
“Camille.” Her eyes dart up from my lips and her hands find my waist. “These people are my team, my friends. You may be new, but you’re with me, so you’re one of us. No one is going to judge you here.”
She drops her head and focuses in on my chest. “Everyone judges, Reid. You’ve just never dealt with the repercussions like I have.”
“Not here, and if at any point you feel uncomfortable, we’ll leave. Okay?”
Her eyes come back to mine as she nods. Leaning down, I kiss the corner of her mouth, and she lets out a contented sigh.
“Relax, and just be yourself,” I mumble against her skin, inhaling the light floral scent of her perfume.
“And who is that?” she whispers.
“The girl who’s not afraid to stand up for herself or get dirty.” I smirk.
“Dirty?” She pulls back a little.
“Oh, yeah. You working on the mirror all week in those little shorts was quite possibly one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes widen and then she grins. “Hmm, me working on the mirror is sexier than me in this dress?” She takes a step back and spins around. I don’t know where she found the garment, but it’s classy and so sexy at the same time. It’s white, tight, and backless. Kill me.
“Princess, you know you look incredible in that dress—are you trying to drive me crazy?”
Giggling, she steps forward and smiles up at me as her arms wrap around my waist.
“There she is.”
Her smile is bright and aimed right at me. I love that I get this smile and others don’t, but she shouldn’t be wary of sharing it. It’s beautiful.
Trailing my fingers down the bareness of her spine to her lower back, I pull her tighter against me. I can feel eyes on us from somewhere in the house, but damn if that’s going to stop me from putting my hands on her and having this moment with her.
“Thank you, Reid.”
“For what?”
“I don’t even know anymore—everything.” She pulls back and looks up at me.
Bending down, I lay my lips on hers, and it’s the lightest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever given or experienced, and it feels so right.
“You ready?” I ask her.
“Yes. Just stay with me.” She lets go of my waist and threads her fingers through mine.
“Babe, I’m not going anywhere.”
The party turns out to be a lot smaller than I expected. At least twice a year, Missy throws a huge party with hundreds of people, but tonight there are less than fifty. Most of them are couples from the team, a few of their close neighbors, and of course the team’s PR representative and photographer.
I understand, I really do; the fans love to get glimpses into our lives. It makes us seem more relatable, and in the end, fan loyalty becomes stronger because they feel like they know us.
After about an hour, Camille’s nerves settle and she ventures away from me. I keep tabs on where she is, but with Missy always hovering close, I know she’s fine.
“She’s too pretty for you,” Bryan says as he comes to stand next to me. We’ve moved outside to the lanai; it’s too nice out to be inside anymore. He hands me a fresh beer and I scowl at him.
“What the hell?” I already know she’s too pretty for me—she’s a lot of things better than me—but I don’t need it thrown in my face.
He claps me on the shoulder and laughs. “Well, look at her.” He waves his other hand her way just as she throws her head back and laughs. Her blonde hair skims across the skin on her back, and I’m wishing it were my hand touching her.
“I am looking at her—I look at her every day.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.” He gives me a sly grin.
Next to Billy, Bryan is one of the best and kindest guys I know. We go way back to college days, before he became a Heisman contender and then the winner. With everything he does, he strives for perfection, and that makes him such a good quarterback and leader for our team. We all work harder because of him, and that makes us all better.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should get your mind out of the gutter and go get your own wife.”
His eyebrows rise as he looks at me then gives me a knowing smile.
Shit.
Just like Jack, Bryan knows me really well. He heard me say plenty of times that I was never getting married, and now here I am getting defensive because he’s looking at her, all but beating my chest to declare her mine.
What is happening to me?
Raising the bottle to my mouth, I slam back half of it.
“Nah, I think I’m good.” He stares at her a little longer and then says, “She kind of looks like someone I know, at least with the hair and her face.”
“Since when do you know people?” I turn and face him. Bryan’s reputation is probably the cleanest of anyone I know. He never goes out with women, too
busy conditioning and playing football.
He chuckles. “I’ve known her for a long time, most of my life.”
“Hmm. Where is she now?” His smile drops and he starts peeling the label on his bottle.
“Back home.”
Bryan also never talks about where he’s from. All most of us know is that he’s from a small town in central Florida and his best friend is named James. They grew up together and played football together until Bryan went pro.
“And the mystery is solved,” I declare, throwing him a smug expression to rile him up.
“What mystery?” He eyes me like I’m about to cross into forbidden territory.
“Why you keep yourself so unattached.”
“Hardly.” He frowns. “And just because you’ve now found yourself in marital bliss, that doesn’t mean the rest of us need to.”
He looks away from me and out toward the water. I study the lines in his face. As his wide receiver, I’m able to read his body language really well, and it’s funny how I never saw it before. Some guys like Jack are single because the idea of settling down with one person is unfathomable—too many fish in the sea to taste—but Bryan is a loyal guy, the most loyal I know. He’s a one-woman kind of guy, and with all the success he’s had, I’m surprised he isn’t sharing it with someone . . . or maybe he is and we just don’t know it.
“Whatever you say, man. Whatever you say.” I end the conversation to lighten the mood.
“Hey, Reid, Camille, come over here and let’s have a toast,” Jack calls out as he moves around the patio and gathers everyone together under the paper lanterns hanging beyond the pool.
Camille walks straight to me and I can’t tear my eyes away. Damn. That dress, those heels, relaxed and smiling—if I didn’t know any better I would say she’s making me nervous by the way my heart is racing right now, and I’ve never been nervous around girls. She stops right in front of me and the two of us stare at each other, just long enough that someone clears their throat. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, she slides in next to me, and we face my friends.
At the reception, I felt awkward, but mostly indifferent because I didn’t know any of those people, but here, in front of my friends and their loved ones as they’re all smiling at us, something warm and soft makes its way through my chest.
Chasing Clouds Page 14