Scoring Off the Field

by Naima Simone

  “Stay outta grown folks’ business, baby boy,” she drawled with another sip from the glass. “Now, since you want to do so much talking, tell me who’s that with Tennyson. Nobody told me she was seeing someone new.”

  Shock ricocheted through him. Immediately, he scanned the room, searching for a familiar head full of tousled, dark curls. She hadn’t mentioned bringing a date even before this last week of non-communication. Who was it? He frowned, still surveying the ballroom. Not another man she’d found on that dating site…

  “Ohhh, you didn’t know.” Josephine chuckled. “Well, good for her.”

  Jerking his attention back to Zeph’s grandmother, he asked, “Excuse me?”

  She patted his arm. “Such manners. My boy picked his friends so well. But let me put it to you bluntly. I’m glad she’s finding her some arm candy. She can’t wait on you to finally open up those pretty blue eyes of yours and see what’s been under your nose all this time.” She couldn’t possibly mean… Wait. Did she know about the kiss…? A second later, relief swept through him. No, she couldn’t possibly. He hadn’t told anyone, and he was pretty damn sure Tennyson hadn’t. “Miss Josephine, Tenny and I are—”

  “Just friends,” she finished the sentence, shaking her head. “I know, I know. Still, you have a beautiful woman right in front of you, and blind fool that you are, you just ignore her for those silly nitwits who just want you for what you have and what you do. And they’re all so damn skinny to boot.” She tsked. “Baby boy, the only thing that wants bones is a dog—and it buries those.”

  Caught between laughter and a groan, Dom tilted his head back on his shoulders. How had this conversation taken such an awkward turn?

  “There’s Tennyson,” Josephine announced.

  Lifting his head, he glanced in the direction she pointed her glass.

  And froze.

  Even his breath stalled in his lungs. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. But stare. And feel. God, did he feel. Lust crackled like a live wire, prickling his skin, sizzling down to his cock. His flesh throbbed even as his chest tightened to the point of caving with the slightest pressure.

  She was fucking beautiful.

  Like living flame in a floor-length gown the color of fire. Liquid fire since the material poured over her gorgeous body like a jealous lover until it flared mid-thigh, reminding him of that chick from the Hunger Games movie Tennyson had made him watch. The sexy, plunging V of the dress showcased the perfection of her breasts while still remaining elegant and sophisticated. And those almost black spirals that had been wrapped around his fist a week ago tumbled around her face and brushed her shoulders in wild abandon.

  Jesus, his palms and fingers itched to touch—her hair, her golden skin, her dangerous curves…the invitation of that lush mouth.

  Every recrimination and resolution he’d made over the week and just minutes ago about never crossing that friendship line again vaporized under the heat of painful need. All he could think about was tasting those lips. Holding the weight of her breasts in his hands. Having what was between those gorgeous thighs welcome his aching erection.

  Yeah, he wanted between those legs like he wanted a ring and trophy.

  In this instant? Fucking more.

  “Uh-huh,” Josephine drawled, her voice reaching him through a thick fog of arousal. “Just friends.” With a chuckle, she walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

  He spared her a glance, but immediately, his attention snapped back to Tennyson. Unable not to stare. To covet. His goddamn best friend.

  The thought slammed into him like a linebacker. Rocking him back on his heels.

  He needed to head in the opposite direction from her. Away from temptation until he got ahold of this unprecedented, crazy-as-all-hell reaction to her. He shifted backward, but then she looked up. Met his gaze.

  And all his best intentions went up in smoke.

  …

  Oh, she’d been doing so well.

  Tennyson hadn’t looked for Dom in the crowd once. Okay, maybe once. But that’d been when she’d first arrived at the gala, and she’d skimmed the room for everyone she knew. Therefore, technically, that didn’t count. Or so she kept telling herself.

  Still, until this moment, she’d been enjoying the night with Michael Ramsey, aka MikeInShiningArmor. Tall, handsome, with pretty green eyes, and boy, could he fill out a tux. So far, their conversation had been light, fun, and though he had a dog, he’d only mentioned the pet once. Not to mention he hadn’t batted an eyelash when she’d informed him who he would be meeting tonight. Unlike Adam, he’d been impressed but not awestruck. Another point in Michael’s favor. The only mark against him was his career—an intern in his second year of residency at Northwest Hospital and Medical Center. If this was to go further, visiting him at work would be an impossibility. No way would she ever willingly set foot in a hospital. She shuddered at the thought.

  Still, she was enjoying herself. And if there wasn’t this all-consuming need to skip out of the gala and rip his clothes off, well, sometimes passion evolved later. A sense of humor, having things in common, great conversation—those were equally important.

  And why was she trying to convince herself how great a potential catch Michael was?

  Oh right. Because her friend—and the man who did ignite that all-consuming need—stood across the room, staring at her with a hooded gaze that sent a low, insistent throbbing between her legs. She clenched her thighs to alleviate the ache, but it only increased the sweet pain. Thank goodness for the lining in her dress. Or else her nipples would be saluting God and country.

  Damn, no man had the right to be so…virile. It was like he wore his sexuality as easily and comfortably as the tuxedo tailored to his body.

  She braced herself as he strode forward in that sensual stalk that was fluid and wicked. Dom was a thing of beauty on the football field, and off it? That same athleticism, confidence, and grace imbued everything he did, how he moved, walked. A woman could get hot just from watching those wide shoulders and strong thighs…

  Jesus. She turned away and smiled up at her date. Get your shit together, girlfriend. She had a perfectly nice, well-mannered, available man in front of her whose eyes had lit up with pleasure and admiration when he’d first seen her. He saw her as a woman, and from the way his gaze kept dipping to her mouth, actually wanted to kiss her.

  And if this date should turn into another and another, she might actually be a priority in his life. He might put her first—a position she’d never been for anyone. With her mother, her desperate and deranged need for attention had come before Tenny and her health. With the foster parents, their own children or desire for the checks came first. And as much as Dom cared for her, football would always be his love, his number one.

  She longed for someone to place her above everything, just as she would do for them. And who knew? Maybe Michael could be that man. One thing was for certain. Dom never could be.

  That alone made Michael better for her—and her self-esteem—than Dom.

  A large hand settled on her lower back, and damn, the heat from it slid under her dress to warm her skin, her freaking blood. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to see who was attached to that palm. Only one stirred this reaction in her. Damn it.

  “Hello, Tennyson,” Dom greeted her. “You look beautiful tonight.” He brushed his lips over her cheek, and she prayed he or Michael didn’t notice the shiver that rippled through her.

  Stepping closer to Michael, she forced a smile that felt stiff and awkward. God, this…rift between them hurt. “Thanks, Dom.” Waving a hand at her date, she said, “I’d like you to meet Michael Ramsey. Michael, this is my friend and employer, Dominic Anderson.”

  “One of the best quarterbacks in the game.” Michael grinned and extended his hand toward Dom. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same here,” Dom said, accepting his hand for a quick shake. “Sooo… How did you two meet?”

  “None of
your business,” she interjected as Michael opened his mouth to reply. Surprise crossed his face, and she smiled, even though behind her lips she ground her teeth together so hard, her molars ached in protest. “A girl’s gotta have some secrets.”

  “Hey!” Ronin suddenly appeared, slapping Dom on the shoulder. Tennyson released a soft sigh, relieved at the reprieve. Relieved, that is, until the receiver turned a grin on Michael. “You must be the online date.”

  Tennyson groaned.

  FML.

  Ronin studied her, his dark eyebrow raised. “What? What’d I say? Was it a secret?”

  “Not if you knew,” Dom drawled. “And nice…suit.”

  Ronin peered down at his tuxedo jacket, dress shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed worker boots. “I thought so,” he said with a shrug. “And I combed my beard,” he added, stroking a hand down the thick, springy facial hair.

  “Don’t listen to him, Ronin,” she said as the receiver leaned down and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek. “I think your toggery is…you.”

  “Toggery.” Michael grinned, and she returned the wide smile. A man who knew his vocabulary. He was just looking better and better. “Great word. I think your clothes definitely make a statement,” he complimented Ronin, stretching a hand toward him.

  “Michael, this is Ronin Palamo, wide receiver for the Warriors. Ronin, Michael Ramsey, who, yes, I did meet online. Bigmouth,” she grumbled.

  Winking at her, Ronin gripped Michael’s hand in a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. Mike, you must have balls of steel. You’ve met this one,” the receiver jerked a thumb in Dom’s direction, “and you haven’t run toward the door yet. I like you.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dom muttered, glaring at Ronin, who just grinned wider.

  Michael chuckled, and Tennyson had to admire his composure and sense of humor in the face of the two giants across from him. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. I’m a huge fan of the team.”

  “He’s obviously smart and has great taste, too.” Ronin held out a fist toward Tennyson, and she had no choice but to bump it with her own. Though she’d rather place her fist somewhere else at the moment. “Keep this one.”

  “God, Ronin.” A blush raced up her throat and poured into her face. The man had all the tact of a rampaging elephant. “Please ignore him,” she implored Michael.

  Her date shrugged, amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Kind of hard to do. I mean, he’s like six-six… And he’s wearing jeans with a tux jacket.”

  She laughed, really liking him. Maybe there could be something there…

  Then she made the mistake of glancing at Dom.

  Shadows deepened his blue eyes, and part of her longed to reach out to him, bug him until he spilled what was bothering him. As his friend, she had a good guess. She’d watched the game the night before, and the loss had hurt her, so she could only imagine how hard he was taking it. Probably shoveling every fault on his wide shoulders. A week ago, she wouldn’t have had a problem comforting him. But that was a week ago. Before the kiss and this strain between them.

  But now, she kept her hands to herself and didn’t voice any questions or give him an opening. Because if he used that opportunity to apologize again for touching her, kissing her… If he once more expressed his regret at treating her like a desirable woman, she might lose her shit. And irrevocably damage their relationship.

  “Tenny, can I speak with you for a minute?” he asked, the low, husky timbre of his voice stroking over her exposed skin.

  Hell no. Her internal shout reverberated against her skull. No, she couldn’t be alone with him feeling so vulnerable. God only knew what would tumble out of her mouth.

  “Sorry,” she said with another of those fake smiles that seemed to be coming more and more often around him. “Michael and I were just about to dance. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Grasping her date’s hand, she led him toward the dance floor where other couples had already started to sway to the sultry tune played by the jazz band hired for the evening. Thank the Lord Michael didn’t question her sudden need to bust a move.

  Awesome. Now she was quoting old rap songs.

  She definitely needed to get her stuff together if she were going to make it through the evening.

  An hour later, she excused herself from Michael and headed toward the restroom. Sighing as she exited the ballroom, she surveyed the temporarily empty hallway. Before she could change her mind—or someone entered the corridor and caught her—she leaned against the wall and hurriedly removed her red heels. Clutching the shoes in one hand, she kneaded the toes and heels of her foot, not bothering to smother a moan. The heels were gorgeous but not meant to walk, dance, and stand around in for three hours. At least not by her. Women like Renee could with seemingly no issue, but they must have ankles of titanium. After massaging her other foot, she strode down the hall in search of the bathroom.

  Just as she spotted the door to the women’s restroom, a hand enveloped hers in an implacable grip and tugged her into a nearby room. If not for the telltale pebbling of her skin and the pleasure/pain tightening of her belly, she would’ve screamed bloody murder. But the only thing she feared as she scanned what appeared to be a storage room for extra tables and chairs was being alone with Dom.

  Somehow, all her avoidance tactics this evening had been pointless.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she met her best friend’s unwavering stare.

  “Is all this really necessary?” she asked, feigning an indifference she’d never felt with this man.

  “When every time I get within five feet of you, you find an excuse to run in the opposite direction? Yes.”

  “I haven’t been running.” She scowled, holding up the shoes she still held in her hand. “That would be impossible in these.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched in a faint half smile. But it disappeared, his solemn expression firmly in place. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Correction. We’ve been avoiding each other for a week now. And Zeph’s fundraiser isn’t the best place to discuss it.”

  “Right,” Dom drawled, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his pants. “Because of your date.” He slowly shook his head from side to side. “What about the bros before hoes code?”

  She glared at him, unfolding her arms to jab a finger at his chest, while ignoring the solid slab of muscle under her fingertip. “I don’t know whether to be more offended over you calling Michael a ho, or me a bro.” She scoffed. “Then again, yeah, I do. How do you know he’s a ho? Isn’t that a case of the pot calling the kettle black?”

  A muscle ticked along his jaw, a sure sign of his rising temper. Well, good. “Why didn’t you mention meeting up with another of those online men? I get we haven’t spoken much in the last few days, but I think for something like this you could’ve made an exception.”

  She widened her eyes in exaggerated innocence. “Gee, let’s see. Maybe because the last time you found out about one of my ‘online men,’ you crashed my date like a lunatic and made him think I was a drunk stripper.” She glared at him. “And like I said earlier, it’s none of your business. Now do you want to talk about why you snatched me in here? I have a date to return to.”

  His eyes narrowed on her, and instead of exasperation and annoyance, arousal coursed through her. That look spelled trouble. And the last time he’d pinned her with that particular stare, his tongue had ended up in her mouth.

  And I don’t want that.

  Yes, you do.

  Great. Her own brain was arguing with itself. She had to get out of this room and away from Dom, quick.

  “At least you met him at a public event,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up. “Okay, so I guess we’re not going to discuss why I’m in this room.” Or the elephant in it, either.

  “What do you know about him? Other than the fact that he obviously spends a lot of time on his hair,” he mocked.

  What the hell did that m
ean? So what if Michael gave attention to the short, blond strands and made sure they were groomed and styled. Unlike some people who thought running their fingers through their hair equated to brushing it.

  “He’s nice, respectful, has a sense of humor, handsome…” Ignoring his snort, she continued. “He volunteers at the homeless shelter, is educated, intelligent, a doctor—”

  “A doctor?” he repeated, skepticism and an undercurrent of anger threading through the words. Whenever anything even remotely related to her past and phobia came up, that underlining fury was always present in Dom. “Does he know you’ll never meet him at his job to have lunch with him?”

  “Well, you know what? The topic of my Munchausen mother and resulting aversion to hospitals didn’t have a chance to come up between ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ and ‘Are you down to fuck?’” she snapped along with her temper.

  The same surprise that blanked his expression whipped through her. Sex hadn’t even been mentioned, much less discussed. So why she’d thrown that out there like a gauntlet, she had no idea. Dom just pissed her off that much. And maybe a tiny, vindictive part of her wanted to let him know that a man found her sexy. Unlike him.

  The shock dissipated from Dom’s face, leaving behind a frown so fierce, she would’ve backpedaled a step if she wasn’t already pressed against the closed door. Not out of fear—she could never be afraid of him—but wariness of her own reaction. Of the prickles of excitement tinged with nerves that tickled her skin, under her arms, and her stomach.

  “Tell me you don’t actually plan on having sex with that guy,” Dom growled, his hands sliding out of his pockets as he shifted closer.

  Her breath snagged in her throat. “So what if I am? I believe this, too, falls under the heading of None of Your Business.”

  “Tennyson…”

  But the little devil on her shoulder had beaten up the angel on the opposite one. And that imp had taken over and didn’t allow Dom to finish. “Since he’s a doctor, I bet he’s great with his hands. Knows all the spots on the female body, being an expert in anatomy.” She hummed in pleasure, even as she questioned the wisdom of pushing Dom. “And I’ve been checking out his hands and feet all night. They’re huge. And you know what they say about big feet—”