Kickoff

by Jami Davenport

  A split second later, she found herself suspended in his arms. He pulled her next to his chest and held her tight.

  “Interesting welcome.” His chest rumbled with laughter under her ear.

  “That criminal has one of my new gloves.” She raised her eyes to his face, and her heart waltzed a little welcome dance despite her annoyance with the dog. He stared down at her and didn’t say a word, though his mouth twitched at one corner.

  Simon whined, but Charlie held him at bay with one of those stay-back-or-you’re-cat-food looks only a cat can give. The feline rubbed around Derek’s legs and inserted himself between them and the dog. Simon backed off the porch.

  “I’d given up on you. Do you know what time it is?” Sometimes she wasn’t sure he noticed such things.

  “Uh, yeah. I just got done. I’d promised to put in an appearance at a charity event, and I totally spaced it. Had to run by there first.” Derek released her and bent to scratch the cat. Charlie rolled over and exposed his belly for more scratching.

  Simon made a move to sneak by. Charlie didn’t allow sneaking. He slapped Simon on the nose, claws out, and drew blood. Simon yelped and jumped back.

  Derek straightened, and his intense stare backed her up a step. “Damn, I’ve missed you. It’s been a long week.”

  “It’s not over yet.” Hope bloomed in her heart.

  “Can I come in, or is it too late?”

  “If you retrieve my glove.”

  “Wicked, evil woman to pit me against an obsessed dog.”

  “Not wicked enough.”

  “You’re getting there.” His knowing gaze raked her body. She shivered as if he had physically run his tongue over her bare skin.

  He called Simon to his side. Simon obediently sat and spat the glove out on the ground, panting heavily. Charlie hissed from a few feet away. The dog kept a wary eye on the devil cat. She picked up Charlie, holding him to her. Her cat looked over his shoulder and smirked at the canine intruder.

  Derek shrugged and handed her the soggy glove with a missing thumb. “Can I come in now?”

  Rachel stood back and let him in. He squeezed through the door, careful to keep Simon out. She slammed the door on the persistent dog. Prying Charlie’s claws off her shirt, she placed him on the floor. Satisfied the enemy was locked outside, he strutted off to spread cat hair on her couch.

  “Rae, I’m really, really sorry about tonight. I was looking forward to it.”

  Not as much as she’d been.

  Derek wrapped his arms around her and just held her against his big body. She felt the tension, knew it was from the incredible pressure he was under. When the team was bad, no one but the team cared, but now that wasn’t the case. Expectations and pressure had risen exponentially with their Sunday night win.

  He buried his face in her hair. His breath feathered her neck. Little shock waves of sexual electricity charged her body. A smart girl didn’t need sleep when she had a sexy guy like Derek. He slid his hands down her back and molded her to his body. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he flinched.

  “Are you okay?” She loosened her hold.

  “Just sore.” He drew back and studied her face. “But I’m better now that I’m with you.”

  She didn’t want to hear that. Not tonight. Not ever. He made it sound like he cared, like they could have a real relationship that might actually go somewhere. She journeyed to more stable ground. “You’re so tight.”

  “That’s my line.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Watch it, or I’m sending you out to sleep on the porch with Demon Dog.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He swept off an imaginary cowboy hat in a gallant gesture and bowed low.

  Rachel sighed. “Would you like me to work out some of those kinks?”

  “Oh, yeah, and how about adding some of your own?”

  “Kinks?”

  “Uh-huh.” The weariness in his dark brown eyes gave way to a twinkle of expectation.

  “Do you ever think about anything but football and sex?”

  “I try not to.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. Smirking, she crooked her index finger at him. “Follow me to physical therapy.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” His grin spread wider than the Grand Canyon. “Are you including those kinks you mentioned?”

  “I’ll decide the therapy. You decide your state of dress.”

  “That’s simple. Skin.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Derek trailed Rachel to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his sweatshirt, T-shirt, and socks. He fell on the bed on his stomach. He left his jeans on and gave her the choice as to whether or not she wanted to turn her offer into something sexual. He was easy and game for anything, at least with her. Besides, he liked the thought of her undressing him.

  She straddled his body and worked on the knots. He winced when she hit an exceptionally sore spot.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “I’m pretty beat-up, but I have a high pain tolerance.” He shut his eyes, letting the crap of the day flow away from him. Her competent hands worked through the layers of tension little by little.

  “You’re burning the candle at both ends. Have you ever considered saying no?”

  He sighed and buried his head in the pillow. “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “Who should I say no to? The battered women’s shelter that asked me to speak to their kids? The children’s hospital that wanted me to visit the terminally ill? Or how about the soldiers that just came back from overseas? Or maybe I should turn my back on the senior citizens group, some of our most loyal fans?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push you.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. You’re speaking the truth. I know that. I just don’t know who to turn down.”

  His cell phone jangled in his pocket. No one called him this late unless it was an emergency. “Aww, crap. Can you get that for me?” Right now, he didn’t want to move and destroy this rare relaxed state she’d lulled him into.

  “Sure.” Rachel fished it out of his pocket—a pleasant experience—and handed it to him. He checked the caller ID, hit the Off button, and tossed the phone on the nightstand.

  “Damn.”

  “Who is it?”

  “My agent.” He gritted his teeth. The man did his job—too well.

  “This late?”

  “He’s been hounding me all day about a lucrative modeling contract he wants me to sign.”

  “You? Model?”

  “That’s my reaction. It’s for men’s underwear.”

  “You? An underwear model?” Rachel started to laugh, but Derek didn’t find the situation funny.

  “The one offer I can say no to. He’s Ty’s agent too. Why the hell doesn’t he ask him?”

  She shook her head. “You need people to screen this stuff for you.”

  “My people consist of an agent with dollar signs in his eyes instead of pupils.”

  “You need an advocate for you, like a handler.”

  “Yeah, maybe I do.” He mulled her suggestion over as she went back to work on his kinks. The answer struck him up the side of the head with its simplicity.

  Rachel pushed on another tender spot. He grunted in pain and shifted his position on the bed. “There, I got it. Happy?”

  “Not exactly.” He rested his head on his hands.

  Rachel laughed, and more of the day’s stress peeled away. She’d become his rock, just like his senior year when the Cougars were Rose Bowl bound. He’d been under enormous pressure then, but it didn’t compare to this. Nothing compared to this, and the ride had only just begun. If it wasn’t for Rachel, he didn’t know how he’d deal with it all. A twinge of guilt slid through him. When things settled down, he’d stay here on his Seattle farm while she headed for a job in pro sports, most likely with another team, because he couldn’t see them working together long term and keeping a lid on this thing between them.

&
nbsp; He didn’t want to think about her not in his life.

  Shutting out the future, he closed his eyes and let her work her magic. The tension flowed away like warm water down a bathtub drain. Seconds turned to minutes until he lost track of time.

  “You feel better. More relaxed.”

  “I am. Thanks to you.” He felt squishy and loose.

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was something.” He rolled over on his side and pulled her next to him. “You don’t know how much I appreciate and value your friendship.”

  She smiled a sad smile and wouldn’t look him in the eye. Women. What the hell had he said wrong now?

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just tired. I had a trying day.”

  “Rae, tell me all about it.” He wanted to know. Wanted to give back a little of the comfort she gave so generously to him.

  “Not now. I promised to work on the kink.”

  He smiled. They could talk later. “Work away.”

  She slid her hands up his chest and rested them on his shoulders to push him onto his back. Bending her head, she slid her tongue over a nipple. He moaned as she sucked and licked first one nipple, then the other. She’d neatly avoided his question, but right now he didn’t give a shit.

  He was, after all, a guy and becoming hornier by the second. Her mouth moved downward to his belly button, then lower. He sucked in a breath.

  Rachel unzipped his jeans and pulled them off along with his boxers. She looked down at his cock with such an appreciative expression that it wallowed in the flattery and swelled even bigger.

  “What are you going to do to me?” He cleared his throat.

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Damn. “I can do that. Don’t you think you’re overdressed for this party?” His body buzzed with sexual energy.

  “The important question is, do you?”

  “Oh, hell yes.” He started to sit up, but she put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

  “No, let me do the work tonight. You’re tired.”

  “Okay.” He swallowed and licked his lips in anticipation. Let the little lady feast on all he had to offer.

  She inched off her shirt, revealing a little bit of skin at a time. Derek stared. His tongue hung on the floor. He bit back a moan and wiped his mouth.

  Her simple bra turned him on as much as the lace ones. He brought his hands up behind her back and undid the clasp with ease—a talent he’d mastered in his early twenties. She giggled and pulled away, shaking a finger at him when he attempted to follow. Slipping out of her bra, she dragged it across his face, down his chest and stomach, and over his eager dick.

  “Oh, man, Rae.”

  Rachel tossed the bra aside and ran a fingernail down his cock, then back up again. She gazed at him through lowered lashes and touched the tip of her tongue to the head of his dick. His dick jerked, ready to dive in. He pushed his hips forward in an attempt to get her to quit teasing him. She laughed, a flirty, sexy sound that lit a fire in his heart.

  Oh, hell, he wanted to writhe around on the bed like some pathetic guy who never got any. The problem was that with Rachel, he never seemed to get enough. The more he got, the more he wanted.

  He’d never been one of those sex-crazed guys who had to have it several times a day, or even once a day. In fact, until she’d stumbled back into his life, he’d done quite well with once a week, if that. He went for quality, not quantity.

  Casual sex never did much for him either—not that he wanted committed sex, at least not the kind that required a ring. He just didn’t share. When he was with someone, he didn’t want any other guy playing on the same field or going deep in his end zone.

  With Rachel, the rules had changed. He wanted it all—quality and quantity and exclusivity, at least for the foreseeable future. Her ambition gave them both an out and him a safety net for whatever the hell it was they had going on. He shook his head. Thinking too much got a guy in trouble. What the fuck was he doing thinking anyway when her tongue felt so good on his cock?

  Burying his fingers in her auburn hair, he tried to pull her mouth down on him. She evaded, doing a great fake to the left, and cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed them gently. With a wicked grin, she lowered her mouth again and sucked the tip of his cock into her mouth. His stomach muscles tightened; his breath caught. He held still a few torturous seconds. His dick twitched, wanting to get in the game.

  “Awwww, hell.” Now he was writhing, and he didn’t give a shit if he looked pathetic and helpless.

  “Is something wrong?” She raised an innocent brow.

  “Uh, no, go back to what you were doing.” He arched his hips.

  “You sound like you’re in pain.”

  “I am. You’re torturing me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Her teasing wrinkled his insides in weird ways.

  “You’re not.” He pushed her head gently back down to him.

  “I could put you out of your misery.”

  “Just quit talking and use your mouth for something else.”

  She laughed, then made him pay, taking him deeper while her hand milked the base. Much more of this and he’d come in her mouth. While what she did was incredible, he needed to drive down the field.

  “All right, sweetheart, my turn.” He grabbed her around the waist and tossed her on her back. She struggled to get free, laughing, trying to push him away. He held tight and stripped off the remainder of her clothes then straddled her naked body, which he took a time-out to admire. Soft and pliable, long legs to heaven, nice tits with tight pink nipples that invited a man’s mouth, a flat stomach, and the face of a wicked angel. This angel surprised him at every turn as she gained confidence and boldness.

  Inside, he quivered with a tenderness he’d banned from the playing field. He backed off dangerous ground and concentrated on the physical, as if he could separate the two. After all, physical he could handle. Emotional—now that was a whole different ball game. One he’d chosen not to play.

  Chapter 16—Backfield in Motion

  Derek stood in line at the supermarket, a small basket of groceries in one hand and a six-pack of good beer in the other. He did a double take at the magazine rack near the checkout counter. He groaned.

  Oh, crap. It was out.

  On the cover of Sports Pulse in living color, he and Tyler stood shirtless in football pants, holding their helmets under one arm. Tyler’s long fingers were wrapped around a football. They stood turned slightly sideways, the angle showing off the Cougar Rose Bowl tattoos on their upper arms. The caption read: Northwest Boys Reign in Seattle.

  Beefcake sold, and Sports Pulse seemed hell-bent on sucking in the women comprising an estimated forty-five percent of pro-football fans. Seattle’s hometown boys were the bait.

  Derek cringed. He’d hated doing that cover, but Tyler and team management prevailed. His cousin soaked up every minute of it; he would’ve posed nude if they’d requested it.

  Derek had just wanted it over with.

  Glancing around, he pulled his baseball hat farther down his forehead. He considered donning sunglasses, but since it was dark and raining, they’d only attract more attention.

  Three teenage girls, looking too old for their ages, wearing way too much makeup, and showing too much midriff, giggled in line behind him. They’d stalked him around the store, cell phones glued to their ears and eyes glued on his butt. All three grabbed copies and giggled some more. Derek stared straight ahead. One of them tapped him on his shoulder.

  More giggling.

  Resigned to his fate and too nice of a guy to ignore them, he offered a smile. The one in a cheerleader uniform moved forward with a little help from her girlfriends. “Could you sign this for me? My boyfriend will absolutely freak.”

  “Sure.” He took the pen she handed him. “And you are?”

  “Rachel.”

  “Uh, nice name.” He forced himself not to react to the name and succeed
ed. Lately, the universe had taken it upon itself to remind him of Rachel everywhere he went. This was one more example. Or maybe he saw Rachel in everything he did? He was beginning to suspect he had it bad for the woman and damned if he could come up with a viable solution to the Rachel Problem that was acceptable to him.

  The three girls looked at each other, giggled some more, batted lashes clumped with mascara, and crowded way too close. Backing away, he signed the other two magazines, paid for his stuff, and attempted an escape without anyone else waylaying him.

  At six foot five, being inconspicuous didn’t quite work for him. The girls had cell phones, and they knew how to use them. Outside the door, a group of teenage boys lounged against an old pickup. When they spotted him, they swaggered toward him in baggy pants and letterman’s jackets, wearing their jock attitudes like teenage armor. Tyler clones.

  Heaven help him.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Derek bent to pick up the book that fell out of Tyler’s locker. At the same time, Tyler dived for it, and they cracked heads. Each swearing a blue streak, they tussled for the book. Derek won. He held it up and stared in disbelief.

  “Breakaway by Kelly Jamieson? What the hell is this? Are you reading this?”

  “It’s not like that, dickwad.” Tyler snatched it out of his hands and shoved it in the depths of his messy locker. His blue eyes darted around the locker room to make sure none of the other guys had seen the little altercation.

  “Oh, yeah? What is it like?” Derek leaned against a closed locker, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for the truth.

  “It’s a, uh, a romance novel.” Tyler said the words so low that Derek had to lean forward to catch them.

  “A what?” Derek cupped his hand to his ear.

  “A fucking romance novel,” Tyler growled.

  “You’re reading a romance novel?” Derek snorted.

  “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want everyone to hear. I saw someone reading it and decided to pick up a copy.”

  Derek’s eyes narrowed. “It’s one of Cass’s.”

  “How would you know?”

  Because he’d taken one of Cass’s romance novels from Rachel’s house, but Tyler didn’t need to know that.