Wrecking Ball (Hard To Love Book 1)

by P. Dangelico

  “It’ll be fine,” he announces brusquely. Then his gaze swings back to meet mine squarely. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It’s the first preseason game and although Calvin is only playing a couple of snaps I’m buzzing with nervous energy. As soon as we step into the stadium, I can feel it. The excitement of the new season is palpable. Both Sam and I are wearing jerseys Calvin left for us in the office along with the tickets. Just to mess with him, I almost wore my ‘Brady’ jersey, but thought better of it since I didn’t want to get jumped in the stadium parking lot. Do I need to explain how bloodthirsty Titans’ fans get at the mere mention of number 12?

  We’re supposed to meet Ethan in the field level club, the section where the player’s families sit. I have to admit I’m nervous. News that we’re “dating” is everywhere. On tv, in magazines. The picture of us kissing at the Yankee game has been shared a million times. At least, that’s what Calvin’s PR people told him. I don’t know how I’ll be received by the wives. Sadly, I can only hope that having Sam with me will shield me from any overt insults.

  The first thing Amber insisted I do when the investigation into Matt’s business began is to disconnect all my social media accounts. Best decision I ever made. It’s been three years since someone’s told me to go kill myself, or prayed that I contract AIDS and die a slow and painful death––and those were the PG rated insults. It got much worse. After living in blissful ignorance since then, I’m now convinced that social media is the root of all evil.

  “Hello, Team Shaw.” Ethan walks up wearing jeans and a vintage Titans t-shirt, looking…young. I’ve never seen him wear anything other than a suit so it’s a bit of a surprise. “Hello yourself, counselor.”

  He looks down at his t-shirt. “Just plain, old Ethan today.”

  “There is nothing plain, or old about you, Ethan.” The compliment has him smiling shyly.

  “You guys want to get something to eat before we go in?” Sam and I nod, and we make our way over to one of the food kiosks. We’re standing in line, bodies of fans streaming around us, when Ethan notices my fingers drumming nervously against my jeans covered thigh. “Too much caffeine?” He delivers this with a curve of his pretty lips.

  “I don’t know how it’s going to go in there and I’m nervous,” I murmur in a low voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But I really did want to come. And I don’t want to regret coming, but now that I’m here, I kinda do…” My voice trails off when Ethan’s expression alters.

  “I talked to Cal. There’s nothing to worry about.” I’ve never seen Ethan be anything other than totally affable, and seeing the determined scowl on his face almost makes me laugh…he couldn’t even scare my grandma with it.

  “I don’t understand. Is that supposed to be your mean face?”

  He assesses me thoughtfully. “You should sit in when I negotiate Cal’s next contract.”

  “I thought Barry did that?”

  “Barry’s happy to let me do it.” The sly smile he gives me and the casual way he throws that out has me rethinking my prior judgment of affable Ethan Vaughn. Maybe the house cat is a tiger in disguise.

  Minutes later, we walk into the clubhouse and every head swivels in our direction. All conversation ceases. “Get your game face on, counselor,” I murmur quietly to the handsome man standing next to me. On my other side, Sam takes my hand. Surprised, I glance down and am met by a pair of determined gray eyes. My sweet protector…be still my beating heart.

  We find our seats and pull out the hotdogs we grabbed at the stand. While we’re quietly eating, I glance down at the field. My eyes find him immediately. It’s odd how familiar everything about him has become. The way he moves with stealthy, feline coordination, the way he stands, the set of his shoulders, how he stretches his neck from side to side when he readies for battle. When the hell did that happen?

  He’s warming up, throwing to, of all people, Justin “Dimples” Harper. Even from a distance, I can see it––the intensely focused look on his face, that force of will that awes me. In my dirty stinking mind, I picture him as a gladiator in ancient Rome and my body heats up hotter than the sun. A sideways glance reveals that no one has noticed the filthy wandering of my mind so I return to ogling. He’s wearing those undercover shirts and leggings made for athletes that band across and supports muscles. And they’re tight. Reeeaaal tight. What devil thought those up? Every muscle, every curve of that mouthwatering body is on full display.

  Okay, enough.

  I tear my gaze away before I do something super stupid like pant. That’s when I notice the peculiar look on Ethan’s face. I take a sip of my diet soda and wait him out.

  “You know he hasn’t dated anyone since Kim left.”

  My brows inch up my forehead. “And you’re telling me this because…”

  Ethan’s alert gaze narrows. “Because I think you two would be good for each other.”

  Furtively, I check to see if Sam is listening and find that he isn’t, thank God. He’s busy playing Minecraft on the new iPod touch Cal brought home for him the other day. The look on his face when he opened the box had me biting the inside of my cheek in an effort to stave off the tears welling in my eyes. Ever since the day Sam destroyed Calvin on Madden, the two of them have been getting along really well. Calvin is making a serious effort with Sam, which has not gone unnoticed by yours truly.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, he doesn’t want a relationship. He’s told me repeatedly. He’s into booty calls, nothing serious. And trust me, I’m the least likely candidate for a booty call.”

  “Booty calls? Where did you get that idea?”

  Huh. The befuddled look on Ethan’s face gives me pause.

  “He basically said so.” I scroll through my mental diary. “When we were at the Yankee game.”

  Not only does this not clear up any confusion, Ethan looks utterly shocked. “He said that? He said he’s looking for booty calls?” The last word is spoken with a laughing inflection, his brown eyes wide in anticipation of my answer. I get the sneaking suspicion that I’m missing something.

  “Well, he didn’t technically say it.”

  The expression on Ethan’s face clears. “Calvin has never––to my knowledge and I’ve known him since we lived together our freshman year at State––been with a woman he wasn’t dating.”

  No booty calls? Why didn’t I see this before? He hasn’t had a woman over since I’ve known him. But I thought that was out of concern for Sam…huh.

  “Okay, so he dates a lot. Why are we even discussing this? He’s still not interested in a serious relationship. And I’m not either…looking for anything, that is…neither a booty call, nor a relationship.”

  “Camilla––” Ethan says, followed by an exasperated exhale. As if he’s trying to explain algebra to a two year old.

  “What?”

  “The only person Calvin’s ever dated is Kim.”

  He said he hadn’t been on a date in eleven years. Holy shit…that’s what he meant. The only person he ever dated…he married the only person he ever dated. Ethan waits patiently for me to wrap my mind around this newfound information. Meanwhile, the stadium roars and everyone comes to their feet. Titans’ players charge through the tunnel and fireworks erupt. I snap out of my trance just as Calvin takes the field for the coin toss. My eyes start at his broad, padded shoulders and work their way down to the swells of his perfect ass. I mean…Lord have mercy. No one, and I mean no one has ever looked better in a pair of tight, shiny pants. He married the only person he ever dated? My mind keeps returning to this incongruity, chewing on it.

  The camera pans to Calvin’s face. It’s on every screen in the clubhouse and around the stadium. His expression stoic, his scruff covered jaw tight. His eyes are twin icebergs resembling the one that sunk the Titanic. I can’t see the pretty features anymore. All I see is a man that has been a true friend in my hour, strike that, hours of need, my confidant…my protector.r />
  Crapola, this is bad, this is really bad.

  The L.A. Rams won the coin toss and have elected to receive. Calvin marches onto the field, relaxed, in command, a general rallying his troops. The game starts and all goes well. Cal makes a couple of easy completions. The atmosphere in the clubhouse is much more relaxed because my dear friend is marching the troops steadily downfield.

  On a third and ten, he connects with Justin on a slant route that turns into a thirty yard sprint into the end zone. The crowd goes nuts. I’m jumping up and down while Sam and Ethan smile at me. I catch the eyes of a couple of the wives and they smile back. All is right in the world.

  After the Rams go three and out, Cal is back on for one more series. The first down, Calvin hands off the ball to the running back and they squeak out three yards. On the next snap, they go into a spread formation.

  Spread formation?

  That puts Cal open to a nasty pass rush. I don’t like the call, but it’s preseason. No one is going to go full out. I’m not worried, I tell myself…until the center snaps the ball.

  The number one pick for the Rams, a rookie linebacker, comes flying off the edge and hits Cal in the back just as he’s releasing the ball. I gasp, my hands go flying to my mouth, the stadium goes as quiet as church while Cal writhes on the ground clutching his lower back. Two of his offensive linemen start pushing and shoving players of the opposing team. A fight almost breaks out.

  I look around frantically, and the dark sympathetic eyes of a very pretty black woman holding a baby tangle with mine. “He’ll be okay, honey,” she murmurs. Her quiet assurance does nothing to dispel my anxiety because Cal is still down, a number of players kneeling and praying now.

  Fuuuck!

  I glance at Sam, then Ethan. Both standing, their focus is on the field. The team staff is crowded around Cal, who hasn’t moved. If the flat bed comes out, I will lose my frigging mind.

  Just then, the team trainers help Calvin to his feet and the crowd goes wild. He’s walking gingerly, his face twisted in pain as they escort him off the field. Toes tapping, thumb drumming on my thigh, I manage to sit there for a full ten minutes before I pop up on my feet. On the clubhouse screen they show Cal getting escorted to the locker room.

  “Let’s go, counselor. You have to get me access to see him.”

  Ethan’s wearing a smug smile and a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

  “He’s my employer. I’m concerned as any human being with half a heart would be.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Fine. He’s a friend. Okay? Satisfied? He’s my employer and my friend. It would make me inhuman if I wasn’t concerned.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “I just want to make sure he’s not hemorrhaging to death,” I say as my feet carry me quickly toward the exit.

  “Right.”

  The three of us make our way out of the clubhouse, a couple of the wives lending words of encouragement. If I wasn’t downright sick over the state of Calvin’s health, I’d be celebrating right now.

  We reach the locker room door. “Give me a minute to see if your employer and friend is done getting treatment.” Three minutes later he comes out and gives me the nod to enter while he plants himself on the bench next to Sam.

  Inside, the object of my concern is sitting in a chair with a grimace that tells me he’s in intense pain. My heart lurches and my hands itch to check every square inch of his body to make sure nothing is falling out. Which is why I clench them into tight fist as I close the distance between us. I give myself major props for not sprinting to his side, by the way.

  His chest is bare and he has an icepack secured to his waist by an ace bandage, his football pants hanging open. I used to laugh at the paperback romance novels I would sneak a peek at while on line at the supermarket. Every time I read something like this, “His masculine beauty took my breath away.” I used to think…

  A: what kind of a dumbass wrote this dreck.

  And B: what kind of dumbass reads this drivel.

  And yet, here I stand, making doe eyes at this man, and what am I thinking? His masculine beauty takes my breath away. That’s right. Who’s the dumbass now?

  “I’m taking you home,” I say with more steely determination than I’m feeling. He stares back at me unblinking, a small smile tugging his lips up. Then he winces and I can feel his pain as acutely as if it were mine.

  “Okay.”

  That one word propels me into action. Gingerly, I help him into his dress shirt. I don’t fail to notice that his eyes are on me the entire time. Concern, however, far outweighs any embarrassment I may feel at being scrutinized so closely.

  “Are you okay to walk? Did they give you painkillers? Are you sure I don’t need to take you to the hospital?”

  His soft gaze takes in my worried face. His silence stops me cold. Something is happening between us. If I wasn’t entangled in an array of feelings so contradictory that I’m left paralyzed, I could probably work it out. As it stands though, I’m lost.

  “Yes, yes, and yes,” he says with a smile in his eyes. “Sam?”

  “Outside, waiting with Ethan.”

  “Tell E to grab my stuff from the locker.”

  “You got it, Champ.” I shift his extra large body to leverage my weight and tuck my shoulder under his pit. He’s looking down at me, his expression open, as if he’s about to say something of import.

  “What is it?”

  He licks his lush bottom lip, tugs it between his teeth. And so help me God a missile of heat shoots straight to my groin. Then it pulls a 180 and travels up to my face. No doubt he’s noticed the bloom of sweat on my forehead.

  “I…” He exhales sharply. In frustration, it sounds like. He catches my eyes again. “Thank you.” Whatever else he was about to say, he chooses to keep to himself.

  This time, I don’t hold back what I’m feeling. That’s why I say, “What are friends for?” and unleash a smile that’s all for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Camilla!” The shout travels across the gym to find me in the hallway. He’s in the “treatment” room––the man has more medical gadgets than a hospital. He’s supposed to be sitting in a tub filled with ice, waiting patiently for my return. “Camillaaaaa!”

  Patience has exited the building.

  “Stop your bellowing,” I scream back from down the hall. When I reach the open doorway, a remember who I’m dealing with. “Are you decent?”

  “Course not, but come in anyway.” I poke my head into the room and find him in the steel whirlpool, submerged up to his waist. His eyes are closed and his head is tipped back resting on a bath pillow. “Where’d you go?”

  “To get your bathrobe.”

  “Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” A rare, brief smile appears on his face.

  “Your eyes are closed. How would you know what I’m doing.”

  I don’t know what’s worse that I was ogling him, or that the smug bastard knows and is taking pleasure in it. His eyes creep open. Heavy lidded, sulky and beyond sexy, he pins me in place with those pale orbs. All of a sudden, it feels like I’m the one that’s naked. But I will not be cowed by a pair of bedroom eyes. No, sir. Therefore, I march into the room holding the bathrobe as a privacy curtain between us, and my gaze directed as far away from him as possible.

  “Camilla,” he drawls. “Put the robe down. I need your help to get out. If I slip, I could hurt myself even worse.” He’s right, damn it. “I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before.”

  I really wish he would stop exerting his infallible frigging logic on me. “How do you want to do this?” I say, dropping the robe.

  “I’ll try to push myself up and grab onto to you.”

  Holding onto the sides of the tub, he starts to emerge from the water. My mouth goes bone dry while the rest of me feels like it’s being burned at the stake. Droplets cling to his bare chest, onto the sprinkle o
f dark hair covering it, onto his tight nipples puckered from the cold. I’m in a daze watching him. Who wouldn’t be when you have a work of perfection inches from your face. And then he gets to his feet.

  Jesus, Joseph and Mary. Whatever happened to shrinkage? Because there is definitely none happening here. And if there is, then what the fuuu..

  “You stare at it any longer, honey, and you’ll get more than an eyeful.” His voice is quiet and deep, a bit husky, and as rich as molten chocolate. And God help me because I can’t stop myself from licking my lips. A sharp intake of breath prompts me to glance up. He shifts and suddenly slips. Instinctively, I grab him around the waist and he clings to my shoulders, our bodies smashing together as we fight to regain our balance. My clothes are soaked. And even though he’s been sitting in ice, his body heat is scorching me from my breasts to everything bellow.

  “We’re going.” Mercedes is standing in the open doorway. Her well-groomed brow arches. “Can I bring you two anything to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I say rather loudly.

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” Cal adds over me.

  “I’ll make him something later,” I tell her. “Where are you and Sam going to eat?” The ridiculousness of this situation is beyond explanation.

  “The Italian restaurant in town.” Her eyes narrow just a touch and a smile ghosts across her face. “We’ll be an hour––have some clothes on when we get back.”

  With that, she leaves us alone, standing there clinging to each other. I look up into his smiling face and feel the soft squeeze of his mitts on my shoulders. Holy hell, does it feel good. The warmth, the weight of him. For a moment, I imagine what all that weight would feel like bearing down on me, pushing me into the mattress. Shiiiiit!!! Every cell in my body is screaming at me to press closer.

  “Let’s get you into bed.” He smiles wickedly and I give myself a mental slap upside the head. “You’re lucky you’re injured, buddy,” I warn with narrowed eyes and smile of my own.