Cocky Quarterback: Eric Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 12)

by Faleena Hopkins

  And despite the Christmasy time of year, I am burning up. Like an answer to my prayers a chilled, yellow-green liquid thumps next to my elbow. I glance over, eyes widening at its size. “That’s a bucket glass.” Which is much larger than the amount I’d intended.

  “Grow some balls,” Mike smirks, just as an uproar turns our heads to the entrance. He’s not dumb to why I’m here—Mrs. Cocker did her detective work through him after all, so he and I have already discussed my predicament, even if our talk was brief. “Here he comes, Wren,” he warns me with trepidation. “Ready?”

  “No.” Picking up the kamikaze I make it disappear, gulping for air and wincing.

  “How ‘bout now?” he smirks. I shoot him a look and he says, with complete seriousness, “You’ve got a great rack. Don’t worry.”

  I stare after him as he hustles to thirsty customers clamoring for his coveted skill set, mumbling, “That’s your pep talk?!” Nevertheless I flip around in my chair, unconsciously hoisting said-rack to a more pleasing degree. Blush, mascara, cleavage, all go out the window as I spot Eric making his way through adoring fans. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he turns his head and locks onto me, reacting as if he got punched.

  People try to talk to him but they’re ignored as he stares at me, and starts this way. I glance over to see Eleanor watching us, her eyes flashing. She gives me an encouraging you-can-do-this nod, and my nervous eyes dart back to him. He looks upset, maybe even confused, but most of all determined and everyone makes a path as they realize he has no interest in anyone but me.

  Chapter 38

  ERIC

  Last place I wanted to be was at O’Neal’s. After we won today’s game with a score that officially knocked the Saints out of the play-offs and us in, all I wanted was to feel good.

  Not be reminded of the one person I can’t forget.

  But the guys wouldn’t be dodged again. They ganged up on me, said it wasn’t right for me to ditch them. They were particularly adamant, a mixture of relief I’d woken back up to my potential, and pride that together we’d risen to the final round.

  “I’m just going home to change,” I lied, and they knew.

  Mott shouted in the locker room, “Fuck that! Think we’re stupid?”

  Dion’s voice, almost as deep, countered with a smirk, “Debatable.”

  Laughing and in full celebration-mode, Mott shoved him. “Fuck you, Dion.” He got a laugh and a push in response.

  I was sure it was going to be a great time, pure, joyous celebration…for them. But being at that bar without her there, all that would give me is a longing I’d never satisfy.

  Tony took over, getting in my grill, “Last time you said you’d meet us later, you had this same look on your face, and you stiffed us. Never showed up at my apartment.”

  “Yeah!” Sooks joined in, puffing up like he was still butt-hurt. “We drove all the way to your place and you hid inside and wouldn’t open your door.”

  Eyeing him I corrected his assumption. “I was at my brother’s, rookie. I wasn’t hiding.”

  “You can’t call me a rookie anymore!”

  “You’re lucky I just showered or I’d rub my sweat on you and watch you squeal like a girl.”

  We quieted as Coach walked in, shutting the door and the reporters out. “Alright, huddle up!” The team dropped what they were doing, some still naked, to circle together. “The holidays are here and you’re not playing again until the first of January so watch yourselves! Don’t get in any accidents or break any bones. Ya hear me?” Lots of agreeing murmurs. He scanned our faces, settled on me, then moved on, including everyone. “You made me proud today. You guys have a good holiday.” His hand shot out, palm down. In two seconds dozens covered it, every skin shade you can imagine joined together. We roared and threw them in the air, breaking from the pack to head to our lockers.

  Coach said, “Cocker, come here.”

  I headed over, rubbing my head and glancing to the teammates I knew were most interested. Mott, Tony and Dion gave me a nod with approval shining from their eyes.

  “Yeah, Coach?” I asked as he and I stood off to the side.

  He slapped his leathery hand on my shoulder, held my eyes a little longer than normal like he really needed me to pay attention. “This team needs you, Cocker. Much as I’d like to take credit for today’s win, it was you. Don’t let them down again, ya hear me?”

  “You got my promise, Coach. I’m all in.”

  “Good.” He gave me a firm clap and shook my shoulder before he took off. “Tell your Mom I wish she was single.”

  Grinning I shouted after him, “Fuck if I will!”

  He waved without looking back, even as I called after him, “Merry Christmas, Coach!” I watched as he disappeared out the door.

  His words cut me deep. I’d almost bailed on my buddies, and not just them, on my dream. If it hadn’t been for my Dad I might not have a place on this team next season. There’s nothing more competitive than a dream job like this, figuratively, literally and any way you want to slice it.

  I couldn’t afford to let depression or heart ache tear me down and give some other guy a chance to take it all away from me.

  I had to show up for myself.

  For the fans.

  And for these fuckin’ assholes.

  Turning to my buddies I announced, “Let’s celebrate!”

  “Yeah!” Mott shouted, fist snapping up. “O’Neal’s, here we come!”

  I’d let it go, the desire to see Wren. The ache of missing her and of being reminded everywhere I turned in this Irish dive of a sports bar that at one time her smiling face was directed right at me. I came here a clean slate.

  Until I saw those copper eyes. Lashes long as they seemed to blink in slow motion. My heart stopped. Everything I’d planned went up in a puff of smoke just like that.

  Chapter 39

  WREN

  Eric stops in front of my barstool, with interested fans on both sides of us watching and listening but trying not to be obvious about it.

  We don’t see them.

  His lips part, then close again.

  Wren, you’re the first woman my son has ever loved, did you know that…

  I swallow hard and try to see him through her eyes. Does he? This isn’t the expression of a man who cares about me because of a stupid bet.

  He looks as scared as I feel.

  “You were wonderful out there,” I whisper, clearing my throat to add a louder, “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” he chokes, then clears his, coughing and blinking away, then back to my face. “You’re wearing blush. That for me?” My fingers fly to my cheeks as they enflame. A hint of a smile dashes across his confused features, making him all the more handsome. “Now it’s darker,” he teases. I laugh and fiddle with the empty glass in my hand. This makes him look at it and ask, “What was in there?”

  “Courage.” It’s an old joke, but it fits. I can’t beat myself up for lack of originality—my mind is racing to remember the English language…any of it. I can barely breathe with him this close, much less be witty.

  There are so many unanswered questions between us.

  His eyebrows twitch and he calls out, “Two more liquid courage!”

  “You got it,” Mike grins, excited that we’re still talking. “Hang on, your beer can wait, pal.”

  The drunk guy objects, “Hey!” but he’s ignored, and can’t do anything about it.

  “Here ya go, Cocker, great fuckin’ game, man. We’re closer to the gold!”

  Out of habit I pick up the bucket glasses and hand Eric his, noting that he didn’t acknowledge Mike, maybe didn’t even hear him. Instead he asks, “Can we talk outside a sec?” Then frowns as he remembers, “Shit, it’s ice-cold out.”

  “There’s always the bathroom,” I offer.

  His eyes sparkle as he nods and throws it in that direction. “For old times sake.”

  “Wait!” I raise my glass. He follows suit. W
e down the enormous shots, me wincing more than he does. “Okay,” I gasp.

  His palm extends and I stare at it, sliding my fingers over the rough callouses that beat the Saints tonight, the ones I never thought would warm my skin again.

  In silence he leads the way, and people clear a path. I steal glances, aware that we’re the focus of everyone’s curiosity. But I never expected this much hope shining from their eyes.

  All except Bethany’s.

  From within the group of watchful Falcon’s she stares, the only one who doesn’t look happy for us. And it occurs to me for the first time that she might just be a jealous bitch.

  Eric appeals to the waiting women, “Ladies, you mind?” Tonight, and probably any other, they’d grant his every wish. Thankfully we don’t have to stand out here waiting this time. The door opens instantly and Eric smiles at the girl exiting. I get a I-hope-you-guys-make-it-work smile from her as she passes me.

  Was the public aware that we’d split?

  I suppose his telling the news my name tipped the hat that something had happened between us, to anyone and everyone—people pay attention. Maybe those games where the Falcons hung on by a thread, winning by a shallow margin in two, might have got the tongues wagging. Pair that with the fact that I quit working here after two years, out of the blue.

  People aren’t stupid.

  They must have connected the dots.

  Eric locks the door while I do the same.

  Struggling, he says, “Wren, did you block me?”

  “Yes.”

  Pained, he demands, “Why?”

  “I was told you took a bet for a thousand dollars that you couldn’t sleep with me.”

  His eyes fly open in horror, then rage. “Who told you that?!”

  “Did you bet it?”

  “No!” His hands drag through his hair as he paces the small space. “I would never do that. There was talk of a bet. Tony thought he had me in, but I was being sarcastic. You know like,” He mimics himself badly, “Yeah, sure. And he took that as a yes when what I really meant was never-in-a-million-years!” Eric smacks the concrete wall, then does it again. “Fuck!” And again. “I can’t believe that got back to you after what Peter did!” And once more. “You must have thought I was the biggest piece of shit!”

  Wrapping myself around his back I calm him down, my voice soothing as I grab his wrist. “Stop it, it’s over. Please stop. You’ll hurt your hand.”

  His arms wrap around mine and we both close our eyes. Touching each other again feels so good. He flips around and clutches me to him, thick with emotion. “Wren, I’m so sorry. I never took that bet. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “I know,” I choke, burrowing into his body. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you the benefit of the doubt!”

  Tearing free of the desperate embrace, he gently touches my cheeks, rough-skinned palms on either side as he searches my eyes, his dark and tortured. “How could you have? After what you thought of me before, when I was trying to get in your pants when you had a boyfriend, then after what he did to you? You probably thought all men were animals.”

  I admit, “I did.”

  His forehead is furrowed with the wish that the misunderstanding had never happened. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you so much, Eric. I watched every game!”

  He groans, rolling his eyes. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “Yeah, you were pretty awful.”

  A grin flashes but disappears quickly as his eyes clear. I hold my breath, knowing he’s about to kiss me. He comes in closer, brushes his lips oh-so-lightly against mine, then presses harder. I moan in happiness, wanting to stay here forever as our kiss becomes urgent, bodies tensing.

  “We’re happy you guys are working things out, but we really have to go, and there’s no toilet paper in the other stall!”

  Eric and I start laughing, eyes shining with relief that we’re together again. His fingers tangle in my hair, and mine slide up his back as he asks me, “Be my girlfriend?”

  “Yes!”

  “One more thing.”

  “Anything you want.”

  “Who the fuck told you about the bet.”

  Biting my lip I shake my head as a fresh knock sounds on the door.

  Eric shouts, “We’re coming out now, hang on!” Locking eyes with me he asks again, “Wren, you need to tell me.”

  My mouth goes lax, but firms as I make the decision. “It was Bethany.”

  Chapter 40

  ERIC

  Scooping her hand into mine, vision blurred by fury, we barrel out of the bathroom. “Eric, what are you gonna do?”

  “What needs to be done.”

  She tugs on my hand. “Stop!”

  “I’ll handle this.”

  Yanking as hard as she can gets my attention. Wren touches my chest, speaking very slowly. A bartender knows how to deal with men who lose their temper—you get real calm. Slowly and quietly she soothes me, “Eric, I’m angry at her, too. But it’s not right to shame anyone in public. She’s just one person and you have a team of players who are twice her size. This could seriously damage her for a long time. Picture it. The audience, all your fans, not hers. Why do you think I quit?”

  As I listened I was too angry to understand, she made little sense, but this question cuts through, gets me a little curious.

  “Why?”

  Stepping closer, she patiently explains, “If you had made that bet, even if you were in the wrong, I would not have been treated well after.”

  I stare in shock because she’s right. Mob mentality is a serious problem. People have a lot of rage in their hearts from all the shit they have to go through, that they bottle up. When they find a place to put it, it doesn’t matter if it’s the right place—or if it’s the wrong thing to do or not—there’s little chance of stopping them. That’s where bullying comes from a lot of times.

  I wasn’t raised to be a bully.

  I drag a hand through my hair and become aware of the people around us. I’m upset and they want to know why. There’s excitement behind their eyes, thinly disguised as concern. I’m their hero and if I’m about to get in a fight they’re behind me all the way. If I call Bethany’s actions out in public, afterward it’d be like when a girl gets followed around high school with people hissing, “Slut.”

  Sliding my hand in Wren’s hair I pull her in for a quick kiss, proud of her, and glad she kept a cool head, was able to talk me down from the ledge. We might need that in the future.

  My family is known for their tempers.

  But as soon as our lips touch I don’t want it to end, so I slip my other hand in. She holds me close, sweet fingers pressing into my back as our tongues taste each other, jaws unlocking with the hottest kiss. People start applauding and that just eggs me on. This’ll teach Bethany and everyone here.

  Wren’s mine.

  I’m hers.

  Fuck anyone who has a problem with it.

  I drop my hands to her ass and she jumps up with me holding her, legs hooking around my hips. She starts laughing as we grind in front of everyone, making the crowd go ballistic, the applause thunderous. Our kiss continues as they shout…

  “Get her, Eric!”

  “That’s how to fuckin’ do it!”

  “Yeah Wren, show him what you’re workin’ with!”

  “Wooohooooo!!!”

  “Damn baby, DAMN!”

  Cracking up, she and I break and I set her down, grinning into her laughing eyes, the copper glinting with love for me. I can see it, unabated.

  My anger at Bethany for what she did to us is still here, but now I’ve got control over it, not the other way around. I’m not gonna let this slide. Not a fuckin’ chance.

  Pressing one, quick, punctuating kiss on my girl’s smile I take her hand and walk over to my team. The guys are grinning, and all except for Dion has a female attached to their hips.

  Since he and Eleanor made it official a couple weeks ago, everyon
e knows he’s taken. Especially since she regularly makes trips by our group so he can slap her ass on the way.

  “Guys, I want you to officially meet my girlfriend.” I proudly scan their nods, grins, and grunts. “Wren, these are the men who’re gonna win the Super Bowl.”

  They explode into masculine battle-cries of impending victory, their mugs thrust into the air so fast the craft brew splashes them and their women. And to men like us, it’s better than champagne popping its cork.

  I lock eyes with Bethany. She’s smiling with everyone, but it’s got fear behind it, like a rabbit ready to run. Flicking my glance to Tony, his beefy arm around her, my chin motions to the back of the bar. “Can we talk to you two?”

  He frowns, can tell something’s up, but has no clue what it is. “Yeah, sure.”

  Bethany’s lips go thin and he leads her out. Wren exchanges a look with me, and I squeeze her hand, can feel her pulse quicken as we split the dense crowd in half.

  The emergency exit opens without a hitch or an alarm, and the four of us stand in a circle in the biting cold as the heavy door slams shut. Both girls cross their arms over their chests. We don’t.

  Tony asks, “What’s up?”

  I lock eyes with Bethany. “You want to tell him?”

  “What don’t I know?” Tony demands, puffing up.

  I’m glaring at Bethany. She flicks a look between us, then to Wren. But she says nothing. She’s a beautiful girl on the outside but ugly as sin on the in.

  “You told Wren I took Tony’s bet and slept with her to win a thousand bucks. Since you know I didn’t take that bet, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Tony grimaces in disgust as it sinks in. He’s a sharp guy so, just like I did, he remembers outside by my Jeep, what she said to me. “And you told Eric that Wren wasn’t into him! Did you do that shit the same night?”