Quarterback Casanova (Kansas City Griffins #1)

by Lisa Rayne

  “Look, I’m not proud of how I behaved. I made a mistake. A mistake I’m trying to correct.”

  Ray walked back towards him. “You know, I’ve always thought she deserved better than you.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on that. But I love her. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Ray’s eyebrow rose.

  “This time.” The heat of chagrin crept up Dash’s neck.

  Satisfied that Dash recognized his shortcomings, Ray nodded towards the package on Naomi’s desk. “Expensive gifts aren’t the way to that woman’s heart. She’s not that shallow.”

  The bow that smirked Dash’s lips couldn’t be contained. “I may be slow, Jackson, but I’m not stupid.”

  The newspaper man chuckled.

  “Besides, I wouldn’t exactly call that expensive …” His eyes skirted to Naomi’s desk. “… or even really a gift. She’ll understand when she reads the note.”

  Doubt must have clouded his expression because Ray asked, “You hope?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I’ll admit, son,” Ray stashed his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans, hooking his thumbs through the front belt loops, “you’ve always had the kind of swagger I can see attracting a sister. But keeping one as fine—and as fierce—as Naomi?”

  Dash’s eyes narrowed at the way Ray said fine. He’d always wondered if the guy had a thing for Naomi. She’d told him more than once that wasn’t the nature of their relationship, or Ray’s feelings for her, but he made a mental note not to be complacent where her mentor was concerned. Clamping down on the percolating jealousy, Dash motioned for the man to continue.

  “Well, that requires taking swag to a whole other level.” Ray leaned his butt against Naomi’s desk and crossed his arms. “So, the question is: Do you really think you have enough to keep the one you hooked?”

  Dash grinned. “Just watch me, old man.”

  *

  Dash strolled from the newspaper office and headed across town. He had forty-five minutes to get to Pete’s office. Pete had set up a meeting with DuChamps and his representatives. As Dash had expected, even with Naomi’s information clarifying the mixup between him and his twin, DuChamps had taken a hard-ass position about Dash’s less than favorable bounty of headlines.

  A large, plushly-carpeted elevator opened on the eighteenth floor of Pete’s office building and released Dash. The fading sweetness of Prada Candy perfume drifted to him. The hydraulic swish of the closing metal doors of another elevator sounded. Intuition fired his reflexes and he whipped around, shooting his hand into the disappearing slit of the elevator next to his. The doors snagged on his hand then reversed on hidden pulleys to return to their open position. The scent of Candy intensified.

  Inside the arrested elevator, wide green eyes stared at him. “Hey.” Her voice floated out on a quiet octave.

  “Hey, yourself.” He stepped into the elevator facing her.

  The elevator doors closed and the box began its descent. He shifted to stand beside her. “What are you doing here?”

  She fidgeted before answering. “I had to drop something off for Pete.”

  Dash frowned. “Pete?”

  “Yeah.” Her right hand tugged on a loose curl from the waterfall ponytail gathered, as usual, at the top of her head. “A little ammunition he needed for a client.”

  “I see.” His head bobbed absently, and he hauled in a fortifying breath. “Could we—”

  “Shouldn’t you—”

  They spoke over each other.

  She made no effort to continue so he did. “Could we have dinner together? Tonight? Just the two of us? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “I don’t think so Dash. I’m all talked out at the moment.”

  “Naomi …” His hand reached for her elbow, but she dodged his touch. He diverted the hand through his shaggy hair. “Please. Give me a chance to clear the air.”

  “The air is clear, Dash. You’ve been very clear about what you want and how you feel. I get it. We don’t need to have dinner to rehash old news.”

  “Yes, we do. That’s just it. I haven’t been clear. Give me another chance.”

  The elevator dinged its arrival on the ground floor.

  “I can’t do this dance anymore, Dash.” She rushed from the elevator. After only a few feet, she turned, sadness and regret filling her eyes. “Congratulations on the game. You were … phenomenal. It was nice to see the old Dash on the field.”

  “Thanks. And congratulations on the article. You did a great job. It was a nice piece.”

  She stared at him blankly, suspiciously. “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. I wish I hadn’t given you such a hard time about it. I—” He cleared his throat. What he needed to say challenging him on the way out. “I’m sorry.” His hands dropped into the pockets of his coat and popped right back out. “If you’re still interested on input—um, quotations—or something from me for the future installments, just let me know.”

  Her head tilted. She observed him quietly for several seconds. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize before.” A small smile edged the side of her mouth. “It sounds good on you.”

  “I—”

  A light brown hand with long fingers raised to stop him. “Don’t ruin the moment for me. There’s nothing else you could say that would make my day any better.” She dropped her hand. “I’ll contact Pete to set something up if you’re serious.”

  His hands found his coat pockets again. “I am.”

  “Good.” For the first time in a long time, she gave him a genuine—though no less sad—smile. “Bye, Dash. And thanks.”

  At the exit, she stopped to greet a gentlemen wearing a long coat similar to his. She hugged the guy, giving Dash a glimpse of his face over her shoulder. His look-a-like said something that made her laugh. It burned that Tatum could make her laugh and shine when he couldn’t anymore.

  Dash stood with hands still in his pockets when his brother approached. Tatum stopped in front of him. He glanced at the front door and then back at him. “Still haven’t rebuilt that bridge?”

  “I’m working on it.” Dash hit the Up button.

  As one, they turned and stepped into the waiting elevator.

  “What the hell are you doing here? And don’t give me that ‘I called you’ crap again.”

  A laugh burst from Tatum. “Nope. Not this time, little brother.”

  Dash raised an eyebrow at the little brother comment.

  Tatum just laughed louder. “A little birdie told me you could use some moral support today. Thought I’d swing by and see what’s going on.”

  “A little birdie, huh?” Dash glanced at Tatum, one side of his mouth tilted. “About five foot seven, reddish brown hair, green eyes?”

  Tatum leaned back against the elevator wall with a grin. “That would be the one.”

  Dash shook his head. What was Naomi up to? First, she’d dropped something off for Pete. Now, she’d rallied his brother into the mix. Whatever he was about to walk into, when he was done, he intended to hunt down a certain reporter and have that conversation he wanted whether she was ready to do this dance again or not.

  *

  Waves rolled and crashed against the surf. Poised on a ragged stone spit out eons ago by an angry sea, Naomi rocked slowly in the perfect dusk. She stared at the piece of beach where Dash had chased her only a few short weeks ago on their foray to Ibiza, remembering what it had felt like to be with him without pain, without regrets, and without doubts.

  Her phone dinged. Tilting on a hip, she pulled the phone from the pocket of her sundress. A notification for a video message from her mother appeared on the screen. Her eyebrows rose. Her mother was one of the most non-tech-savvy people she knew. The high-tech achievement of her having managed to send a video message intrigued Naomi. She’d been out of touch with everyone, blocking their calls and allowing voicemail to answer, everyone except her mother, who had Tallie and ne
eded to be able to reach her.

  Her mom’s text read: Hit play. Don’t call me. Don’t ask questions. Just hit play.

  A hard laugh coughed from Naomi’s throat. “Yes, ma’am,” she said aloud.

  She hit the play button. As she stared at her phone, the dulcet sounds of a piano solo began somewhere down the beach. Highlights of the game between the Griffins and San Francisco flitted across the screen, starting with Dash’s sixty-eight-yard touchdown pass to Trey Coffey. The play had started the run that ended with the three-point Griffins victory that secured their Wild Card spot in the playoffs.

  Dash had played like a man possessed or more like he had a magic gridiron charm in his pocket. He’d been given the game ball for the final Griffins touchdown, and in a post-game interview, he’d dedicated the game to her. He’d told the viewing public she was responsible for helping him regain his on-field mojo by reminding him how to play like his old self. When she’d left him at Pete’s office and found the game ball waiting for her at the newsroom with a note from Dash telling her it belonged to her as did he, she’d just about melted. Despite the overwhelming emotions, she hadn’t been able to put aside the skepticism that the gesture was more about claiming Tallie than claiming her. She’d boarded a flight for Ibiza within twenty-four hours.

  Focused back on the sideshow, Naomi marveled at the pictures of her and Dash that progressed in well-produced spirals and fades. Snapshots from their trip to Nell Hills floated by in a sentimental haze. In the backdrop, the haunting song from down the beach seemed to draw closer as the sultry vocals of John Legend joined the weeping piano. Legend balladeered about a love that consumed him even as it uplifted. It was the slow song she and Dash had danced to at the club Tatum had taken them to. The beautiful love anthem, penned by the singer, touted how much all of him loved all of his beloved, including all her “perfect imperfections.”

  As the lyrics of All of Me moved her to tears, the pictures of her and Dash as a couple slowly changed to pictures of her pregnant then to pictures of Naomi with a baby Tallie. By the time the screen changed to pictures of Tallie alone then pictures of Tallie with Dash, the sounds of the song were unmistakably approaching. She looked up to find Dash strolling towards her.

  Her hands began to shake. He reached her and dropped his mega-sized phone on top of her little one. The same slideshow played, but the images on his screen were accompanied by the love song, their love song. A tear dropped on his touch screen.

  “Good thing it’s waterproof.” Removing a small box from his pocket, he placed it in her other hand. “I think this might be a better fit for those small fingers.”

  She looked up weepy-eyed.

  He knelt in front of her. “I love you, Mimi. I’m not good at saying the words. Hell, I’m not good at understanding the words. Until you that is. If I were poetic or eloquent, I’d write you a song as beautiful as John Legend’s or know how to recite romantic words that would make you swoon, but that’s not me.” He reached up with his right hand and wiped her left cheek with a swipe of his thumb. “I’m the guy from the hood. The scrappy loner with an attitude problem. The guy so screwed up by a childhood that had convinced him no one wanted him that he overlooked the one person in the world who really did. And the guy who’s hoping you still love him, despite all my imperfections.”

  Her chin lifted. “Still?”

  He chuckled. “Yes. Still. I have it on good authority—several good authorities actually—that you’ve been in love with me for some time. I had my doubts. Then I sat in that meeting with DuChamps trying to end my career with the Griffins and listened to Pete shut him down with information that revealed DuChamps planned to let me go to undermine the Griffins winning chances and intentionally drive down the value of the franchise so Moretti could bank roll him in acquiring a larger share. And, I knew.”

  He removed their phones from her hand and placed them in his pocket. Taking the now empty hand, he squeezed. “I knew you were the one who dug up the info on Moretti and DuChamps and gave it to Pete. That’s what you dropped off at Pete’s office that day. And I knew you had to love me to put that much effort into helping me keep the job I love in the city I want to be in. After everything I put you through, only love could drive you to do that for me when your Creole blood would probably just as soon have handed me my family jewels on a platter.”

  She grinned despite her tears.

  “I may be a little slow on the uptake, but now that I’ve figured out what’s really going on between you and me, I’m not wasting anymore time.” He turned her other hand palm up, the small box displayed in its center. “Marry me, Naomi. Not so I can see Tallie every morning for breakfast. Not so we can make a family for Tallie—or at least, not just so we can make a family for Tallie—but because I end and begin with you. You are my heart as much as that little girl. Actually, more so because I’ve loved you longer. I was just too stupid not to fight it. It took three people to convince my head what my heart already knew. I have no life without you. I felt this way before I found out about Tallie. I’d planned to ask you back the morning after we were together here, but I screwed it up. I’m done screwing up, and I’m done letting you hide away from me.”

  He opened the box.

  She ignored the contents and threw her hands around his neck. “Oh, Dash. I do love you.”

  “Enough to marry me?”

  She held him tighter and wetness coated his neck, but she didn’t say anything.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned her away from him. He looked deep into her eyes. “It’s okay. I know my past behavior has given you a justifiable doubt about my motives.” He swallowed. “At least tell me you’re ready to be my girl again.”

  She nodded.

  His eyes closed. “Good,” he breathed on a deep sigh. He closed the lid of the ring box and wrapped her fingers around it. “You hold on to that, and let me know when you’re ready to put it on. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not giving up until I convince you to do just that.”

  He kissed her slowly, until she couldn’t think straight, until her insides melted, until she believed him in every cell of her body.

  When their lips parted, she pushed into his arms, causing him to fall back onto the sand. She stretched out on top of him. “Good,” she whispered. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later …

  Naomi walked slowly across the field of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, her sight focused squarely on the back of the man sporting a team windbreaker and holding a clipboard.

  “Coach?” One of his athlete’s gestured to her over the man’s shoulder.

  The coach turned towards her. “This is a closed practice, miss. If you need to talk to me, please make an appointment with the athletic office.” He turned back to his players, abruptly dismissing her.

  Naomi stood silently behind him. She refused to walk away this time. He’d only looked away for a few brief seconds when his head whipped back around and his body soon followed. He stared at her face, recognition plain in his eyes.

  “You know who I am.” Her voice made a statement, not a question.

  Without turning back to his team, he said, “Boys, excuse me for a few minutes.”

  His players moved away to the other side of the field.

  Coach Jeremiah Marshall continued to stare at her quietly for a bit. “You look almost exactly like her.”

  Naomi nodded, knowing he was referring to her mother. “I hear that a lot. Now that I’m close to you. I realize I also look a bit like you—in features if not in color.”

  His dark-brown face pinched. She almost thought she saw a bit of pain in his expression, but she didn’t let herself feel any sympathy for this man who had walked away from her without even caring—without having the strength of character—to find out the truth. That made him lacking, not her. Dash had taught her that much. No matter her mother’s belief that her being rejected by her father was the result of Adele�
�s failure to provide the man with proof of paternity, she’d come to realize that real men took responsibility for their actions. The man had slept with a woman who had gotten pregnant in a timeframe that made him the potential father. Any responsible man would have demanded a paternity test himself if he had doubts. He wouldn’t have risk abandoning his own flesh and blood.

  “What do you want from me?”

  She handed him an envelope.

  He accepted it and flipped it over to see it was sealed. “What’s this?”

  “It’s the name and address of a lab on the other side of the city. I’ve made arrangements for us to have a paternity test.”

  The look of panic in his eyes almost made her laugh. “Don’t worry. The med tech is a friend of mine. He’s agreed to put the test specimens in under assumed names. The results will only be provided to you and me. I won’t share them with anyone else. What you do with your copy will be up to you.”

  He flipped the envelope back over. He looked to be considering her request.

  “I don’t want anything from you, Jeremiah, except your acknowledgement to me that I’m your daughter. I don’t want—or need—your money or your time or public disclosure. If you show up at that appointment, it will be the last you ever see of me. I’ll disappear into the fog and you can go on pretending that I don’t exist.”

  “And if I don’t show up?”

  “Then I won’t disappear and your pretending will be over … for everyone.” She turned her back on him and started to walk away. She stopped, hesitated, then reached into her crossbody bag for her wallet. She pulled out a wallet-sized photograph, turned and handed it to him. “In case you’re curious, you’re a grandfather. That’s Taliana Adele Janssen. My daughter.”

  “Janssen? You actually married Dash Janssen?”

  Naomi’s eyes widened.

  He cleared his throat. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a college football coach, I follow what goes on in the pros, particularly when the players are alums of my school. That business with his long lost twin was pretty hard to miss in the press.”