by Zoë Lane
“Are you all right?” I asked, unable to keep myself from grinning at her. She looked so cute nervous. Just like a little mouse.
“There’s a lot of power here.” Her voice shook with nervous laughter.
“Having a tough time handling it?”
She gave me a side glance. “I’m managing it.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
Her face contorted into a confused expression. “What do you mean?”
Naive little mouse. “I’ll show you how to handle it later.”
“I think I got it now.”
“Not yet, you don’t.”
She rotated her entire head then, her cheeks almost turning pink underneath her dark sandy color as the double entendres became clear. “We’re almost there. Do you understand everything I said? Do you need me to go over anything?”
“I think I got it.”
“Not yet, you don’t,” she muttered.
I laughed. “What was that?”
She cleared her throat. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate you repeating to me the high points.”
“Youth summer camp. Teach them how to throw a football. Is that high enough for you?”
Rose grimaced. “What’s the point of you being there?”
“To…teach them how to throw a football?” I repeated the words slowly for her comprehension. I crossed my arms again and dug my heels into the leather floor mat. I hated feeling like an idiot, and Rose’s style of explanation definitely made me feel like an idiot.
What was idiotic was her idea of changing me into someone philanthropic. “You will be,” Rose had said after I’d pointed out to her the number of charities and nonprofit organizations I supported: zero.
“A lot of NFL players have established charities or foundations to give back to the communities they were a part of or are involved in now. With your money and influence, you could really make a difference in the world.”
“I’m a first-year quarterback I need to focus on training and winning games. The only way I’m going to be respected as a leader on and off the field is if we win games.”
“Are you focusing on winning games when you’re in the club?”
“That’s fair. Except you forget about the ‘all work, no play’ rule. Can’t go hard all the time or I’ll burn out. Sometimes the harder you work—”
“No. I’m sorry, that doesn’t fly with me. You playing on girls isn’t going to win you any games.”
“Jealous? I could play on you. I mean, you are my fixer.”
Her entire face and neck had turned red as a stoplight. Our first meeting had been interesting, and timing how long it took her face’s natural color to return had been amusing. She’d stayed some variation of red for the next thirty minutes.
“It’s about more than teaching them how to throw a football, Landyn. You’re imparting in them the importance of learning the right way to do things, of discipline.”
“You play football?”
She parked the car and ran a hand over her perfectly slicked-back bun. I briefly wondered how long her hair really was, and whether it fell straight down her back or over her shoulders in waves. It really didn’t matter, as long as I could grip it to hold her tight, and keep her in the right spot.
“When you’re with the children,” she resumed, “I’d like you to emphasize the technique. Try to get them to see the importance of it and then how hard work—drilling the technique—creates discipline, which can lead to success. Which is something you know. We want to give the kids a sense that they have a chance to make it to the NFL.”
“Most of them won’t, remember? You reminded me of that the other day. It’s statically impossible.”
“Oh, you’ve conducted the studies?” Her eyes grew wide and she raised her brows in mock curiosity.
I simply grinned. This was going to be fun. “I’ve read something about it, as I’m sure you have.”
“Well, I hope you’ve read the itinerary. You’ll be with them for hours. Make them feel a part of the history you and the team are creating for Richmond. Some of the children will have learning disabilities, and the staff will help us. You’ll have lunch with them as well, and afterwards, you’ll sign some footballs. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. Let’s go.” She twisted her body to reach behind the seat and grab her jacket. I would’ve offered, but a better use of my time was inhaling the light floral scent she wore and admiring her slender frame from the soft curve of her shoulders down to the slight hourglass shape of her hips. What was I thinking? She could totally walk right into a club, no problem.
“Landyn!”
“Hmm?” My eyes shot to hers. She pinned me with an anxious look.
“Are you coming or not?”
If she’d figured out I was ogling her, nothing in her eyes let on. “Of course.” She looked at me and then the door. “Okay, okay.”
I made a movement toward the door to placate her and then paused to watch her exit the car. Oh yeah, those cheeks… Absolutely perfect. I sighed and followed her out of the car.
The soft sway of her hips couldn’t keep my attention away from the looming sign of the middle school above my head. Memories of the first time I’d thrown a football in a game struck me hard, like getting hit in the head with a perfectly thrown spiral—without a helmet. I’d been the backup quarterback, put into the game at half-time after the starting quarterback had hurt his shoulder following a sack. The play was simple—drop back, wait until the wide receiver ran his flat route, then throw down the sideline.
The ball was snapped, I dropped back, saw the receiver heading for the sideline, and launched the ball.
A perfect spiral. Right into the hands of the receiver. The voices of the crowd rose to a fever pitch, and both teams on the field continued to run and run towards the end zone. I saw my teammates jumping up and down and knew the receiver had scored.
I dropped to my knees and then scrambled up and broke into a run towards the end zone. My first throw, my first steps onto the field, and I’d thrown a completed pass for the winning touchdown.
I don’t remember feeling nervous that night. I wiped my palms on my jeans.
Rose did all the talking to the administrators of the camp, who escorted us out behind the school and onto the field, where dozens of kids ran around screaming, throwing footballs, doing some running drills, a few of them tackling each other to the ground. It looked absolutely chaotic, yet I’d done the exact same thing when I was their age. Coach Brandon. Practice during those summer months to prep for fall season was everything to me.
It took a few minutes to gather all the kids together for the introduction. Their eyes grew wide at the mention of “NFL” and “quarterback.” Mouths dropped, a few audible sounds of excitement and wonder, and then…
“Are you Gronk?”
“No, I’m not Gronk. He’s a tight end. I’m a quarterback.”
“Landyn,” Rose hissed and gave me an incredulous look.
I shrugged. “What? I’m right.”
One of the female counselors chuckled nervously and affirmed that I was a quarterback and I would teach them how to throw a perfect spiral. The kids cheered and ran to the fifty-yard line of the field.
“You’ve never spoken to a kid in your life, have you?” Rose asked with a slight shake of her head.
She was judging me? “Hey, the kid obviously wasn’t listening when they introduced me as ‘starting quarterback.’ What’s the point in coddling him?”
“I’m not talking about that.”
“I mean, come on, Gronk? Do I look that dumb?” Rose smirked and looked at me through narrowed lashes. She didn’t back down when I took a step closer. “Whatever you’re thinking, say it. At your own risk.”
A cute feminine snort and, “They’re waiting, Gronk.” She dashed over to the set of bleachers, where a few of the parents were seated. Rose would do her job of spreading the seeds of my philanthropy by talking to the spect
ators and, of course, telling them how much I enjoyed helping the community and that it was a top priority in my life. She greeted a photographer, probably from her firm to snap the perfect shot for my Insta.
I made my way to the center of the field to begin the instruction. The looks of expectancy and reverence from the kids made each step feel like pulling concrete feet through sand and not walking on soft pitch. My father had never thrown a ball to me. Whenever I’d asked the man to play, he’d refused, usually more interested in finishing off his beer, and then the next one, and the one after that if he wasn’t falling asleep on the couch. I’d learned to play by watching a neighbor throw with his kid and finding the courage to ask that father to teach me.
These kids had it good.
But kids. Who’d want that responsibility? My father hadn’t, and maybe that was the one thing I’d learned from him that I could actually use. The time I’d have to spend with them, how impressionable they were. You could really screw one up, and then that would be it. No second chance—at least not on that kid. And having one that turned out okay and the other a total mess? I connected with receivers more than fifty percent of the time, so I couldn’t exactly settle for that stat with an actual human being. I shuddered.
But I did know how to throw a perfect spiral. At least I could pass on that knowledge. Whether or not any of these kids had talent wasn’t my problem.
One of the counselors tossed me a ball and I went straight into talking about how a ball is made and the importance of the stitching. All the kids had been given their own balls and observed them keenly. When it was time to teach them how to stand, I went down the line and checked their form, one by one. When I released the ball, the motion was like breathing. Completely effortless. And the result was a perfect spiral. Out of about three dozen kids, a third of them launched beautiful spirals of their own—the talented ones of the group—another third produced wobbly ones that could be perfected with practice, and the last third torpedoed the ground or tried hitting the sun. No way those were ever going to be quarterbacks for teams other than the ones that formed in their neighborhoods after school and on the weekends.
Just like Rose had taught me, I praised all of them. I threw another one for them to mimic. The counselors assisted the kids who were ready to give up after not even throwing a wobbly spiral; those were given additional encouragement to try again. I found myself with the most talented kids, showing them how to refine their throwing motion, recalling phrases I’d been taught by Coach Brandon.
Every once in a while, I remembered why I was here and sought out Rose from among the spectators. When she caught my gaze, she would smile and wave, her own way of encouraging me. I raised the football to her and went back to teaching.
This wasn’t exactly torture, although I’d never admit it to her.
My feet felt lighter during foot drills, and I channeled the coach in me I hadn’t known existed. I relived glory days, telling the kids about how I’d—nearly singlehandedly—won my first championship during middle school. “And that’s how powerful a quarterback is. He’s the most protected player on the field for a reason. His receivers have to catch the ball, but the quarterback has to throw it right to them—a moving target. That’s a hard thing to do.”
Oohs and ahhs came, and so did a smirk from Rose, who had come up to the huddle to listen. “Miss Rose doesn’t believe me. Can you throw?”
“Huh?” she asked with a startled look.
“Yeah, can you throw?” came a child’s indignant voice.
“Yeah!” several of them shouted.
Rose’s cheeks reddened despite the glowering look she shot me.
“Lunch!” a counselor yelled.
Rose’s shoulders slumped. I came up beside her. “Saved by the bell,” I whispered into her ear. We followed the children at a leisurely pace.
“You’re trying to embarrass me.”
“This whole thing is embarrassing.”
“How are you embarrassed? I’ve been watching you show off to a bunch of twelve-year-olds. I’d say you’re in your element. Your true element.”
I gave her a sideways glance. “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘True element.’ That I should coach kids?”
Rose shrugged and kept silent.
“Oh no, you don’t get to say that and then not explain yourself. You think you know me. I want to hear it.”
“Okay,” she began, drawing out the word. “The reason why we’re here is to—”
“I know the reason, we’re past that.”
“Fine. So your element isn’t the club. There, I said it. You should be doing something like this instead.”
“Teaching twelve-year-olds?”
“Giving back. With your talent and experience, you could be a real influence on these kids. What do you get from going out night after night and drinking and hanging out with…” Rose looked the opposite way.
“With…? Beautiful women, you mean? Why can’t you say it?”
“Beautiful women,” she ground out.
I laughed. “Hurt you, didn’t it? Look, I’m there, they’re there. What are we supposed to do instead, in the world according to Rose? Avoid each other? Stay home on Friday nights like you?”
She whirled, her curvy lips creating a giant O. “I don’t—”
“Are you going to lie in front of children?”
She pointed at them, the last of the line disappearing into the building. “They’re too far away. They don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“Oh, so it’s okay to lie when others don’t hear it.”
“What?”
I watched her suck in a breath as I stood close enough so only she would hear. “You’ve never seen me in my element.”
I loved how easily she let out that soft gasp, how it took almost no effort to heat that pretty skin of hers. I imagined her cheeks weren’t the only part of her aflame.
Ever since high school, I could pick the girls attracted to me out of a crowd. They always possessed the same tells: startled whenever I stood close, red cheeks, staring up at me as though I were a god—everything Rose was doing right this moment.
Yet, bedding Rose… something told me it wouldn’t just be once. That I’d have to give up more.
“I’m sure you’re very good at what you do,” Rose said in a surprisingly steady voice for someone whose skin had started to dew near her hairline.
“That’s why I’m starting quarterback.”
“Like Gronk?” She wagged her brows and quickly darted from me, walking as fast as her lean legs could take her into the school.
I followed her into the school, thinking of how I could punish her for that, and only coming up with one thing, in one place.
You should be doing something like this.
That phrase haunted me all the way into the building. I didn’t hate kids. I’d just hated it when I was one. I wasn’t a role model for them. I couldn’t be, growing up with a father who beat his kids. I knew nothing but how to survive and take care of Lacey until I found a place she could live and convince our father to let us go.
I wouldn’t be able to relate to them.
I shouldn’t be doing anything like this, and the fact that this stunt would probably be in the paper, how much I love kids… it was all fake.
If anything, I was predisposed to hurting them.
CHAPTER TEN
ROSE
You’ve never seen me in my element.
Landyn hadn’t exactly meant on the football field. Recalling his remark, I tried not to roll my eyes as I was seated across from him, surrounded by the children. Well, I was in my element, and things were going smoothly—so far. The kids seemed to be enjoying things, and at least Landyn was participating. The photographers had taken some excellent shots of Landyn and the kids. I’d already forwarded a few to Helena for her approval to post to social media.
“Rose!”
I blinked, coming out of my thoughts. “Yes?” I avoided looking at Landyn. Som
ething about him being this close set me on particular edge. From beneath the table, I could see how his legs flanked mine, so close I could feel the heat from his body on my bare legs. He towered over me at six foot three, and that made his frame appear to somehow come across the narrow table and nearly touch my own.
Or I’d suddenly developed a case of claustrophobia. The kids didn’t help. Perhaps their small size only made Landyn appear that much larger. Either way, there was too much of him. Not enough space.
“Things are going well, huh?”
Business. I could definitely discuss business with him. The kids screeched and laughed, talking about this morning’s events and what the camp had planned for them in the afternoon. Several of them disputed who had thrown the better spiral. The conversations eased what little anxiety I had left from this morning’s ride over here in Landyn’s too-small car.
Yes, I’m definitely claustrophobic.
“Very well. I think we can chalk this up as a success, if you don’t screw it up.”
“Excuse me?”
I met his challenging gaze with one of my own. “This is just the first event, and it’s not even over yet. We’ll need consistency to make an impact. If you can stay on target—”
“You know my passing completion percentage, right? I’m always on target.” He winked.
Was his voice naturally husky, or am I imagining what sex would sound like, if it were a walking, talking, giant-as-hell quarterback? I smirked. “Lemme guess, you’ve used that line on some poor unsuspecting girl.”
Landyn returned my smirk, his full lips looking even curvier and fuller than I was sure mine did. “None of them were unsuspecting. And I don’t need to use lines.”
I narrowly covered my snort with a cough and a swig of water. When a few pairs of eyes hit me, I shrugged and said, “Went down the wrong pipe.” The kids went back to eating and shrieking. “Of course you don’t,” I said once I’d fully “recovered.”
Landyn popped a french fry into his mouth. “You know, I’ve been wondering why they assigned a rookie to my case.”
“How did you know—”