Coming Apart at the Seams

by Jenna Sutton

  “I hope you told them n-n-n-no.”

  He couldn’t imagine many people would find him sexy after he stuttered his way through an interview. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn.

  “I told the editor that I’d ask you. Do you want to do it?”

  “Fuck, no.” He shook his head in disbelief. “W-w-w-why did you even need to ask?”

  “Because a good agent doesn’t assume anything about his clients, even if he’s known a particular client for so long that he considers him family.”

  Nick smiled at Elijah’s explanation. “No interviews, old man.”

  Elijah picked up his whiskey sour and took a few sips, allowing Nick to finish his dinner. When the server came by to remove their plates, Elijah asked to see the dessert menu.

  Nick’s most recent dessert craving was blueberry pie, and he blamed Letty. She had made one for him last week, and it had been so delicious he’d eaten it all in one day. Every time he had walked by the damn thing, he’d been compelled to shovel some into his mouth. It was a good thing he had worked his ass off on the field the next day.

  Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sent a quick text to his talented chef: More blueberry pie please.

  Elijah cleared his throat. “You like Boston?”

  “Yeah.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “It’s okay.”

  When he’d been hanging out with Teagan on a regular basis, it had been better than okay. But now it kind of sucked.

  Players didn’t have a lot of free time during the regular football season, which meant their personal lives suffered. Nick had never really minded the time he had to commit during the season. But the grind had started to get to him because it prevented him from spending time with Teagan.

  It was almost October, and he hadn’t had a chance to see her more than a couple of times since the season had kicked off. She was busy with school during the day and study groups at night, and his schedule was equally demanding.

  A lot of people thought being a pro athlete was easy. After all, players only had to work a few months out of the year, work was actually a game, and they got paid millions of dollars.

  The average Joe didn’t understand that athletes packed an entire year’s worth of work into a four-month season, five if you made it to the playoffs. During the week, they spent at least ten hours a day practicing on the field, reviewing game-day video, studying playbooks, and attending team meetings.

  Throughout the season, football players also worked on the weekends. If they had an away game, they usually traveled on Friday, sometimes Saturday, and played on Sunday. If they had a home game, they were expected to rest on Saturday so they would be fresh for the game.

  Nick missed talking to Teagan, and if he could speak like a normal person, he would pick up the phone and call her. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t.

  He didn’t talk on the phone unless there was no other option. He considered texting the greatest invention of all time, and he could count on both hands the number of phone calls he’d made this year.

  The server dropped off the dessert menus, and Nick gave his a quick review. No blueberry pie.

  “I’m hearing good things from the Colonials,” Elijah said as he looked over his dessert menu. “They’re thrilled with your performance on the field. They really believe you’re going to take them to the Super Bowl.”

  “Maybe. It’s too soon to tell. The d-d-d-defensive line is playing better, but it collapses w-w-w-without warning.”

  “They’re inconsistent, that’s for damn sure,” Elijah said, nodding in agreement. “Do you like the coaches? Your teammates?”

  “They’re okay,” Nick replied, placing the menu on the table.

  “Nick,” Elijah sighed. “Talk to me. This is the last year you have left on your contract, and I think the Colonials are going to want to extend it. Do you want to stay here?”

  Nick considered Elijah’s question. There was no reason to stay in Boston. By this time next year, Teagan would be back in San Francisco. As the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head in annoyance. Where Teagan lived had absolutely nothing to do with his football career.

  “I don’t care w-w-w-where I play. I just w-w-w-want to play.”

  All he really cared about was squeezing every bit of value out of his body before it gave out on him. He figured he had two years, maybe three years left, and he needed to make all the money he could because his prospects after football weren’t that great.

  Most retired pro football players either became coaches or TV commentators. Neither one of those careers was an option for him.

  Some players started businesses, but he didn’t think that was a viable option, either. What did he know about running a business? He had a degree in history, which was pretty much useless.

  Teagan, on the other hand, could run a Fortune 500 company in her sleep. She was that smart—so much smarter than he was. And she was beautiful, too. Every time he saw her, she looked even better than the last time.

  Elijah continued to talk, and Nick forcefully redirected his thoughts from Teagan. He shouldn’t notice how her eyes sparkled when she was happy or the color of her lips.

  “You’re the best wide receiver in the NFL. Period. You don’t have to play for the Colonials if you don’t want to. You have options. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

  There was nothing tying him down, keeping him in one place or beckoning him to another. There was no one tying him down, and Nick told himself that he was happy about that.

  When he didn’t reply, Elijah sighed gustily. “Fine. We can table this discussion for now. We need to talk about a couple of endorsement offers that look good.”

  Nick got paid a lot of money to catch footballs. But he got paid even more for allowing companies to use his face and form, along with his name, of course. Last year, his endorsement income had eclipsed thirty-three million dollars. He had deals to advertise a number of products, including deodorant, razors, socks, and sport drinks.

  He wondered what else he could possibly endorse. He liked to use the products he supported, a little truth in advertising, if you will.

  “Tell me about the offers,” he requested.

  “Trojan wants you to be the face of their new marketing campaign.”

  “Condoms?”

  “Exactly,” Elijah answered, smirking slightly.

  Nick laughed. He definitely used those.

  * * *

  Temptation came in many forms, and Teagan had a hard time withstanding it, even when she knew better. She tried, she really did, but she and self-control were frenemies apparently.

  If they were bosom buddies, she’d be twenty pounds lighter, she wouldn’t have a crush on Nick Priest, and she wouldn’t be standing in an antique store in Beacon Hill about to purchase a piece of expensive jewelry she’d probably only wear a couple of times.

  Teagan and Bebe had made the trip from Cambridge to Beacon Hill to spend their Saturday browsing through the swanky shops and boutiques on Charles Street. Known for its ornate row houses and decorative iron work, Beacon Hill was one of Boston’s smallest and most historic neighborhoods. It was dotted with perpetually burning gaslights, large trees, and flowering window boxes.

  It was a perfect day to stroll along the brick sidewalks that traversed the neighborhood. The sun was shining, not a single cloud dotted the bright blue sky, and the light breeze was neither too chilly nor too warm.

  Teagan loved fall in New England. Since she’d grown up in Northern California, she had never experienced a real seasonal turn until she’d moved to Boston, where the leaves glinted gold and red and the air was scented with burning wood from fireplaces.

  “Which necklace do you like best?” Bebe asked.

  Teagan gazed longingly at the two necklaces. They both would be a lovely addition to her vintage jewelry collection.r />
  Grandma Vi had bequeathed her sizable jewelry collection to Teagan when she had died. They’d had a unique relationship, far closer than most grandmothers and granddaughters, and it hadn’t surprised anyone when she’d gifted the collection to her.

  Grandma Vi had specified her only granddaughter would receive the collection when she finished college or on her thirtieth birthday. On the day Teagan graduated from Stanford, her parents had given her the key to the safe-deposit box where the collection was stored.

  When she’d first seen the jewelry, she had been stunned, and not just because it was worth millions of dollars. The real value was the history it held.

  The collection included pieces from Grandma Vi’s mother and grandmother. Some of them were one hundred years old, and many had been made from gold that Grandma Vi’s grandfather found during the Gold Rush.

  Teagan believed they belonged in a museum instead of locked away in a bank vault. Over the past several years, she’d added to the collection, although she rarely wore the pieces except for very, very special occasions.

  She had been a freshman in high school when Grandma Vi had passed away, and her death had devastated Teagan. She’d spent a lot of time with her grandmother. She had loved her stories, especially those recounting how Grandma Vi and Grandpa Patrick had met and fallen in love.

  Patrick O’Brien had been a real ladies’ man in his day. With his dark hair and blue eyes, he could have had his pick of women. He’d passed down his good looks to his son and grandsons.

  Grandma Vi, on the other hand, had been plain and unremarkable except for her big boobs (according to Grandma Vi). But she must have been more remarkable than she’d thought, because Grandpa Patrick’s tomcatting ways ended the moment he clapped eyes on Grandma Vi (according to Grandpa Patrick).

  Grandpa Patrick had died just a few months after Grandma Vi. He’d told Teagan that her grandmother had kept his heart warm, and that it was going to freeze up without her. To this day, Teagan believed her grandfather had died of a broken heart.

  Bebe tapped the display case, drawing Teagan’s attention. She tucked her memories of her grandmother and grandfather away for another time and place.

  “I like this one better,” her best friend said, pointing to a necklace that featured delicate silver filigree studded with amethysts of varying sizes.

  Bebe’s favorite wasn’t too surprising, since she was partial to purple. The other necklace was a spectacular example of 1920s Art Deco design with large emerald pendants set in gold.

  Teagan ran her finger across one of the round lavender-colored stones, before tracing the emeralds. She loved both necklaces, and she was having a hard time deciding which one she preferred. Maybe she should employ some self-control and walk away without whipping out her Amex.

  “I don’t need any more jewelry,” she said, trying to talk herself out of buying anything.

  “No one needs jewelry,” Bebe replied, laughing lightly. “It’s a treat.”

  Teagan disagreed. A treat would be spending the day with Nick, taking a leisurely drive through the countryside and stopping at a historic inn for dinner. A better treat would be ending the day with him in her bed, her hands gripping his tight behind as he moved inside her.

  She shook her head in exasperation, fighting the urge to fan herself. She had it bad for Nick Priest.

  Really bad.

  Teagan was almost glad they were both too busy to see each other as much as they had during the summer. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted him, even though she knew there was no chance of getting what she wanted.

  And that was a good thing because she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle Nick or his lifestyle. No matter where he went or what he did, he attracted women.

  They stared at him with covetous, avaricious eyes. They propositioned him when Teagan stood right next to him. Usually he didn’t notice the attention, and when he did, he ignored it . . . for the most part.

  Teagan knew Nick’s status as a pro athlete was part of his appeal. But even if he were an IRS agent or a trash collector, women would ogle him and try to get him into their beds.

  If and when Nick decided to have a relationship, the woman he chose would have to be completely sure of her appeal so she didn’t feel threatened. Of course, she’d probably be a famous model, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

  Teagan, meanwhile, did not possess the amount of confidence necessary to combat jealously and insecurity. Growing up, she’d been an ugly duckling in a family full of swans. Her mother was a cool blond beauty, while her father was a strikingly handsome man.

  And if she evaluated Quinn and Cal objectively instead of through the lens of a little sister, she had to admit both of them were gorgeous—tall, dark, and handsome. Like Nick, they were head turners, and women were eager to drop their panties for them.

  Teagan knew she’d outgrown her ugly duckling stage. But it had lasted for so long that it still influenced the way she viewed herself.

  She’d been in middle school when she had first realized she lacked the good looks the rest of her family had in abundance. When she’d lamented the fact to Grandma Vi, the older woman had reassured Teagan.

  “Honey, you’ve got the O’Brien genes, don’t you worry,” she’d said. “You just need to grow into them. One day, men are going to walk into walls when they get a look at you.”

  So far, no man had been so intent on eyeballing Teagan that he’d crashed and burned, and she doubted that day would ever come. But Grandma Vi hadn’t been completely wrong. Teagan had grown into her looks.

  She’d learned to tame her thick, wavy hair, her skin had cleared up, and her braces were a long-ago memory. The extra weight she’d carried around her middle had shifted to her breasts and her hips, although her stomach was never going to be flat, and her thighs were never going to be trim.

  Teagan knew she was reasonably attractive, but she wasn’t stunning, not like the rest of her family. And she definitely wasn’t on the same level as Nick and the women he dated casually—the women he touched intimately with those big, strong hands.

  She was ashamed to admit she’d Googled Nick when she should have been studying. She’d spent hours reviewing photos of him online, paying particular attention to those that showed him with women. Unlike her brothers, who apparently liked variety, Nick had an obvious type: very tall, very blond, and very skinny.

  The exact opposite of me.

  Teagan sighed, disgusted with herself for wanting to be Nick’s type. She needed therapy. Retail therapy.

  “I’ll take both necklaces.”

  Chapter 10

  “Are you almost finished?” Nick growled, pacing around the kitchen in his condo.

  “Yes, master—I mean, Nick,” Letty replied.

  He glared at her, and she shot him a saucy grin before picking up a stack of aluminum food containers. She took her time arranging them in the large wicker picnic basket sitting on the granite island, and he fought the urge to demand that she hurry up.

  He double-checked the time on his phone. He didn’t want to be late picking up Teagan. He had a bye week, which meant no game, and they were going sailing.

  Although he never made plans with Teagan in advance, he hadn’t wanted to miss the opportunity to spend his one free Saturday with her, so he’d texted her earlier in the week to make sure she was available. The last couple of times he’d stopped by her condo, she hadn’t been there, and he hadn’t seen her in almost a month.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he tapped his foot impatiently as Letty grabbed a couple of cold packs from the freezer. She placed them carefully around the food before adding some cloth napkins, melamine plates, and utensils.

  “Teagan must be really special,” Letty said.

  Yes, she’s special. She’s unlike any other woman I know. She’s smart and funny and interesting. And I love h
er laugh.

  “Sailing is the perfect date,” Letty continued. “It’s fun and romantic. And I made a feast for you two, lots of finger foods so you can feed each other tidbits. Hubba hubba.”

  He stared at her. This wasn’t a date. Where the hell had she gotten that idea?

  Letty opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles. After wrapping them both in dishtowels, she placed them in the basket before closing the lid and fastening the latch.

  “I thought chardonnay would be best for the meal, but I also packed a bottle of champagne if you really want to get in the mood,” she added with a big smile. “I included a corkscrew, too.”

  He slapped his palms on the island in front of Letty, glowering at her. Her eyebrows shot up at his aggressive stance.

  “I’m going sailing w-w-w-with Teagan.”

  “I know,” she replied, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

  “You know she’s just a friend,” he said, his voice hard. “This isn’t a d-d-d-date.”

  Letty cocked her head and pursed her lips. “I think it’s time for you to admit that you feel more than friendship for Teagan.”

  He immediately wanted to refute her claim, but he had to wait for his mouth to catch up. “N-n-n-no, I don’t.”

  Teagan was his friend—nothing more. He was a guy, and it was perfectly natural for him to notice she was attractive. As long as he didn’t act on it, it was not a problem.

  Not. A. Problem.

  “Nick, you’re forgetting that I was here, working late, the night you found out her boss had attacked her. When you got home, you were a mess. You wouldn’t have been that upset if you didn’t care about her.”

  Nick made a sound of frustration. He hated to think about that night . . . hated to think about anyone hurting Teagan.

  “Of course I w-w-w-was upset. She’s like f-f-f-family.”

  Letty leaned against the island. She stared at him for several moments before patting the top of his hand.

  “You’re going to be late for your nondate. Get going.”

  He nodded, relieved to put an end to the pointless and stupid conversation. Hefting the picnic basket, he rushed out of his condo and made the haul to Cambridge in record time.