by Lane Hart
“This morning, Miss Benson came storming in here, without an appointment, and said you two were in a relationship and that she’s the one who pursued you so you shouldn’t be punished.”
“Really?” I ask in shock. She tried to save my job? Was that an act too, trying to save face with management?
“Really,” Mr. Wright says. “She signed a statement assuring us that not only was the relationship with you consensual but one, and I quote, ‘based on mutual respect and great fondness.’ Is that not correct? Because there’s no provision in your contract regarding relationships with fellow teammates.”
“There’s not?” I ask.
“No. The contract addendum was to protect Miss Benson from men like Dane Adams.”
“Oh.”
“So, we need you to read over the same statement with your manager and sign it as soon as possible, unless you still contend Miss Benson was manipulating you?” he asks, arching an eyebrow to show his opinion on the issue.
“No, sir. I’ll sign it,” I tell him, swallowing past the football size knot in my throat. All the horrible shit I said about Roxy…this whole time I didn’t want to believe her or trust her…
“Good,” Mr. Wright says with a nod. “So, now we need to decide who will be starting in tomorrow’s game. It’s your decision. Will it be you or Miss Benson?”
Holy shit. Is he serious? I’m really not fired. Roxy stepped up to try and protect me, throwing herself under the bus to do so, only to find out we weren’t even doing anything wrong. Now, her worst nightmare has come true. The photos of us hurt her more than me. They undermine her as a serious athlete, making everyone think she’s just screwing around with a teammate. But we are more, were more, before I ruined the good thing we had by accusing her of being behind the photos.
“Mr. Hendricks?” the owner asks again to get my attention. “Who is going to be starting?”
“Oh, well, that’s easy,” I tell him. “You’ve gotta go with the best.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Roxy
I’m dragging ass when Winona and I walk out of the stadium. After we had grabbed a bite to eat to try and come up with a statement to release about the photos, I made a tough decision. There wasn’t much to tell any more about Kohen and me. Now, it was nothing more than I fucked a player a few times and then he kicked me out of his house. But Winona was able to get the photographer to give her the name of the person who sold us out to try and catch us together --- Dane fucking Adams.
That’s when I made a tough decision. One I should’ve pursued weeks ago but didn’t want to draw more bad press. The thing is, assholes like Dane need to be punished by the criminal justice system, or else other women could become his victims, especially if they don’t have a Quinton nearby to call for help.
So, I told the team’s management my decision, and they agreed to do whatever it takes to help me pursue the communicating threats and sexual assault charges against Dane in court. Their PR team and Winona worked on a collaborative statement to release about what happened. Earlier tonight I showered, put on a dress and went before the cameras. Sure, this is only gonna make the media circus worse, but I owe it to all the other female athletes to do the right thing --- standing up to assholes like Dane instead of letting him get away with what he did.
“You good?” Winona asks when we walk up to my Jeep in the dark, mostly empty parking lot.
“Yeah,” I tell her, digging my keys from my purse. “Thanks for all your help today.”
“No problem. Anything you need –” she starts to say when I open my driver side door and then we’re standing in the midst of a football avalanche as dozens of them come pouring out from my driver seat.
“What the hell?” I ask, jumping back in surprise as all the pigskins bounce and roll around our feet.
Since the dome light is now on inside the Jeep, I can see that every inch of the interior is filled with balls, which is why so many came pouring out when I opened the door.
“That’s a lot of balls,” Winona says from beside me. She picks one up from the ground and hands it to me, showing me the writing on it. Just three words written in silver marker stops my broken heart...
“I’m an asshole,” Winona reads over my shoulder.
I throw the ball down and pick up another one that says, “You’re breathtakingly beautiful.”
“I’m sorry,” Winona reads aloud from another ball. “Please forgive me.”
“Wow,” I say, feeling my broken heart mending a little more with each word, knowing they’re from Kohen.
“Very sweet,” Winona says, glancing around the puddle of pigskins. “Not very convenient, but sweet.”
Then I pick up the football sitting in my seat with the most powerful message of them all.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
I reread the sentence over and over again, running my fingertips over the words, not quite believing they’re real.
“Can you give me a ride?” I ask Winona since I’ll have to figure out what to do with all the balls before I can drive my Jeep again.
“Sure,” she says.
I shut the door of my SUV, leaving the balls on the ground since it’s an impossible feat to stuff them all back inside. Still holding the last football, I climb into the passenger’s seat of Winona’s car and give her directions to the marina.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kohen
The boat is quiet and lonely without Roxy. In just a few shorts weeks I got used to having her around, and it was nice. Really nice. But I fucked it up.
I hate seeing her empty bedroom. I can’t even sit on the deck without thinking about her. The kitchen reminds me of all the food she burnt and, of course, the day she flooded it with dishwasher bubbles. In the workout room, I try to blast loud rock music and sweat her out of my system, but it’s no use. She’s gotten under my skin, wiggled her beautiful way into my heart, and seared her goodness within my soul.
Why I ever thought she was anything like Lola, I’m not sure. Lola was only looking for the easy way out, a free ride, a life of luxury, uncaring about who she hurt or anything else to get there. Roxy has worked her ass off on the field to be able to compete at the level of all the men in this sport. She doesn’t ask for anything from anyone, preferring to go at it alone, probably because the teammates, who were supposed to support her when she was a teenager, let her down. Now, I’ve let her down too, and I’m not sure if she’ll ever forgive me. That doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying, though.
Imagine my surprise when she knocks on my sliding glass door a little after ten that night. I nearly break my neck in my rush to get to it before she leaves. Although I assume she still has her key, so I’m not sure why she didn’t let herself in. Maybe because the last time she was here I told her to get her shit and get the fuck out.
“Hey,” I say after I unlock the door and slide it open.
“Hey,” she says shyly. I’m not sure if she’s ever been more gorgeous than she is right now, standing before me in a sleeveless, knee-length evergreen dress with a conservative V down the front. The color makes her grassy green eyes shine like a lighthouse in the darkest night until they lower to the football in her hands.
“You found my balls?” I ask, the phrasing instantly causing a smile to spread across her face.
“I found your balls,” she repeats, looking back up at me. “Thank you.”
“I thought you could use some new ones that say all the right things I should’ve said to you.”
“Dane sent someone to take the photos,” she blurts out. “It wasn’t me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry I accused you. I should’ve known you never wanted that sort of image out there in the media.”
“Right. Well, the team’s actually fine with everything. I was surprised, but they are. They’ll probably ask you to sign a statement…”
“I already did,” I tell her. “They said you came in and stood up for me. Thank you.”
; “And thanks again for the balls,” she says, taking a step backward as if to leave instead of coming inside.
“You’re starting tomorrow,” I tell her to stop her from leaving.
“Why?” she asks, forehead crinkled. “You’re ready. It’s fine; I can sit the bench, Kohen.”
“No, it’s not fine. You’re better than me,” I tell her. “At least for right now.”
“I don’t know –”
“It’s already been decided. You’re the best kicker for the team.”
“Really?” she asks with a grin.
“Really,” I assure her. “I’m not sure what will happen once my knee heals, if it ever fully heals, but we’ll figure it out. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees with a nod. “I wouldn’t mind just being the punter once you take over placekicking. I’m pretty damn good at it.”
“Yeah, you are,” I tell her with a smile. “So, can I convince you to come back? Stay with me again?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she replies, biting her bottom lip.
“I miss you,” I tell her. “So damn much. Who’s gonna burn my food and flood my kitchen if you’re not here?”
“Hush,” she says with a laugh, slapping me in the chest. I grab her arm and pull her to me, covering her lips with mine. We kiss softly at first, and I wait patiently until she opens for me, allowing my tongue to slip inside, teasing hers. Her watermelon scent floods my senses, and like a Pavlov response, my mouth waters and I need her so much I can’t stand it.
“Give me another chance,” I say when we both come up for air. My forehead rests against hers while holding her in my arms, and she’s still gripping the football between us. “It won’t happen overnight, but I want to trust you with my heart.”
“Quinton told me about Lola,” she says, and hearing that name is like nails on a chalkboard.
“Why?” I ask. “To brag about how she wanted him instead of me?”
“No, he told me what a bitch she was. How she screwed you over when you trusted her. Loved her.”
“Oh,” I mutter.
“But I’m not her, and I would never hurt you,” she says, kissing me again. “At least not on purpose. Just don’t walk out in front of my Jeep again.”
“Deal,” I tell her.
“So, um, did you mean this?” she asks, holding up the football and spinning it around to the writing above the seam.
“Yes,” I tell her with a grin.
“Good,” she replies. “Because I’ve been falling in love with you too.”
“Good,” I respond, taking the ball from her and tossing it over my shoulder. Hands now free, Roxy wraps them around my neck; and just as our lips are about to meet again, my cell phone starts vibrating in my front pocket. “Ignore it,” I say.
“Kind of hard to,” she says with a grin, grinding the front of her body against the same pocket. It stops vibrating and then starts again.
“Fuck,” I grumble, finally letting her go with one hand to pull it out. “Lathan,” I inform Roxy when I see his name on the screen. “Let me just make sure nothing’s happened to his mom.”
“Yeah, sure, answer it,” Roxy urges.
“What’s up?” I say into the phone, but quickly have to pull it away from my ear when I hear a baby screeching like a banshee on the other end. “Lathan?” I ask, looking at the screen again to make sure it really was his name showing up.
“Yo, Kohen! Do you know where Roxy is?” he shouts over the screaming in the background.
“Ah, yeah. Why?” I ask in confusion. “And is that a baby?”
“Yeah, does Roxy know anything about making them, like, stop crying? Can you and her come over to Quinton’s? There a…situation.”
“A situation?” I repeat, looking at Roxy, who I’m sure can hear every yelled word he says.
“Yeah, you won’t believe this, but someone dumped a freaking baby on Quinton’s doorstep with a note saying it’s his.”
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
“Tiny little guy. We were just watching it sleep in its plastic seat thing, and then all of a sudden it woke up and started wailing. Now it won’t stop.”
“We’re on the way,” Roxy shouts, which causes me to frown.
“Really?” I ask her, covering up the microphone. “We were about to have really hot makeup sex, weren’t we?”
“Yeah, but all the baby crying has sort of killed the mood,” she says with a wince. “Come on, they need our help.”
“Fine,” I grumble into the phone. “We’re on the way. Tell Quinton we’re even now.”
“Thanks, Kohen!” Lathan says before hanging up.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” Roxy says with a poke to my chest before running her fingernail down to the waistband of my jeans.
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise,” she says, stealing a quick kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Roxy
“Wow. Quinton’s house is huge,” I say to Kohen when he pulls into the oceanfront mansion’s driveway. We’re in Kohen’s Audi since mine is still slam packed, literally balls to every wall.
“No shit. It’s almost as big as Quinton’s ego,” he answers with a laugh.
Illuminated only by the porch lights over the double staircase leading up the front of the stone fortress, it’s impossible for me to count the number of windows that make up the sprawling Mediterranean style home.
After we both climb out of the car, Kohen comes around to my side and grabs my hand, weaving our fingers together.
“No more hiding,” he says, bringing my knuckles up to his lips to brush a kiss over them.
God, this man…
“And I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he adds as we walk up the steps together to the front door.
“I’m yours,” I assure him with a face-splitting smile, glad to have all the horrible drama behind us.
Before we even press the button to ring the doorbell, the sounds of a screeching baby can already be heard.
While we wait, a thought occurs to me.
“Oh, so I want to keep all of your balls, but I’m not sure how to get them home. How the hell did you cram them in there anyway?” I ask Kohen while we wait for the door to open.
“You really should lock your car, by the way,” he says with a grin before ringing the doorbell again, since they apparently can’t hear it over the noise. “I had help. Paid Ryan, one of the equipment guys, for the cost of the balls plus his time and assistance. Tomorrow we can see if he has a truck or something to unload them into.”
Lathan finally opens the massive door with Quinton standing behind him, now quadrupling the sounds of the crying baby. Both of their heads of hair are messy and disheveled, a pair of blond and black Mohawks gone off the rails as they look back and forth between Kohen and me in a panic.
“Help?” Quinton asks, directing the question at me.
“Why me? Do you just assume that I know what to do with a baby because I’m a woman?” I tease him, crossing my arms over my chest to look indignant while my ovaries are practically jumping up and down with the urge to run inside and wrap the little banshee in my arms to provide some comfort.
“No. Maybe. Yes!” Quinton shouts, covering both of his ears with his giant palms. “You’re the only one I trust not to break my son. I mean, if he really is my son,” he rambles with a wince. “Even if he’s not, it wouldn’t be cool to break someone else’s baby, right?”
“Explanation accepted,” I say as I push past them into the house. Kohen doesn’t let go of my hand, which the guys immediately notice.
“Whoa. So this is, what, like official now?” Lathan asks Kohen while my ovaries lead the way to the living room.
“Official,” Kohen yells to be heard.
“And Quinton said you both get to stay on the team?” Lathan asks.
“Yep. And Roxy’s starting tomorrow,” Kohen tells them as they follow behind us.
Jeez, this place is huge. But we’re definite
ly getting closer.
“Congrats!” Lathan yells to me as we reach the epicenter of the crises.
“Thanks,” I raise my voice to reply.
A gray baby car seat with blue trim is sitting alone in the middle of the fancy wooden floor.
“Has he been in that seat the whole time? That’s at least one reason he’s crying. He wants out; wants to be held.”
When I step around in front of the car seat, I gasp and fall to my knees in my dress.
“Oh my goodness!” I say as I let go of Kohen’s hand to start unbuckling the harness straps over the teeny, tiny baby boy. He’s definitely a newborn, barely taking up any space in the seat, dressed in a blue and white striped beanie hat and a blue fleece outfit complete with adorable footies.
Once I pull his arms free, I scoop him up with a hand behind his back and the other cradling his delicate head. As soon as I get him settled, tucked in the crook of my arm, his cries lessen. When his head turns toward my breast with his open mouth leading the way, it’s obvious the little guy is hungry.
“Did he come with a bottle by chance?” I look up to ask the guys and realize they’ve all taken a seat on the floor, Kohen on my left, Quinton to my right and Lathan behind the car seat.
“I think so,” Lathan says. Getting to his feet, he goes and grabs a black diaper bag from the sofa and brings it over, retaking his seat on the floor.
“Wow, he’s little,” Kohen says. “No bigger than a football.”
“Yeah, he’s probably just a few days old,” I tell him.
“That can’t be my kid, right? I mean, my baby would be, like…ten times his size,” Quinton says.
“Actually, genius, even big men start out as little babies, otherwise how would women push them out?” I explain to him.
“Got a bottle, but it’s empty,” Lathan says, holding one of the small four-ounce ones up in the air. “Can’t you, like, you know, whip it out and let him eat?”