by Aria Ford
I guess I can be glad about my condition—at least the press isn’t interested anymore.
Had I said that out loud?
That was the one good thing. After a life where the press had practically followed me home after a game, I had soon escaped into obscurity after my operation. I’d deliberately asked our manager to keep them off me and, true to his word, he had.
Now I could walk down to the cafe any time I wanted and no one would recognize me. Half of me really liked that. The other half—the half that still felt mad at how my career had been disrupted—missed the fame.
My phone buzzed again and when I looked at the clock, I noticed that it was time to leave. I sighed and hauled myself to my feet, reached for my hated crutches and headed downstairs. I was in a hotel in Hancock, where I could catch my flight. I’d ordered a taxi to take me to the airport—one of the advantages of my past was a big savings account.
“Mr. Locke?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I said to the taxi driver. “Hi. Thanks for being on time.”
“No problem, son. In you get.”
He looked away as I lowered myself into the seat and lifted my injured leg in. I was pleased by his attitude—he wasn’t condescending, and he wasn’t shocked. He was just a normal dude that took people places, so honestly he has probably seen worst. He lifted my rucksack, threw it in the back and slammed his own door. We sped off to the airport and one step closer to home.
As we drove, I watched the streets slip past, feeling strangely apprehensive. Seeing Mom and Dad was always hard—I knew they wanted to pretend they didn’t pity me, but I could see they did. I was glad it was just them and my cousins, aunt and uncle who would be there. If seeing close family was hard, I was glad I was single.
Even after the injury, if I’d chosen to mention who I had been, women probably would have showed interest in me.
I had tried it, once or twice. I had even gotten my way, leveraging my old identity. The girls had done their best not to notice my leg, but afterward I felt even worse about myself than before, as if there was something repellant about me.
I was cynical enough to know it was the tarnished glory of my NFL career and not myself. That wasn’t why I was lonely. It was the fact that I was going home, and going home made me miss her.
Oh, come on, you. She doesn’t even live there anymore.
The girl I loved. The girl I’d left. Margo.
I doubted if Margo Lawrence still lived in Milwaukee. Why would she? With a career like hers, she could live anywhere.
Margo had been a model when I’d known her. Not the sort to do catwalk stuff, but the sort who modeled makeup for magazines. We’d met at a gala and, weirdly, it hadn’t been her beauty that drew me in, but her funny, awkward ways. As we drove, my mind wandered back to then.
“Whoops!” she’d said. She’d been drinking and walking and walked into me. Her champagne had sheeted down her front, wetting the black satin dress she wore.
I was wet with champagne too. “No worries.”
“Oh man…I’m so sorry…”
She’d gotten out a tissue and started trying to dab the champagne off us both. Those long, pretty fingers had held the Kleenex with precision, dabbing at my chest and wiping off her cleavage.
I cleared my throat. “No worries.”
Man. She is hot.
She giggled. “You said that, but I am worried. I mean, how could I do something so dumb?”
I grinned at her. “It was as much my fault,” I’d admitted. “I was in your way.”
“I should have been looking where I was going,” she said in a tight voice. Her eyes had looked down to her feet, clad in black heels.
“No, it’s fine,” I said. I’d reached for her hand, the one without the tissue clenched tight in it, and she’d jumped.
“Um…I…”
I looked into her eyes. They were long-lashed, brown, and damp. Her lips were red and generous, and I felt my cock harden.
“I’m glad you bumped into me,” I said softly. “I’m pleased we could meet. Jay Locke.”
I held out a hand. Hers slipped in.
“Margo.”
I smiled. “Such a nice name.”
She’d gone red. “Oh? Thanks. It’s my real name too.”
I’d frowned at her, laughing. “You mean, you don’t usually tell the truth about your name?”
She blushed an adorable shade darker. “No, silly. I mean, it’s not a made-up name. Some models use names that aren’t their real names and I…well…that’s mine.” She dived into an embarrassed silence.
I stared at her. “You’re a model?”
“Yes,” she’d said. “Margo Lawrence.”
“Oh.”
It was my face’s turn to go crimson. I guess I should have known who that was. But, well, fashion kind of passed me by. I wore what I owned, that and my football gear. I didn’t really go in for that side of things, even though my managers said I should try and have a better image because it was good for the club.
“I work for Petals,” she’d added. “Who do you work for?” She had put her head to one side, her mouth a delicious reddish-pink “o” that had made my loins hard and made me want to kiss her.
I’d grinned. “You don’t know me?”
“No…”
She’d been embarrassed. She went red. I felt a bit better. After all, I had no idea who she was and she had no idea who I was either.
“I guess you don’t follow football?” I asked.
“Yes, but…” she paused. “Oh. My. You’re him?”
I grinned. “Jay Locke. Quarterback. Yes.” I tried not to look overly proud of myself.
“Oh.” Her mouth had done that endearing little “o” thing again that set me aflame inside.
I laughed. “It’s okay. You see, now we’re even.”
“Even?” She was confused. She looked at me with her lips parted, sweet and plump. I had wanted to push my tongue in her hot, moist lips right then. But I didn’t.
“Well, I didn’t know you, you didn’t know me,” I explained lightly.
“Yeah.”
She’d grinned.
We’d laughed.
“So,” I asked. “You want to join our table?”
“Yeah.”
That was our first date. We’d kissed that night. Exchanged numbers. Dated for a while and then we got serious, as soon as I had worked up the courage to take it to that level.
I remembered that night. I had taken her out to a good restaurant. She was wearing a black dress—a loose dress but midthigh in length, showing off those stunning legs. I had a hard time focusing on anything except her.
I followed her out. We usually took a taxi together, but this time I’d brought my car.
“You’re so beautiful,” I breathed as I looked down at her.
She smiled, and her lips parted. I pushed my tongue inside and suddenly it was all I could do to control myself. I leaned back, gasping.
“Margo…I…”
She grinned. “Let’s go, hey?”
I had nodded breathlessly, and we’d climbed in.
I was surprised I reached my place. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My hand was glued to her leg, and I couldn’t resist making little moves up to stroke the satin of her panties. She gasped and the noise she made shivered through my blood.
We followed each other up the stairs into the building. I held her waist and buried my face in her hair. She giggled, and the sound tortured me with wanting.
“Come on,” I whispered.
Upstairs in my apartment, we had fallen onto the bed together. I took her dress off in one smooth motion and stared.
She was wearing a small black bra and matching undies. She lay back against the pillows, proud and smiling and beautiful.
I let my eyes devour her. They traveled down her long legs to her breasts and back again. The bra was a push-up, and it revealed her high, full cleavage. I leaned forward and took it off, burying my face between her breas
ts.
She sighed and giggled, and I drew one into my mouth. The nipples were a peach color, somewhere between the color of peaches and that of tea or freckles. I bit them gently, and she moaned, making me suck harder. My cock was throbbing now, unbearably.
I had moved lower, letting my fingers take off her undies. The smell of her essence made me ache. I let my fingers stroke her folds, playing with the small, hard nodule there.
She yelled. “Oh. Oh, I’m coming…”
I was impossibly ready, and yet I teased myself, loving the sounds she made as I worked her, reveling in the feel of her wetness and the way she was aroused.
She came, sighing and gasping. Then I was on her. I thrust into her and let myself go wild, possessing her with an intensity I’d never experienced previously.
I cried out and collapsed on her, exhausted. I must have slept, because I woke beside her.
She smiled and kissed me, and I kissed her back. I stared with amazement at her beauty.
Margo was so stunning, so beautiful. I sometimes thought I didn’t deserve her. It wasn’t just the way she looked, it was who she was.
I could relate to her. She was just like me. I loved that.
We were both awkward, ordinary folk forced into a prominent position. I felt as discomforted at interviews as she did at shoots. We both felt shy at premiers or other big events. And we both tended to stay on the edge of crowds.
Despite her awkwardness, Margo was funny, sassy and chatty. We’d spent hours together just talking. She got me in a way no one else ever had. I trusted her.
Which was, I reflected sleepily, why I’d walked.
“Sir?”
“Mm?” I looked out of the window and realized we were outside the building.
“Airport, sir. Can I get your bag for you?”
“Oh. Thanks. Yes.”
I sighed, fiddled the door open and swung out. I winced as the weight went onto my left leg, almost tipping me off balance. Ever since my stupid accident, my agility has been trash—obviously—but my balance is even worse. I can’t even walk down the sidewalk without veering into the middle of the damn road. My heart sinks and I block out thoughts of the game that ruined me. I got onto the crutches and hauled myself to the sidewalk.
“Here you go, sir.”
“Thanks.” I shrugged on my rucksack.
“Here’s the bill, sir.”
As I fiddled the bills out of my wallet, trying to balance on one leg and hold the crutches against the car with the other hand, I tried to ignore the people streaming inside.
They shouldn’t judge me. I could be anyone.
Why would they stare at me pityingly? In Houghton or Hancock, even though people surely watched football, it seemed that they had no idea who I was. I stood more chance of being recognized in Milwaukee, where I’d been raised. Which was, of course, why it was totally demanding to go there.
Oh, come on, Jay. The guy doesn’t turn fifty every day.
“Stop it,” I scolded myself.
A few people looked my direction and murmured under their breaths. Surely, they thought I’d gone mad. Well, they were right.
As much as I didn’t want to go home, I couldn’t miss Dad’s fiftieth for anything other than fire or flooding. I thanked the driver and tipped him generously, then headed inside. It was time to get going before I decided to just go home—Houghton was home, whatever anyone thought.
The flight to Milwaukee would be indirect and take about six hours. I dragged myself across the arrivals lounge and toward departures. I had a long wait before my flight arrived.
I guess I’m always thinking it takes longer than it does with this leg.
I reached my gate in good time and sat down. Oddly, as I sat there looking out at the airplanes all lined up, touching down and rising and taking on the supplies and flight attendants and passengers, I couldn’t get the thought of seeing Margo again out of my head.
I sighed.
I had walked out on her because of what I’d become. A cripple. A source of pity. She would try and love me despite the change in circumstances. Margo was kind. But I didn’t want kindness. I also loved her too much to shackle her to a broken creature.
She was a high-flying model now, and the last thing she needed, in my way of thinking, was a hulking invalid following her around. We would have looked awful together. Beauty and the hulk.
I laughed at myself ironically.
“Attention, all passengers booked on flight number…”
I sighed. That was my flight. All around me, people were standing, lifting bags, getting boarding cards. I watched them, noting grimly how easy it was for them to just stand up and lift things. I shouldn’t envy them. After all, there was a time when I could lift two hundred pounds of weight in the gym. Now, I could lift weights from the safety of my chair. I’d gotten up to hefting thirty pounds in each hand, but it was slow and hard work to reach that, especially after the months in hospital.
“Boarding card, sir?”
“Uh…here.”
The attendant, a pretty, young woman with brown glossy hair pulled back from a fine-boned face, glanced with sympathy at my leg.
I winced and showed her the boarding card.
“Have a nice flight,” she said.
I tried not to feel as if she was giving me a funny look, but I couldn’t help it. I could sense the slight cringe in her posture as she glanced at my useless leg. Most people looked at it that way. It wasn’t their fault. It just made me feel, well, like there was something wrong with me.
I hauled myself onto the bus, wedging myself grimly upright against the wall, and let it jolt me all the way to the plane.
I slept on both flights and by the time I arrived in Milwaukee, I was barely awake.
“Whew.”
I leaned heavily against the wall, watching the people coming and going. Women and men, boys and girls. Kids in strollers or on wobbly feet, reaching up to embrace parents they’d just reunited with. Someone had a dog with them and it barked joyfully, racing to greet its humans as they disembarked.
“Lance! It’s you.”
I heard a voice that ripped through my heart. Without even thinking about it, my head shot up and I stared.
No.
The woman was greeting a tall, pale-haired guy with the build of an athlete. He was bending down to hug her, all big shoulders and thin waist. She was hidden from me for the moment, except for glossy black hair. Then she looked up.
“Oh no. No.”
The girl had big brown eyes with wide eyelids. A straight nose. Red lips. She was grinning up at her brother and then, suddenly, she was looking at me. Her grin fell. She stared.
“No way.”
I stood. I had no idea what to do. I wanted to run, but that was out of order. I wanted to hide. I really wished I could disappear.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do any of those things.
Which meant that, when I looked again, I was staring straight into the eyes of Margo Lawrence, the girl I loved almost four years ago.
CHAPTER TWO
MARGO
“No.”
I couldn’t get the word from my mind, a flat refusal to believe what I had seen. Now, I was saying it out loud.
A negation. Denial is the first line of response, or so my friend Alexandra told me after she’d finished her psychology degree. I suppose she was right, because all I could think of was a big denial.
No. It can’t be him. No way.
But it had to be. No one else had those blue eyes, that soft sandy hair, that strong jaw. No one else had those massive shoulders and that hesitant smile and that way of tilting his head. And no one had any reason to look so shocked at seeing me.
“Jay?” He looked like he’d just woken from a nightmare.
“No,” he said.
Lance looked at me, then turned around to face Jay. “Margo, what did…oh.”
My brother stared too. He knew exactly who he was. We’d met at a party, but it was when L
ance and Jay met that I’d finally decided Jay was really as wonderful as I imagined. Lance really liked him. Now, Lance looked at him with a strange mix of horror and compassion.
“Hey,” he said. He got his face into neutral and walked over. “Uh, Jay?”
I saw Jay stiffen and he looked as if he was going to run. Of all the people who knew him, I knew that expression the most well.
“Jay!” I said, heading suddenly over. “It’s me! Margo. Hi!”
He looked at me. His blue eyes were cool and bleak.
I shivered.
“Margo,” he said softly. Even his voice was different, the arid sigh of a breeze over tarmac. He sounded so distant, so cold and sad. “Hi.”
I stared. “Jay, it’s me. Where…what…I’m so pleased you’re here.”
I reached up and hugged him. I couldn’t quite believe I did that, but I couldn’t help it. The instant I did, I wished I’d not. The scent of him filled my lungs and almost made me cry.
I hadn’t smelled him for years—the spiced cologne, the warmth, the traces of aftershave and, more distantly, the traces of sweat—not offensive, just healthy and warm and masculine. I breathed it in and felt as if my heart would crack.
“Jay,” I said.
He stiffened, and I stopped immediately. I wanted to touch him, to feel that warm, firm chest that I remembered so well under my hands. Where had he gone? I wanted to ask so much. But he looked awkward and uncomfortable, surprising me.
“Margo,” he said again. “I…I should go.”
That was enough. I felt almost four years of hurt mix inside me. “Jay, no,” I said. I hadn’t raised my voice, but I saw him tense as if I had.
“What?” he said coolly.
I laughed. “You’d think you might say something more than that. It’s been years. And where…”
“Margo, I have to go.”
I closed my eyes. He was already trying to head back. I could see that was hard for him—he was quite injured—and I didn’t want to humiliate him by getting in the way. I sighed.
“Okay,” I said.
“Bye,” he said.
I wasn’t going to cry. I turned my face away. “Bye,” I said.