Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

“I was a teenager when you met me. Remember?”

  I grinned. “With those perky titties and cute little booty you had on you? How could I forget?”

  “Jordan…” she warned, glancing around the empty hall.

  “What?” I asked, stepping closer. “You know you used to wear those itty bitty shorts, and your Blakewood hoodie, trying to look innocent when you showed up at my campus apartment to “study”.”

  “Jordan…”

  “Hmm?”

  I moved closer, and she took a step away, pressing her back to the wall. “What are you doing?”

  “Reminiscing.” I closed the space between us, not missing the way her chest heaved as she stared up at me, lips parted. “We had some good times. And you know it.”

  “I do. What does that have to do with now?”

  The desire in her eyes made her flippant tone roll right off, and I shrugged as I lifted a hand to brush her cheek. “Nothing,” I said. “Just making sure you remember.”

  The sound of footsteps down the hall made me step back, putting a respectable distance between us. No one rounded the corner to where we were, but I decided to quit while I was ahead.

  “I’ll see you later Nick—Cole. Nicole. I’ll see you later, Nicole.”

  “Just Cole,” she said, stepping away from the wall to smooth a hand over her shirt. “I…” she sighed. “It helps with not being treated a certain way because I’m a woman in this industry. There was a study, about more masculine names being taken more seriously, so… if you could just call me by that, I’d be grateful.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Okay. Cole it is.”

  She did a double-take. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. See you later, Cole.”

  I felt light on my feet as I headed out of the practice facility, but then suddenly remembered why I’d stopped her to talk in the first place. I turned around, surprised to find that she hadn’t moved from the spot. Her eyes went wide, like she was embarrassed to still be standing there.

  “Was there something else?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Not defiantly – protectively.

  I ran my tongue over my lips. “Uh, yeah. I wanted to let you know that I talked to Chloe, and to Margo, earlier this week. But I’m sure you already heard.”

  “Yes.” She shifted a little in her heels. “I had.”

  “I figured. But um… I’m signing contracts with both of them. That’s my new team. Chloe on publicity, Margo on management.”

  She smiled then, a big bright, gorgeous smile that made me a little bit lightheaded. “That’s excellent, Jordan. Chloe and Margo are among the best of the best, and they work well together. This is a very, very good look for you.”

  “Well, they were your recommendations, so I would hope so. Hope you aren’t just putting me in position to get bent over with no lube by the Kings.”

  She frowned, and took a step toward me. “What? Jordan, I would never do you like that. Yes, I work for this team, but my job is to see you succeed, and I take that seriously. There was no bias in my recommendations of Chloe or Margo. Only your best interests.”

  “I know that shit, Nicki. Chill.” Her shoulders sank in relief, and she didn’t even seem to notice that I’d slipped and called her Nicki again. “Hey,” I said, bringing her gaze back to me. “Is it just the job that has you working in my interests?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Yes, of course. It’s just the job.”

  Too bad the vibe I was picking up from her said different.

  I had to stick my hands back in my pockets to make sure I kept them to myself when she pulled her top lip between her teeth, damn near scraping off her lipstick before she took a tentative step down the hall, still facing me.

  “I, um… have to go. Good luck on Monday, okay?”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  I turned away from her before I smiled, knowing just from that exchange that something had definitely shifted between us. Before, thinking about getting back together wasn’t even on my radar. Now… it seemed possible.

  Cole

  This has JJ written all over it, I thought, heading into Trent’s condo a few hours after the game. I’d exchanged familiar greetings with the bodyguards, then headed in to find the place packed with Kings team members, barely dressed women, and copious amounts of alcohol.

  Not that Trent wasn’t down with a party. Before his… situation, he and JJ had built something of a reputation for knowing how to create unforgettable Two Kings events – parties that bordered on legendary. Because he was on Nate’s roster, and hadn’t really been playing, I hadn’t had the chance to talk to him. According to Nate though, Trent had been different since he got out.

  Quieter.

  More focused.

  No longer about that party life.

  And not to mention, he’d been pissed for a while about a futures contract being his re-introduction to the team after his incarceration – a contract that kept him in limbo, tied to this team, but unable to play. That had changed with this season, but he’d still been third string, until Todd Browning’s creepy ass got locked up. That moved him up to backup, but as long as Mayfair was healthy, he still got no play.

  Until tonight.

  I weaved through the crowd, easily spotting him. He was hanging near the open kitchen, observing the crowd with a beer bottle in his hand. He smiled when he saw me approaching.

  “Uh oh, Front Office in the building,” he teased, bringing a smile to my face. “I can’t believe you’re out here, at a victory party.”

  I pressed a hand to my chest. “Don’t do me that way Trent.”

  “You know I’m messing with you. Come here.”

  I laughed as I walked up to him, stepping into his open arms for a hug. “You played a helluva game tonight,” I said as I pulled back. “That last pass, are you kidding me?! Who the hell throws a sixty-two yard pass, Trent?”

  He grinned, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I mean… you can only throw that kind of pass when you have a receiver that can catch it, right?”

  “Ain’t nobody talking about that right now. I’m talking about you,” I deflected, not wanting to talk about JJ. He’d been on my mind more than enough.

  “Takes a team,” Trent countered, insisting on humility. “I’m just glad I got the opportunity to prove I still had it.”

  I smiled. “Well, you definitely did that. But for the record, I never thought you’d lost it.”

  Trent sucked his teeth. “You’re a “player success” director,” he said, with the finger gestures and all. “You have to be all motivational and shit.”

  “Wooow. You think I’m just gassing you up?”

  “Eh, maybe fifty-fifty.”

  “Whatever Trent.” I shook my head. “Seriously though, you looked good out there today. Like you were at home. At peace.”

  He nodded. “I was. Felt good to be back out there with my brother.”

  “And I’m sure the feeling is abundantly mutual,” I laughed. “JJ has been campaigning and complaining about getting you back on the field. I’m sure he’s on cloud nine.”

  “Maybe not. He’s been in the back scowling the whole time we’ve been talking,” he chuckled, tapping my arm to gesture where JJ was. “I think he’s feeling some type of way that you showed up to talk to me.”

  “Jordan will be just fi— uhh, what the hell?”

  I stepped back as out of nowhere, a woman pushed between me and Trent, with a duffle bag clenched at her side. She was a petite, caramel toned woman, with thick hair pulled into a ponytail under a baseball cap, and a curvy body poured into a sweat suit. Her whole demeanor was screaming pissed off, and one thing I wasn’t about to do was fight a mad groupie who – presumably – thought I was encroaching on her territory.

  I was ready to alert Trent’s security when I noticed the smirk he was trying to suppress as he stared this woman right in the face.

  Oh! I thought, when he dipped his large frame, looping an arm around the woman’s wai
st to easily pick her up, tucking her under his arm. He put his beer bottle onto the counter, then bent to retrieve the duffel bag she’d dropped.

  “Pardon me Cole, I need to go handle this,” he said, his tone contrite as he turned to leave. The final dot connected when I saw how strikingly pretty the tiny, angry woman stuck under his arm was. “Maybe I can formally introduce her when she’s behaving,” he called over his shoulder, leaving me to contend with Jordan, who I could practically feel staring at me now.

  I saw him as soon as I turned around, tucked into a corner with a drink in his hand. He was – unsurprisingly – flanked by women, two of whom were pressed against his side, practically screwing each other in effort to get his attention. But his eyes were on me.

  Shaking my head, I pivoted in the other direction, my sights set on the front door. I wasn’t here to party – I’d come to congratulate Trent. With that done, I was ready to go.

  I didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised when I felt a hand around my wrist, nor did I bother resisting when he pulled me around to face him.

  “You’re leaving without speaking?” he asked, staring at me through lowered eyelids. “Don’t you think that’s kinda rude?”

  “It’s only rude if you don’t speak to the host,” I countered, gently pulling away from his touch. “But, hi Jordan. How are you?”

  His lips curved into a smile that hit me in the chest first, then warmed my body from fingers to toes. “We won the game, so I’m great. But that’s all I get? “Hi Jordan”? I distinctly remember seeing TB get a hug. I can’t get a hug?”

  “Trent got a hug because I like him.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t like me?” Jordan asked, leaning into the wall. “Damn, Nicki. I’m going to start thinking you enjoy hurting my feelings.” He took another sip from his drink, and I excused the “Nicki” since he was obviously a little tipsy… and because that comment about hurting his feelings stung.

  “You know that’s never been my intent.”

  The lights in the condo were low for the party, making shadows play across Jordan’s already dark skin, exaggerating the movement when he lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll have to take your word for that. So does that mean I get my hug, or…?”

  I rolled my eyes, then stepped forward, letting my bag fall into the bend of my elbow as I made a come here gesture to him. Jordan laughed as he met me halfway, ignoring the one-armed hug I was about to give him to wrap me in his arms.

  I sucked in a deep breath.

  I’d forgotten how good this felt.

  He held me tight, one arm around my shoulders, the other around my waist as he gently rocked us back and forth. I ignored the sex-laced music playing, knowing it would take my mind somewhere it didn’t need to be, not while I was this close to Jordan. He smelled good, he felt good, and common sense told me this was too good to be true.

  He didn’t resist it when I pushed him away, but he wasn’t in any particular hurry to let me go either. He was slow about unraveling his limbs from around me, and I put some distance between us as soon as he let me go.

  “Great game tonight,” I said, trying to deflect the course of conversation. “That catch… it was nice.”

  He nodded. “Appreciated. Had to remind the world that me and TB make magic happen on the field.”

  “And dance moves,” I laughed. “I enjoyed seeing your victory dance.”

  Enjoyed was an understatement for how I – and probably every other person who liked men – had felt about he and Trent’s display of black brotherhood on the field. Completely non-sexual and yet completely sexy as hell. Chest bumps, two steps, hip thrusts that would have the mommy-bloggers mad as hell at their keyboards the next day, and just pure joy. It was beautiful.

  Jordan chuckled. “Glad you were entertained.”

  “And your postgame interview… no references to your dick, no cursing. I was impressed. I guess you’re implementing some of Chloe’s tips?”

  His smile broadened. “Yeah, I am. Make you proud?”

  I blushed, running a hand through my loose hair. “Uhhh… yeah. You did.”

  “Good.”

  Silence passed between us for several moments. I spent what felt like five minutes, but was actually more like thirty seconds letting Jordan devour me with his eyes before I took a breath, pulling my bag back up to my shoulder.

  “Well I’m going to head out,” I said, glancing toward the door. “You’ve got a driver for the night, right?” I gestured toward his cup.

  He smirked. “Look at you… worried about me and shit.”

  “For the team’s sake.”

  “Whatever you say, gorgeous. I’ll see you later.”

  He tipped his chin up at me and then turned away, heading back into the party. I swallowed hard, fighting back the surge of jealously that swamped me at the thought of him going to be with the girls from before.

  But he ignored them to get at you…

  I sucked my teeth, then took my ass to the door, because that right there, those type of thoughts, were exactly the kind of bullshit I was avoiding by deciding against being with a player. Why the hell should I feel special because he’d come to talk to me, when now that we were done, he was going right back?

  I already knew the answer: I shouldn’t.

  But something held me back from leaving.

  Not even knowing what I was looking for, I moved slowly back down the hall, peeking around the corner to the spot where Jordan had been sitting before. To my surprise, he wasn’t there, and neither were the women. A lump built in my throat.

  Had he taken them somewhere… private?

  My eyes darted around the room in the lowered lights, suddenly desperate to find him. It took a few moments to spot him, but when I did, relief calmed my racing heart.

  He was over in front of the TV, talking to Tyler Sanchez as the game replayed in front of them. I watched for a few moments as the two men engaged in animated conversation, then let out a slow breath.

  Mentally, I kicked myself.

  I shoved my hair backwards, away from my face as I pushed off the wall and left, feeling simultaneously annoyed and confused. If I was so anti-romance with Jordan, why the hell did I even care?

  I shouldn’t care, and I knew it.

  … I just wished it were easier to make that line up with reality.

  eight.

  Cons-

  On the team that I work for (I don’t need those problems)

  Inconsistent (Stays in trouble, even after saying he’s gonna do better)

  Constantly seen with new women (Can I trust him to be faithful?)

  Arrogant – thinks I want him (I do, but he’s conceited for thinking everybody does)

  Zero filter (Can’t seem to not say crazy shit on camera.)

  Pros –

  That body (Those abs… that dick…)

  That face (Those dimples… deserve a line of their own)

  Those dimples

  Those lips (Amazing kisser)

  Very good with his hands (On the field, and in the bedroom)

  Wait… my pros list is shallow as hell so far…

  Makes me laugh (even when I don’t want to)

  Generous (consistently one of the team’s biggest charity donors)

  Dedicated, focused (on the field – can never say he doesn’t take the game seriously)

  Loves football (equally… maybe even more than I do)

  Honest to a fault (is this a thing?)

  Hmmm. Too many pros…

  More cons-

  I feel weird if we’re in same room (Does he have to undress me with his eyes?)

  Good chance I’ll end up looking stupid (Put my reputation on the line, just to get embarrassed when he leaves me behind for some sweet little 20yo actress, or exotic dancer “friend”? I don’t fucking think so.)

  Makes me feel… not myself. (That butterflies in the belly, flushed cheeks, throbbing coochie shit is for teenagers and romance novels… right?)

  “
COLE!”

  I looked up from my tablet with wide eyes, dropping my stylus pen as I hurriedly turned off the screen. I pressed the stop button on the treadmill and pulled my earbuds out, scowling harder at Presley than she deserved.

  “What?” I asked, forcing myself not to snap the words at her. “What are you even doing in my house?”

  Presley lifted an eyebrow. “Uhh, you called me at five this morning, insisting that I get here by seven. You said we were working from here today, instead of your office… remember?”

  “Oh.” I grabbed my bottle of water off the treadmill, taking a long swig before I nodded. “Yeah, I remember. Sorry.”

  I let out a deep sigh as I put the water down, and grabbed my towel to wipe the layer of sweat off my brow. A glance at the clock told me it was the middle of the morning, the Wednesday after the last game. I was working from home to avoid seeing Jordan.

  “You’ve been on the treadmill for like three hours. Is that healthy?”

  I let out another sigh. I was on the treadmill when I was supposed to be working to avoid thinking about Jordan. According to the pro/con comparison list I’d started creating on my tablet, that hadn’t quite worked out too well.

  “I’m fine, Pres. Is that what you interrupted me for?”

  She shook her head. “I actually stepped in to let you know your stepmother was here.”

  I frowned as I took another drink of water, and stepped off the treadmill. “My who?”

  “Your stepmother. Melinda Richardson, your father’s wife?”

  I started coughing as water went down my throat the wrong way – my body’s negative reaction to a woman not even physically old enough to have a child my age be referred to as my “stepmother.”

  “Well damn, Cole. I knew I wasn’t your favorite person, but you’re literally gagging. That’s amazing.”

  My breath caught in my newly-cleared throat as Mel appeared in the doorway to my home office, looking like my father’s money. Presley’s eyes went big, and she looked between me and Mel before she scurried away, leaving us alone. Me in sweat-soaked Ivy Park workout gear, her in immaculate ready-to-wear Gucci.