Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

  “Was there something I can do for you, Presley?” I asked, looking up at my assistant with what I hoped wasn’t a fully annoyed expression.

  “Actually your friends are here. Naima and Margo. Should I send them in?”

  I forced myself not to pout like a toddler. “Sure. Send them in.”

  “Got it. And uh… you may want to…” She waved at the general area of her chest, then looked at me. “Maybe I should… adjust the temperature?”

  My eyes went wide, and I looked down at my chest to see that my nipples were pressed, in high definition, against the front of my silk blouse. I quickly crossed an arm over my chest.

  “Thank you Presley.”

  “You’re welcome Cole. I’ll send them in.”

  I blew out a sigh, cursing myself for not locking my damned door. I also made a mental note to change Jordan’s name in my phone, if he was going to be doing this type of thing.

  “You play too much. That video autoplayed!”

  “Where is my picture? You aren’t playing enough, obviously, because I’m not seeing it. – J. Johnson.”

  “Be ready when I get back. The first thing I want to do is get inside of you. You going to make that happen for me? – J. Johnson.”

  “Yes.”

  “No panties. – J. Johnson.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. – J. Johnson.”

  I sucked in a breath, biting down on my lip as another video came through, this one of his climax. I squirmed in my seat, mouth watering as a thick gush of –

  “Coooole!”

  Damn it.

  “Heeey!” I exclaimed, standing up to greet my friends.

  Naima sucked her teeth. “Uh-uh, don’t try to act all excited now, like you haven’t been dodging us since you started getting dicked down by your old work again.”

  “Shhhh!” I said, looking around them to make sure Presley hadn’t stepped in. “I’d like it if the whole Kings organization didn’t hear about it.”

  Margo giggled. “Relax, Cole. Nobody knows, stop freaking out.”

  “You knew as soon as you saw me.”

  I shuddered, thinking about getting off that awkward plane ride with JJ and my father. Margo and Chloe had met us in the hangar, and Margo’s eyes went wide as soon as she saw my face.

  “Bitch you didn’t,” she whispered, pulling me off to the side. “But it’s all over your face.” She moved my hair to the side before I could smack her hand away. “And your neck! You did, didn’t you?!”

  What was I going to do, lie in my friend’s face?

  Not an option.

  “Because I’ve known you forever. You haven’t had the good dick glow since college.”

  “And it took your college beau to bring it back,” Naima teased. “And don’t tell me you’re still on that “undefined” mess with him.”

  I huffed. “As a matter of fact, I am. I just don’t want to jinx anything. We’re taking it slow.”

  Margo shook her head as she dropped into a seat across from my desk. “Girl, you’re crazy. When Jordan gets back here, I’m going to be giving him paperwork for a very lucrative new endorsement deal. You didn’t hear it from me, but his stock is about to shoot through the roof. You may want to go ahead and lock him down, before one of these professional wife wannabes gets their hooks in him.”

  “I’m not letting that scare me. If Jordan and I are supposed to be, we will. But I need to be sure before I make anything official. I’m risking a lot.”

  Naima rolled her eyes. “We know, we know. Your job, your reputation, blah blah. I think you care more than anybody else does.”

  “Maybe that would be true, if I worked in another position. But I’ll be negotiating his contract. His future with this team. It’s bad enough that his agent is one of my best friends. You really think nobody is going to care that a player’s girlfriend is deciding how much of the team’s salary budget is going to him? I can think of about fifty football players who will care a lot. And besides that – do I think my father would fire me for this? Probably not. But I think I would get heavily scolded, and that it would change his perception of me. The whole organization’s perception. Cole Richardson is the girl who fucks players. The treatment I get now is bad enough.”

  Margo reached across the desk, covering her hand with mine. “I get it. I deal with some of that too, as a female sports agent. I actually think you’re smart to consider that angle, for when your relationship goes public. But… none of that has shit to do with you making it official with him. So what’s the real reason?”

  I scowled as I pulled my hand away, annoyed that she was making me face such questions, when I didn’t have an answer that most would find acceptable.

  Naima chuckled. “Don’t look so stricken. Margo is just messing with you. We know your ass is scared. We don’t know why you’re so scared, but we know you are.”

  For a long moment, I didn’t say anything. I just considered the question.

  When I took away my concerns about my job, about my reputation, all of that… what was I really afraid of?

  The same things that every woman is.

  Hurt.

  Betrayal.

  Loving the hell out of someone who doesn’t love you back.

  Embarrassment.

  Loss.

  I’d grown up in this world of football, and even as a young girl, seen so much of that. Flashed across the TV, live and in-color. I’d heard the conversations over poker and cigars when I was supposed to be asleep, but was hiding and listening instead. I’d seen wives and girlfriends discarded, left with nothing but a child support check and a few kids, while the player moved on to someone else. I’d witnessed that devastation first hand – had managed it, so my player could focus on the field instead of the girlfriend grieving their relationship, wanting him back.

  I never wanted to feel that.

  But I did want Jordan.

  Which left me not knowing what the hell to do.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I asked, shaking my head. “You guys already have your tickets for this ball, right? It’s tomorrow night.”

  Naima cut her eyes toward the ceiling. “Yes, you’ve only asked about 50 times. Do you have your dress yet? Did you coordinate with Jordan?”

  “No, I did not,” I scolded. “I did let Jessmyn do my dress though, even though I already had one. It’s being delivered tomorrow. And the team gets back tomorrow afternoon, right on time to get ready.”

  “Mmmhmm. Are you bringing a date to make Jordan jealous? Or is he bringing one to make you jealous?” Margo asked.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t even get jealous like that, first of all. Second, no, neither of us is bringing a date. But I can’t wait for him to see me in this dress.”

  Damn it.

  Later that night, I climbed into bed early, frustratingly horny and restless. I was sure the event was going to go fine, but for some reason… I just felt unsettled.

  After about an hour of useless tossing and turning, trying to calm my mind, I climbed out of bed and went to my closet, pulling out the dress I’d let Jessmyn talk me into.

  I’d denied it when she basically accused me of being back with Jordan, but if I were completely honest with myself… I enjoyed it. And I was fully comfortable convincing myself that it was only because it was Jess.

  Since the first time we met, I was charmed by Jordan’s little sister, with her pretty mahogany skin, trademark Johnson dimples, and audacious personality. She could talk, and talk, and talk, but it was somehow never annoying, and I loved the fact that she doted on her big brother. If anybody could claim the title of his biggest cheerleader, it would definitely be her.

  And, the girl was talented.

  I preferred a little bit more of a classic style, but admired her bold flair. It was only through her assurance that I was wearing a slinky Kings gold gown that almost looked like it was made of liquid. The neckline was modest, showing only my collarbone and ne
ck, held up by miniscule straps that looped around my shoulders. The fabric clung to my body, showing every curve I had, and the back was… nonexistent. My shoulder blades and back were completely exposed, down to an inch above what would be downright indecent.

  I loved it when I put it on – and so would Jordan.

  I took the dress out of the garment bag to look at, imagining how he would react when he saw me in it. The only thing I could do was suppress an embarrassed smile as my skin flushed, just thinking about his eyes on me, imagining what was underneath.

  Wow.

  Here I was again, not even thinking like my normal self. Me, dressing for a man’s enjoyment? Please. The idea was laughable.

  Only… not so much anymore.

  I shook my head at myself, and put my dress back in the bag to hang up. As I climbed into bed, I pulled my phone from the charger, and began clearing the new notifications that had piled up.

  My heart slammed to the front of my chest as Jordan’s name crossed my screen in headline after headline from gossip blogs. Immediately, my brain went into panic mode, wondering what could have happened.

  He was supposed to be just celebrating the win the team had managed without him, thanks to Trent’s skill. What kind of trouble could he have gotten into?

  I took a deep breath, calming myself enough to actually process what I was seeing on my screen. Hot tears of embarrassment welled in my eyes as I read the headlines, then went through the accompanying pictures one by one.

  “I knew this shit was too good to be true,” I mumbled to myself as I swallowed the urge to cry. I dabbed at my eyes, clearing away the impending tears, then took a deep breath as I forced myself to change focus.

  And then… I got mad.

  It turned out perfect.

  Everything.

  The ballroom, the decorations, the music, the food, the lights, the cameras.

  Everything.

  The floor of the ballroom was gorgeous marble, with the Kings’ logo inlaid in tile across the middle. Sheer white fabrics draped from polished glass sculpture chandeliers, creating a vibe of luxury that was even better than I’d imagined. The lights were down somewhat low, allowing the projection of the Kings logo onto the drapery to stand out. Instead of red, the carpet for entry was gold. Current music blasted from the speakers, loud enough to dance to, but not drown out conversation.

  It was perfect.

  There were at least 700 guests in the room, and at a thousand dollars per ticket, I knew my father would be thrilled. After all the vendors were paid, every penny of the significant proceeds would go into the Evelyn Richardson Foundation, named for my mother. ERF fought against the impact of the school-to-prison pipeline, providing troubled inner-city kids – like my father had been – resources and alternatives to change their lives, and break the generational curses of incarceration and poverty. It was my father’s passion, focused equally on helping all kids, up through eighteen. I was very, very pleased to see this year’s event be successful.

  And that was about the only thing I was pleased about.

  I struggled to keep my feelings off of my face as I mingled with the partygoers, smiling and laughing though it was the last place I wanted to be. Internally, I cringed as Wilson Redford – a member of the Kings’ defensive line – approached me, licking his lips as he looked me up and down.

  It wasn’t exactly rare for some of the guys on the team to make me feel uncomfortable. It was actually more rare for them not to. With that said, some of them were harmless, or at least seemed to be. Some… were creepier than others. Like pedophile Todd Browning.

  And Wilson Redford, who always looked at me like he was undressing me with his eyes.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, stroking his tie as he stopped in front of me. “You were always fine, Cole, but goddamn. Dance with me?”

  I was all set to tell him hell fucking no when my father walked up, grinning. “This is wonderful, Nicole,” he said, gently grabbing my shoulders, and bending to kiss my cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, Redford?”

  “Very much,” was his eager reply. “But I’d enjoy myself even more if your beautiful daughter would indulge me in a dance.”

  Shit.

  “Of course.” I forced a smile to my face, not caring if it looked like I was wincing. My father beamed as I allowed Redford to take my hand, leading me onto the floor.

  I was relieved that the music had been switched to something more… neutral, by the time we reached the designated dance floor. Still, Redford pulled me way too close, holding me way too tight, touching the bare skin at my back way too much.

  “Can I have some breathing room, please?” I asked, squirming away from him.

  He grinned, like I was joking. “You keep wiggling against me like that, I’m gonna have to take you home.”

  My heart slammed to the front of my chest, and my nostrils flared. “Listen, motherfucker,” I hissed, going completely still. “You’ve got two seconds to get your clammy ass hands off me, or I swear I’m gonna set it off.”

  He sneered at me for one of those seconds, and I reared my knee back, ready to slam his balls through his nose if I needed to.

  “Yo, Big Red. You mind if I cut in?”

  “Big Red’s” expression completely changed at the sound of Jordan’s voice behind him, and he immediately let me go.

  “All yours,” he mumbled, then hurried away, probably before I could tell Jordan what had just happened. As if I would.

  “I’ve been looking for you. You’re a hard woman to catch up with,” Jordan mused as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. It was a completely different feeling from when Redford had done it, but I couldn’t even enjoy it like I wanted to. “I’ve been calling you, trying to see you all day.”

  I shook my head. “Whatever, Jordan.” I was limp in his arms as he tried to dance, not returning any of the energy he was giving me. He frowned.

  “What’s up with you?” he asked, leaning toward my ear to deliver the question in a low voice. “I thought you were going to miss me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ask Dawn Oliver if she missed you,” I hissed.

  Ugh.

  I hated the way my voice shook when I said that. Hated the way my tears sprang to my eyes. Hated the fact that I was still so upset about the pictures that had sprung up last night, of Jordan looking very cozy with Dawn Oliver, a Broadway starlet he’d been seen with many times over the last two years.

  The vibration of laughter in Jordan’s chest made my anger spike.

  “Oh, it’s funny to you? That after those messages you sent me at my desk, after you’ve been trying to convince me to be more open to us being together, you’re gallivanting all over the city with another woman?! You didn’t even watch the game!” I whisper yelled, then yanked my way out of his arms. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this! If you wanna know “what’s up with me”, maybe you should ask Dawn.”

  I stomped away from him, grateful for the low lighting and loud music to camouflage what had just transpired. I walked right past Nate, and then Sanchez, who was in Presley’s face, to make my way to one of the bathrooms lining the hall.

  I was getting ready to turn the lock on the door when it blew open again. I looked out to see Jordan on the other side, with an expression that was very, very far from amused.

  He stalked into the bathroom behind me and slammed the door before he locked it and turned to me.

  “Let me tell you something,” he said, towering over me. “This shit, right here? You don’t get to do this.”

  “What shit?”

  “This shit,” he growled, gesturing between us. “This jealous shit. You’re the one who said “nothing serious”, or did I imagine that?”

  I scoffed. “So you think that justifies you acting all lovey-dovey with me, then getting on a plane to “support the team”, when really you were going to fuck your other woman?!”

  “I did not fuck her!” he bellowed, looking me right in the face
. “I have never fucked her. She is my mentor’s daughter!”

  I swallowed hard, momentarily struck silent by his words. “Well,” I said, when I finally found another jab to throw, “Can you blame me for thinking so, Jordan?! Until a few weeks ago, you had a different woman on your arm every other day!”

  “So?!” He tossed his hands in the air in the meager space between us in the tiny bathroom. “I love women, and women love me. That does not mean I’m fucking everybody I’m pictured with. Contrary to popular belief, I can control my dick quite well, and I’m pretty goddamned discriminatory about where I stick it. Cin – my damn friend. Dawn – my damn friend. Hell, Trent – my goddamned friend, since you seem so worried I’m fucking somebody else! I don’t want anybody but you, crazy ass girl! Why can’t you trust me?!”

  “It’s been two weeks, barely, and it’s like you expect me to just make a complete turn for you. You’re not risking anything. I’m risking everything! The only thing I’ve asked you for is understanding, and time, and you act like it should just be easy for me! It’s not! You haven’t done anything for me to trust you yet.”

  His hands fell to his sides. “And I haven’t done anything for you to not trust me either… have I?”

  My eyes welled with tears at the defeated look on his face, and I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “You haven’t.” Neither of us said anything for a few moments, and I wiped my face. “You know what… maybe we’re not supposed to do this. Clearly, we’re on two different pages, and I… this is too much. You don’t deserve this. I honestly don’t deserve a second chance with you. So… maybe we should just stop trying to force it.”

  Why the hell did I just say that?

  I didn’t even mean it. I didn’t even want that, it just seemed like the proper thing to say, even though I felt like my heart was about to explode in my chest. If I was just going to keep hurting him, keep disappointing him, maybe it was best to let him go, let him be with someone with no fears, no baggage.

  Maybe best for him…even if it hurt like hell for me.