by Lane, Stacy
“When was your last relationship?” he asks, cutting through the quiet.
“Little over a year ago.”
“Why’d it end?”
“He died.”
Brooks’s mouth falls ajar. “Oh. Uh, sorry, Jo.”
“Don’t be,” I respond flippantly. “I just found out he lied about everything he ever told me.”
“Damn.”
“Yep.”
“Next subject,” he quips with a smile. “What is Jo short for? Josephine, Joana, or maybe you’re just Jo.”
“Jolene.”
“Jolene,” he repeats, and for the first time in my life, I like the sound of my name.
“Mom’s a big Dolly Parton fan. Jolene is her favorite song.”
“That song doesn’t paint Jolene in a good light,” he draws out, hoping not to offend.
“My mom doesn’t think every step all the way through. She loved the song, and I was born with reddish hair and green emerald eyes. The red hair didn’t stay and she didn’t connect that the song was about a home wrecker.”
“Are you two close?”
“That’s a relative answer. I don’t know what it feels like to be close to one’s parents. I remember watching movies with daughters confiding everything with their moms, and it had me believing I was a terrible daughter. I thought something was wrong with me for not feeling so close to the people who gave me life. But then I hit my teens and went through some pretty rough high school years and when I tried speaking to my parents about it I always ended up questioning every choice I made. Nothing ever felt resolved, or like I had the support those girls in the movies had. Sorry, that was a lot of heavy insight.”
“No,” he shakes his head, staring at me with conviction as if I gave him the key to a treasure that’s been locked away for too long. “What happened in high school?”
“I probably sound shallow for saying this, but I was a heavy girl.” Brooks’s warm expression encourages me to go on. “Looking back, there was nothing wrong with my size. I was a nerd and bigger than all the pretty girls. I just wish I had someone back then telling me it’s okay to be curvy because that didn’t make me any less pretty than them. Someone who would’ve taught me a positive way to see that. Instead, I went on a diet and lost the weight and still lacked confidence. Girls need support systems, and I wish I had that when it mattered the most. Insecurities are a bitch.” I laugh, though it’s without humor, and dispels like a car on its last surge of fuel before slowly dying out.
My brother was a part of that asshole crowd who called me fat. My mother was the one who forced me to lose weight. Said it would make me happy.
I lost weight and lost my full set of boobs right along with it. A flat belly was supposed to change peoples opinions, but instead, all they saw afterward were the flat boobs.
Brooks moves, capturing my attention, and walks over to me. My heart starts pounding. His prowl gives everything away. With the fierce look in his eyes I know he’s about to kiss me senseless.
My fingers have hardly detached from the coffee cup I set down when he’s crashing into me full frontal. His hand grips the nape of my neck, tilting my head back to take my mouth with a hungry kiss. There’s no time to think, not a second to spare to wonder what his next move will be. I let go of control and allow Brooks to take it all.
The wet warmth of his tongue clashes against mine. My head spins with consuming lust. I knew I was in deep with it, but the rapid speed it hits me at every time blows me away. Pressed against his firm frame grounds me. Makes all these sensations believable, thankfully, because without them I would swear we were floating on air.
He’s kissed with intensity before, but this one feels different. The others were about giving in to the moment and the rise of chemistry. This kiss is proving something. I can taste the intent on his tongue. Brooks is pleading me to understand something I’m not sure I ever will.
That I’m perfect just the way I am.
“I’m terrible at this friend business,” he breaths out between kisses.
“Yes, you are,” I agree, breathing just as heavy as he is.
“Tell me to stop,” he begs.
“No.”
Why would I ever do that?
With both hands in his hair, I shut him up completely with my mouth. The bend in my back hits the sharp edge of the counter, but I don’t care. He tastes like pumpkin, and I’ve never been able to resist that around this time of the year.
Brooks thrusts his hips into mine. The hard bulge in his pants hits my center, ripping a moan from my throat I don’t even recognize.
His hands slip underneath my baggy sweater. The tank top I wore beneath was tight and small, not even long enough to cover my midriff. Rough fingers skim along the rim of my cotton shorts. When his thumbs dip under the elastic waistband and press pressure points on the front of my hips, dangerously close to the hot, dripping apex of my body, I’m stripping my mouth away from his in order to breath at all.
“So responsive,” he mutters.
“It’s you,” I say unaware.
“No,” he responds, dropping his lips down my jaw and onto my neck. “It’s us.” His thumb swipes lower and my head falls back. “I want nothing more than to take you right here, but I’m not going to, Jo.”
“Wh-why?” I stutter.
“I just wanted to make a point, and I think I did just that.”
“A. Point. For. What.” I ground out, frustrated that he’s ever so slightly stopping the beautiful advance he was making down below.
“I wanted to show you what all the idiots before me never did,” he answers with clarity. His serious tone has me searching his eyes. “Before I even kissed you I was turned on by you. Answering the door in your big sweater and socks and crazy hair is one of the best images of you that I’ll be storing in my brain for later.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter.
“That’s your problem. Stop second guessing everything. I just told you I like this look.”
Pinching my lips, I stare at him dubiously.
“Guess my point wasn’t made after all.”
“You should kiss me again and try harder.”
Brooks grins. “It’s late, and I have practice early tomorrow morning. If I stay I would be up all night long trying to prove you are worth so much more than you think.”
“You just might be good for my self-esteem, Brooks.”
“That’s my mission,” he says, placing one final, long kiss on my lips. “I’m taking the pumpkin roll, by the way.”
“Only if I get the apple pie.”
“Deal.”
He helps me clean up the small number of dirty dishes we made. Then, with the dessert tucked in his grasp, I follow him to the front door.
Trailing behind, I say to him before he reaches the door, “You asked all those questions about me, but I never asked any of you.”
“Like how I did that, don’t ya,” he teases.
I shove his back with my hand.
“Fine. Ask me one thing,” he says. Brooks stops in front of the door, hand resting on the knob, and turning his body to me.
I tuck both hands inside the single pocket at the front of my sweater. Tilting my head to the side in thought, I ponder what I want to know the most.
Well, this is not what I want to know the most about him, but it did make me very curious.
“Why are you anti-marriage?”
“Love today is fleeting.” As if this is a prepared speech, he keeps going on. “Marriages don’t last, people change their minds on what they want every day. If it’s doomed from the start, why waste the effort. I don’t believe love is meant to last, but I do believe people come into our lives when we need them.”
“I’m in your life,” I state, though it sounds like a question.
“Yes.”
“What could you possibly need me for?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” he smirks, holding my gaze for a while. Neither one of us moves as t
he air grows thick, the tension increasing. I feel like I’m physically being pulled closer to him though I haven’t moved an inch. His eyes caress all the curves in my face, stopping to lock on my gaze one final time as he says, “I didn’t know I was missing anything I needed.”
FIFTEEN
Brooks
Practice the next morning is spent with me brooding over another unfulfilled night alone.
No, that’s not it entirely. Somehow spending the little moments with Jo is more fulfilling than a tangle in the sheets with any other woman.
Coach had us running drills, which I did poorly at and got my ass handed to me as a result. Now we were finishing the day up in the weight room with the trainers breathing down our necks.
I paired up with Vic, who spotted me at the bench press and snarled at me from above through his mean ass beard.
“Too much turkey?” he snips with a twisted grin.
“Desserts. Apple and pumpkin to be specific,” I mumble through huffing each breath I inhale and exhale. 175 pounds is the max the trainers want me lifting, though I could lift more, it was still heavy as shit.
I verbally blame the desserts, but I know damn well my sleepless night was filled with fantasies about a beautiful blonde who battled insecurities I wanted to rip apart and show her how inconsequential they truly were.
Listening to her explain the relationship or the lack of one, she has with her family made me see how blessed I am for mine. My parents couldn’t have been more encouraging with my brothers and I growing up. Thank God they never tried to give us more encouragement than they did because all three of us were overly confident at the best of times.
What Jo revealed gave me some more insight as to why she throws up the armor in public. When it’s just her and I she’s not like that, but with an audience it was noticeable.
The self-doubt stems from childhood, but she’s a beautiful, successful, intelligent woman now. I’m left to assume her shithead ex did some damage in her adulthood.
Dead ex.
Honestly didn’t see that slap shot coming at all.
There was something about Jo that I wanted to protect. She was vibrant, but also innocent. Getting mixed up with me could ruin that. I did not live the quiet lifestyle she said she looked for in a guy.
Wait.
I can’t be her guy for multiple reasons. Reason one being: I won’t ever settle down.
Vic speaks, cutting through my mental crisis of almost talking myself into being Jo’s knight in shining armor.
“Flush that shit out,” he says. “Game day tomorrow and we don’t need our key player performing how he did during practice today.”
“Just an off day. Everybody has them.”
“I’ve never seen you with an off day, Brooksy. Are you having women trouble?” The bar slips as I go to lift up. Vic uses quick reflexes and catches the weights before they crush me. “Thought that could be it.”
“It’s not women trouble,” I gripe.
“You’re not getting laid.”
“No one’s fault but my own,” I add beneath my breath.
It was me that walked away last night. Jo wouldn’t have stopped me if I carried her to her bedroom. Shit. She wouldn’t have stopped me if I lifted her up on that counter and took her right there.
When the fuck did I become sensible?
“Is the equipment not working?” Vic laughs. And he’s not referring to the weights.
“Fuck you.”
“No sex makes you testy.”
“Wait till you piss off Chelse and she withholds the goodies from you,” I retort.
“She knows better,” he responds all cocksure.
I sit up, Vic at my back. “Switch.”
Vic lays down as I add his extra weights to the bar. Gripping the steel with his bear claws, he starts pumping up and down with powerful force.
On his second rep, Chelsea enters the weight room. Her platinum curls catch my eye as she peers around the crowded room looking for her husband. When she spots us, her hurried, heel-clicking feet strut across the room toward us.
“Vic,” she rushes out. “I need the car. Can you get a ride from one of the guys?”
“Why?” he asks, not bothering to pause his workout.
“Because I need the car,” she retorts with frustration.
I want to clap and cheer “good for you!” Usually, Chelsea takes whatever Vic demands like an obedient little wife. It doesn’t go unnoticed from the guys as much as she probably would like to believe.
Vic racks the bar without my spot, sitting up. “Where do you need to go in such a hurry?”
“Jo’s,” she responds, flickering her gaze briefly toward me before looking away.
“Why can’t she come here to pick you up if you want to go out so bad?”
“We’re not going out,” she argues, a film covering her eyes, back standing tall. “You know what, I have my own car key. Get a ride. I’ll be at Jo’s.”
Pinching my lips together, my eyes pop at her bold statement. I’ve never seen Chelsea stand up to her husband that way.
I want to be proud she found her voice, but the fact that she’s in such a rush, and avoiding any eye contact with me that last longer than a second, has me concerned.
“Chelsea,” I call after her. She slows and then spins. “Is Jo okay?”
“Ah, shit man,” Vic inserts. “Is Jo the one who has you all fucked up?”
I ignore him and the few stares from the guys near us. Quite a few commented on my mistakes today. But my mess-ups were all mine. Jo is not to blame for me being out of touch with my focus.
“Guess you haven’t looked at any social media sites,” Chelsea says, worry lacing her voice.
Initially, I don’t connect the two.
But then…Fuck.
Did someone follow me to her house last night? Stalkers are not an abnormal thing. Jo freaked out that one night in my car after the game. If someone saw me go to her place she was probably losing it.
“Maybe you should take it as a sign to stay away from that girl,” Vic mutters.
“This has nothing to do with Brooks.” Chelsea glares down at her husband.
“She’s messing with his head. Sounds like a tease.”
“Vic!”
Fist balling tightly, I ground out, “Watch it, man.”
“Sorry,” Vic replies defensively, raising his hands. “But I think she’s in over her head with a guy like you.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Teeth grinding, I’m moments away from my first career suspension because I’m about to knock out my own teammate.
“You are way out of her league.” Vic shoves back when I step for him. “Whoa! Chill the fuck out, Brooks.”
“I don’t tell you shit about your woman,” I spit. “So keep your opinions to yourself.”
Vic’s face freezes, eye growing cold. The weight and height he has on me won’t matter. Calling Jo names, and dimensioning her character in front of me and her friend will not be accepted.
From what I’ve seen, Jo is liked by everyone on this team, including the wives. Vic may have some learning to catch up on, but this team—this family—we do not disparage our own.
“This is ridiculous. I have to go.” Chelsea walks off again, this time not turning around when I call her name.
Following her into the hallway, she finally stops.
“What happened?” I demand. When her hand comes up to rest on her hip, eyebrow lifting as she glares back at me, I correct myself. “Sorry. Just please tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t know the whole story,” Chelsea answers with attitude. “One of the WAGs saw Jo being tagged in a photo with Noah Werner. She didn’t even know it was Noah until the pic kept popping up repeatedly. And unsurprisingly, the trolls are going after her at full force.”
“With Noah,” I say briskly.
“Yeah, that night at the bar. We were there.”
“Right. Yeah.”
Like a bucket
of water being dumped over my head, my temper cools. That night didn’t even occur to me. I thought Chelsea meant Jo has been with Noah since then.
But that didn’t explain the significance to the rest of the public society.
“What did Jo say?”
“Overwhelmed, that’s all she gave me. I guess her phone started chiming with tags last night so she turned off the notifications. She’s not big into social media, but these people found her anyway. I just got off the phone with Taytum, her best friend. She asked me to go check on her.” Chelsea twines her fingers together with concern. “I don’t know how she’s connected to Noah, but Taytum says it’s not what we may think.”
That tale is dead and buried.
Jo’s ex-boyfriend died.
Jo never met Noah before until that night. Yet he’s the ex’s brother. She hasn’t confirmed that, but I know that’s their connection.
The problem now is the rest of the world believes their connection is something juicier for their gossip-hungry lives. I don’t have to search social media to prove what I already believe is being said about Jo and Noah.
“Jo’s pretty sensitive, Brooks. Overwhelmed is an understatement if she’s aware of her face being plastered all over the Internet. And the hate people are spewing in the comments…” she sighs, shaking her head.
“Go tell Vic you’re leaving the car. I’ll take you to Jo’s.” Turning around I head for the locker room.
“She’s probably embarrassed enough, Brooks. Why do you want to go?” she yells after me.
“I need to see that she’s okay,” is the only answer I give before I slam through the locker room doors.
Vic had my temper all set to explode. Hearing that Jo is tied up with Noah in any way has me shaking with barely contained fury.
Other than my need to pound someone’s face in, I was worried. I’ve come to understand Jo enough that the world of social media could do her mental harm.
It was just another reason I should be keeping my distance. But I can’t do that when I know she needs a friend more.