by Amber Malloy
He’d asked a couple of guys on the team, but that hadn’t gotten anywhere. Most of them lived in sports housing. Unless she traveled in their circle, Hot Girl had managed to ghost an entire university. Then it had occurred to him that her friends had worn sorority jackets. Once he’d started with that thin thread of evidence, it had led him to the university pool. Every week the ladies would sneak into the building. Since most of them swam naked, the guards allowed it and kept tabs on them over the monitors.
Leaning against the brick wall, Knox played with his phone. A half-hour later, the girl of his dreams walked out of the women’s locker room.
“Supastar!” she cried. Her wet hair made her appear vulnerable and sweet, while her dark T-shirt molded to her skin. He had to imagine practice on a hot summer day to control a woody from springing up and embarrassing him. “How did you find me?”
“Tenacity.” He kicked off the wall. “Name.”
“Remy.”
Of course she was named after a stiff drink. “Full name?”
“We’re not there yet.” She chuckled. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Are you kidding me?” Shocked, his mouth fell open. “What happened to the ‘pick you up at the door’ type of deal?”
“Take it or leave it, Supastar.” Remy winked, and her obnoxiously hot, flirtatious act caused his stomach to do cartwheels.
“Had you given me your name already, we could have been over this part by now.”
“So-o-o confident.” Her whole face lit up.
Down, dick, down, he instructed his cock.
“Are you going?” Eight of her friends gathered at the locker room entrance, waiting for her to answer.
“A deal’s a deal,” she said.
“Well, all right, white boy.”
The ladies favored him with a slow, off-beat clap of congratulations that he happily accepted. Regardless of the sarcastic overtone, Knox took a much-deserved bow.
Chapter One
Six years later
Absorbing the manic energy from the crowd, the Mavericks football team jogged down the hallway leading out to the field. Knox had a load of shit on his mind, but if he wanted to lead his team to victory, he needed to focus.
“We are warriors. We are gladiators. We are beasts!” Andre Burnet, their running back, shouted before they took that last step into the stadium. “And if you don’t know anything else, you know to get the ball to that fucking superhero.” They slapped each other on the head and ran onto the field. The whole first string howled.
Returning his mind back to the task at hand, Knox threw his head back and joined them. “Let’s win this mutha fucka!”
And win they did! After they’d stumbled along with a rough first half of the game, the Mavericks had taken control of the ball in the third quarter and scored their city a second Mega Bowl title.
Sweat-soaked, Knox flipped his winning Mega Bowl hat around to face the back and put it on his head. After copious amounts of champagne and confetti had hit the field, key players of the team were now forced to talk to the press before they could party. They sat at the press conference table with the giant trophy placed dead center between the team’s starters.
“This is your second consecutive win. What was your team’s strategy?” a dude from SportsNet asked. Knox couldn’t remember his name, but his fresh face rang a bell. Eventually, the grit of the football beat would knock that eager expression straight off his mug.
“Our defense was on point, and once our QB got the ball, it was nothing but T-town,” Andre told the reporters.
“Knox, you’ve had a good season, but your personal life has far surpassed anything you’ve achieved on the field.”
“Look, Artie… I know you were rooting for the Steers, but you got stuck with me,” Knox told the old man he’d had a run-in with at his very first Maverick’s press conference. Everyone in the room chuckled. Artie had been a thorn in his side ever since.
“No, no… It’s just that you’ve been linked to pop stars and models, but there’s no mention of the woman you married in college. And it looks like you are still married to—”
A freight train of panic roared between his ears. He knew that one day it would get out. He had actually counted on it. However, he hadn’t thought that this was going to be that day.
“At the time, your father wasn’t Canada’s prime minster. There’s speculation that you needed a green card to stay in the country for the draft.”
As everyone waited for his answer, complete silence took over the floor. Artie had always had a hard-on for him and gave him bits of grief from time to time. The old shit must have finally decided to take his big shot before he retired. Instead of allowing the dread of the unknown to settle into his soul, Knox plastered on his most dazzling smile.
“Sorry, Artie. The only quote you’re getting from me is that my dance card is full. That’s what you old-timers understand as ‘I’m not available’, right?” His team laughed, which helped break the strange tension in the room. “Other than that, I don’t talk about my personal life.”
“But we do.” Andre grabbed the microphone away from him. “Our boy Bo is currently available, so anyone who doesn’t want our handsome quarterback, talk to Easy Breezy over here.”
The whole room laughed.
While that tight fist of anxiety punched at his gut, Knox texted two little words on his phone.
Need you.
* * * *
The press had camped outside his Chicago condo for days. Early that morning, he’d had to exit through the dry cleaners that was stationed at the opposite end of the building. Amazed that no one had caught on to that trick, he pressed his luck a little bit more and grabbed a coffee down the street. Hopefully, the excitement over his personal life would end sooner rather than later. After the promotional tour, he could leave the States in search of Remy.
Knox rode the elevator up to the penthouse. The private one for his suite only worked from the garage. Unfortunately, TMZ and Entertainment Tonight had posted around-the-clock camera guys at every entrance.
When the cab doors opened to his floor, he found a very serious-looking woman standing in front of his condo. Dripping sweat from his workout, he sighed. Knox took out his earbuds to greet glasses, gray hair and a business suit. The real-life version of Edna E. Mode from The Incredibles stared at him.
“Gavin Knox, Doris Petite,” she greeted him in a dry tone. “Your father hired me. I’m your fixer.”
As he unlocked the door and held it open for her, Knox noted the woman’s rigid posture. “Aren’t you a couple of days late?” She merely waved her hand at him on her way past. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have picked you up something.” He held up his coffee cup.
“Water’s fine,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.
Knox followed her in to his luxury two-story condo. To curb his love of all things country, he’d made sure to pay for the best view in the city.
Doris walked into his place and set her purse down on his coffee table. “I’m going to get straight to the point. I don’t need you to tell me any long, drawn-out story. I just need truthful answers to the questions that I ask. If I feel you’re deceptive in any way, I’m out.” She handled a couple of his picture frames and souvenirs before placing them back on his shelf.
Given that she wasn’t exactly the warm, fuzzy type, Knox figured she must have been good at her job. Letting her explore his condo, he headed to the fridge.
“Is someone here?” Doris crossed his open floor plan toward the guest room. It was tucked away underneath the staircase.
“No.” Knox opened the fridge door to grab her a water. The maid only worked once a week and his best friend, Hawk, had an out-of-state game. Since he usually stayed in the spare room, Knox had the place to himself.
When he shut the door, Doris stood directly in front of him. Adding stealthy to his mental resume for her, he passed her the bottle of water. “Considering you’re in enough trouble, I
would suggest you keep your groupies in check for a while.”
“Wow, plural, not singular,” a voice he hadn’t heard for a while remarked.
As Remy Bell walked into the room, the hard hit of warmth spread through his chest. Wearing nothing but a towel, Remy’s huge curls billowed around her gorgeous head. He stared at the woman who held every part of his heart.
“Well, if it isn’t Hot Wife,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Supastar.” She threw him a crazy, sexy smile. “Heard you won a shiny doodad!”
“More like a pretty whatchamacallit,” he joked with her as the muted rays of the sun illuminated her cinnamon-colored skin. Knox fought the urge to push the publicist out of his path, but in a few short steps, he planted himself in front of Remy.
“What the entire hell!” Doris screamed. “Nope, nope, nopity-nope-nope… A hooker and a pound of coke— Is that too much to ask?” At an Olympic-style sprint, Doris grabbed her purse. Her sensible shoes tapped against his marble tiles near the foyer. “I don’t give a shit who your father is.”
Remy jumped from the hard slam of the door, but her smile remained in place. “Is it something I said?”
Ignoring that strange display of weirdness from the fixer, he slipped his arms around her.
When she flinched from his touch, he stopped his advancement inches away from her pouty lips. “What?”
“I had a thing at the airport,” she confessed.
“How big?” In an effort not to hurt her, he softened his touch, softly brushing his lips over hers.
“A smidge of a tumble.”
Knox’s chest tightened in that twisty, churning way that had threatened to consume him in the past. “Did someone assist in this inconsequential fall?” He nipped at her bottom lip.
“Running was involved,” she confirmed.
Unable to wait another second, Knox claimed her mouth. He took her lips between his and sucked, tenderly at first. His desire ramped up several notches.
“Hospital,” he hissed, hoping he could talk his dick down long enough to grab his keys.
“Clinic.” She matched the intensity of his lips. “They don’t keep the same type of records.”
Knox lingered for a moment longer before pulling away. “Need help getting dressed?”
A slight smirk transformed her angelic face into that sex kitten he loved. “I’m thinking no.”
Chapter Two
Remy ran over the menu in search of a vegetarian dish. She’d been meat-free for the past few months but hadn’t told Knox…yet. By the way he anxiously bobbed his leg up and down, she assumed this probably wasn’t the best time to spring it on him.
“The doctor said you should rest, so why didn’t we go straight home?” he wondered aloud.
“That fixer your dad hired changed her mind. Besides, she cleared out this really cool hipster restaurant for us.” Completely empty except for a few staff members, the little place had the cutest distressed brick walls. After they found a table that could accommodate Knox’s large frame, they waited for Doris to join them.
As Remy continued to scan the menu, she put her hand on his knee to calm his nerves.
“A little higher, baby,” he teased.
She glanced at the football hero. Dark brown hair, full lips and a square jaw that God had topped off with the most dazzling blue eyes she had ever seen created the perfect male specimen. Knox straightened his long legs out next to her.
While his white T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest, his jeans covered his amazing everything else. He would have appeared completely relaxed if his restless leg hadn’t given him away. Nervous energy seemed to radiate through the beautiful man’s entire body. Usually Knox hid his emotions pretty well, until they inevitably spilled over.
He pulled her wooden chair between his legs, bringing her closer to his face. “Are you going to tell me why your ribs are bruised? I mean, shit… It’s the same side that maniac cracked in college—”
Remy cut him off with her lips. After she had spent eight hours on a crappy two-engine plane, another three on a commercial flight then a million more in customs, she didn’t have the energy for the unavoidable fight. She almost never did with Knox, because the man always played to win.
He growled and captured her lips between his.
“Oh goody, we’re making out in public. Yeah for me,” Doris fake cheered. Bogged down with an arm full of magazines and files, she fought her way into a chair at their table. Remy hadn’t heard her come into the restaurant. “A Tom Collins, a White Russian and a shot of tequila,” she snapped at the waitress across the empty room. “Did you two want anything?” Similar to a crazed squirrel, Doris swiveled her silver-covered head back and forth between them. “No? No…good.”
Knox opened his eyes wide at Remy before turning away to hide his grin behind his hand.
“She’s gorgeous,” Doris barked at Knox.
“Gee, thanks, Dor, but I’m right here. And believe me when I say I love compliments,” Remy said.
“Trust me, hon. That wasn’t one. I’m equipped to deal with cokeheads, prostitutes and politicians, but not sports heroes cheating on perfect wives. That’s why I try not to take on a certain type of client, as a general rule.”
“Damn, girl, I’m going to be hard pressed not to like you,” Remy retorted.
Knox cleared his throat, probably in an attempt to stop her from messing with the publicist. He knew better than anyone that poking the bear was her favorite drug.
Doris threw down the first magazine from the pack. “You take epic pictures of the world’s worst crises then match them with dazzling words to make even my jaded ass care.” She continued to throw magazine after magazine of Remy’s work on the table. “Girls’ education in Pakistan, abortion rights in Ireland, freaking Brexit,” she listed. “I would be surprised if you didn’t get nominated for a Pulitzer.”
“Okay, that did it, dammit. Bring it in for a hug.” Remy stood, but the sharp bolt of pain caused her to hunch over and grab her side.
Knox reached out to steady her.
“What’s wrong?” The pinched expression on the woman’s face quickly turned into anger. “What the hell did he do to you?” Doris slapped at him.
“No, no, it’s okay.” Remy caught the woman’s hand in hers and held it. “Foreign airport. Heartbreaker here had nothing to do with it. I haven’t seen him for a few weeks now.”
“A month,” he fake-coughed into his hand.
Ignoring Knox, Remy asked, “You good?” before she let the woman go.
Doris nodded. “It’s just a trigger is all.” She sat back down without offering anyone an apology.
“We all have them. It’s cool,” Remy assured her.
“Yeah, that’s true. We do,” Doris agreed.
While nodding at Doris, Remy gently rubbed Knox’s leg. The energy, which had quickly morphed toward hostile, settled into a tepid awkward. They sat quietly until the waitress brought the fixer’s drink order.
“Do you mind?” Remy reached for the White Russian. “Let’s toast to escaping this mess with fewer scars than we came in with.”
Doris picked up her Tom Collins. “To fewer scars.” They touched glasses. Under the gaze of Knox’s stink-eye, Remy chugged her drink. The doctor had prescribed her pain medication that she had no intention of taking. Of course, he didn’t know that.
“Better?” Remy asked.
“Much.” Doris straightened the wireless frame of her glasses that had slipped down her tiny nose and grabbed another magazine. Instead of Time, National Geographic or The New Yorker, she flung down a People, with Knox and a pop star on the cover. Then she chucked an Us magazine with the quarterback and a B-movie actress on top of it. “You cheated on the prom queen with low IQ trash.”
“Oh, Doris”—Remy laughed—“harsh.”
“Trust me. I know these girls. They’re pretty stupid,” the publicist admitted.
Knox shifted in his chair.
; “I’ll take your word for it.” Remy smirked.
A twitch of a smile tugged at Doris’ mouth. “Needless to say, it looks like ball boy over here needed a green card, and that’s a big no-no to the average American.”
“He didn’t need one. I did.”
“What?”
“Ball boy was doing me a solid, not the other way around. I needed Canadian citizenship because—”
“No, no, no.” Doris freaked out again. “Never answer a question I didn’t ask.”
Remy glanced at Knox, who turned out to be absolutely no help. He shook his head and gazed out of the café window. “So…what do we do? Charades? ’Cause I got to tell you, Dor. I suck at that game.”
Knox chuckled. To avoid joining him, Remy kept her eyes trained on the publicist.
“No, I just need plausible deniability. I’m also a lawyer.”
“Why does that matter?” She felt lost. Jetlag definitely didn’t help her current state of mind, but the conversation seemed to have taken a strange turn that she couldn’t get a handle on.
“Yeah, I hear that a lot. Look, you two… Whatever the hell this is”—she gestured between them—“you need to go public in a big way. Get on those covers acting like you hit a rough patch and you’re trying to work it out…” She paused to scratch her little bunny nose with the back of her hand. “Or fight like psychos and end it sooner rather than later.”
“Wait a minute,” Remy said. “You don’t know why we got married, so—”
“Nuh-uh.” Doris drank the rest of her Tom Collins then moved on to her shot. Throwing back her head, she made quick work of the tequila. “No questions means no replies.” She pounded on her chest until she belched. “Excuse me. Once you two figure out what direction you want to take, let me know. In the meantime, I’ve got to scoot.” She laid her business card on the table. “Hopefully this little issue doesn’t get any bigger.”
* * * *
After the hideous meeting with the publicist, they stepped into the brutal, snow-covered streets. The city plows had barely made a dent in the hard, dirty mess that had painted the whole city gray. Knox reached over to straighten the collar on the coat he had let her borrow. It swallowed her five-foot-nine frame, but she didn’t have anything sturdy to wear. “Ready to hit the bed?”