On the Line

by Lincoln, Liz

  If there was a better reason to land on injured reserve, he couldn’t guess what it would be.

  Goddamn. If talking to her did this to him, how the hell was he going to survive a weekend in the same hotel room as her, with her dressed up as a sexy bad girl scientist?

  Chapter 8

  Iron Man may have been a cool gadget-oriented superhero, but Seth’s costume was uncomfortable as hell. He wore a jockstrap and got tackled by three-hundred-pound men for a living, so he knew uncomfortable.

  Not to mention he was sweating enough to fill a goddamned rain barrel. Why hadn’t any of the online reviews mentioned how fucking hot the costume was? It didn’t help that there were approximately seven million people packed into the sprawling expo center room, nearly every one of them dressed as a superhero or villain or fantasy character or any number of other things Seth didn’t recognize.

  They’d passed at least a dozen other Iron Men as Mads and her friend Emilia dragged him along the aisles, squealing and giggling, eyes wide under their eye-mask thingies as they took it all in. As grumpy as the awkward plastic, metal, and non-breathable fabric costume made him, he loved watching his little girl having so much fun.

  He wished Carrie had been able to come with them, but she’d stayed in their hotel room to make updates to the talk she was giving tomorrow. She was supposed to get into her costume and meet them later.

  “Dad, omigod!” Mads grabbed his arm, jumping up and down and making a high-pitched noise only tween girls could pull off. “Omigod, Dad.”

  She repeated the words several more times before Seth laughed—which sounded hollow and far away inside his mask—and awkwardly put his hand over hers. “Omigod, what?”

  “Ashley Hearn.” She spoke with absolute awe in her voice and on her face.

  “Should I know who that is?” The mask filtered the amusement out of Seth’s voice, which was for the best.

  “She’s only…”

  Seth tried to listen, he really did. But his gaze snagged on a sexy Poison Ivy as she walked by. She had legs a thousand miles long and her leaf-covered top lifted her breasts up in offering. When he looked at her face, though, he had the same reaction he’d had to the handful of other Poison Ivys he’d already seen. His blood halted in his veins, no longer needing to rush to his groin, and the sweat on his back chilled.

  Not Carrie.

  This woman was probably the most attractive Poison Ivy he’d seen yet, but it didn’t matter. He was only interested in one.

  The one who was off-limits. But tell that to his libido. His brain might have understood that he couldn’t get involved with her, but his dick still had other plans.

  “…let me get a copy of her new one and get it signed. Please, Daddy.”

  Seth blinked as he looked down at his daughter. She was giving him her sweetest smile, the one she knew he’d never say no to.

  Sure enough, his chest felt warm and squishy, and he grinned. Not that anyone could see it. He put his arm around her shoulder and gestured with the other for Emilia to follow. “I guess we’re buying comics.”

  They found the end of Ashley Hearn’s line and for the next half hour inched closer to the revered comic book writer. Mads and Emilia continued to look around in awe, making their tween noises and clutching each other excitedly. Seth scanned the room for every Poison Ivy he could find.

  Fortunately, with most of the women he discovered dressed as the villainous scientist, it was easy to tell almost immediately they weren’t Carrie. They wore wigs that looked fake, whereas Carrie’s fiery hair was perfect for the character. He tried not to look for her, but he couldn’t help himself.

  He really, really needed to get her out of his mind. But he had no idea how to even begin doing that.

  By the time an hour passed, they’d moved maybe one-third of the way through the line. To her credit, Hearn took the time to chat with her fans. But Seth was growing more uncomfortable by the second, and he needed a drink of water. Not to mention he had to take a piss.

  But there was no way he’d leave Mads and Emilia alone, even for the fifteen minutes it would take him to do those things. He’d seen enough Han Solos and Supermen leering at the girls—both of whom looked much older than their twelve years—to have his protective dad instincts go into overdrive. The only time he was letting them out of his sight was if Carrie was with them.

  “Carrie!” Mads’ arm shot into the air, waving excitedly.

  Seth’s head jerked around in the direction she was looking. His gaze fell on possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

  Carrie’s mouth, painted a loud orangey-red that almost matched her hair, pulled up in a smile as she waved back and headed their way. She wore all green, of course, which looked phenomenal with her hair. Her hair was curled and teased into a style that was bigger and bolder than she usually wore. Her corset top and short shorts were made of a fabric that had leaves woven into the pattern, with a fake vine of ivy leaves winding around her. She finished off the costume with green tights and the knee-high green boots she’d told him about.

  She looked smokin’.

  Thank God for his helmet, so she wouldn’t see him staring. But his gaze was glued to those bright lips, watching as she greeted the girls. His imagination quickly jumped in to supply several scenarios involving her bright lips, and he had to shift to accommodate all the extra blood that was again rushing south.

  Lem naked in the locker room. Thanksgiving dinner with his family, his dad and brother arguing about politics. The hit he’d taken last Sunday that jolted his spine so hard he though it had come out his ass. The sick, crushing disappointment of losing the AFC Championship game in overtime because of one missed tackle. The rest of the linebackers naked in the locker room, especially Sutherland, who was as hairy as Chewbacca—whom Seth had seen several times this afternoon.

  OK, he could breathe again. And the danger of getting a hard-on in a hard plastic suit had passed. Just in case, he pictured the locker room one more time. It really was effective.

  “Where’s your dad?” Carrie asked, looking around the area.

  “Right here,” Seth answered for Mads.

  Carrie started, then laughed. “Wow. Nice costume. I definitely wouldn’t know it’s you.”

  “You can see his hair in the back.” Mads reached up and pulled on a piece of Seth’s hair.

  “So you can.” Carrie looked at him, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. Seth was pretty sure she was trying to catch his gaze, so he looked back, letting his own amusement show. Except she couldn’t see it, of course.

  Fuck it. He was suffocating in the damn thing. He tugged off the mask and took the opportunity to shake out his sweaty hair. Cool air rushed over his face. So much better.

  “Jesus, I’m not going to last all weekend in this thing,” he said, sounding like himself again. No more faraway echo.

  “Don’t you, like, wear a helmet all the time?” Emilia asked.

  “Those don’t cover the entire face. I can see and talk and breathe in my football helmet.” Seth held up the red and gold mask. “This thing is stifling.”

  Carrie reached over and smoothed the ends of his hair over his costume-covered shoulders. “Now you look like Thor stole Iron Man’s suit and is trying it out.”

  Though she was touching his costume and not him, Seth could have sworn he felt her fingers on him. Her gaze caught his again, amusement lingering, but now mixed with something else. Still playful, but darker. Hotter.

  He wanted to bury his hand in all that hair and kiss the orange right off her mouth. It was hell to be near her and pretend there was nothing between them except common interest in Mads and casual friendship.

  “That totally works, Dad,” Mads said, oblivious to the way Seth was trying to devour her nanny with his eyes. “I say you leave the helmet in the hotel next time we go back there, and be
Thor playing in Iron Man’s suit the rest of the weekend.”

  “They’re both Avengers. You can totally do that,” Emilia agreed.

  “And Thor would totally do that, to mess with Iron Man,” Mads added.

  Carrie’s gaze strayed to his lips, then back up to his eyes. “I think the girls are right. I mean, unless you want to go back to not breathing.”

  “Breathing is good. I guess I’m Iron Thor this weekend.”

  All three females laughed at his dumb joke, which made him smile.

  “If you need to go cool off or use the restroom or, I don’t know, check in with your coach or something, I can wait in line with the girls,” Carrie offered.

  For that alone, he could kiss her. “You don’t mind?”

  Carrie shook her head, her hair moving with her in one connected mass. It was the slightest bit creepy. “I want the new GalactiGirls too, so I have ulterior motives. This lets me skip an hour of waiting in line.”

  “We’re fine, Dad.” Mads waved a dismissive hand. “Go pee, or whatever.”

  “Who am I to deny you ladies your favorite comics?” He dropped a kiss to the top of Mads’ head. He’d given her a debit card and some cash, so she would be able to buy the comic for herself and Emilia. Inevitably she’d get some of the other trinkets stacked on the table around the group signing. He’d been informed that sitting with Hearn were the artist, the inker, and the letterer. He only vaguely understood what an inker or a letterer did, though he could guess.

  “See you in a little bit. After you get this comic, we should probably head back to the hotel and get dinner.”

  “We should go to bed early, so we can get up early tomorrow,” Emilia said to Mads.

  “Yes. Like, right away,” Mads agreed.

  Seth bit back a groan. Sharing a hotel suite with Carrie would be difficult enough. Staying up with her without their young chaperones would be even harder. And while he understood that logically it wasn’t different from living in the same house, it still felt about a million times more intimate.

  He quickly made his exit, or as quickly as he could in his clunky suit through a sea of bodies. The atrium was far less crowded, as everyone seemed to be shoehorned into the main expo room. He raised his arms and worked out his joints to ease the building stiffness as he headed for the restroom.

  After discovering that a simple act like pissing was a complicated maneuver in his costume—it was safe to say cosplay was going to remain Mads’ thing and not become his—he decided to head down a floor to the lower atrium, which acted as a sort of lounge and gathering place for people not in the main hall and not attending a panel. Small groups sat around in passionate discussion, some with giant decks of cards or board games in front of them. Others were absorbed in their laptops; from what Seth could tell, most were playing videogames. A few typed away furiously.

  Most of his life, he’d fit in wherever he went. Everyone wanted to be around the football players, whether in high school, college, or the NFL. His attention was constantly demanded.

  So the sense that he didn’t belong was novel. These people were here by and large because they were passionate about some character from a comic book or TV show or movie. The way Mads was about several of her favorite fandoms.

  The way many football fans were about their favorite players, defending their teams with a blind loyalty that didn’t wane even when the team was terrible. The star players were given the status of superhero, and fans from one day old to one hundred years old dressed in the jerseys of their favorite player.

  The way these people dressed in the likeness of their favorite character.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a different world. There was no designated NFL fan convention, not like this. But every game was, in essence, a fan convention. Like-minded people came together to share their common interest. Instead of panels, they got a game. They could buy plenty of merchandise, and sometimes even get the opportunity to meet their favorite player. He’d done plenty of pregame photo ops with people for various reasons.

  The difference here was he wasn’t being mobbed by those fans. No one wanted him to sign their breasts, no one asked him to go ahead and tackle them since they really could take it. (Not once had he ever taken someone up on that last one, because he knew they couldn’t, even if he went easy on them.)

  As odd as it felt to blend in, it also felt good. He didn’t have to be on all the time when he wasn’t in the limelight. He could just be Iron Thor and Mads’ dad and an anonymous guy in the crowd.

  And a guy who was suddenly hungry enough to eat one of the lounge chairs. A half-dozen food vendors had set up in the lobby, and the aromas of Mexican and Indian and Italian foods all combined to make his stomach growl.

  Maybe he should grab dinner and take it back for the girls. He headed for the lobby, texting Mads to ask what she and Emilia wanted.

  Standing in line for burritos for himself and the kids, he shot off one more text.

  Seth: You hungry for Mexican? There’s also Italian, Indian, or subs.

  “Hey, aren’t you Seth Chamberlain?”

  Surprised, Seth turned to see a group of four guys in line behind him. The one who’d spoken was dressed as a zombie, and his friend looked like some sort of post-apocalyptic zombie hunter, wearing drab, worn clothes and dirty boots and carrying a realistic-looking axe and rifle. The other two guys looked kind of like elves, with pointy ears and huge, hairy feet. Both wore brown capes. He vaguely recognized the characters from a movie Mads watched on occasion.

  “Hey, you totally are,” the taller elf said.

  “I am. Nice to meet you guys.” Seth grinned, instantly slipping into his public persona. So much for anonymity.

  They chatted for a few minutes as they waited for food and Seth signed each of their program booklets. They were college students in Chicago, but three of them had grown up in the Milwaukee area and remained loyal to the Dragons.

  When the zombie hunter started spouting stats from Seth’s college days, he felt his smile slip. He loved talking to fans. But some went overboard with the stats. Sure, he liked being good at his job, and it was reflected in various numbers. But he’d never been hung up on those things. Mostly he wanted to win football games because, like most athletes, he was driven and competitive. He tried to get to the quarterback and make a sack because it was good for his team, not because he had his eye on some record.

  Carrie: Get me the same as Maddie’s having. Thanks!

  Seth wanted to send back a flirty text, but he wouldn’t be rude to the guys he was talking with, even if the conversation wasn’t his favorite.

  Fortunately, it was his turn to order, and by the time he had all four burritos, the group of guys was ordering. “See y’all later,” he said, then headed for the stairs.

  Back to Mads and Emilia. And Carrie.

  And more wonderful torture.

  * * *

  —

  The buzz of her phone was loud enough in the silent bathroom to startle Carrie into dropping her comb. She picked it up, and as she resumed carefully arranging her hair for bed, she read the text.

  Seth: You look damn sexy in that costume. Thought you should know.

  Heat flashed through her, pulsing low in her belly and between her legs. She should probably tell him not to send texts like that, but she couldn’t bring herself to be upset. She liked them too much.

  Besides, she knew she looked good as Ivy. Most women would if they had the confidence to pull off the outfit. Because she knew it was such a crucial element in making a costume work, Carrie had spent her first few cons faking it, until it became genuine.

  She pinned the last strands of her hair to her head and pulled a hairnet over it. As much as she would love to wash out all the gel and hairspray, it would be infinitely easier to style tomorrow if she didn’t wash it.

  Consi
dering she was sharing the bathroom with two seventh-grade girls, mirror time would be at a premium the next morning. Maddie and Emilia were sleeping on the hide-a-bed in the living room area of the two-bedroom suite Seth had booked for them, but they were using Carrie’s bath. So her privacy was limited.

  After scrubbing her face clean of makeup, she answered Seth’s text.

  Carrie: Thanks. I’d say the same, but mostly you looked uncomfortable.

  Seth: I hate the damn thing. If I ever do this again, I’m picking a character who wears jeans.

  Carrie: LOL.

  She quickly finished her bedtime routine of dabbing on eye cream and brushing her teeth. Then came the awkward task of twisting her arms into an unnatural position to unhook her corset.

  After the first two hooks popped free, she could draw a full breath, all the way into her belly. A third and her breasts were no longer mashed to her chest. By five, she felt human.

  She’d finally unhooked the last one when her phone buzzed again. Running her hands up her body until she reached her breasts, she read the text.

  Seth: I was going to check out the pool while the girls watch a movie. Care to join me?

  Several steamy scenarios raced through Carrie’s head. She massaged her breasts, as she always did after removing her corset, reveling in the feel of the cool air on her skin after the heavy, stifling satin. But tonight she added a flick to each nipple with her middle fingers. A zing shot from her breasts to her clit; her body began to hum as she repeated the move until her nipples were hard and needy.

  She slipped off her shorts and tights, her boots already discarded by the door. After pulling on a camisole and shorts, she took her phone and slipped into bed. The crisp, cool sheets felt luxurious on her heated skin, the contrast making her skin tingle.

  Carrie: Can’t. Didn’t bring a suit.

  Seth: In that case, g’night.

  Carrie: Night.

  She set her phone on the nightstand and flipped off the light. In the darkness, she slid her hands over her body in what had become a regular part of her bedtime ritual.