The Sweet Talker

by Cathryn Fox

  I hug my phone to my heart, and let the tears fall freely. I’m sad, horrifically sad, but hearing his voice again, his words, brings a new kind of warmth to my heart, mending the last open crevice that prevented me from moving forward—the way Jon wants me to. I sit there for what feels like forever, until the sound of snow crunching beneath someone’s boots reaches my ears. I glance up, just as Mabel jumps to all fours. I reach for her leash, but I’m too late. She’s running and barking, her tail going crazy as Brody comes around the corner and goes completely still when he sees me sitting on the ground.

  “Josie,” he says quickly, worry all over his face. He glances at the phone, and sucks in a breath. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not…but I am.” I run my finger over the phone. “Thank you for this.”

  “Declan knew a guy. He fixed it.”

  I nod, go quiet for a long time, then say, “I appreciate that.”

  He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you want me to leave?”

  I go quiet again, thinking about what I want. All along, I knew Brody was one of the good guys, which is why it hurt so much to think he went through my phone. He didn’t seem the type, which is why it gutted me, but if there is one thing I know, life is short and precious, and not everyone gets a second chance. In my heart, I still can’t believe he didn’t feel more for me. His passionate kisses, his tender, loving touch…how could that not have been real?

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m sorry. I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I forgot to put your Christmas present in the bag.”

  “This was the best Christmas present,” I say and tuck my phone into my pocket. “I don’t need anything else.” That’s not true. I need a lot. From the man standing before me.

  “I wanted you to have this.” He produces a hat similar to his, but with a pink pompom. Despite everything, I laugh.

  “What did you do?”

  “I got hold of Wes’s mother, and asked her to make one for you. We couriered it so you’d have it for Christmas.”

  My heart swells, aches with all the things I feel for this man. I pat the ground. “Come sit.”

  Snow crunches and Mabel stays right at his heels as he closes the distance between us and sits. He puts the hat on my head and takes my hand. “You listened to Jon’s message.”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He falls quiet leaving me to my own thoughts. After a long while, he breaks the silence. “I never went through your phone. I thought about it. But I’m not that guy.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  He exhales, and a puff of white cloud forms in front of his handsome face.

  “Josie, I want to be honest. I liked you from the second you yelled at me.”

  Embarrassment floods me. “Sorry, I was having a bad day and never should have taken it out on you.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. I understand.” He rubs his thumb over my hand. “The challenge with Declan was stupid and immature. He might have picked you, but you’re the only girl I ever would have picked to be beside me, now and…forever.”

  “Forever?” I ask, and swallow.

  “When I found out about your late husband’s message, I…I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to give you the phone but didn’t want you to hate me, or think I tricked you in some way. I don’t blame you for thinking that. Last night, the phone was in my pocket because I planned to confess. You see, Josie, I fell in love with you. Everything we did, said, and shared…it was real for me. When I told you I was falling for you, I meant it. It wasn’t about sweet talking you into a date.” A big hiccupping sob catches in my throat. “I didn’t open your phone. Fate brought us together, because we’re very much alike. We like the same things, want the same things.”

  “What do you want, Brody?”

  “I want you. I want Mabel. I want us. I want a future.” He squeezes my hands. “What do you want?”

  I stand, brushing snow from my pajamas, the cold seeping into my bones. I hold the bag out. “You dropped this and left. Now you’re back. Was it all about the hat?”

  He shakes his head. “I went to my car. I was convinced that if I hurt you like that, you were better off without me and then I realized I was wrong.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes. There isn’t a man in the world who is going to worship you the way I will, Josie. I’m the man for you and while I made a stupid mistake, I plan to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

  “I made a mistake too.” I turn from him and open the door.

  “Josie, please,” he says his voice full of fear and pain.

  I glance at him over my shoulder. “Are you going to sit on the ground all day or come inside?”

  He blows out a relieved breath, and Mabel barks as he pushes to his feet. We all go inside. Silence surrounds us as we step into the living room. “I made a mistake when I told you I never wanted to see you again. You’re a good guy, Brody. I should have believed in you.”

  “What do you want, Josie?” he asks, the tree lights falling over him, creating a warmth and coziness.

  I gesture to the small present under the tree. “I think you’ll understand when you open that.”

  He slowly tears his gaze away from me, and picks up the present. “What is it?”

  “Open it.”

  He rips into the paper and finds a small box. He pulls the lid off, and a smile lights up his face as understanding dawns. “A key to your—”

  “Heart.”

  He smiles, pulling me to him.

  “And to my place, of course,” I add with a laugh. “Brody, I love you. I never thought I’d love again. Never thought I should or could, but you busted that notion all apart, helped me heal and brought me back to life. I thank you for that.” Mabel barks like she’s thankful too. “I’ve never had a long-distance relationship, and I don’t know what the future holds, but all I know is I want to do it with you.”

  “Josie, I always embraced life, but until you I never knew what living really meant. I’ve never done a long-distance relationship either, or any relationship. I’m doing a lot of things I’ve never done before. We both are, but I’m not afraid because it’s you I’m doing them with, and will figure things out day by day.” He laughs. “Oh my God, that was right out of a Hallmark movie, wasn’t it? Do I have to cash in my man card now?”

  I laugh, nodding as I snuggle in and breathe in his warmth. I put my hand on his chest, revel in the strength of his heart as it beats beneath my hand. I’m happy. For the first time in a long time, I’m happy.

  “I’m pretty sure we can figure out something better to do with your man card.”

  He laughs, light and joyous, as he scoops me into his arms, Mabel prancing around us, and barking with happiness. “Look at that, we really do like and want the same things.” His lips find mine. “I love you, Josie. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas, Brody, and I love you too.”

  His grin is wicked. “Show me.”

  * * *

  Thank you so much for reading, The Sweet Talker, book 11 in my Players on Ice. I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it. Keep reading for an excerpt of Fair Play Book 1, in my End Zone series.

  * * *

  If you love sport romances, check out Fair Play

  ELLA:

  “What does this button do?”

  I smack my best friend’s hand away from the football’s team brand new camcorder, and give her the evil eye. She knows better than to play with it, which makes the shocked looked on her face all the more amusing. But the fact is, I’ve been entrusted with the very expensive device to record the Falcons’ first home game. Since I can’t afford to replace it, I can’t let my friend go around poking at every shiny knob and possibly breaking something.

  “What?” Peyton says, blinking dark lashes over big innocent eyes. “I’m just asking a question.”
>
  “No. You’re pushing buttons you shouldn’t be pushing. Now sit there before I send you to the bleachers with everyone else.” I point to the bench to the left of us and raise a warning brow.

  She gives a light laugh, brushing off my threat. “You’d never do that. You love me too much.” She’s right. I wouldn’t. Peyton and I have been best friends since kindergarten, and for the last three years we’ve been college roommates choosing apartment-style living over a sorority house. She’s here for a degree in social work, and I’m here because I want to be a filmmaker. Yeah, working in Hollywood, behind the scenes, has been my dream since childhood.

  Beside me, Peyton gives a very big, very happy sigh and takes in the football field from our perch—only the best, first class seating for the camera woman. “I do love the perks of being your best friend,” she says as she admires the football players warming up. A few are so close we could practically reach out and touch them if we wanted to. I don’t.

  “I really can’t understand the fascination,” I murmur. “A bunch of guys in tight pants chasing a ball.”

  She crosses her arms, and waggles her brows at me. “What’s it called again when a player passes the goal line with the ball in his hand?”

  “Winning,” I say, giving her a look that suggests she might be dense, but when she breaks out laughing, I crack a smile. Yeah, I get it. I’m the one who’s dense. It’s true, I know nothing about football, but I need this fourth-year credit to complete my cinematic arts degree and really, do I need to understand the game to record it for the team to analyze later? That would be a big fat no. I hope.

  “Well, at least you know how this thing works,” Peyton says, once again scoping out the buttons on my camcorder. “How about this knob? What does it do?”

  “Peyton, cut it out.” I slap her hand again and laugh at her childish antics. How we remained friends all these years when we’re so different is a mystery. But we love each other like sisters. Sisters? Wait, that’s not right at all. I’m an identical twin and my sister Ivy and I go together like hotdogs and Ferris wheels. Peyton and I, however, no matter how different, we just work.

  I stare at her. “Don’t you have football players to drool over?” Unlike me, she knows every player, and doesn’t hold the same kind of grudge against them as I do.

  I adjust my ballcap to shade the sun from my eyes as I glance out at the football field. I catch sight of my sister Ivy as she kicks one leg out and flirts with one of the players, trailing her finger over his chest. Blonde and bubbly. That’s Ivy. We were raised by the same two parents, yet we’re so different, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a cheerleading outfit that barely covered my ass. That’s her business though, and I don’t judge or interfere in her life, just like she doesn’t interfere in mine.

  I’d like to think when push comes to shove, she’d be there for me, just like I’d be there for her. At least, I think she’d be there for me. We might not hang out, but we love one another and have each other’s best interests at heart. Of that I’m certain. It’s funny really. Ever since we were young, we fell into certain roles. The extrovert and the introvert, the outgoing one and the quiet one. I always stood in the shadows and let her have the limelight. Pretty Ivy, the theater student who lights up a room with her smile and flamboyance when she enters. Which of course, makes me the introverted smart, quiet one. We both easily fell into those roles and have yet to stray.

  Peyton gives a low, slow whistle. “I don’t know what you have against tight pants. Look at all those cute butts and luscious muscles. Talk about slurpalicious.” She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. “Don’t you want one little nibble, one taste?”

  I give her a playful shove to move her away from the camcorder. “No. No nibbles. No tastes.” I’m a virgin with no plans to change that anytime soon, and as my best friend, she damn well knows it. I take up position behind the camera, and look at the world through my beloved lens. I exhale a contented breath. This is where I belong. This is where I feel most at home.

  Okay, yeah, so it’s true. I’m the world’s biggest nerd. Do I care? Nope. Not one little bit. I’m happy to stand in the shadow and view the world through my camcorder lens. As I do, I catch sight of Ivy again as she shakes her ass for the boys on the field. Truth be told, I actually hate football players. Back in high school, they bullied my friend Jacob until he ended up taking his own life. Terrible hazing went on at our school. The bullying was torturous and cruel, and no matter how hard Peyton and I tried to help Jacob, get him help, the bullying continued, and actually increased the more we tried to stop it. A stab of pain sears my heart at the painful memory, and I suck in air to breathe through it. I know I shouldn’t lump all jocks into one category, shouldn’t label them all as egotistical bullies, but a single player has yet to prove me wrong. Arrogant assholes. What more can I say?

  I check my watch, as my stomach growls. “Hungry much?” Peyton says. “Maybe you’d like a nibble after all?”

  “Really, Peyton. Did you just meet me?” I tease and reach into my backpack and grab a granola bar, all the while trying to cleanse my brain of football players and their tight asses—one player in particular. Peyton holds her hand out, and I place a bar in her palm. Granola bars and juice boxes on the go. The life of a busy fourth year student—or that of a toddler.

  She tears into her wrapper and looks me in the eye. Her brow is furrowed as she examines me like I’m a bug under a microscope—a new kind of species no one can figure out. “You really don’t find any of those guys attractive?”

  “Nope, not a single one of them.” A little white lie never hurt anything, right? “I prefer brains over brawn.”

  “That’s a pretty blanket statement don’t you think? I bet a lot of them are smart.” Peyton doesn’t hold the same grudge as I do. She figured it was a few bad apples on our high school football team who persecuted Jacob until his suicide, not every jock in the world. I don’t forgive as easily. Maybe it’s the social worker in her. She sees the world through a different lens, and that’s her right.

  “Yeah, probably.” I shrug. She’s right, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to hold it against her if she wants to date a player.

  She grins. “What about Landon Brooks?”

  A chunk of granola lodges in my throat and I try not to react, try not to let my eyes bulge out of my brain as I choke. Reacting will only fuel her ridiculous fantasy that Landon and I would be good together. She’s wrong, a million times over. A trillion, even.

  I snatch a juice box from my backpack, rip the straw open and jab the foil opening. After a big sip, I roll my eyes. “Oh, Please, Landon’s ego is as big as—”

  “His cock?”

  Ohmigod.

  My granola bar jumps back into my throat and I take another huge sip. In my calmest voice, I stare at her and say, “That is not what I was going to say. I mean, come on. I have no idea how big his…his thing is, and I don’t want to know.”

  “His thing.” She laughs. “Oh, come on, Ella. You can say cock. I know you’ve watched porn before. We’ve watched it together, for God’s sake. We all have fantasies, and that’s normal.”

  Flustered, I say, “Okay, fine. His cock. That’s the last time you’re going to hear that word on my lips, and the last time I’m going to think about it.” It’s possible that’s a lie. I might actually think of it tonight—when I watch porn.

  “His cock is going nowhere near your lips then?”

  I plant one hand on my hip and glare at her as she teases and twists my words. “How many ways do you need me to say it, Peyton?”

  She braces her hands on the bench behind her and leans back, lifting her face to the sun. “I can tell you like him.”

  “I do not like him.”

  “What do you have against him anyway?”

  Oh, other than the fact that he’s living rent free in my head, nothing. “He’s an asshole, and wait, why did you say his ego was as big as his cock. How do you know that?”

&n
bsp; She gives me a slow grin that says she knows me too well. “Ah, look at that, you are thinking about his thing again.” She wags her dark brows. “You know, they just don’t call him Torpedo because he’s lightning fast, on the field. It’s because he has a big—”

  “Stop,” I say. I take a fast breath. Do not think about Landon’s torpedo. I’m two seconds from demoting her to the bleachers, when she sits up straight, her mouth gaping. “What?” I ask, my blood draining to my toes even though I have no idea what’s going on. I only know that look on her face and it’s bad. So very, very bad. She looks past my shoulder and points her finger.

  “Uh...”

  Ohmigod. I mouth the words, “He’s behind me, isn’t he?”

  As she gives a slow nod, I spin around. Landon is adjusting his helmet as his gaze moves over my face. He’s not smirking, or showing any sign that he overheard us. Thank God!

  “Hey,” he says and my stupid ovaries quiver as my gaze lands on his brutally handsome face. He’s not typically handsome, with a square jaw, perfect skin, perfect features. No. He’s a bit harder, his face scarred from fights, and football. It only makes him hotter.

  “Hey,” I squeak out.

  He smiles at me, then looks past my shoulder to Peyton when she clears her throat. “Hey, Peyton.”

  “Landon,” Peyton says. “Looking good out there.”

  He turns his attention back to me. “Coach wants to know if you’ve got this thing all figured out.” He gestures with a nod to the camcorder and I try not to react to his sexy Texas accent. “You know how to work all these buttons?”

  “Yes, I do,” I say, and while I get that he has no idea how to use the camcorder, there are plenty of buttons this guy knows how to press. Yes, I’m talking about the buttons between a girl’s legs and the ones on the end of each breast. I’ve heard the rumors, and have zero intentions of ever finding out if they’re true. I’d have a better chance of landing an assistant director position with Spielberg right out of college than this guy has of landing a position between my sheets. Not that he wants that, but chances of either of them happening: zero.