“She sounds fascinating.”
That’s one word for it. “She has pink hair.”
He draws back and smiles. “Now that’s something you don’t see every day.”
I tilt my head, thinking about Melody’s hair and how bizarrely well it suits her. “Well, for the next month or so, it’s exactly what I’ll be seeing every day.”
He sips his coffee and shakes his head slowly.
My mind races with the same questions that have been plaguing me since he got weird. Why won’t you go anywhere anymore? What are you afraid of? What about all those times you told me to “be a man”? Why didn’t you fight for Mom to stay?
I swallow them, knowing full well that fighting him on it won’t change anything. It’s just this strange, dark thing I have to deal with now. And do my best not to lose it on him.
“How is she?” he asks quietly. His voice is small, and his gaze is fixed straight ahead. It doesn’t take long for me to realize we’re not talking about my unlikely roommate anymore.
“Mom is fine,” I say gruffly, taking the last swig from my coffee mug and standing up. I know that the best way to deal with this topic is to avoid it. “If you care that much, you should go and see her.”
I walk into the kitchen and rinse out the mug, shutting my eyes and knowing I can’t let this shit get to me, not the day before a big game.
He grumbles some inaudible excuse, and I shake my head, feeling angry and hopeless and defeated.
“I gotta get to practice,” I say, picking my keys up off the counter. “You all good here, Dad?”
“Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you, son.”
I nod.
“One o’clock on ESPN tomorrow, right?” he asks brightly.
I clasp my hands together. “You got it. We’ll be on.” I flip the keys in my hand and walk to the door.
“Go Riders!” my dad exclaims as I open the door.
I turn around in the doorway and raise my hand to my forehead, giving him a half-assed salute and pushing away the heavy cloud that surrounds me every time I leave this place.
It’s winter, but the sun is still beating down on me as I walk to my car, inhaling the salty breeze.
I fought him on this for months, begging him and getting frustrated with him and doing basically everything in my power to get him back to normal, but it was all useless. I’m not a horribly impatient guy, but there’s nothing more infuriating than seeing your lifelong role model just give up living at sixty-three for no reason.
As I slide into my car and start the engine, I think about Melody again. I’ve been thinking about her an awful fucking lot these past few days.
Mostly about how strange and annoying she is. And hot. And insane. And tempting.
I wonder how she’d react if I told her the truth about my dad, the truth about where I had to go this morning. Shit, she’d probably try to put some vibe-y yoga spell on him and ask the universe for assistance.
I curse the smile that plays at my mouth at the thought. My mind flashes back to that kiss yesterday. What almost followed that kiss. What I wish followed that kiss.
Crazy Melody.
A hint of excitement ripples through me when I remember she’s going to be at the game tomorrow. I’m not sure why I care, but the thought is nice.
I push hard on the gas and roll down the window to let in a rush of Florida air. It’s still early, and the sky is glowing orange from the recent sunrise.
My dad may be a complete and total lost cause, but at least someone will be at the game besides Mom.
Even if Melody said it was just an excuse to hang out with her cousin. It’s no secret that she has the hots for me, and teasing her a little bit with some pads and football pants is just the harmless fun I need.
And if it happens to get us back into bed together…oops. The “energy of the space” will just have to survive.
Nine
Melody
My heart swells with love and excitement at the thought of seeing my closest cousin as I pull my Mini Cooper into the VIP garage she gave me directions to this morning.
“Fancy shmancy,” I whisper, pulling into an empty spot and marveling at the array of insanely expensive, sleek-looking cars.
The last time I was in this stadium was the night of the Christmas party just a couple weeks ago. The night I made the wildly impulsive decision to go home with Dylan Rivera and give in to every mind-blowing temptation I’ve ever felt. All while my water heater was dumping buckets of rain all over the inside of my townhouse, and the universe was getting ready to truly give me the clearest sign I’ve ever seen.
Life sure is an amazing thing.
“Mel!” Whitney looks even more glowy and gorgeous than ever before, walking to greet me in silky white pants and a sparkly sweater. Her cascades of chocolate hair seem to bounce in slow motion.
“Cuzzy!” I swing the car door open and jump out to give her a tight hug.
She links her arm through mine and leans her head onto my shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re here. I know football isn’t really your cup of tea…”
“You’re my cup of tea.” I bump her with my hip. “I don’t care where we are. I just miss you! The best roomie I ever had, even if our time together was short-lived,” I say with a teasing, dramatic sadness.
She turns to me and arches a brow. “What about your current, uh, roomie?”
I swallow and barely try to hide the smile that slides across my face. “He’s…nice.”
We walk through the garage and find the elevator to take up to get to the box. I vaguely remember getting in this very elevator with Dylan after the party and practically ripping his pants off before it reached the ground floor.
I try to push away the hot chills that spiral through me and wake up every neuron of my body.
“Nice?” Whitney whips her head around after pushing the elevator button and gives me a classic get real look. “Gimme the dirt, Mel. Come on, I satisfied your nosy little ass with every detail of my Chase drama, and look at us now!”
I take a deep breath as the doors glide open and we step into the clean, chilly elevator. “There really isn’t any dirt, Whit. We kissed the other day, and for a second I thought maybe we were gonna be more like roommates with benefits, but…I just don’t think that’s a great idea. I’m leaving, as you know, and I need to focus on my destiny.”
Whitney purses her lips and leans against the wall as the little box smoothly shoots us up to the higher level of the stadium.
“That’s the exact word you used to describe Chase and me,” she says matter-of-factly as we step out of the elevator. “Destiny.”
“Exactly! I was right-on, wasn’t I? He’s your fated mate, and now I’m going to find mine. On the water.”
“If you say so.” She glances at me and narrows her eyes. “Now, I don’t know destiny or fate or signs the way you do, but I do know humans. And you two…” She taps the tip of my nose with her finger. “Are gonna be banging like bunnies before you can blink.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she pulls me by the arm into the big, crowded box area before I have a chance to say anything.
“Whitney girl!” I recognize Frankie Sterling, wife of hot wide receiver Leo Sterling. Noticeably pregnant, she’s glowing even more than Whitney.
“Hi, Frankie.” Whit hugs her. “You remember my cousin Melody, right? I brought her to the Christmas party.”
“Oh, of course!” Frankie gives me a bright smile and a friendly hug of my own. “Who could forget the world’s most fabulous hair?” She shakes a strand of my pink waves.
I laugh easily and feel a warm sense of calm wash over me. “This place…” I gesture around the box area. People are mingling, sipping drinks. There are even a couple little kids playing in the corner. “Has such a wonderful energy.”
“It really does, doesn’t it?” Another beauty walks up to us, blond curls falling all over her and an adorable little boy clutching her hand. “Melody, right? I’m Elliot’s
wife. Number 22.”
“Yes! I remember. Jessica!” I pat the child’s head, and he looks up at me with big, curious eyes. “And Asher.”
“Good memory.” Whit nudges me. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”
I follow her to the bar in the back corner, smiling at an array of friendly faces, each more beautiful than the next. I can feel more joy and comfort settling in my heart with every passing second.
It’s a sensation I certainly never thought I’d feel about stereotypically materialistic people at a professional sporting event, but I think to myself how wrong I was. Maybe Dylan was a tiny bit right about football not being all bad. A tiny bit.
“Bottoms up!” Whitney hands me a crystal glass filled with something as pink as my hair. “Only a couple more games before playoff time.”
I sip the drink and relish its fruity sweetness. “Those boys better be meditating regularly. That has to be stressful.”
Whitney laughs and walks me to the big, comfy seats that have a remarkable view of the football field.
I look out over the expansive green grass, which seems to glisten in the South Florida sunshine. The stands are filling up, and I’m suddenly struck by just how massive the scope of this particular job is. I really hope Dylan did that stretch I showed him.
“What a totally perfect day.” I turn to Whit and clink my glass against hers.
“We did luck out with the weather, that’s for sure.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
I grin widely. “If nothing else comes out of my bizarre encounter with Dylan Rivera, at least we got this day together.”
“Plus…football.” She juts her chin and looks out at the stadium. “Even if you don’t care about the sport, it’s easy on the eyes.”
“Well…” I knock back a swig of the drink. “There is definitely that.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth? You preach now, girl.” Erica Anderson shimmies and plops down into the chair next to us. “So…you’re with cutie-patootie Dylan, huh?” The loud and gorgeous blond woman I barely know nudges me.
“Well—” I start.
“They’re coming out!” Jessica announces, and we all stand to watch and cheer as the players run out of the tunnel in the corner of the field.
My heart rate inexplicably picks up as I search for No. 3 in the pack of aqua-colored jerseys. Butterflies rush through me the second I spot him, looking so unbelievably sexy and athletic as he jogs onto the field.
Chase Kennedy pumps his fist and riles up the crowd, and I can hear rows of women screaming, “Six!”
Whitney shakes her head and forces an eye roll, but her sheer adoration and love for No. 6 is written all over her face.
Dylan is way more chill than Chase or Leo, who’s beating his chest and jumping around with the other guys. I hear Dylan’s sexy, raspy, self-deprecating I’m just the kicker echo in my head.
He gives a little nod to the crowd here and there and glances through his face mask at the box seats. There’s absolutely no way he can see me from down on the field, but I swear I feel his eyes on me.
My knees melt.
I clear my throat and gather myself, taking a fruity sip and shutting my eyes to get centered. A little crush. Okay, a medium-sized crush. But it doesn’t matter. Not one bit. The ocean is calling for me to find my destiny and—
“Your hair is pink.” A mesmerizing set of hazel eyes burn into my soul and catch me completely off guard.
Tiny Asher pokes at my dyed hair and stares quizzically. “Why is it pink?”
“Oh!” I laugh and welcome the distraction from my avalanche of thoughts about yanking those shoulder pads off No. 3 and reliving every explosive moment of our one night together. “Well, I like pink.” I shrug and smile. “And I’ve seen other people with pink hair and thought it was awesome. So I figured, why not me?”
“I like colors, too,” Asher asserts. “Daddy let me put all the colors everywhere in the house. But then when Mommy moved in, she said we had to tone it down just a little bit. Which is okay, because Mommy helped me get my very own dog!” He looks like he’s about to burst with excitement.
I laugh in amusement.
“Asher!” Curly, blond Jessica jogs over and takes her stepson’s hand. “I’m sorry. Is he just talking your ear off?”
“He’s absolutely delightful.”
She turns to the boy and smiles, and the love between them seems palpable. “Remember when you used to be shy?” she teases him, narrowing her eyes and tapping his little nose.
I enjoy the warmth of the moment and turn back to face the field, my eyes instinctively finding Dylan, who’s drinking a Gatorade and talking to a coach on the sidelines.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Whit jabs my arm with a teasing nod.
I frown and stifle a laugh. “Am I that obvious?”
She gestures around the box seats at all the wives, girlfriends, and close family members of the Riders. “Mel, honey, we all are. There’s nothing hotter than a guy in football pads. And hey…” She points a finger toward Dylan. “You know for a fact you’re going home with him tonight.”
I chuckle at that strange truth. “I told you, you pest. We shouldn’t get physical again.” I lean close to my cousin and lower my voice. “The energy in that condo cannot get confusing or damaged. And sex…has a tendency to do that.”
She leans back and looks out to the field. “I get it. But think about it. If I’d never taken that leap with Chase…” She waves her left hand around, the enormous yet elegant diamond sparking in the sunlight. “I wouldn’t have realized he was the love of my life. In all his idiotic and cocky glory.”
“Well, as I’ve said before, I trust my psychic. I will find my soul mate on the water when I leave in a few weeks.”
“Maybe so.” She takes a sip and gives me a classic Whitney side-eye. “But I see the way you’re eyeing our smokeshow of a kicker. Did the psychic say anything about having a little fun before you find Mr. Right?”
I swallow and consider this. Just looking at Dylan, even from all the way up here, sets my body on fire. He’s so hot. Even with the grumpy, stoic, colorless exterior. I saw him come alive once, and now I’m aching for it again and again.
I scan the field as the Riders line up on the field after everything was switched around. I guess it’s their turn to have the ball again, because everyone in the box is suddenly perked up. Searching for a way to get my mind off my complicated attraction to Dylan, I turn to Whitney and the other women.
“Why are they all wearing purple socks?” I glance out at the field. “I thought their color was aqua.”
“It is,” Frankie says. “Aqua and white, with the occasional fuchsia accent on some uniforms.”
“The purple socks,” Jessica chimes in, “are for domestic violence awareness. It’s the South Florida Riders’ cause of choice this season.”
“It’s true,” Frankie adds, softly rubbing her baby bump. “The team and franchise donate butt-tons of money to whatever cause they choose, and that’s this season’s cause. Hence the socks.”
“Huh…” I sit back in the plush seat and watch the guys line up for a play, every one of them sporting the same deep purple socks. “That’s beautiful. I didn’t know that.”
I remember Dylan telling me the NFL does a lot of good, but he never specified. He could have mentioned the purple! That would have shut my ignorant little mouth right up. Not Dylan, though…he doesn’t brag. He wouldn’t even know how.
As the game progresses, I find that I can hardly look away. Whitney whispers explanations in my ear, and by the time the fourth quarter comes around, I’m two pink glasses deep and can hardly think about anything but the football game. What is happening to me? I hate organized sports. At least I thought I did.
I smile again about the purple socks. Maybe I was wrong.
“Come on, Six.” Whitney presses her elbows into her knees and scoots to the very edge of her chair.
The
Riders are down by three and there’s only ten seconds left on the clock. My whole body is tight and tense. I’m gonna have to do some serious yin and oxygen flows tonight to get my spirit balanced after this, admittedly fun, roller coaster of an afternoon.
“Panthers defense is friggin’ unstoppable,” Erica says with a worried flip of her hair.
The tense concentration in the air is tangible, and suddenly I’m way more invested than I’ve ever been in any sporting event. I clasp my hands together and notice that I’m actually holding my breath as Chase throws the ball.
Frankie squeals and holds her hands to her heart as the football sails toward her husband, but the pass was basically impossible, and both Leo and the ball end up on the sidelines.
“Incomplete,” Jessica whispers. “Crap.”
“Think they’re gonna go for it?” Whitney asks.
“Go for what?” I ask frantically, still surprised by how captivated this game has me. I tap Whitney’s arm repeatedly to get her to pry her attention from her quarterback fiancé for one second. “What are they going for?” I’m practically whispering so that my gaping lack of football knowledge isn’t super apparent.
“The field goal,” she explains quietly. “It’s fourth down, and they’re likely not gonna make it. So they can kick a field goal for three points if they want. But damn, it looks like it’s gonna be really long.”
“Kick?” Excitement rises in my voice. “Kick? You mean, like, Dylan?”
Whitney laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yes. This is Dylan’s time to shine.”
“It’s a fifty-yarder,” Frankie says, slowly shaking her head. She turns to me. “Hope your man brought his A Game.”
“Oh—” I wave my hand around quickly. “He is so not my man.”
She and Jessica share a look.
“Riders boys have a certain kind of…magic,” Jessica says with a knowing smile. “Just you wait and see.”
I bite my lip and turn back toward the field. The Riders boys have…status and money and, okay fine, impossibly sexy, soul-melting bodies. I’ll give them that. But I trust my psychic far more than my nagging feminine hormones.
Thrill Ride Page 6