by Liz Lincoln
She couldn’t stop looking at him. She really did try to keep her focus on Ryan. They’d moved on to dissecting a few of the league’s more controversial rule changes, and she was fully participating in the conversation. But she was so used to multitasking, she could be mid-monologue on her thoughts of what should constitute a catch and still find her gaze had wandered away from Ryan and across the room to a certain player. And not because as a wide receiver, the rule affected him.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard for elephants to mate with chickens in the forests of Timbuktu,” Ryan said, setting down his fork and leaning back in his chair.
“I fully agree,” Natalie murmured. Quinn’s deep, hearty laughter floated above the rest of the noise in the room, warming her inside. The man laughed hard, partied hard, played hard, loved hard; everything about him was—
“Wait, what?” Elephants to mate with chickens. Damn. “You’re making fun of me.”
Ryan grinned, the dark skin around his eyes crinkling. “How’re you doing with that?” He nodded his head backward, indicating the group of players. He didn’t need to specify to whom he referred.
Natalie propped her elbows on the table and dropped her face into her hands. “I don’t know. It’s harder than I expected.”
“There’s a lot of history there,” Ryan agreed.
Sometimes it would be nice if not every single person associated with football knew about how her past was tangled up with Quinn’s. But that was a good ten or fifteen years off. “I’m doing this in-depth profile of Matt Baxter. I’m basically shadowing him for two weeks. Since Quinn was living in a hotel, Matt invited him to move into his place. So I’ll be hanging out at Matt’s, and Quinn will be there and that’s not really something I had listed on my five-year plan.” She stabbed her fork into a steamed carrot and shoved it in her mouth, chewing more viciously than the poor vegetable deserved.
“So you’re saying you’re handling it all in stride, not at all stressed?” His foot knocked hers playfully under the table.
“My boss wants me to come up with ideas for a big profile on Quinn Lowry and his return. He clearly isn’t going to work with me on it. So it’ll have to be something like last time, sneaky and behind his back. Making people talk shit and not letting him defend himself.” That one still bothered her. She should have at least tried to talk to Quinn.
“There’s no chance he’d work with you?” Ryan asked. He’d been one of her sources for the article she wrote three years ago. As the photographer for the team Quinn played on for four years, he saw a lot. And had been willing to talk to Natalie, though she’d identified him only as Scorpions personnel. It had been the beginning of their friendship, which led to their hotel room trysts, which led to this awkward, frustrating dinner.
She should have turned Ryan down via text and ordered room service.
“No chance.” She glanced over at Quinn again. Even from half a restaurant away, she could see the glints of gold in his two-day-scruff beard. Could see the slight upturn to his full lips as he listened to Jaron. She remembered the heated anger in his eyes as they faced off outside Crosby’s bathroom. “He pretty much blames me for his career ending.”
“You do realize you didn’t do anything wrong, right?”
Natalie sighed. Of course she did. She’d been very careful to keep anything she’d learned from her personal relationship with Quinn out of that article she wrote three years ago. It was all public records of his legal troubles and disciplinary action by the league and his teams. Her interviews with other players and team personnel like Ryan. The few lines she’d put in about his drinking problems going back to college had been quotes from teammates of his at Northwestern. Sure, maybe they’d returned her calls and answered her questions because they’d also been her friends in college. But that had been before she dated Quinn and continued after she broke up with him.
And she’d said as much in the article, fully disclosing her relationship with Quinn. That piece had been damn good reporting, based on hours of hard work. And it had landed her the job at SLNT, working for one of her role models, Ellen Blake. So she was not going to feel guilty about the personal ramifications it may have had for a man she loved once upon a time.
Except she did. Some days, she felt sick with guilt. Even though rationally she knew Quinn was responsible for his own behavior, which was what ultimately led to his being cut from the Scorpions. His agent hadn’t dropped him until he got two more DUI charges. None of that was her fault. She’d simply been the one who compiled all the information. A data aggregator.
Sometimes she even believed that.
She just wanted to go back to her room, alone, find a good romantic comedy on cable and watch it while she scheduled some social media posts for the following day. Then she wanted to sleep a deep, dreamless sleep. Was that too much to ask?
“You know there are dozens of men in your field who’ve pulled shit way more cutthroat to get a promotion or award nomination, or hell, even just clicks. And not one of them feels guilty about it.” He reached over and briefly touched the back of her hand. “If you’re gonna work with him, you gotta let it go.”
She knew all that too. She hated that she bought in to the double standard that existed for women in sports journalism. Especially when that double standard was the entire reason she wasn’t moving up at her previous job as quickly as the men. She’d had to write that article to get the job at SLNT, where she now worked for one of the most respected women in the business. If that wasn’t a sad, pathetic irony, she didn’t know what was.
“Can we talk about something else?” She set her silverware across her mostly empty plate and sat back in her chair. Ryan did the same, and for a tense moment, they stared at each other. “Look, about tonight—”
As she spoke, Ryan said, “So we need to talk—”
They both stopped and he chuckled.
“You go.” Natalie waved her hand to indicate he should talk since she had no clue what she’d been about to say.
He shifted, sat forward again and leaned his elbows on the table. “OK.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for you and me to spend tonight together.”
Ohthankgod. Some of the tension in her shoulders released. She couldn’t even find it in herself to care that he’d rejected her first; she knew he’d enjoyed their times together and it was clearly time for them to move on now.
Before she could respond or he could explain why, someone behind her cleared their throat. And she knew without looking that Quinn was standing behind her.
Fuck. Had he heard Ryan?
Why did she care? It was none of his business who she slept with. It had been nearly eight years since they broke up.
“Quinn, hey.” Ryan stood and extended his hand to the other man, smoothing over the surreal moment. “Good to see you.”
The men shook hands and clapped each other on the shoulder.
“I just wanted to come over and say hi.” Quinn gave Ryan the lazy half smile that did funny things to Natalie’s insides.
She was not OK with Quinn doing funny things to her insides, but she couldn’t help it. Damn the man for being so effortlessly sexy.
“Welcome back to Vegas.” Ryan stepped back but remained standing. “Of all the places to have your season opener, it’s gotta be weird.”
Quinn’s gaze flicked to Natalie but didn’t linger, snapping right back to Ryan. “Yeah, probably wouldn’t have been my first choice, but what can you do?”
Ryan’s expression softened. “It’s good to see you back. Good luck. I mean that.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Quinn flicked another look at Natalie, making her pulse trip over itself. How did he make even the quickest glance so intense? Her fingers tingled as she played with the napkin in her lap.
The following silence lasted a moment past comfortable, then
Quinn finally stepped back. “Anyway, I should get back before the guys think I’m soft for my old team or something. Just wanted to say hey.”
“Good to see you.” Ryan eased back into his chair.
“See you tomorrow,” Natalie said, looking up at him but focusing on his neck rather than letting herself catch his gaze again.
He paused, seeming almost startled by her words. Then he said, “Right. Tomorrow. Have a good night.” And he sauntered back to his table.
Natalie exhaled long and slow. Was it always going to be like this around him, the tension, the discomfort, the way parts of her still longed for him? More reasons to get that promotion: she’d cover all the teams, not just the Dragons. And while Quinn was only on a one-year contract now, she had little doubt he’d do well enough to get an extension.
“So, tonight,” Ryan said, bringing her thoughts back to the table.
“Right. You said you’re not up for a hookup. Which is totally fine.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “It’s not about you at all, I promise. I’ve had a lot of fun with you.”
“Ryan, you don’t—”
“I met someone. We started dating in March and, well, I’ve been looking at rings.”
Despite everything else, something in Natalie’s chest softened. “Ryan. That’s awesome. I’m so happy for you.” She squeezed his hand.
His smile engulfed his handsome face. “She’s amazing.”
They lingered over their drinks, Ryan telling her more about his girlfriend. Natalie even managed not to look over at Quinn more than a few times.
Finally they paid and headed for the exit. Natalie walked out to the lobby with Ryan. And just her luck, the Dragons group was leaving at the same time.
“It was good seeing you,” Ryan said as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“You too.” As she spoke, Natalie’s gaze caught on Quinn’s, and the veiled frustration there was like a punch in her too-full stomach. He couldn’t possibly be upset about her and Ryan. Could he?
If he’d overheard their conversation, he’d heard Ryan say they weren’t going to spend the night together. And he was witnessing Ryan leaving. So there was absolutely no reason for him to be jealous. Besides, he couldn’t stand her, so he would never be jealous anyway. It had to be like her dreams, just residual feelings from a million years ago. It would stop eventually, once they were used to being around each other.
Still, as she waited for the elevators, she couldn’t keep herself from looking over at the group of players again as they moved through the door and into the warm night.
But he wasn’t looking at her.
* * *
—
Quinn wasn’t sure he’d ever been this antsy in his whole fucking life. Definitely not in his professional football career. The closest he’d come to this jittery feeling of needing to move and puke and hide and just fucking start the game, all at the same moment, was his sophomore year in college when he’d gotten his first start.
But back then, he’d had a way to deal with his nerves. He started game days with a shot of vodka, and snuck sips of whiskey from his flask in the locker room before the game. Once he got to the pros, he’d pop a couple Oxys on top of that before heading out for warm-ups.
What if all that shit hadn’t just helped with nerves? What if they’d given him the sense of invincibility he carried onto the field? The feeling he could go after even the hardest catches and make them, because he was Quinn fucking Lowry and he was a goddamn playmaker. The idea that it didn’t matter if the defense ripped him in half, as long as he came down with the ball.
What if all that shit hadn’t been his mental toughness, but his mental fucked-up-ness?
He started pacing in the end zone. Fuck fuck fuck. He was going to puke. Ironic, really, that he’d need to spew when he was stone cold sober but never had when his system was full of alcohol and opiates.
Where was Matt? He needed to catch some balls, get into the rhythm of the game so he could get out of his head.
He scanned the field that had once been his home stadium, looking for his new roommate. Instead he found fellow receiver Ricky Donovan. That worked. They could take turns passing and catching. Quinn jogged over to the tall, squashed-faced man where he was stretching on the forty-yard line. On the way, Quinn snagged a football from the sideline.
The two men spent ten minutes tossing balls for the other to catch, loosening their bodies, getting their hands used to the feel of the leather smacking into the silicone grip of their gloves. They practiced a few routes, though it was mostly to commit them to sense memory. Without a linebacker or safety there to tackle them, it was impossible to simulate in-game scenarios.
Still, it did the trick. Quinn was able to focus on his body, his eyes concentrating on the ball as it spiraled through the air, his leg muscles pulling and stretching as he ran for it, the shock waves up his arms as the ball made contact with his hands. It felt good. Right. This was always where he belonged, the place where the noise in his brain settled and he could think.
He held on to the ball for a moment, closing his eyes and tilting his face up to the hot Vegas sun. He drew in a long, slow breath, listening to the familiar sounds of football around him, inhaling the scent of the grass and the warmth and the men around him. Taking it all in.
He was home.
* * *
—
Natalie snapped a picture of Dragons kicker Jeremy Trask in mid-kick, then quickly turned to follow the ball and snap a second picture of it sailing through the uprights from sixty-one feet out. Next to her, the team videographer stuck his fingers in his mouth to whistle. “Nice kick!” Drew yelled.
Natalie laughed, then quickly typed a photo caption on her phone and posted the shots to social media.
Trask set up for his next kick, and Natalie wandered down the field to find a new picture to take and post. She loved that Ellen had negotiated to get her more field access before and after games. She even got to be on the sidelines during three games over the season, though not this one. When the team finished warm-ups and headed back to the locker room, she had to go up to the press box.
Near the end zone, her gaze snagged on Quinn, as it did far too often. He held the ball in one arm, cradled against his side, with his face turned up to the sky, eyes shut. He looked as serene and relaxed as she’d ever seen him. The only times that compared were back in college, during those tender moments after they made love. He’d been so gentle and loving then, all the tension gone from his face, just peace.
He looked that way now, and it tugged on something so deeply buried inside Natalie, she’d thought maybe that part of her was gone forever. Her chest ached, her lungs too full of emotion to bring in air. Her blood felt prickly moving through her veins.
She had to close her own eyes and turn away before she did something ridiculous like go to him. When she opened them again, Quinn had also reopened his and was drawing back to toss the ball to Ricky Donovan.
Shaking off the weird mood, she captured a few pictures of the two receivers warming up. Ricky tossed a ball to Quinn’s right, above his head, and he had to jump sideways for it. She caught a perfect action shot of him airborne just as he trapped the ball between his palms. He landed on one foot with the grace of a cat, then pivoted before the other foot came down. After jogging a few steps, he turned back and launched the ball at Ricky.
Excitement tickled Natalie’s belly as she captioned the photo. That right there, the ease of his movements, the way he made it seem so simple, was why she loved watching Quinn play football. Why she’d enjoyed seeing him on the field even before they dated, and again after they broke up. He had a shit ton of natural talent and worked his ass off to develop and hone it. And it made him a joy to watch.
She wanted to keep watching the two receivers, but she needed to find a different
group of players. She couldn’t very well turn the SLNT feed into Quinn Lowry’s personal fan page. So she wandered back down the sideline, scanning the players as she went. A few guys were in the middle, stretching, but most had headed back into the locker room to get into their uniforms and perform whatever their final pregame ritual consisted of.
Did Quinn still listen to ten minutes of soft, calming music to settle his mind, then another ten of loud, screaming heavy metal to get his blood pumping? Had he picked something new for his routine to replace the booze and pills she knew were once part of it?
She couldn’t stop herself from looking back in his direction, only to find him a few feet away. He stopped short when he caught her looking at him.
His relaxed expression tensed. “Natalie.” He nodded stiffly.
“Hey, Quinn. You guys looked good.” She used her head to indicate where he’d been practicing. “Like you haven’t missed a day.”
“Thanks. We’ll see how I do going up against an actual defense.” He studied her for a long moment, frowning. Almost long enough she wanted to squirm, or ask if she had an alien coming out of the top of her head.
“You nervous?” She didn’t know if she was asking as a reporter or as someone who might care just a little. Which was more than she cared to care, but apparently she had no choice in the matter.
He shrugged, then spoke to her left shoulder. “Not really. Not more than any other game.”
He always spoke to her left shoulder when he was lying. She’d figured that out about him the first week they met, back in September of their freshman year. He’d once told her that part of why he loved her was because he could never get away with lying to her when so many other people let him get away with whatever he wanted.
