This is a team-only dinner—no family, wives, or girlfriends. This could be the first time a woman has desecrated their season kickoff party. We enter the back area and several players toss out hellos to Lane. Besides the long stares at my body and a few whistles, I’m ignored. Lane takes a table with two players I don’t know. They’re special teams and fighting for their positions. I, on the other hand, am fighting against no one for my position. I just want acceptance. “Jordan, these two delinquents are Carter and Kareem. They’ll be keeping you safe on the line when you’re kicking, so don’t piss them off.”
Carter grins, or at least I think he does. It’s hard to see his mouth past the bushy blond beard. His hair hangs to his massive shoulders and a T-shirt clings to every muscled inch of him. Youza. From a distance, I didn’t realize exactly how big he is.
“Kick the ball through the posts and you won’t have a problem from me,” Kareem remarks. His braided hair is pulled into a loose ponytail that hangs to the middle of his back. He carries the same muscle as Carter but appears bigger…if possible, meaner.
A waitress takes our drink order. “Beer, whatever you have on draft is fine,” I say. The waitress writes it down and I realize the guys at our table have all stopped talking. “I’ll take a glass of lemonade,” Lane says and purposely bumps my arm and smiles when he speaks to the waitress.
“Beer, draft,” Carter says. “I’m buying this round,” he jokes because the team is picking up the tab.
“In that case, I’ll have a cold draft too,” Kareem adds.
“What?” I ask them after she leaves. The guys are still staring at me.
Lane smiles and shrugs. “You didn’t get one of those girly drinks, that’s what.”
It’s true. I learned to drink draft beer with the college players. Mostly I ordered what they were drinking so the bartender never looked too closely at my fake ID. Now that I’m over twenty-one—barely—it’s still habit and I’ve actually grown fond of beer. When the waitress returns with our drinks, we order food. I ask for a finger platter that has everything from fried zucchini to potato skins. Lane makes small talk with the other two while I listen. He’s right. It’s nice to enjoy the relaxed environment and get to know some of the special teams’ players.
The food arrives and we dig in. Lane tries to grab a cheese stick from my plate and I slap his hand. “Touch my food and you’ll lose your fingers. I’m starved.”
He rubs the back of his hand like I actually hurt him. “Did anyone ever tell you a woman should eat salad and pretend she’s never hungry?”
I laugh and plop the cheese stick he was after into my mouth. I moan over the creamy cheese and fried sin. “Nope, I missed that memo,” I say after I swallow half the cheese stick.
Lane leans in close. “So I need to ask,” he whispers.
I look at the other two guys, who are watching the interchange. “Ask,” I say warily.
“Do you do anything like a girl?” No smile. He just leaves the question out there.
I lick my lips and lower my voice. “I do one thing exactly like a girl.” I lean in closer and whisper loud enough for the other two to hear. “I slide a tampon in like a pro.” Lane instantly leans away. “You asked,” I add with a mischievous smile.
Carter and Kareem start laughing. “Yeah, you asked, Lane. Maybe if you’re nice she’ll show you her technique.”
Lane smiles with good humor. “I think I’ll pass on that lesson or even seeing it in action.”
“Hand me the dessert menu,” I tell Carter. He cocks his head and then shakes it. I give him the evil eye.
With a huff, he hands me the menu and mutters, “Woman can eat.”
He’s right, I can. I order chocolate cake with ice cream and fudge topping. The guys stare wide-eyed while I enjoy dessert and request another round of beer. Lane sticks to lemonade. “That was great,” I groan after the last bite. I push the plate away and rest back against the chair, completely stuffed.
“You actually ate the entire thing,” Kareem says in wonder.
I take a long pull from my beer. “I take my food quite seriously—” Commotion to the side of us makes everyone turn.
With the assistance of several players, Aiden is standing on one of the tables. “Attention,” he shouts. He lifts his beer and his gaze travels around the room. He catches my eye and holds me captive for longer than he should. He’s so damn gorgeous. Even when slightly tipsy. I want to lick him from ankles to neck. He lifts his beer. “To a winning season, for the love of the game, and…to the pain.”
“To the pain,” we yell back and join Aiden in the toast.
Tobias Landy reaches up and grabs Aiden around the waist, which isn’t easy. “Come here you silly little muffin.” He swings Aiden down and cradles him in his arms while everyone laughs and hands out encouragement from “drop him” to “smack that ass.” People unaccustomed to the rowdy nature of football players might question what’s happening right now. This is stereotypical big boys and their toys. They’re the biggest boys and the biggest toy on the planet for them is football. I could be in the community college locker room right now. The only difference…these are men with million-dollar contracts playing America’s number one sport. They’re acting like teenagers.
Landy hands Aiden off to another player like he’s a newborn and everyone needs to have a look at him. They’re all laughing and joking and Aiden is being good-natured as he gives them hugs and head noogies. Lane and I move in closer and Carter takes all six foot whatever of Aiden in his arms and pretends he’s struggling to hold him up.
“Take his legs, Jordan, and don’t drop the prima donna,” Carter huffs and swings Aiden around so his shoes are in front of me. I place Aiden’s feet on my shoulders. This leaves me staring down his long legs directly at his crotch. Laughter overshadows everything else in the room. It surprises me that Aiden just takes their teasing. I squeeze his calf muscles and run my finger along his leg until I get to the bottom hem of his shorts. This is accompanied by cheers and whistles from the men. One of Aiden’s hands is on Carter’s shoulder. With the other, Aiden grabs me around the neck and pulls me farther up his legs.
“Best bloody lips of any kicker in the NFL,” he shouts and moves in to kiss me.
“You’re hammered,” I say and step back, releasing Aiden’s legs. They drop like wooden boards and clunk on the ground. The guys help Aiden stand. “I’m glad you think my lips are nice, big boy.” I pull my red lipstick from my pocket and pass the uncovered tip over my lips before smacking them. “These legs,” I cock a hip and stick my kicking foot out, “aren’t bad either.” With a non-existent swish of my too-tight dress, I turn and walk away.
“Slammed.”
“Direct hit.”
Laughter follows me as I head to the ladies’ room. What the hell is Aiden thinking? He’s always in control. If he can’t handle his liquor, he shouldn’t drink. I touch up my lipstick and wash my hands to kill time. With a deep breath, I walk out of the bathroom and let out a small scream when I almost run over Lane directly outside the women’s room. His hand comes out to steady me.
“Sorry about that.”
His sudden appearance increased my heartrate and my hand covers my chest. “Worried I’d get lost?”
“Worried.” He gives me the strangest look.
“Did I forget to wash something off my face?” I ask and cover my cheeks.
“No, you forgot to wash off the lovesick puppy dog eyes.”
Oh hell no I didn’t. He can’t possibly have guessed. I bat my eyelashes at him. “Give a girl a little credit.” I start to walk past him and almost make it out of the hallway but I stumble slightly. He gently takes my arm.
“You’ve had too much to drink and we’re going home.”
“Oh goody,” I say as I clap. “Do you plan on tucking me in?”
“Maybe Patrickson will feel like it,” he mutters.
“Shhh, don’t say that.”
Chapter Sixteen
Aiden
The two ibuprofen I swallowed last night have zero effect on my pounding head when I wake up. It’s pitch dark in the room because of the blackout curtains, and I slam my hand down on the nightstand trying to find my phone and turn off the loud and insistent alarm.
“Fuck.”
Once the sound stops, I turn on the bedside light, squinting into the room with a groan. The bus leaves in forty-five minutes. Thank God I’m packed and ready to go. I take a quick shower, pull on board shorts and a T-shirt, and grab a protein bar on my way out of the apartment. The entire time I’m heading to the bus, small glimpses of my drunk-fest last night flash through my head.
I drink a few beers here and there and don’t usually go overboard. I have no idea what got into me last night. My lack of enthusiasm for this coming season and my desire for a sexy little kicker could have something to do with it.
I should have left the party early like I originally planned. Seeing Jordan all buddy-buddy with Lane flipped a switch inside me and alcohol was the only way to shut it off. Didn’t work but that was the plan.
My cab pulls up to the stadium beside the bus, and the driver quickly unloads my bags. “Good luck this season,” he says before driving away with a large tip.
Several of the guys are talking by the door to the bus and I head over. “Mornin’,” I offer.
“Hey,” Mason says. “Didn’t know if you’d make it.”
“Haha, your ass would be draggin’ mine out of bed if I didn’t,” I reply.
“Naaa, I’d worry about catching you in bed with our new kicker.”
The fun from a minute before sucks right out of the air. “What did you say?” I hiss.
Mason isn’t cowed. “Wow, the look on your face. Not smooth, Patrickson.”
Crap. What the fuck did I do last night? I remember watching Jordan with her new best friend smiling and generally goofing around. It was pissing me off. I run my fingers through my hair to gather my thoughts. The guys are watching me closely. Too closely.
Bobby walks around the corner of the bus. “She’s loaded up and ready to roll,” he says. My savior.
“Hey, Bobby.” I give him a customary sweep of his hair, which jogs my memory. A quick flash of Jordan standing between my thighs last night appears and disappears in an instant. Damn, it’s bad.
“I’ve crossed everything off my list and the buses are ready,” Bobby adds with his usual bright smile.
“Good job,” I tell him with more assurance than I feel.
Bobby is one of the gentlest souls I know. He may look like a teenager but he’s actually pushing thirty. His mental capacity is that of a young teenager. He’s the heart of this team because in his eyes the players can do no wrong. I’d also put him up against any equipment manager in the league. His OCD is the best thing that ever happened to a locker room for me.
“And here she comes, the kicker with the hot lips,” Mason whispers loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear. “Hot lips” jogs my memory too. Where’s a large hole when you need one? Jordan and Lane keep walking toward us. “Is Lane playing in your territory, boss?” Mason asks in a serious tone before they’re close enough to overhear.
Hell no this can’t be happening. Jordan tips her head at me and offers a tight smile when they walk by. Lane assists her onto the bus with a hand at her waist. Yes, Lane is walking in my damn territory but I can’t say that out loud. “She’s a teammate and it’s not a good idea for anyone to establish territory when it comes to our kicker,” I respond like it’s not the biggest lie on the planet.
“Seriously, you haven’t tapped that?” Mason asks, stunned.
“Tried,” I say because my macho radar is in full force. “Lady said no,” I reply and board the bus before anyone can reply. I hear laughter behind me.
Lane and Jordan sit toward the back. I sit up front, turn sideways, pull my baseball cap low, and close my eyes. There’s instant relief in my head. Bobby greets each of the players as they board. We have two buses and when ours is settled, Bobby heads to the second bus. Mason takes the seat across from me. I know it’s him because he goes through his customary bullshit griping about hating bus rides. I peel open my eyes once he’s settled. He’s sitting in a similar position with his back to the window. When our eyes meet, he mouths, “You’re full of shit.”
I grin because I am and Mason knows me too well. I won’t give him the truth and that will activate his vivid imagination. I don’t give a crap. Somehow I need to figure out a way to apologize to Jordan for something I can’t entirely remember doing.
She sticks with Lane during the three and a half hour trip. We stop for one break and Lane actually waits in front of the ladies’ restroom while she’s inside. Jordan has barely looked at me and I feel like I’m back in high school gathering my nerve to approach the prettiest girl in class.
Screw my life.
Football is simple. You move the ball into enemy territory and live to tell the tale. This “whatever it is” with Jordan is complicated whether she thinks it is or not. I need to forget about her and the hottest lips on the planet and concentrate on the season.
Wishing for something and making it happen are two different things. Thoughts of her lips attack my brain throughout the bus ride.
We arrive at the White Sands hotel and receive our room assignments. I’m with Kelson Miller like always. Why the team thinks the two QB’s vying for the number one spot should room together is beyond me. I could have it changed but that would cause a bigger problem than I already have with Kelson. He wants to move out of my shadow and it won’t happen as long as I have two legs and a throwing arm. In the meantime, he can be a jerk. It suits him.
The rooms are nice, but they are far from the five-star elegance I’ve grown accustomed to. The upside is we won’t be in them much. The real pain starts tomorrow. Is Jordan ready? Crap, I need to punch myself each time I so much as think her name.
I eat in the small hotel restaurant with several other players in hopes that I’ll run into Jordan so I can apologize. She never shows.
Kelson surprisingly joins our group. The man usually avoids me and anyone I’m with. Unfortunately, he immediately begins flappin’ his fat mouth. “I say we start a pool for the day Miss Pollyanna is carted off the field by medical.” My water glass is halfway to my lips and I swear if I squeeze the glass any tighter it will shatter.
Randy Byers speaks up. “Done. There’s an app for that. What’s the buy in?” He pulls his cell phone out and begins looking for the app, I presume.
“There will be no betting,” I snap. “All we need is for a bet like that to go public and we’ll be in deep shit. Let it go and let her do her thing.”
“Must have lost your touch, Patrickson. I hear she turned you down,” Kelson adds.
“None of your business,” I respond and cast a glare at Mason, who shrugs with a smile. Don’t let anyone tell you gossip is a girl thing. Football players love nothing more than sharing shit they would be better off keeping to themselves.
Kelson refuses to shut his trap. “The bitch has no business playing professional ball. Thank God she’s not hard on the eyes. I’m sure her tight little snatch and those wicked lips will keep her on the team as long as she’s able to…perform.”
Oh, hell no. I set my glass down and glare at Kelson. “You can keep those fucking thoughts to yourself.” I clench my teeth so hard it shoots to my head and I fight to hold back a groan.
“Or what?” he taunts.
I rise from the table and he does the same. “Or I’ll knock your balls so far up your ass it’ll look like you have a vagina,” I challenge.
“I’d like to see you try,” Kelson grinds out.
“Ladies, please.” Myer steps between us.
Our meals are paid for, so I toss my napkin on the table and walk away. Kelson is pushing me. It’s easy to see that the confrontation that’s been building for three years will come to a head this year. I plan to make it happen. I’ve had it with his sh
itty disposition and no way is he talking about Jordan’s lips.
I need to get whatever this is with Jordan out of my system. If I can keep my mouth shut long enough for her to cool down, maybe she’ll be willing to listen.
Chapter Seventeen
Jordan
I managed some sleep and feel like a new person. I was just too exhausted to search out dinner and my brain needed the downtime. Luckily, I’m one of the few players without a roomie. Being the only female has its perks.
A bus will transport us to the practice field at seven-fifteen sharp. It’s already hot outside when I head to the hotel lobby for a quick breakfast before leaving. I jump on the bus with a bottle of water and apple that’s half eaten. Most of the players are on board and I’m relieved when I don’t see Aiden. I assume he is on the other bus. I take one of two free seats up front and Lane joins me a few minutes later. He looks rested too. Nervous energy is in the air during the short bus ride.
Lane doesn’t say more than a quick hello. I watch the scenery closely on the way to the practice field. Rolling white sand dunes surround the stadium that we’ll be calling home for the next three weeks.
The stadium isn’t as large as our home turf, but it has the necessities and that’s all that matters.
“Jordan,” I hear after Lane and I walk off the bus.
I turn. It’s Bobby. I wait for him to approach. “They built you a private shower in the locker room. I’ll show you.”
I smile. “Thank you, Bobby, that would be great.”
“What the hell?” Tobias Landy thunders behind us. He’s glaring at me. “You have no business in the guys’ locker room.”
Bobby takes a step toward Tobias and I place my hand on Bobby’s arm to stop him. His freckled face is red in anger and I give him a gentle smile. “I got this,” I say over my shoulder to Bobby. My full attention then goes to Tobias and several other players who have stopped to see what the hold-up is. “It’s not your decision,” I tell him in the most worry-free voice I can hustle up. “Having a dressing room in the locker room is in my contract. Deal with it.” I stand there until he grumbles a few swear words and walks away.
Goal (Completion #6) Page 10
