Goal (Completion #6)

by Holly S. Roberts

  And that’s when the night takes a turn for the better.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aiden

  I toss my phone on the counter and it slides several feet, almost ending up on the floor. My own family betrays me by taking sides with Jordan. And I sound like a pussy. Watching Jordan’s lips cover the bite marks on that apple where Lane’s lips had been pissed me off. The juice running down Jordan’s mouth turned me the hell on too.

  I woke up and she was still sleeping. I thought about waking her and making good on my promise but decided she needed the rest. So I let her sleep and I behaved like a gentleman. I regret it now.

  Jealousy is not an emotion I’m accustomed to. Hell, I know there is nothing going on between her and Lane but damn. I claimed those lips. They drive me crazy and if I’m going crazy over them I know other players have the same thoughts.

  Lips for God’s sake.

  I pace around my living room for at least five minutes before settling down and flicking through channels on the TV. Two minutes later and I would have missed Mike Goodwyn’s diatribe.

  “So, folks, after three preseason games the joke of the football community is still standing. She can kick a ball, I’ll give her that, but so far she hasn’t taken a hit and lived to tell about it. I think the opposing teams are afraid to go after the little kicker for fear of retribution for hitting a woman. This is football, guys, and you need to put a quick stop to this little girl who thinks she can play with the big boys.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter and click to another station. I’m so ready for the actual season to start. Maybe Jordan can take a hit and maybe she can’t. I have a feeling she’s made of stronger stuff than people give her credit for.

  I won’t play during this last preseason game. It doesn’t bother me to sit out before regular season starts. No, it’s not why I’m restless. Earlier today I heard whispering in the weight room. Something’s up. I don’t know why I think this pertains to Jordan but I do. I have a bad feeling going into this last preseason game. I walk over and grab my phone to send a text to Jordan.

  Me: Don’t believe anything they say. Call me tomorrow so we can talk.

  Me: Please.

  I order take-out and spend the evening in front of the television. Jordan ignores me.

  ∞∞∞

  Two days later, I still haven’t heard from her.

  Final cuts came down yesterday, and this last preseason game will be the difference in a starting position and playing second or third string for the rest of the guys. The home stands quickly fill for the late afternoon game. Excitement is thick in the air. Game four is usually a walk in the park for me because I do little more than stroll up and down the sidelines checking for problems on the frontline. When I see something, I relay it to Coach Mitchel.

  The only difference now—I can’t take my mind off Jordan wondering why she never replied to my text. Her silence is driving me insane. I’m a man, and my mother has mentioned many times that it’s synonymous with being an asshole. Maybe she’ll talk to Jordan on my behalf. My damn sisters have chosen sides and they haven’t returned my calls either. This man needs a break.

  Kelson Miller is the star in the first half. He’s dead on tonight. Third string will take over after halftime but I’m actually relieved to see Kelson at his best. We need him, bad attitude and all. Jordan kicks two extra points and we’re up by fourteen when we head into the locker room.

  “Good job,” I say when I pass her. She nods before quickly turning away. I need to get better at this whole relationship thing.

  Coach Mitchel and the defensive coordinator give their spiel, we take a quick bathroom break, and then head back on the field for the second half. Fergus, the third-string QB, holds his own until two minutes before the fourth quarter begins. He almost throws an interception, but it’s tipped by a player’s hands and lands out of bounds. This means Jordan’s up for a field goal.

  The number nine jerseys in the crowd go crazy. I wouldn’t normally pay attention to Kelson because he usually grumbles before going onto the field to hold the football. This time, he doesn’t say a word, gives one of the special teams lineman a slap on the back, and jovially runs onto the field.

  The players line up and the center hikes the ball to Kelson. Jordan’s focus is the football and she runs forward. I know something’s wrong when her step hitches slightly before she reaches the ball. I also notice half-assed blocking by a few of the players. The ball is deflected and it spins upward. There’s a mad dash to catch the ball in the air when it bounces off a player’s fingers and Jordan snags it.

  Shit.

  Multiple opposing players descend and she’s lost beneath a sea of uniforms. Whistles blow and play stops. What the hell was she thinking? The stadium is silent as players begin rolling out of the pileup and taking their feet. The other team is pointing to their side, claiming they have the ball. Jordan is on her back when she’s finally visible. She holds the ball up and fans go crazy. A player puts his hand out and helps her stand. I can’t keep a grin off my face until I see her hold her arm close to her chest.

  “Get her off the field,” Coach Mitchel yells.

  Trainers run out and speak to her as she walks to the sidelines. I have no choice but to stand back as they check her for injuries. One of the trainers helps get her helmet off and pain is clearly etched on her face. She grimaces when they move her arm. A few minutes later they decide she needs X-rays and she leaves the field to a standing ovation.

  “What the hell?” I demand from Kelson.

  He sneers. “Having trouble seeing your girlfriend take a hit?”

  Mason grabs my arm and pulls me back when I take an angry step toward Kelson. “There’s a game going on,” says one of the coaches who’s standing next to us.

  I seethe and watch the clock tick down as we go into the fourth quarter.

  This game can’t be over quick enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jordan

  My shoulder is badly bruised but no lasting damage. My entire body feels like it was mushed beneath three-hundred-pound football players because it was. I enter the locker room after the physical therapist clears me. I have a large icepack wrapped around my shoulder when the team trudges in from the field.

  Several players ask how I’m doing and I actually think they might care. Then I hear Kelson open his mouth to a few other players. “She had the ball between her tits; it’s the only way she could hold on,” he says and laughs.

  Asshole.

  Two players standing in front of me hear the exchange. Their damn eyes go straight to my breasts and it pisses me off. They turn away and listen as Kelson continues flapping his lips. Eyes shift away from me when I look to other players and that pisses me off even more. What the fuck do I need to do to prove myself?

  I lift the ice off my shoulder and lay it on the closest bench.

  “Now that we’ve been laughed out of the NFL by a pair of tits, we need to go back to what football is all about—”

  That’s it. I’ve had it. Belligerent voices agreeing with Kelson take me over the edge.

  “If you had tits like Givens, you might get further with your next contract, Reynolds,” Kelson keeps shooting his mouth.

  I walk up to Kelson.

  “Oh shit,” one of the players says. I can only imagine what my face must look like right now.

  Oh shit is right. I’m fed up with Kelson’s crap and he isn’t saying anything the other players don’t agree with. I take two more steps toward him, loop my fingers beneath the bottom of my jersey, and hook my sports bra as I lift the material up past my breasts. My shoulder hurts like a bitch but nothing will stop me from putting his dick in its place.

  “You mean these, Kelson?” I do a quarter turn right and then left so each player gets an eye-full. The locker room goes silent. My eyes zero back to Kelson. “These are called breasts. Not tits, not boobs. They’re breasts just like your mother has.” A player or two chuckles until I stare
them down. “These were made so women can feed babies. If I ever decide to have one of those in between seasons, you’ll be seeing me in here before a game nursing my child.” Kelson’s face goes from red to purple. “You want to talk about my breasts, go ahead but you will damn sure use the proper terminology. You get me, Kelson?”

  “That’s enough, Jordan, pull your shirt down,” Aiden says from behind me. He wasn’t here when this started and I have no idea when he walked in.

  I’m finishing this whether he likes it or not. “I will as long as these guys can move past my breasts and play like a team. Any time you boys need another view, just let me know.” I pull the material over my chest and watch Kelson stalk toward the showers.

  “Nice breasts,” Bobby says as he collects dirty jerseys.

  I look over at my friend. His face is slightly redder than usual. He gives me a large grin and then bends to pick up a towel.

  “Come on, Jordan. Let’s take a cool-down walk.” Aiden places his hand on my good shoulder.

  I ignore him for another few seconds and keep my eyes on Bobby. “Thank you, Bobby, I think they’re pretty nice too.” I turn, shake off Aiden’s hand, and storm out of the locker room. We make it twenty feet down the hallway before Aiden starts bitching.

  “Was that fucking necessary?” He’s still in his uniform with his helmet swinging from his fingers. Unlike mine, his uniform is pristine because he didn’t play today.

  “I think it was.” I nod toward the locker room door. “Those guys have some kind of fixation on my breasts and they need to get over it.” I’m still angry but the adrenaline from minutes before is dropping. It’s clear from Aiden’s expression that he’s about to go apeshit.

  His jaw tightens even more, if that’s possible. “Of course they have a damn fixation on your breasts. They’re guys. What happens when their new fixation is your pussy?” He takes a step closer to me. “What the fuck happens then, Jordan?”

  I’m not afraid of him and I inch forward until we’re toe to toe. I tilt my head back and our gazes hold. “Then.” I breathe in to try to calm down. It doesn’t work. “I shave closely so when I show my hoohaa they see all that baby-smooth skin. Maybe the next time they go out on that field they’ll think about protecting it. I bet if you shaved and showed them your dick they might want to protect it too. At this point it couldn’t hurt.”

  His body jacks up, every muscle tightening, and red creeps up his neck. The pulse in his throat beats faster. God, his throat. I want to bite those damn corded muscles so bad it hurts. No man should be capable of taking my thoughts off the game like Aiden can.

  He inhales deeply. His nostrils flare. I want him to kiss me even though we’re standing in the hall and anyone could walk by. Who am I kidding? I want the entire world to see that Aiden Patrickson cares. About me.

  His hot gaze sweeps my body. “You’re too much, Jordan. Over the top, unpredictable, and definitely not a lady.”

  My heart drops into my stomach. Do I want to be a lady for Aiden? “Being a lady is highly overrated. I want to be a football kicker.” The women he dates are high-society snobs. I couldn’t be them if I tried.

  “Then for the love of God, get the damn ball between the goalposts in the next game.” He takes another deep breath and relaxes.

  His words hurt because he has no idea what happened. “Then talk to Kelson and tell him the seam of the football faces away from the kicker when he sets up for a field goal.” There’s a decided chill in my voice.

  “Is that what happened out there?” Aiden whispers.

  He’s entirely too close and I immediately regret telling him. “I’ll handle it.”

  “That shit doesn’t work on this team. He can take it up with the coaches. You stay out of it. How’s your arm?” My stunt with my breasts seems to be over.

  My shoulder is killing me but I don’t say it. “Bruised. I’ll live.”

  Aiden backs off. “I have no doubt. Come on, I’ll take you to dinner after we shower.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes.”

  I guess it’s settled, because I no longer want to argue.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Aiden

  The only thing that saves my sanity in the shower is the thought of kicking Kelson’s ass. He’s smarter than he acts because I don’t see him after I walk back into the main part of the locker room. Jordan’s still in her private dressing room, so I head to Coach Mitchel’s office. The trainer is discussing Jordan’s injured shoulder when I arrive.

  She wasn’t quite truthful with me and I should be angry. But I’m not because I’ve given her flippant replies and said I’m okay many times when I’m not. That’s what football players do. Jordan has a badly bruised shoulder and she’ll be in physical therapy for a couple of weeks. It won’t stop her from playing the first regular season game, though.

  The trainer leaves and I fill Coach in on what happened and how Jordan ultimately was hurt.

  He nods and then comes out of left field with, “You sleeping with her?”

  Well, hell. “I think about it,” I say to deflect the question. There is no way I’m telling him about my sex life with Jordan. There’s no rule against fraternizing between players, though having women on teams may change that.

  “You know football has had bad publicity for sexism. We knew when we first considered her for the position that our biggest problem would be how the guys treat her in the locker room. She insisted on being in there even when I objected. As a coach it isn’t my job to interfere in a player’s life unless it affects the game. You make damned good and sure the lady says yes before anything happens. This could go many ways in the media. You’ve been the golden child for three years now. I would hate to see your reputation ruined. I would also hate to see Jordan slaughtered more than she already is by the media.”

  “I hear you.” Though I might not like what he just said. I would never force a woman. I don’t see Jordan doing anything she didn’t want to either. She’s as stubborn as they come.

  Coach gives me a long look. “Season ticket sales have increased twenty percent since putting Jordan on the roster. Number nine jersey sales have beaten all others, including yours. Hell, I don’t know if she’ll make it through the year but bringing her on board hasn’t hurt the team.”

  My thoughts on having Jordan as a teammate have changed. Jordan deserves her shot. The shift in my thinking has been gradual. The grumbling about having her on the team has mostly died down and until Kelson’s stupid stunt I thought the players were coming around.

  “She’s needed in the press room in ten. Let her know,” Coach says as I’m leaving.

  Of course she is. The press can’t get enough of Jordan. I smile. It’s actually a relief to put the press in her capable hands. I walk back toward the locker room and meet Jordan along the way. I grab her bag and refuse to argue. “You need more ice on that shoulder. Some ibuprofen would help too. Coach wants you at the press conference, so we’ll stop there before heading out.”

  “Yes, daddy,” she smarts back.

  My dick twitches. “Don’t say that, little girl, or I may need to put you over my knee.”

  She stops and looks at me, her lips are the perfect pouty turn-on. “Or maybe I’ll put you over mine.”

  “You and what army?”

  She laughs and we continue to the press room.

  It’s a zoo. Coach waves me up to the raised table to take a seat beside Jordan. Things quiet down and Coach speaks for a few minutes before turning the mic over to Jordan. She chooses Cloe Smythe to start the question portion of the conference.

  “How was your first tackle pileup?” Cloe asks right off the bat.

  I turn my chair slightly so I’m watching Jordan answer.

  “Exhilarating. Relieved to have that hurdle over with and,” she rubs her shoulder, “painful.”

  Laughter fills the room. Mike Goodwyn breaks in, “What makes you think you can handle playing when that was only a small taste of what�
�s waiting for you in the real season?”

  Jordan squeezes my leg beneath the table when my body jerks and I’m ready to butt in. She’s right. I can’t defend her in this situation. How does she face this type of attitude day in and day out?”

  “You know, Mike…” She doesn’t answer his question and I’m shocked when she challenges him directly. “From everything I hear in town, you’re a well-respected sports journalist. It made me curious, so I found myself doing a bit of research about you.”

  “You’re not answering my question,” Mike interrupts again.

  She ignores that and continues. “You played football as a kid, but you weren’t good enough when it came to high school ball. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. From what I could find, you tried quite a few sports and never stuck with one long enough to amount to a decent player.” She holds up her hand when Mike tries to interrupt again. “It’s okay, Mike. I can’t play an instrument even though I tried. We are not all cut out to play football and very few players make it to the big leagues. It means you get to armchair quarterback and it’s the closest you’ll ever come to a group of three-hundred-pound men trying to take you down. If you ever want to come out on the field and see things from my perspective, you’re invited. When players are coming at you, the last thing on your mind is what you can handle. I do what I’m paid to do, which is score.” She drills him with her eyes. “I did a little extra homework on you, but we’ll save that for another news conference.”

  Holy fuck she didn’t just take him down, she threatened him with more of his background.

  Jordan looks to another reporter and ignores Mike when he tries to break in again. From his expression, he’s apoplectic and may stroke out on the spot. No one has ever called him on his shit for fear they will incur his wrath. Jordan doesn’t care, and I find her attitude damn sexy.

  She has great insight to the game and fields the next few questions like the pro she is. Things finally die down and I’m hoping we can leave, but then Mike decides to go after me. “As team captain do you see how low morale is hurting players and how are you combatting this situation in the locker room?”