by Jaci Burton
Flynn raked his fingers through his hair. His gut tightened and he wanted to fold Amelia into his arms and remove all the pain she'd gone through. But he couldn't. He'd opened up this can of horror from her past by asking her about it. Now that he had, he needed to let her finish. "So what happened?"
"I finally couldn't take it anymore. His refusal to believe in me, to trust me, to even consider going to couples counseling, was the end of our marriage. I told him if he didn't stop this nonsense that I'd leave him. One night it came to a boil and he screamed at me and told me that's exactly what I wanted all along--freedom so I could be with Craig. I cried so hard, tried to convince him that there was only him in my life, but by then he wasn't seeing reason. I packed up and left the house that night. I filed for divorce, quit my job and decided to move. I thought about moving back to Seattle, but what I really needed was a fresh start."
She lifted her gaze to his and offered up a tremulous smile. "And that's how I ended up in San Francisco."
He saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. As one slid down her cheek, he swiped it away with his thumb.
"I'm sorry, Amelia. I shouldn't have brought it up."
"It's okay. It's in the past now."
He took the wineglass from her hands and set it down on the table, then pulled her against him and wrapped his arm around her.
"The past has a way of not staying in the past. Obviously it still lingers."
She shuddered as she took in a breath. "A little."
Probably more than a little. Flynn would like to shove a fist into that bastard's face for hurting Amelia. "Thanks for telling me about him. I'm so sorry he hurt you."
"Me, too."
He smoothed his hand over her hair. "You realize none of this was your fault, right?"
"I do now. For the longest time I tried to figure out what I'd done wrong, how I could have managed it better, what I could have done to make him trust me. I went to counseling and the therapist helped me realize it wasn't me at all. I did everything right. It was all on Frank."
He was glad she was smart enough to seek help to support her through a terrible experience. "Good. Because your counselor was right. None of this was on you."
He let a few minutes pass while he stroked her hair and her back. He really felt shitty about her marriage. What kind of man was that guy, anyway? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.
"Amelia."
"Yes?"
"Your ex-husband is a dick. Never cry another tear over that worthless piece of shit again. He didn't deserve you."
She laughed, then straightened and shifted to face him. "Thanks for that. It does make me feel better."
And now he needed to shove that part of her past where it belonged--in the past.
He pushed her onto the mattress. "I've got something that'll make you feel even better."
She raised her arms above her head as he moved next to her. "Oh, really? And what might that be?"
"A bedtime story."
"Do tell."
"Once upon a time there was a tongue, a pair of hands and a really big cock . . ."
She sighed as he bent to lick her breasts. "I do love a good bedtime story."
NINETEEN
Amelia enjoyed watching a good football game, but admittedly she'd never actually been to a stadium before. This was going to be a first for her.
Since Flynn had to be at the stadium super early that morning, she wouldn't show up until later. She made arrangements to meet up with Mia and take Caltrain and the light rail to the stadium, since she knew traffic would be a nightmare. Flynn had offered to arrange for a private car to drive them there, but Amelia and Mia decided public transportation would be a lot more fun. They'd be able to engage with the other fans that way. And Mia had insisted they wear Sabers gear so they could get into the spirit of the game.
Amelia wasn't about to let either Mia or Flynn know that she didn't own Sabers gear. What kind of fan--or girlfriend--would she be if she admitted she didn't own Sabers gear?
Not that she was Flynn's girlfriend or anything. Or was she? She had no idea. She wasn't much for labeling. They were dating. That was enough to admit for now.
Before she headed into work on Saturday she stopped into one of the pro gear shops in the city and bought a jersey. And she just happened to find a number Ninety-Two jersey with Cassidy on the back. If she was going to gear up, she might as well do it right.
She drove over to Flynn's house several hours before game time. Mia came out wearing a Sabers long-sleeved shirt and a jacket and climbed into the front seat.
Mia grinned at her. "Nice jersey. Is it new?"
She knew she should have dirtied it up some. Then again, the thought of wearing a dirty jersey made her shudder. "It might be. Don't tell Flynn."
Mia laughed. "Your secret is safe with me."
They drove to the train station and parked, bought their tickets and climbed aboard. As she suspected, at each stop the train filled with more and more Sabers fans. By the time they got to their transfer stop, everyone on board was talking about today's game against St. Louis, and their entire car made the transfer over to the light rail system that would take them to the stadium.
They rode with a happy crowd of people to the stadium. She was so glad they'd decided to travel this way. It really amped up her enthusiasm for the game.
Flynn had gotten them passes to the suite where the players' wives and families sat and watched the games. After they showed their passes at security and made their way upstairs to the suite, Amelia could only gape in awe.
"Wow," she whispered to Mia. "Fancy."
"Right?"
The room had plenty of seating in front of floor to ceiling windows with a perfect view of the fifty-yard line.
"Hi." A beautiful dark-skinned, dark-haired woman came over. "I'm Tiffany LaSalle. My husband, Randy, plays wide receiver for the Sabers. Is this your first time here?"
Mia nodded. "I'm Mia Cassidy. Flynn is my brother. This is Amelia Lawrence, Flynn's girlfriend."
Amelia didn't know what to make of Mia's ease in introducing her as Flynn's girlfriend, but Tiffany gave them both a wide smile.
"It's so great to meet both of you. We've had Flynn's parents here before, and a couple of his brothers. Come on in and I'll introduce you to everyone."
She met so many people she wished they were all wearing name tags, because she was never going to remember everyone. But they were all friendly and welcoming, so her immediate nervousness evaporated.
"I don't know about you, but I need a drink," Mia said after the meet and greet. She hooked her arm in Amelia's and dragged her over to the bar, where they each ordered a glass of wine.
They wandered over to one of the sets of windows. Amelia looked down onto the field. They had a really nice view of the Sabers players.
"They're doing warm-ups right now," Mia said.
"I don't usually get to see a lot of the warm-up portion when I watch it on TV. Maybe a brief view, and then they go back to the sportscasters or commercial."
She was fascinated watching them on the field. Okay, so she was watching Flynn and his teammates stretching, running and shoving each other. He looked fine in his uniform. There was no doubt the man had a stellar ass, and it was shown off to perfection in that uniform. He looked so formidable, so fierce out there.
And when the other team came out and they did the coin toss, Amelia and Mia settled into their chairs. Amelia realized she was tense. She had always watched the games, but more with one eye on the TV while she was cooking, more as a passive observer. Today, though, her attention was riveted to the field. Whether that was because she was here in person and that made the experience more vivid for her, or whether it was because her feelings for Flynn were growing, she wasn't certain.
Either way, it was kickoff time and she so hoped Flynn and the Sabers had a good game.
*
It wasn't often that Flynn got to play against his brother, especially on his home
turf. He loved Grant, and he knew his brother loved him, too, but once on the field, they were just competitors. And both of them would do anything to win, no matter what it cost the other.
After the kickoff, the Sabers got the ball first, which meant Flynn would have to cool it on the sidelines while Mick Riley and the Sabers offense went to work.
Mick was efficient as ever, chewing up yardage with good passes. The run game was on point, too, and with six minutes off the clock they were in the red zone on the eighteen-yard line.
Flynn and the rest of the defensive players stayed out of the way but kept their bodies limber by moving around behind the benches. And when Mick threw a sharp touchdown pass to Ernie Truskey, their tight end, the entire Sabers sideline cheered, along with everyone in the stadium.
It had been textbook Riley, and Mick got lots of head slaps on his way back.
After the extra point, Flynn and his defense huddled with the defensive coordinator to work out their strategy for this series while the special teams prepared for the kickoff.
St. Louis would have the ball on the twenty-two-yard line.
It was time for Flynn and the defense to work some magic.
After the huddle, he lined up on the right side, breathing in the smell of fresh turf. Turf smelled like winning to him and he could never get enough of it.
He dug his knuckles into the grass and focused only on the player in front of him. That was his target, the player who stood in the way of him getting to the quarterback.
At the snap he pushed off and went head to head with the offensive lineman, who managed to hold him back long enough for Grant to get off a short pass to the wide receiver on the left side. Grant made a quick turn in time to see Junior take the receiver down after a short five-yard gain.
Good enough.
They huddled, then lined up again. This time it was a run through the middle and Flynn piled onto the runner, who ended up with no gain.
Now it was third down and this was the key to stopping the Traders' drive.
"It's third and five," Flynn said in the huddle. "It could go either pass or run, so be ready for it with man-to-man."
They'd gotten their instructions from the sidelines, so they knew what they had to do.
They broke and lined up in man coverage, expecting anything. When Grant dropped back to pass, Flynn pushed off and broke around the lineman, heading straight for the quarterback. Grant danced around him and threw the pass a fraction of a second before Flynn could get to him.
The pass was incomplete. Fourth down.
Grant shot him a glare. Flynn grinned.
The Traders would have to punt, so it was a damn satisfying series. Anything that kept the Traders from the end zone was a win in his book.
They traded back and forth the next several series, with no one scoring. But Flynn had a goal in this game, and that meant getting to his brother. So far, that hadn't happened and by the end of the first half Flynn's team was up by one touchdown. That meant defense was tough on both sides, which suited Flynn just fine. He liked a hard-fought defensive game.
He'd like it better if the Sabers put more points on the board in the second half, something their coach pounded into the offense when they hit the locker room during halftime.
"We've got a lot to be proud of," Flynn said to the defensive line while they took a breather at halftime. "We've held them scoreless. Let's keep that momentum going in the second half."
"You know you want to shove your brother into the ground," Hey Man said with a grin.
"Well, yeah. But to be honest, it's important to keep our heads in the game. I know Grant is their quarterback, but to me he's just like any other quarterback. If one of us--any of us--get to him for a sack, that's icing. The most important thing is winning the game. Let's keep our minds focused on that."
He wasn't going to let himself get distracted about having his brother on the other side of the ball. He wanted to make sure the other players stayed the same way.
So when they took to the field at the second half, he knew the defense was determined to keep it a scoreless game for the Traders. The crowd was fired up, and so was the defense. He got into position and pushed off the offensive lineman, heading straight for Grant.
His brother had good feet, though, and Flynn only grabbed a piece of Grant's jersey before Grant sprinted out of his grasp. But he had to throw the ball away for an incomplete pass that left them with a second and ten.
Flynn felt the tension rising as Grant came under center and handed off to the running back. They smothered the back behind the line of scrimmage for a loss of yardage, which left the Traders with a third and long. Grant would have to pass on this down and the defense would come in with a hard pass rush this time.
And this time, Flynn blitzed past the lineman. He had Grant in his sights. So did Junior on the other side. Grant had nowhere to go but down, and Flynn pancaked him.
"Fucker," Grant mumbled.
Flynn grinned, leaped up and held his hand down for his brother, who grudgingly let him haul him to his feet.
They shared the briefest of glances, but Grant eventually grinned back at him.
"I'm going to burn you all for a touchdown later," Grant said, pulling turf out of his helmet.
Flynn laughed. "Doubtful."
As he walked off the field to wild cheers from the stadium, Flynn was elated. But the game was far from over. And true to his word, Grant threw a long pass early in the fourth quarter to his best wide receiver, who outran the Sabers corner for a touchdown.
Fuck.
Okay, so there'd be no shutout today.
The Sabers recovered on their next drive when Mick drove them down the field and LaSalle ran in a touchdown from the six yard line, taking over the lead again.
So much for Grant's earlier touchdown. Flynn knew Grant would be pissed about that.
After that it was all defense, and the Sabers held the Traders, who got close to field goal range by late in the fourth quarter, but couldn't get the ball in the end zone.
The Sabers ended up winning the game, fourteen to seven.
After the game ended, Flynn found Grant on the field. They embraced, with cameras all around them, which meant they couldn't say what they really wanted to say to each other, which was a lot of trash talking. That would come later, on the phone, since Grant would have to catch a plane home right away.
"Good game," Grant said.
"You played tough. Your whole team did."
Grant grinned. "Mom still likes me better."
Flynn laughed. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"
"I'll see you in a couple of weeks at the ranch. Love you."
Flynn wrapped his hand around his brother's neck, and they touched foreheads. "Love you, too."
They walked away and Flynn headed toward the locker room to celebrate with his teammates.
TWENTY
It had been an extremely long day. And an exhilarating one. For her first live game, Amelia had an amazing time. It probably helped that the Sabers had won. She and Mia had screamed uncontrollably, along with the entire room. It had been crazy in there, and so much fun. She couldn't remember ever attending a public sporting event, and if they were always like this, she wanted to do it again.
She'd also had so much food and drink she wasn't sure she was going to be able to get out of her most comfortable chair. Mia didn't seem in any hurry to move, either, since she was scrolling through her phone.
"Flynn sent us both a text message," Mia said. "He said we can ride home with him, but he's doing media interviews so we can stay put."
"Oh, good. I wasn't relishing the thought of the train. Or, actually, movement of any kind."
Mia nodded. "I know the feeling. So I guess we'll just sit here until he texts. I was thinking maybe a nap."
Amelia laughed. "I like the sound of that. Think they'll kick us out if we sprawl across several of the seats?"
"Only if we snore. You don't snore, do you?"
"I don't know since I typically sleep alone, so I get no complaints."
"Then we're good." Amelia leaned back and closed her eyes. Just for a few seconds. That wine had been so good. It was probably wise she'd stopped drinking at the end of the third quarter because she'd been caught up in the game and the excitement and the liquor had been flowing . . .
She felt the buzz of her phone and jerked awake. How long had she been out? She looked next to her to see Mia blinking her eyes open to look at her.
"Was I snoring?"
"If you were, I wasn't awake to hear it." Amelia checked her phone. "Flynn said he is heading up here."
"Oh, good." Mia stood and stretched, then looked around. "Bartender's still here."
Amelia turned. "Yeah, but he's only here because he's cleaning up. No more wine for us."
"Sad."
Amelia laughed. "I'll bet Flynn could use a beer."
"I'll bet he could. We should stop for dinner and drinks. Or . . . just drinks."
Amelia snickered.
The door opened and Flynn walked in. He had showered and was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved button-down shirt. She walked over to him and curled her fingers into his hair, which was still damp.
"You smell good," she said, lifting up on her toes to brush her lips against his.
His brows rose. "So do you."
Amelia couldn't help but get lost in the sea blue depths of his eyes.
Until Mia cleared her throat. "Hey, good game."
Amelia reluctantly stepped away so Flynn could hug his sister.
"Thanks. I don't think Grant is very happy about it."
Mia shrugged. "He'll get over it. Can't win all the games."
"It was a really good game," Amelia said. "And the way you trampled your brother--I had concerns for his health."
Flynn laughed. "He was fine."
Mia grabbed her purse. "You should see the way they all go at it when they're playing touch football on the ranch. It's much worse than that tackle Flynn laid on Grant."
"Hey," Flynn said. "You play with us on the ranch."
"I play on the periphery. In other words, I catch passes and run like hell so none of you can tackle me."
Amelia grinned. "So you're fast."
