by L. M. Carr
Sniffling, I push myself up, then turn, extending my hand to him. “Come on,” I coax with a tight smile. “It’s late and I have work in the morning.”
Julian’s hand slides into mine and I pull him up with ease, knowing he helped. “I could’ve pulled you up! I’m stronger than I look.”
Standing a few inches above me, he tilts his head and smiles. “I know. You pulled me out of the hell I was in.” Raising my wrist, he places a soft kiss where the bold, block letters IX are tattooed in black ink, representing my soccer number. I grasp his arm and repeat the gesture to his left bicep, pressing my lips against the XI that represents his football number.
Walking back to the room, we reminisce about the day we decided to get those tattoos.
“Your mother was so mad!” he laughs.
“She was,” I agree, remembering the look of anger on my mother’s face, disappointment on my father’s. I think he’d gotten accustomed to his children’s growing sense of defiance, but to be fair, the tiny ink on my body was miniscule compared to what my brother had.
Julian and I had thought long and hard about what we wanted to get. Since sports were engrained in both of us, it was natural they would somehow be represented. From the time I was six years old and I started kicking the soccer ball around, my jersey number had always been nine. Julian’s number in football was always eleven. After toying around with the digits, we came up with the idea to use Roman numerals. To anyone looking at my wrist, they saw IX, but when I looked down at it, I saw XI, Julian’s number. The same was true for him. It was our secret. A reminder that we were always with each other.
Chapter Sixteen
The bags underneath my eyes are evidence of our late night. I’m utterly exhausted. Despite being emotionally drained when we arrived back at the room, Julian insisted on dragging me into the shower so he could wash the salty tears from my face and the sand from my feet. Not a single inch of my body was left untouched. With my legs wrapped around his waist, back pressed against the marble wall, he plunged into me. He’d murmured words of affection and promises to never be apart again.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he demanded, sensing my impending orgasm. “Always keep your eyes on me.”
I’d briefly wondered if he knew the significance of his comment. How could he have known that each time I fucked another man, my eyes remained closed? My imagination always ran wild, allowing Julian’s face and his body to dominate my fantasies.
“You look like hell,” Roz squawks as I sip a second cup of coffee while she applies my makeup.
I stare blankly at her in the mirror before finally cracking a smile. “You know what they say. ‘What happens in Hawaii stays in Hawaii.’”
She pulls the mascara brush away from my eyes and laughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s Vegas, but I get what you mean. Did you meet someone last night?” she asks, returning her attention to my lashes. “Must’ve been really good, considering all the concealer I had to smear on your face.”
I smirk, then raise my hand and mime locking my lips.
Minutes later, while Roz continues to apply makeup and Michelle fusses with my hair, my phone buzzes. I glance down, smiling at the text.
I missed you in the shower.
My fingers fly over the screen.
I’ll make it up to you after the game.
When the side door opens, a familiar voice floats into the green room from the hallway. Immediately, I turn my head and lock my gaze with Julian’s.
“This way!” Roz turns my head back to face her.
“Sorry,” I mumble, giving her my full attention once again as I glance out of the corner of my eye, using all my willpower to prevent a smile from spreading across my face.
“So, what’s the deal with him?” Roz asks, speaking casually. “You boinking him?”
Iced coffee sprays all over the place as I cough repeatedly. “Boinking?” I choke out. “Who the hell says that?!”
“Jesus Christ, AJ!” She hurriedly grabs a tissue and blots the moisture on my skin, careful not to smudge her work.
“That wasn’t my fault. You caught me off guard! You do realize no one uses that term, don’t you?”
“Well, it sounds so much better than fucking, don’t you think?” She uses a soft brush to blend everything together.
Julian and I make eye contact, my gaze following him in the mirror as he walks through the room, ignoring all the turning heads.
Subtly, he raises a hand to his face and moves his fingers in a circular motion. Unless familiar with sign, no one would suspect the compliment he gave me. I give him a coy grin and I lick my lips. My eyes linger on his ass as he strides toward the door on the other side of the room.
Tilting her head from side to side, appraising the ultimate product, Roz issues virtually the same compliment I’d just received from Julian. “Gorgeous.”
I snort. “Oh stop! Like I always say, ‘the magic of makeup’.”
“Well, apparently, Mr. Sexy-Ass Coach agrees with me.”
I push myself up from the chair and blow an air-kiss in her direction. “I’ve gotta run! If I don’t see you later, I’ll see you back in Houston.”
Within thirty minutes, I stand on the sidelines, conducting a brief on-air interview with Bill Holmes, the reticent AFC coach.
“What is your strategy to hold off the NFC offensive line?” I ask, then angle the microphone in his direction.
“Get to the quarterback,” he states.
“You’ve got a great defensive line. Who, specifically, will you be calling on most today?”
“Rence Hamilton. That man is a beast.”
I nod and smile tightly as my breakfast roils in my stomach. It wouldn’t be the first time my brother went after the quarterback.
“Thanks for your time, Coach. Good luck!” I end the interview and send it back to the studio. One of the great things about the Pro Bowl is that both teams are comprised of the best of the best, and despite the rivalries during the season, these players come together for this one game.
By halftime, the AFC team has dominated the scoreboard, Rence breaking through the offensive line and sacking the quarterback six times. After each tackle, the camera flashed to the NFC coaches, who seemed amazed at my brother’s speed and agility in spite of his size.
During the break, I sit in the back of the production trailer and watch the monitor that displays the commentators in the studio. A discussion ensues about Rence’s options as a free agent and the many teams vying for him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up in Houston. MacIntyre is working some voodoo magic to get him to come on board.”
The screen flashes to a clip of Julian watching the game. Arms crossed and stance casual, the smile I love so much is absent, his narrowed, thoughtful eyes intense.
What are you thinking about? I wonder. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that expression on his face during a game.
The second half is more of the same, and when the clock winds down to zero, the AFC wins for the second year in a row, 32-14.
The camera crew follows as I rush onto the field at the end of the game and wait for the arrival of the MVP, who is currently surrounded by a crowd, everyone congratulating him.
He finally pulls away and walks toward me, a huge smile on his face. “Hey, sis,” Rence says, pulling me into a hug. “Good game, huh?”
“Absolutely!” I laugh as I step out of his embrace, nodding as I transform back into reporter mode.
“First of all, let me start by congratulating you on being the Pro Bowl’s Most Valuable Player. You had quite a game.” I shift the microphone to him.
“Yeah, I did, but it was a team effort. If those guys hadn’t blocked the way they did, I never could’ve gotten to the QB.”
“Speaking of sacking the quarterback, you set a record with eight sacks in a Pro Bowl game. How does that make you feel?”
He smiles. “Pretty damn awesome. There’s no other feeling like driving someone into th
e ground like that.”
I flinch and quickly redirect the interview. “So, what are your plans now? Are you going to take some time off and relax?”
Distracted for a moment by a passing player who congratulates him, Rence turns back to me. “I’ve got to get ready for the Super Bowl.” The declaration rolls right off his tongue.
“You mean you’re going to watch the Super Bowl, isn’t that right?” My tone is almost harsh, suggesting he retract his comment and clarify his statement.
Rence blinks several times before he speaks. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I’m having a huge party at my place. You should come,” he laughs.
Through a light chuckle, I reply, “Thanks. I’ll think about it. Congratulations on the win. You were great out there!” I lean in for a hug, then smile into the camera. “Guys, back to you!”
Rence hugs me again and drops a kiss onto the top of my head. “Bye, AJ.”
Before I can reply, he jogs away for another interview.
While riding back to the hotel with my crew, I shoot Julian a text. As I walk back to the room, I can’t help but feel a heaviness in my heart. Being at the game today, knowing both men I love were there, brought back so many memories. I miss the friendship and camaraderie between Julian and my brother. They were so close, doing everything together…until my father started to express more interest in Julian’s talent than Rence’s. I think that was the beginning of the end for my brother. He resented Julian for the special treatment he received from my father. I know it hurt Rence. How could it not?
The clicking of the door unlocking is music to my ears as I step into the room, groaning when I see the bed. Within minutes, I’m sprawled across the bed, my eyelids closing.
“Ma, are you kidding?” I yelled at her demand I finish my senior project before I leave the house with Julian. “It’s not due for another week!” I stomped up each step, marking my insolence and rebellion.
“If Julian loves you as much as you say he does, he’ll wait for you,” she yelled up the stairs as I slammed my door and walked to the window, opening it to watch Julian and Rence in the backyard. Why did she have to be so unreasonable? I was the one who made the honor roll every year since I was in first grade. I was the one who played by her rules my entire life. I was the one who did what I was told…most of the time.
“Are you serious, dude?” Rence asked as he and Julian rounded the corner of the house. I snicker quietly, slightly envious of the football clutched in Julian’s hands. “You’re eighteen years old. I know you think you’re in love and shit, but come on, man. Do you know how much pussy there is in college? Girls love athletes.”
Julian shook his head and cocked back his left arm, releasing the ball. Rence sprinted across the back yard to catch the pass.
“I don’t care about other girls,” Julian replied, catching the ball my brother threw back. “I love your sister.” The ball sailed through the air. “As soon as we get out of college, I’m going to marry her and you’re going to be my best man.”
My eyes shifted to my brother, who returns the ball. “We’ll see. Look, I’m not saying you guys won’t end up together, but a lot can happen between now and then.”
Julian caught the ball and started to run toward him, his movements light and fast, yet determined. With his shoulder, Julian rammed into Rence’s abdomen and drove him to the ground.
“What the fuck?!” Rence’s angry voice boomed.
Julian stood over him, huge grin on his face. “You’re not the only one who can tackle! Expect the unexpected.”
Julian continued to laugh as Rence jumped to his feet and rubbed the back of his head that had landed on a patch of dirt.
“Payback’s a bitch. Just you wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
Up until two days before the big game, I am still undecided about whether I want to fly out to California for Rence’s Super Bowl bash. Since we got back from Hawaii, Julian has dropped several hints. It’s obvious he really wants to go and spend some time with my brother, perhaps to convince him that Houston is where he needs to spend the last few years of his career. Rence is getting older, and he knows his days on the field are numbered.
Finally opting to watch the game from his house, we enjoy the time together and settle into a nice rhythm between my schedule and his, which includes several meetings with the team owner, general management and upper administration.
Although I’m curious to know more about the players being scouted and recruited, I try not to ask too many questions as Julian works through the details. I know he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“Here you go,” I say as I hand over a bottle of iced tea and set down the tray of usual game day fare—potato skins, loaded nachos and buffalo wings. I ordered enough food to feed an army, but will probably end up throwing away most of it because Naomi decided to skip our little party for a much livelier get-together downtown.
Julian scoots over to make room for me on the couch and proceeds to fill his plate. I don’t usually eat like this, but I have no doubt Julian and I will burn off the calories several times before the night is through.
“These are really good!” he praises, shoving his thumb into his mouth and licking off the buffalo sauce. “Where’d you get them from?”
I smile and, using my best southern accent, proclaim, “I’ll never tell. A girl has to keep some things to herself.” Truth is, I don’t want to mention the connection between my ex and his brother’s restaurant.
Julian picks up another wing, but I grasp his hand and bring it to my mouth, taking a small bite. “You’re right. These are delicious.” My mouth opens and the wing disappears, Julian still holding onto the bone. My eyes remain fixed on his as I make quick work of devouring the meat.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “That fucking mouth of yours.”
I grin. “So good.”
The voice on television captures my attention.
“Look! They’re talking about you again.”
Julian suppresses a smile and slowly turns to look at the gigantic screen in his living room. “You’re like a goddamn chicken wing temptress.”
I laugh and reach for the remote control to increase the volume.
“…hoping to build a championship team here in Houston. After all, this is where his career began—”
“And ended,” a second voice adds.
“Why the hell do they keep rehashing the past?” I scoff with indignation. “That was a long time ago. Have they not seen what you’ve accomplished?”
Julian shrugs. “I guess they’ve got nothing else to talk about until they see what I’m hoping to do.”
“Going to do,” I amend. “Hoping implies wishful thinking. You have to be determined.”
An eyebrow lifts as he takes a swig of iced tea. “When did you get so wise?”
“A lot of protein,” I reply with a chuckle, waggling my brows.
Julian chokes on the liquid. I pat his back and laugh, remembering how I took him into my mouth last night and swallowed everything he had to give. Needless to say, he was impressed.
“So it’s fair to say we will be getting married sooner rather than later?”
My eyes widen. “W-what?” I stammer. “How soon?”
He gives a small grin. “Well, I want to marry you now, but I don’t know if you’re ready.”
A million questions swirl around in my mind. Although my love for him never waned, we’ve only just gotten back together and still have so much to work out. His new job should be the center of his attention right now.
“Here’s the thing, Addison. I want it all.”
I tilt my head, waiting.
“I want you. I want a family. I want this job.” He reaches for my hand. “In that order.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach. Mixed emotions swell, ready to burst at the seams.
“I do love you, Julian. So very much. But…”
“But you’re afraid,” he says, nodding, empathy crossing his face. �
��I get it.”
Moisture blurs my vision as I whisper, “I can’t go through that again.”
Cupping my face in his hands, Julian gazes at me. “You won’t have to. I will never leave you again. Ever.”
“You say that now, but what about years down the road? What if this new job is too much, too overwhelming—”
“Then I’d fucking quit. In fact, I’ll resign right now if for no other reason than to make you understand how serious I am.”
I chuckle lightly. “And be miserable for the rest of your life. Plus, it’s kind of nice being able to have sex with the NFL’s hottest coach whenever I want.”
His face falls in mock hurt. “Wait… So if I were still just a quarterback or unemployed, you wouldn’t want to fuck me?”
I kneel before him, hands on his legs. “Baby, you could be a garbage man and I’d still want you. Anywhere. Anytime. Any way.”
His mouth captures mine in a deep kiss, and I stand to straddle his lap. I rock back and forth against the bulge in his pants, his erection screaming for release.
“Again?” I tease, smiling against his lips.
He hums in confirmation, lifting the hem of my shirt and exposing my breasts. “You just said anywhere, anytime, in any way.”
His tongue circles my nipples, and he looks up at me. “Take off your pants.”
Twenty minutes later, after we both have a mind-blowing orgasm, Julian rolls off me with a sigh. I stand, kiss him, then scoop up my clothes and head into the bathroom.
When I return, Julian is stretched out along the couch, only his pants back on, using the remote to switch channels on the gigantic television mounted on the wall so he can watch the pre-game commentaries on another network.
I nudge his feet with my leg and sit when he lifts them.
“Want me to move?”
I shake my head and smile. “Nope.”
“This guy is full of shit. He has no idea what he’s talking about.”
Sinking a tortilla chip into the warm, cheesy dip, I cup my hand under it and hurry to place it into my mouth before it drips onto my favorite t-shirt. I mumble, “Well, someone thinks these guys know what they’re talking about or they wouldn’t be on TV.” Another chip makes its way into my mouth, followed by a large chug of beer.
