And now he was all the way across the room with Nixon, not paying any attention to her.
Three gorgeous women had joined Rick and Nixon and the other guy—one blonde, in particular, laughing and touching Nixon’s forearm like they were the oldest of friends.
Something hot twisted in my stomach and I shifted on my seat, hoping like hell another wave of nausea wasn’t about to make an appearance.
“Ugh,” Teagan said. “Don’t even worry about that one.” She leaned in a bit closer, lowering her voice. “She’s ambitious, but she’s with a tight end on the Titans,” she explained. “It’s no secret she tried to land a quarterback first, though,” she said. “But Nixon has turned her down so many times it’s almost sad. Plus, he belongs to you now—”
“He doesn’t belong to me,” I cut her off, hating the uncertainty in my tone.
Teagan raised her brows at me.
I sat up a little straighter, trying like hell to quell the jealousy as my eyes kept betraying me and drifting back to Nixon and the blonde who couldn’t stop finding ways to touch him. “He belongs to the baby,” I said and smoothed my hand over my still-flat stomach. It wouldn’t be long now, and dresses like this would be impossible to get into. Not that I ever worried or cared about my body—as long as I loved it that was all that mattered—but it was hard not to think about it when surrounded by so many pretty people.
“Right,” Teagan said, dragging out the word. She studied me for a moment and must have noted the plea in my eyes to drop the subject because she immediately flashed me a conspirator's smile. “Let me fill you in on all the deets on the rest of the party.”
I could’ve kissed her for her ability to read my mood.
“You have the intel?” I teased.
“Oh yeah,” she said, scooping up her flute. “You learn a lot while waiting for your man to come back to you.” She cleared her throat. “I know whose boobs are fake, whose wives are loyal and whose are looking, and I can point out to you each advantageous-seeking chick in here.”
“Whew,” I blew out a breath. “I’m so glad I landed on the friend side of your line.”
Her smile faltered. “I’m actually so glad Nixon brought you to us,” she said. “Besides Roman, I don’t have many friends. Any, really.”
I tilted my head, ready to ask why that was, but she gave me that same don’t go there look, and I respected it. I nodded toward the crowd. “Okay, spill.”
An hour later, I’d learned all about the elite in this particular NFL circle and beyond, and I still couldn’t wrap my head around the duplicitous lives some of these people led. I mean, for what? Money? Was that really such a huge motivator for some people? I knew not everyone grew up like I did—raised all over the globe with a pack of clothes on my back and a hot meal at the end of the day being our main goal beyond helping those in the villages we visited—but how could anyone pursue someone solely based on income? Or fame?
I shook my head, knowing this lifestyle may never make sense to me.
“Dance with me?” Nixon’s deep tenor washed over me like a warm bath, and I turned around on the barstool I still occupied.
“I’m not sure if I’m available,” I teased. “I’ve been waiting for my date to come back for nearly an hour now. He should be here any second.”
“An hour?” He cringed, then sighed. “Well, his loss is my ultimate gain.” He held out his hand, the smile on his lips genuine, not for the cameras.
I laughed, sliding my hand into his. “This is true,” I teased and followed him onto the dance floor. A slower tune played, and Nixon slid his hand around my hip to rest on my lower back. He tugged me closer until my body was nearly flush with his. Until I could smell him—all mint and spice and something heady that made my head spin.
“Of course,” I said, shaking my head as he moved us effortlessly on the dance floor.
“What?” he asked, glancing down at me.
“You’d be a good dancer.”
He laughed, tucking me in tighter as we swayed to the beat. The heat from his body made my pulse spike, and our kiss from days ago flashed through my head.
“There’s a lot of things I’m good at.”
“Like throwing footballs?” I teased.
He shrugged, but light danced in his eyes. It was infectious.
“What else?” I asked.
“Cooking,” he said. “Chopping wood.”
I laughed so loud I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to not make a scene.
“What’s so funny?” he asked through his smile.
“Not what I expected you to say.” I beamed up at him. “A mountain man.”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But my family has a house by the lake. And my brothers and I would chop wood for the winter, and take turns cooking for our parents.” He spun us before drawing me in closer.
The picture he painted was much closer to the Nixon I’d associated with my time in Vegas—humble, a bit broody, but calm and confident at the same time. Not the one who posed for the cameras or made speeches at press conferences.
“Sounds amazing,” I said.
“I’d love to show you sometime,” he said, and I stiffened slightly in his embrace.
We’d never talked about the future. Not in any true depth. Too many unanswered questions revolved around the life we’d live once the baby came.
“If you’d like,” he hurried to add, clearing his throat. “When the season is over, and classes are done, and you have time…”
Was he rambling? I gazed up at him, biting back my smile.
“What?” he huffed as he stared down at me.
I shook my head before resting my head against his chest as we continued to slowly rock back and forth to the beat of the music. “Seeing your home by the lake sounds more fun than this party,” I teased.
“Tell me about it,” he grumbled. “Thanks for enduring it with me.”
I squeezed him lightly because I honestly didn’t have the right words to say. Something was shifting inside me, more than the baby that was made from pieces of us. Something hopeful and warm and inviting. Something with a line this side of dangerous and twice as reckless than I usually danced on.
“I don’t like some of the things here,” I said. “The dating-a-celebrity game,” I clarified. “Like a sport with money being the sole motivator, not actual affection…”
He nodded, going slightly still under my touch.
“But?” he asked when I didn’t continue.
I shifted so I could meet his eyes. “But, I am starting to like Nixon Noble.”
The smile that shaped his lips was real and raw and open, and it sent a wave of warm chills over my skin.
“I’m starting to like you too, Liberty Jones.”
An hour later, when the party was done, and we were home, I laid in my separate bedroom, replaying those words over and over in my head and wished like hell they didn’t make my heart soar as high as they did.
Because it would only have that much farther to fall in the end.
7
Nixon
There was something about the first home game of the regular season that always gave me goosebumps, and today was no different. There was a palpable energy in the air as we waited at the field’s entrance, anxious to be unleashed.
Ahead of us, the cheerleaders ran through the tunnel as smoke blew from the metal arches, and then the refs headed out.
It was time.
“And here they are, led by head coach Paul Goodman—” the announcers started.
“Let’s go, boys!” Coach yelled as he started to jog for the entrance.
We took off after him.
“Your! Raleigh! Raptors!” The speakers blared as we came through the tunnel. The crowd rose to a roar—the pyro flared from the arches, filling my nose with the acrid scent of fireworks—and my heart fucking soared like it had wings of its own. The sun beat down, shining off the gold stripes in our helmets, and the turf felt solid beneath my cleats. I loved pl
aying at home.
There was no beating this moment—when the season was fresh, the possibilities were endless, and we were undefeated. Well, maybe a Super Bowl win would beat it…and maybe this was our year.
We ran to the fifty-yard line as the music blared, then turned for the sideline. The crowd didn’t die down until Roman, Hendrix, and I headed out for the coin toss. There were four gold stars under the C just below my right shoulder, two beneath Hendrix’s and three beneath Roman’s. We were the heartbeat of this team.
The cameras got out of our way as we stood across from Miami’s captains, and the ref started in on his pregame speech. Miami called heads, then the silver dollar spun in the air and landed on the green just in front of our feet.
“It is tails,” the ref determined.
“We’ll defer,” I told the ref. As much as I wanted the ball, Coach was all about making the smart play, which meant we’d get the ball at the second half, after we’d had a chance to see what the Miami defense was made of.
“Raleigh has chosen to defer,” the ref announced, then conferred with Miami. “Miami will receive in the first half,” he finished.
We made it back to the sidelines, and our first defensive string headed out.
This was the part of the game I hated—when I wasn’t in control. I turned around and looked up a few rows to the family section, and my entire mood lifted.
Liberty was here.
She’d never been to a game, and given the amount of work she had to do this weekend, I hadn’t been sure she was going to make this one either, but there she was. Her hair was down, curling around her breasts and framing the “09” on her chest.
Holy fucking shit, she was wearing my jersey.
My entire chest swelled with a possessiveness I didn’t even know I was capable of until that moment. She smiled at something Teagan said next to her, and my heart jumped.
I’d been wrong, thinking there was nothing better than the moment we ran out of the tunnel. There was nothing better than this moment right here, knowing that she’d sacrificed her study time to watch me play.
She turned slightly and caught me staring, and the smile that lit up her face was a whole other level of gorgeous. I grinned right back but doubted she could see it under my face mask. Instead, I waved as the crowd’s energy spiked in a roar.
“Hey, if you’re done making eyes at your girlfriend, we’ve got a game going on over here.” Hendrix smacked my shoulder pad.
“Not my girlfriend,” I countered as I turned back to watch the next play.
“She’s your something.”
Hell yeah, she was. And there was zero chance I was losing this game—after all, it wasn’t just her first game—it was my kid’s, too.
“I think our offensive line is strong,” I said into the microphone almost four hours later. Ten more hands shot up in the press briefing room, and I mentally cursed.
Usually, I didn’t mind the ten to twenty minutes this took after a game, but I didn’t usually have Liberty waiting for me, either. According to her text, she was sitting with Teagan in the post-game reception room with the other Raptor family members, and I could only hope the blonde was keeping my girl safe from some of the catty behavior known to happen in there. Liberty was mine, I’d made that pretty fucking clear, but that didn’t mean much when it came to some of the other women connected to the Raptors.
Coach called on another reporter.
“How is your left shoulder feeling after that hit you took in the third quarter?”
I gave him my practiced, professional smile and ignored the fact that it hurt like hell. The hit had come at the one-yard line on a running play, but I’d gotten the ball into the end zone. “Nothing to worry about,” I answered. “Besides, it stopped hurting the second I saw the scoreboard.” We’d won thirty-two to eighteen.
A rumble of laughter came up from the reporters.
I tapped my finger on the table, and Coach caught the invisible signal.
“That’s it for Nixon,” he announced.
I got the hell out of there. The halls were still bustling with players, staff, and a few wide-eyed fans wearing badges as I made my way to the family room. I ran my fingers through my shower-damp hair as I walked into the giant lounge.
“There he is!” Roman threw his hands into the air from where he sat perched on the arm of a wide, deep chair where Liberty sat wearing purple chucks.
Fuck me, she wasn’t just wearing my jersey, she’d had it tailored into a dress. The thing hugged every curve she had and ended mid-thigh, which she was showing a lot of with her legs crossed like that. I instantly regretted wearing athletic pants as my dick hardened.
We’d been living together for three weeks, and other than that kiss we’d shared in the kitchen, we’d kept our hands to ourselves. I’d given myself one hell of a pat on the back for my self-control the night of the party—she’d nearly killed me in that dress, but this…
My mouth watered, remembering her taste.
“Sorry, I’m late. I had to do a little post-game conference,” I managed to say as I walked over to them, ignoring everyone else in the room.
“No problem.” She looked up at me with those incredible eyes of hers, and I lost the power of speech.
“I told her you’re always the last one out,” Teagan said with a shrug, but her smile turned sly as her gaze darted between Liberty and me.
“Can we go already?” Rick snapped, rising from the couch and putting his hand out for Teagan’s. “You kept your promise.”
“Yep!” She stood, and I noticed she was wearing the same style dress Liberty wore, but hers was black, where Liberty’s was purple. “Good game, guys!”
Rick put his hand at her lower back and ushered her out.
“Right, so all this eye-sex is getting a little too intense for me,” Roman said as he stood.
“I’m good with it,” Hendrix remarked with a smirk.
“For fuck’s sake,” Roman muttered as he dragged him away.
“You were great out there.” Liberty uncrossed her legs and rose in one smooth motion. She looked good enough to eat, and I was starving…but only for her.
“Want the backstage tour?” I asked, brushing off her compliment. I had to get her out of this room. Right. Now.
“Do you have a secret lair?”
“No, but I do have a secret shower.” I laced my fingers through hers and walked us out of the family room, turning right—back toward our locker room.
“You what?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” I nodded at a couple of familiar reporters as we walked down the hallway, counting each and every head I saw to keep my mind off my dick.
I led us down the small hallway just before our locker room, then used my key to open the door and flipped on the switch as I pulled Liberty inside.
“Does that other door lead to the main locker room?” She took in the small dressing room that led to the private shower and the door between them. My name stretched across her back, right between her shoulders.
“Yes.” I closed the door, clicked the lock, then spun her back toward me, flipping us so I had her pinned against the door.
She gasped, her eyes widening as her hands rose to my chest. “What are you—”
“I need to kiss you, so if you have any objections, now is a great time to let me know.” I braced my hands on either side of her head.
“Kiss me.” She tilted her face toward mine.
I didn’t hesitate. Our mouths collided and instantly opened. A groan rumbled through my chest at the taste of her as I thrust my tongue deep, sinking inside her with rhythmic, swirling strokes. My pulse jumped, and pure need shot through my veins like adrenaline, priming my body for the ride of my life.
A ride I logically knew we couldn’t take—not without having a serious conversation about the status of our relationship first. Not that I was going to fuck her in my dressing room. She deserved better than that. But this…we could have this.
&n
bsp; “You are so damned beautiful,” I said against her lips as my hand skimmed her curves, stroking from her ribs to the indent of her waist and pausing to squeeze the flair of her hips. “This dress is driving me crazy.”
“Teagan took me to her seamstress,” she answered, ending in a breathy sigh as I ran my lips across the shell of her ear.
“Remind me to thank her.” I tongued the delicate skin, and her head fell to the side in surrender.
She hummed her appreciation as I set my lips to her neck. Then we spoke in sighs and groans as I alternated between kissing her mouth, her collarbone, and the swells of her breasts as they rose above the V of the jersey.
“God, Nixon,” she moaned, gripping my shoulders.
I slid my hands from her hips to her ass and gripped. “Perfect.”
“Hardly,” she protested as her head hit the back of the door. Her breasts rose and fell faster, and her skin flushed.
“Perfect,” I repeated, using a harsher tone before returning to her mouth and taking hers in a kiss that left us both straining for the other. Pushing my hips into her, I let her feel exactly what she did to me. “We should stop.”
Every cell in my body rebelled.
“I don’t want to,” she admitted softly, then put her mouth on my neck.
I hissed in pure pleasure. “I don’t want to, either.”
“Then don’t.” She grasped my hand and put it on her breast.
I shaped the heavy mound, flicking my thumb across her distended nipple even as I shook my head. “You’re driving me insane. Do you realize that?” I leaned my forehead against hers. “Watching you walk around the house in your tiny shorts has me constantly hard, and then you go and put my number on—”
“Would you rather I wore someone else's?” She blinked in mock innocence.
“Fuck, no.” Just the thought of it curdled my stomach. She was mine. Maybe we hadn’t defined exactly what we were, but whatever it was, was mine, and that sweet, tiny, little swell of her belly that had appeared in the last week was mine, too.
Nixon (Raleigh Raptor Book 1) Page 8
