“Hey,” I say, catching the driver’s glance in the rearview mirror. “Take me to the Slutty Vegan.”
Quinn
“Dios,” Banner mutters around a sloppy bite of her burger. “Are we sure there’s no meat in this?”
“That’s what they say.” I laugh and sink my teeth into my own. “But that can’t be right. Nothing vegan can taste this guilty.”
“What’s yours called?”
“I got the Super Slut.” I giggle and lift the top bun away. “Let’s see. We got guac, jalapeños, vegan cheese, caramelized onions and that slutty sauce they use. What’s yours?”
“The Sloppy Toppy.” She shakes her head before taking another bite. “I’m gonna regret this next week. I’m tempted not to log this meal in my Girl, You Better app. I don’t want my balls busted over my caloric intake.”
“I didn’t design it to make you feel bad, and hey. At least it’s vegan.”
Banner lifts a skeptical brow and swipes at the slutty sauce dripping down her chin. “I’ll work out extra hard tomorrow. That new trainer isn’t quite the slave driver you are.”
“All the more reason for me to wrap this tour up soon so I can get back in the gym. My clients need me.” I train a handful of people, Banner being one of them.
“Aren’t you enjoying being in a different city every night, sharing your pearls of wisdom with sold-out crowds?” Banner teases. “Having your adoring public fawning all over you?”
I’d settle for one man to “fawn” all over me, but I’ve been ignoring him. I’m not even sure why. The embarrassment of his rejection faded before I fell asleep alone in my bed. It’s something else holding me back. Something I don’t want to address, but will have to soon enough.
“Thanks for coming, B,” I tell my best friend.
From day one, we were more than agent and client. She came to my hospital bed with nothing but compassion. She was barely out of college herself at the time, but she convinced me to give life another chance.
“I wanted to make it to the first stop at Princeton,” she says. “But both my babies made that impossible.”
“Both?” I ask, pausing with the burger halfway to my mouth. “You keeping something from me? I thought I only had the one niece.”
“Angela is easy compared to the other baby in my house.” She pauses to give me a wry look. “Jared.”
I chuckle and shake my head. Banner’s husband is the classic alpha male—possessive, territorial, and hates being away from his wife.
“I’m literally taking the red-eye to get home before daybreak,” she says, affecting an aggrieved tone.
“You don’t fool me. I know you want to be home with him as badly as he wants you there.”
Her broad smile is beautiful to behold. “Yeah, you’re right. I get so homesick being away from him and Angela. I don’t want to miss a thing with them. Can you believe I’m already done breastfeeding?” She blinks at sudden tears. “My milk is all dried up now.”
“Guess you’ll just have to have another one,” I tease gently.
“You know I’m ready. It’s Jared who has to be convinced.”
They’ve only been married a few years, but if it was up to Banner, they’d be on their way to a house full of babies.
“He can’t deny you anything. He’ll give you a dozen kids if you want.”
“Oh, I want.” She slides a glance over to me. “And what about you? I haven’t heard you talk about anyone since Ted.”
Ugh. Even hearing his name . . .
“And we both know how that turned out,” I mumble, setting my burger down as my appetite disappears.
“Hey, he was a jerk.”
“One I didn’t see through until it was almost too late.”
“There will be someone else,” Banner says, her voice gentle.
“There, um . . . maybe there is a prospect,” I admit, unsure if I want to discuss this with Banner. She’ll dig, and I’m not about that tonight.
“Who?” she demands, her eyes wide and her virtual antennae piqued. “How could you not tell me?”
“It’s not anything official. One kiss does not—”
“A kiss?” Banner whisper-shouts. “Tell me, bitch. You’ve been holding out.”
“It’s nothing. Ean Jagger just—”
“Coach Jagger?” Banner squeaks. “Like, the coach of the San Diego Waves Ean Jagger?”
“Um, yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m trying to tell you now, but you keep interrupting.”
“Okay. That’s fair. Now tell me everything.”
I recount meeting him at August’s summer camp. The flare of attraction. Him showing up at Princeton and asking me out on a date in front of the crowd. By the time I get to the kiss, Banner’s eyes and mouth are both wide open.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Banner shakes her head like she’s dazed. “But he . . . he barely speaks. He’s downright . . . curt. They call him The Machine because he has a photographic court memory.”
“I can attest that he is definitely flesh and blood.”
And bone.
God, the thick, rigid length of him in my hand. Those broad shoulders, the tapered waist, and that ass. I squirm in my seat, hot and wet between my legs.
“I made it very clear I was . . . open,” I admit, my face heating in a rare blush. “But he turned me down. Said he wanted more than a quick fuck.”
“And it’s bad that a brilliant, handsome, wealthy, successful man like Ean Jagger wants more than one night with you? Maybe wants to build something meaningful?”
I shrug, not wanting to examine my feelings too closely.
“If this is about that slimeball Ted—”
“It’s not.” I hold her stare to convince her. “It’s not about him. I just think if Ean’s looking for more than one night and a good time, maybe I’m not the one for him.”
“Well,” Banner says, grinning at something over my shoulder, “I think it’ll be more than one night. Forget what I said about The Machine. He’s a fucking dreamboat.”
“Huh?”
I look over my shoulder and almost drop my Impossible burger when I see six feet and seven inches of determined, fine-ass male headed toward our table.
Ean
Good thing I came straight here, or I might not have caught her.
Caught her being the operative phrase. There’s no denying you’re chasing a woman when you fly across the country twice in a week to see her. When you ignore her ignoring you and come anyway.
“Quinn, hey,” I say when I reach her table. I nod to Banner. “Ms. Morales-Foster, good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Coach.” She darts a look between Quinn and me, her lips pulling into a smile.
A silence settles around us, and Quinn is still watching me, but hasn’t spoken.
“I hope your boy Granger shapes up before the season starts,” I address Banner again, since Quinn is officially mute in this conversation.
“He’ll get his shit together,” she says. “I promise I’ll have him there first day of training camp, ready to earn his keep.”
I nod and smile the slightest bit. “Good to hear.”
“Well, I’ve got a plane to catch,” Banner says, checking the time on her phone.
“Already?” Quinn asks, glaring at her friend. “I thought it was a red-eye.”
“Still gotta swing by the hotel to get my luggage.” She taps her screen a few times. “Grabbing an Uber.”
“I have the driver here waiting,” Quinn protests with a frown.
“Great. When you’re ready to leave,” Banner says, standing, “he’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Banner—”
“Love you,” Banner cuts in over Quinn and reaches down for a hug. She turns a blinding smile on me. “Good to see you, Coach. I’ll keep you and the front office apprised of Granger’s progress.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “Safe trip home.”
“Can I sit?” I ask.
“Here?” Quinn lifts her brows and firms the lush line of her mouth. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t want to take things too fast.”
I blow out a breath, half amused, half exasperated. “You’re not going to make me feel guilty for not wanting to sleep with you on the first date. Surely that’s some kind of double standard.”
She shrugs, her bare shoulders smooth and lightly tanned. The bodice of her dress hugs the high curve of her breasts. Her hair, finger-tousled, bright and coppery like a new penny, glints under the restaurant’s lights. “Sit if you want to.”
I pull up a seat and lean back, watching her until she looks up and watches me back.
“Why are you upset with me?” I ask after another few moments of quiet.
“No one wants to be left hanging and horny, Coach.” She twists her lips to a wry angle. “I guess I was confused. I thought I knew what you were about. I must have miscalculated.”
“What did you think I wanted? I’m pretty sure we want the same thing, but I just wanted to wait for it a little longer.”
“I assumed you were just a stump humper.” She gives another of those careless shrugs of her pretty shoulders that are driving me crazy.
“What the hell is a stump humper?” I ask, mildly irritated by how things are not going as I hoped.
“Someone who gets off on fucking amputees,” she says, lifting her eyes to mine with deliberate provocation.
I go still and grind my teeth.
“I don’t deserve that,” I say softly. “I felt a connection with you from the moment we met. Hell, before we met.”
I jerk my phone from my pocket and flip through the app icons until I reach Girl, You Better. “I downloaded this when it was in fucking beta. I’ve read both your books. Joined your gym in LA when I live in San Diego on the off chance that when I’m in town and work out there, I’d see you.”
I stab a finger against the table to punctuate my point. “I’ve put myself out there with you not once, not twice, but three times now, risking a helluva lot to see where this could go.”
I glare at her, unmoved when I see her eyes widen with every word I say. “And you dare to accuse me of something that vile? That twisted? When what I feel for you is . . .”
Pure.
I let the word melt in my mouth. I won’t give her that. If she can’t see what a chance with her would mean to me, how much I admire her, how much I want her for who she is and what we might be together, then fuck it.
I stand and cross the room, tapping my phone to select an Uber as I go. The Atlanta summer air slaps me across the face like a scorned lover—ironic, since I’m the one who feels wronged. The door opens behind me, leaking the sounds of laughing diners and Dirty South hip-hop.
“Cancel your Uber,” she says.
I glance down and our gazes collide. I steel myself against going soft at those leaf-green eyes, and the resilience and strength behind them.
“I’ve got a car.” She tips her head toward a dark SUV in the parking lot. “I can take you wherever you want to go. It’s the least I can do.”
“You mean the least you can do after being a brat and insulting me unfairly when all I wanted to do was get to know you better? To respect you?”
She drops her gaze to the ground and purses her lips before nodding. “Pretty much that, yeah.”
For a moment, I don’t move—I barely breathe. Huffing a frustrated breath, I cancel my Uber.
“Let’s go.” I don’t wait for her, but start toward the SUV she indicated. I climb into the back seat and lean on the door, propping my elbow against the window.
“Where are you staying?” she asks.
`Shit.
“I don’t exactly have a hotel yet,” I mumble.
“What? You came all the way from San Diego without getting a place to stay?”
“It was a last-minute decision.”
The only sound for the next few moments is the low growl of the vehicle’s idling engine, the whoosh of air-conditioning, and Anita Baker’s “Sweet Love” playing faintly through the sound system.
“I’m glad you came.” She says it so softly I think I imagined it at first.
I turn to look at her, every flash of streetlight revealing the confusion in her eyes, on her face. “Didn’t seem like it.” I hold on to my hardness, trying my damnedest not to give in to the sway she holds over me.
“I’m sorry I ignored your calls and messages this week.” She blows out a long breath. “I did act like a brat, and you’re right. You didn’t deserve it.”
I turn on the seat and lean my back against the door so I can see her fully. “Why?”
She shrugs, drops her eyes to the seat between us. “I don’t know. I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Quinn.” I reach over and tip her chin up with my index finger. “Why?”
She looks at me unblinkingly for a few seconds and bites her lip. “There’s this guy.”
My hand drops from her face and my back goes rigid. I hadn’t expected that. Foolish of me. She’s gorgeous and successful and smart. Of course there’s this guy. She probably has a revolving door for all the men who want to be with her. Some random coach she doesn’t even know starts showing up, but she has her pick of men, and I went too deep, too fast. Tried to make it something she isn’t looking for.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now with that scowl on your face,” she says with a wry smile, “is probably wrong.”
I nod. My thoughts were running a little wild there for a second. “Tell me.”
She smooths the silky material of her skirt, and I notice she’s wearing her “pretty shoes” leg and heels.
“There was this guy about a year or so ago,” she says, “who started coming around. I met him at some industry party my publisher was throwing. He was handsome and had a great sense of humor. We had incredible conversations. I was attracted to him. We dated for a few weeks, and I was ready to take it to the next level.”
I hate everything about this conversation, especially wherever it’s headed because, based on the look on her face, it can’t be anywhere good.
“I went to his house for dinner one night, and I was determined to show him I was ready to . . .” She dips her head and raises her brows. “. . . you know.”
To fuck.
I hope she doesn’t say it, because the thought of her, so sweet and sexy and strong, giving herself to someone who obviously proved unworthy somewhere along the way, makes me sick.
“I packed an overnight bag and everything.” She laughs bitterly. “We were kissing and I told him I wanted to get comfortable—that I wanted to change.”
She glances up self-consciously. “When you’ve worn the sock on your residual limb, there’s a silicone liner, and after sweating all day . . . well, you just don’t always feel fresh.” She grimaces. “Not smelly, but I’m fastidious about cleaning it and showering before I go to bed even when I sleep alone. Sleeping with someone else . . . well I definitely prefer showering beforehand, especially the first time.”
She glances down at her lap and draws in a deep breath before going on. “I came back into the house and didn’t see him, so I wandered down the hall. I could hear him whispering in his bedroom about not being sure he could put me off any longer. That I wanted it so badly and was probably hard up because I hadn’t had sex in so long. He called her ‘baby,’ and told her it would be worth it when I invested in his new product. That he wasn’t going to fuck me because he wanted to, but for their future.”
She laughs humorlessly. “Turns out he had a patent for a new resistance band. I guess I was some kind of sexual shark tank.”
“I hope you slapped his fucking face,” I grit out, my hands curled into fists at my side on the seat.
“I confronted him, yeah,” she says, smiling. “But no slapping. I just told him to stay away from me and promised I would put the word out on t
he street that he was trash and into bestiality.”
“Damn.” I whistle. “Harsh, but I hope you took out an ad in the LA Times.”
“I actually did something I hadn’t done in a really long time.” She twists her fingers in her lap, a bitter laugh cracking over her lips. “I cried.”
“You cried?” I ask. “For that motherfucker?”
“No.” She raises her eyes to meet mine in the dim interior light of the car. “For me, Ean. I cried for me.”
Quinn
I shake my head helplessly, not really completely understanding the emotion, the response myself. “I probably need to sort this out with my therapist,” I say, forcing a laugh and not fooling either of us. “It’s hard to articulate.”
“Try.” He reaches across the seat that separates us and takes my hand. For the first time since he walked into the restaurant, I relax. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe I haven’t ruined it.
“It took me a long time to find the strength to do what I do,” I say. “And I don’t mean my career. I mean getting up in the morning. Looking in the mirror and accepting what I saw, just as it was. New reality and all.”
I go silent and he squeezes my hand, signaling for me to go on.
“When you first start walking with a prosthetic,” I say, “part of the process is learning to believe it will support you. That it will hold up under you. It takes a kind of faith. When you lose your leg, your whole center of balance is thrown off. I had the worst fear of falling when I first started, especially in public. The worst part was the pitying glances, or worse, the deliberate not looking. Ignoring you because of how uncomfortable it made them. I felt those not-stares much more deeply than the long, rude looks because those declared me invisible.”
I swallow and go on, deliberately keeping my eyes averted. “Even after I was confident enough to become a public speaker and had run my first marathon, had done all these things I never thought I would again, I still had not been on a date.”
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 35
