by Elley Arden
He pulled her into the first room on the right, wrapping her in his arms. “For the record, when I was on the field with you, I didn’t mind being there at all.”
“When I fell?”
He nodded.
M. J. felt suddenly sad their first meeting was one-sided. “I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”
“Funny, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
He kissed her, slow and deep, until the heat at the core of her body melted everything in its path, buckling her knees. She curled her hands into his shirt to keep from slipping to the ground.
Blackout curtains and no light from the hall meant the room was dark, and M. J. had no idea the direction of the bed. She needed the bed. Her legs were not going to hold out. Some professional athlete she turned out to be. Where was her almighty stamina now? Busy, trying to keep pace with her pounding heart, because Tag traced the length of her neck with his fingertips, and then his lips followed.
He tugged the shirt from her shoulder and licked her there, causing her to sway. She had no choice but to curl her hands around the waistband of his pants for balance.
“Come here,” he growled, pulling her deeper into the darkness.
Finally a bed. She hit it hard, falling and bringing him down on top of her.
More kisses mixed with groping and heavy breathing through open mouths. Every inch of her skin burned. She pressed her shoulder blades into the mattress, arching her back, pushing her breasts toward him. He took the not-so-subtle hint, lifting her shirt, skimming her belly with his hand and flicking a thumb across her aching nipple until she moaned against his mouth.
He did it over and over again.
Somehow, in the midst of it all, M. J. managed to free enough buttons on his shirt to pull it over his head. She grazed the flexing muscles of his shoulders and back on her way to his ass. He felt so good, every part of him soft over hard.
Piece by piece, more clothing vanished, until they were bare, and every inch was explored in every position imaginable. There hadn’t been a workout in her entire athletic career that left her this physically and mentally drained.
And they weren’t done yet. Not even close.
• • •
With his arms wrapped around her, Tag rolled until he was flat on his back. They’d been jockeying for some kind of leadership position since this marathon began. He figured it was time somebody just rolled over and surrendered. With her straddling him, running soft, strong hands over the core of his body, he didn’t mind one bit that the somebody was him.
He reached up and held her breasts in his hands, loving the way she hissed an exhaling breath when he teased. He skimmed her ribcage and her waist, releasing a hiss of his own when she palmed his erection to slide on the condom. And then his fingers were smoothing up and down the slippery heat between her overstretched legs. Her moans vibrated through him, creating a synergy he’d never experienced.
With control fading fast, Tag gripped her hips and entered. Pleasure poured over him, warming him from the inside out, causing a fuzzy high in his head. He watched as she moved, nothing more than a shadow above him. He kept hands roving her body to remember she was real.
As the pace quickened, so did their breathing, until the fuzzy high felt like impending unconsciousness. Tag broke first with a guttural sound rising from his throat. She leaned forward, her weight on her hands, rubbing against him until she shuddered too.
Spent did not begin to describe the feeling.
Several labored breaths later, she whispered in his ear, “That was so good.”
“Too good,” he chuckled. “I think you ruined me.”
“Then I’ll have to fix you.” She smoothed kisses over his jaw to his lips.
He felt so full, so right; maybe she already did.
Chapter Nine
Whoever said things looked better in the morning was wrong. As far as M. J. was concerned, where there was sunlight, there was panic.
She stared at the open bedroom door and the brightening hallway. Being in Tag’s bed felt wrong, and not because of the sex. The sex had felt all sorts of right, like a full game of perfectly executed plays. But being here when the sun came up carried expectations.
M. J. had never been any good at meeting off-field expectations.
Slipping out of bed, she picked her clothes off the floor and wandered the hall in search of the bath. After she dressed and faced her reflection, she returned to the bedroom, standing in the doorway, watching him sleep. It was still too dark to see details, but she could hear his even breathing. He was so peaceful. And why shouldn’t he be? He’d had one hell of a night.
M. J. smiled and considered crawling back into bed with him. After all, she’d had one hell of a night, too. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that things would turn uncomfortable when he woke. Maybe he’d want more than she could give. At this point, she had nothing more to offer.
She glanced at the glowing bedside clock, conscious of the fact she had an away game this weekend. The bus would be leaving at noon. It was yet another reason she didn’t belong in that bed. Her focus needed to be on Buffalo’s brick-wall defense, not Tag.
Pushing off the jamb, she decided once and for all to let him sleep. In the kitchen, she dialed her phone and used an unopened piece of mail to provide Tanya with Tag’s address, and then M. J. scribbled a note on the envelope’s blank backside.
I had to get ready for my game. Thanks for last night.
M. J.
Sitting in the passenger seat of Tanya’s car, two blocks away from Tag’s, M. J. realized exactly where she was—less than a mile away from her parents’ house.
“Uncanny, isn’t it?” Tanya asked.
“More like unsettling.”
“Do you want to stop and say hello? Maybe have a croissant?” Tanya mangled the word on purpose.
“Hell, no.” M. J. said emphatically even though she knew Tanya was teasing. “Although, they’d probably let the whole walk-of-shame thing slide if they knew he was a doctor. They’d think it meant there was hope for Maya Jane yet.”
“Considering your shirt’s on inside out and your bra strap is hanging from your handbag, I doubt that.”
M. J. laughed. The sound scattered some of the heaviness from her head.
“Are you going to see him again?”
M. J. quieted. “I don’t know.”
“Let me rephrase that: do you want to see him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“That bad?”
“That good,” she whispered. From the dinner, to the conversation, to the sex. “But you know me. I just can’t figure out how I’d fit with that kind of man. In Beechwood. A quick jog from the parents. It makes me wonder at what point he’ll realize I don’t fit and try to change me.” She cringed.
“Maybe he won’t try to change you.”
“Maybe.” It was all so complicated—too complicated. Men like Coach and Pop, who really, truly understood a woman like M. J., were rare. “I don’t want to talk about it or think about it anymore. I want to focus on Buffalo. Football first.” Because that was the more important thing.
If M. J. wanted to be a legitimate champion, it couldn’t be any other way.
• • •
Tag reached an arm across the empty side of his bed. He wasn’t exactly surprised she wasn’t there. The last thing she’d said before she drifted off to sleep was that she was breaking the rules by being here. Something about warriors and sex before battle. He found it cute and a nod to his skills of persuasion. And yet, now she was gone, and he was disappointed he hadn’t been more convincing.
There was no rhyme or reason to his thoughts as he pushed out of bed and padded to the shower. Who picked her up to take her home? Probably Tanya. Unless she called a cab. He didn’t like the idea of her spending money on a car when he had a perfectly operational one in the garage. Last night, when he’d pulled into that garage with her sitting flushed by his side, there’d been so much antici
pation. They’d been good together, good enough she should’ve stayed for a morning kiss.
Halfway through his shower, Tag decided he wanted more from her. For starters, he wanted to see her again. Dinner. Lunch. Breakfast. Whatever she’d agree to. But that was the problem. He had no idea what she wanted now that she’d left without the benefit of some coffee and conversation to determine what last night meant.
Out of the shower and dressed for a run, Tag headed downstairs to the kitchen where he’d left his cell phone on the counter next to his keys. He found a note scribbled on a business envelope. It wasn’t much of a note. Two lines lacking any revealing adjectives, followed by two letters. But M. J. was like that—to the point. Someplace where I can get you naked. Finally, he smiled.
Snatching his phone off the counter, he opened a new text message, addressing it to her and typing, Good luck in Buffalo. That was where her focus needed to be at the moment, not on explaining to him why she bailed from his bed. If things worked out the way he wanted them to, he’d have plenty of time to get the answer to that—and then make sure it didn’t happen again.
Tag’s elevated mood lasted through a five-mile run fueled with memories from last night. Only when he returned home and checked his phone to find M. J. hadn’t replied to his text with so much as a thanks did his mood begin to sink.
He couldn’t seem to find his footing after that.
As he moved through a lighter than usual Friday, thoughts of M. J. lurked in his mind, ready to pounce whenever he wasn’t preoccupied with medicine. How hard was it to text back? He checked his phone obsessively. Maybe she didn’t get his text? He composed several follow-ups only to delete them before he hit send. Maybe she was just that focused on her game?
By Saturday afternoon, he craved some connection to her, so he passed on lunch with his parents in order to listen to the web broadcast of the Clash game. They lost, with M. J. fumbling and throwing a pick-six. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn’t hear from her for a while now.
Professional athletes hated losing, which made Tag think about Grey. Monday was another follow-up appointment, and Tag was anxious to check the progress on the wound. A nagging heaviness in his chest told him he was in for more personal talk with Jordon and Grey. He only hoped he could handle the conversation half as well as he handled the subject matter while at dinner with M. J.
Monday arrived, dark and dreary with a few rumbles of thunder. The weather was fitting. Tag took a deep breath and held it in his lungs while he stood outside the exam room. On the exhale, he told himself he was capable of handling whatever happened.
Following the exam, which revealed impressive progress, a clearly exhilarated Grey gripped Tag’s hand. There was strength in the right-handed motion, and at first, Tag thought it nothing more than a display of his capabilities since the procedure. But then, Grey didn’t let go.
“I didn’t say much the other day, but I wanted to say it now—before I lost my chance. I am so fucking sorry, man. I was a fool. I let him be a big part of my life for way too long, even after I learned he’d stolen Jordon’s signing bonus, right up until he left the country with my girl. I was so stupid! I meant it when I said I wished things could be different. You and Jordon should’ve been part of my life all those years, not him.”
Thick sadness blocked air to Tag’s lungs, and he nodded, because it seemed like the right thing to do. He’d never figured his father had screwed over his “meal tickets,” too.
Jordon pulled the phone from his pocket. “I want to show you something.”
The gaping hole in Tag’s gut had him thinking it was something he didn’t want to see, but he didn’t have a choice. Jordon shoved the phone in front of Tag’s face, showing off a smiling baby boy wearing a Nashville Argonauts baseball cap.
“You have a nephew.” Jordon slapped Tag’s back. “My son. His name’s Braydon.”
Tag blinked a few times. “Congratulations,” he said, unable to wrap his already-reeling mind around the revelation. He was more than a brother now; he was an uncle. He latched his watery gaze onto Grey’s healing hand. “We’ll start the countdown now. Two more months, then you can start rigorous rehab. If all goes well, you’ll be in Tampa for spring training.”
Jordon and Grey seemingly took the hint, accepting the sudden subject change. More thanks for Grey’s progress resounded, no more apologies or talk about nephews. But when they’d gone, Tag caught himself wondering. Was Grey married too? Did he have kids? Did Jordon’s family and Grey’s family get together for holidays and summer vacations?
An odd sort of longing pulled at Tag’s heart, but he was too emotionally beaten to process any of it. The good news was, barring any complications, he didn’t have to see Jordon and Grey ever again.
Maybe now that he had, he could start to heal.
• • •
“So you’re really not going to see him again?” Tanya tightened her boxing gloves.
It wasn’t the first time she’d asked since picking M. J. up from Tag’s, but M. J. had forbidden it as a topic of conversation anywhere near the football field. Apparently she needed to forbid it at the gym, too, so that a good, hard workout could be had.
“No,” M. J. said as she tugged her headgear into place. “I’m not going to seek him out until maybe after the season ends.”
Tanya slammed her padded fists together. “Don’t you think you should tell him that?”
“Contact will distract me. I can’t have anything distracting me. You saw what happens when I’m distracted.”
Her performance versus Buffalo had been an embarrassment. Had she spent the night before that game in her own bed with her thoughts firmly focused on football, things would’ve turned out differently.
“M. J., Buffalo is a good team.”
“We are a better team, and we would’ve won that game had I been firing on all cylinders.” She grabbed her gloves off the bench and headed for the ring. “But if it makes you stop talking about it, I’ll text him.” After all, one could argue it had been rude and cowardly to leave him hanging this long. “I’ll tell him I made a mistake, and it’s not going to happen again. I can’t be seeing anyone during the season, which is what I tried to tell him in the first place.”
Too bad it hadn’t stopped her from propositioning him.
M. J. agonized over what to text, and in the end, she wanted to take it back the minute the message was sent. She should’ve stuck to her guns and simply avoided him. The thanks for the evening, but we can’t do it again text was supposed to absolve her of her guilt over the way she’d left and her lack of contact with him, but it sort of backfired. His lack of response gave her something new to deliberate. Maybe he didn’t even care.
By midweek, M. J. was annoyed by everything.
“Franks, what the fuck was that?” she got in her tight end’s face, mask to mask. “You weren’t supposed to drift until you made contact with me.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Don’t make one again.”
Tanya wedged them apart with her hands. “Settle.”
“Ladies,” Coach bellowed.
M. J. snatched a water bottle from the carrier and squirted a stream into her mouth.
“What’s your problem?” Tanya asked.
“My problem? People who aren’t where they’re fucking supposed to be so they can catch a pass. That’s my problem.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been off all week. This about you-know-who? Thought you were done with all that?”
Coach bellowed again. “Can we run a successful play sometime before sunset?”
It seemed like everyone was looking at M. J.
She dropped the water bottle into its slot and lifted her face to the bright blue sky. She was being a complete idiot. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Better yet, she proved it by executing five flawless plays to bring practice to an early end. In that moment, she felt like herself again.
Saturday rolled around with M. J. settled and focused
. Nothing mattered but what happened on the field. It was easy to keep the momentum going when they were up by three touchdowns come halftime. And M. J. felt downright indestructible when she added three more passing touchdowns in the second half.
Buffalo was a distant memory as she showered and dressed. She was clearly capable of taking control after upheaval and righting a sinking ship.
“Are you coming with us?” Tanya asked over the noise of celebration and hairdryers. “We’re going to shoot some pool.”
M. J. nodded. “Heck, yeah.” A night out with her team was just what she needed to solidify her return to gridiron glory.
She tied her damp hair into a knot at the base of her neck and tidied up her locker before heading down the hallway to the exit. As she walked, she pulled her phone from her purse and checked messages. There wasn’t so much as a missed call.
Some of her exuberance waned.
She stared at the list of undeleted text messages, zeroing in on her last interaction with Tag, but this fresh disappointment wasn’t about him.
Clicking on the message at the top of the list, she typed, “We won. 42-10. Four passing TDs. 150-yard game,” and sent the words to Dad. She sent a similar text after every game, wanting him to know in case someday he decided to care.
As she pushed through the fieldhouse door, knowing she’d come face-to-face with Tanya’s adoring family, she wondered what it would feel like to have her family waiting instead, not that she’d ever have that many people waiting for her. She was an only child after all.
In a brush of luck, the general area outside the locker room was empty except for the referees engaged in some post-game conversation … and Tag. He stood off to the side in a spot overshadowed by a soda machine, wearing khaki shorts, hooded sweatshirt, and uncharacteristically messy hair.
She would’ve missed him if her body hadn’t reacted like a virtual magnet to his.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay away,” he said when she stopped in front of him.
“That’s okay.” In a completely contradictory way to how she’d been feeling for most of the week, she liked the idea of him being here, seeing her win.
