“Yah? You think Noemi Sax has a thing for blonds?”
When we arrived at the box, there were only a few people there: a small group of business execs who might have something to do with the Breaker’s franchise and a few Pats players drinking beers in the back.
The Pats greeted us with enthusiasm, and Vic Ferguson, a new safety, tried to get me into a conversation about dating models. But Burke clapped his massive hand on my shoulder and said, “Come on, man, the game’s already started.”
We sat down in the front row, and I looked down. The stadium, usually slammed for Patriots games, was not even half full.
“Look at her; there she is,” Burke closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “Fuck me. I’m just thinking about those thighs wrapped around my waist.”
I stared down at the field where Noemi Sax was powering past defenders to try a failed shot on the goal. That was one of the things I really hated about soccer. It took forever to score a fucking…
An opposing player was charging downfield, kicking the ball into Breaker territory. The defenders were setting up to stop her.
“Dude. Are you okay?”
My heart was pounding, and my mouth was dry. I licked my lips and nodded. Sitting up, I rolled my shoulders and tried to get over the sudden breathlessness. Shake it off, Woods. “That soccer player I dated in college,” I said. “She’s on the left there. Dark hair.” I pointed.
In college, Jamie had had long, straight brown hair. It was short now, cut to about her chin, and held back by a bright pink headband.
“Oh, wow,” said Burke admiringly from beside him. “You dated Jamie Anderson?”
“You know her?” Was she well known then? To be honest, once I’d stopped dating Jamie, I’d stopped caring about women’s soccer. Thinking about her sucked. It always made me feel like I’d been roundhoused in the gut.
“I mean, I follow the Breakers,” said Burke. “She’s really good. I don’t think she’s national team good, but she’s definitely one of the top players at her position. Cute, too. Really cute.”
I couldn’t quite look away from her. Jamie had always had something about her… She wasn’t anything like Karissa, or some of the other women I’d dated (long-legged and exotic). She was petite, focused, and just – I don’t know, genuine. She had this girl-next-door vibe that had always made me feel comfortable. But when you’d get her in the sheets, she was so fucking hot… She’d been the best of both worlds.
“Oohhh,” Burke said, his eyebrows raising with interest. “This looks like it’s gonna be a good story.”
I shrugged. “It’s not. We dated for about a year in college. Hooked up right at the tail end of my junior year. She was a freshman…” Memories that I’d shoved into that padlocked box resurfaced. I’d been interested in this cheerleader who’d had a friend on the soccer team. So we’d gone to one of the games, where I’d seen Jamie play. She was hard to take your eyes off of. She was pretty and tough as nails. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and when she had her head in the game, she was unstoppable. She was like that in a relationship, too. When a girl like Jamie turned her focus on you…
“What happened?”
I shrugged. “Usual college shit. You know? I had to concentrate on football; she wanted me to pay more attention to her.”
“Yah?” said Burke, settling back in his seat and putting his hands behind his head. “Women can be crazy.”
I envisioned Karissa hefting Hugo Chavez and taking aim at my cranium. By Karissa-standards, Jamie was downright boring, and I felt the need to defend her. “She wasn’t crazy. Just…I don’t know. You can either be good at football or good in a relationship, right? One thing at a time.”
“Dude, that’s total crap,” said Burke. “What are you, fifteen? Half of these guys are married and still play. Look at Barnes. And his lady’s a handful.”
“Well, at the time, I couldn’t handle it. So she broke up with me.”
Burke whistled through his teeth. “She broke up with you? Fuck, man. That sucks.”
I shrugged, for some reason feeling the need to be honest. “I guess I was pretty arrogant about the whole thing. I didn’t think she would break up with me. I actually didn’t see it coming.”
And there it was—the lid was off of the Jamie box, and I was spilling my fucking heart out to Burke Tyler. I couldn’t stop myself. “I really liked her. You know? I was really into her. I got drunk one night in the off-season. Went into San Francisco with a bunch of the guys. One of them wanted to gamble but had no cash. So we went to this pawn shop so he could hawk his watch. There was this tiny ring in there. I don’t know what came over me, but I decided that I was going to propose to her. I was so hammered. I paid the guy four hundred dollars for it…”
I looked up, expecting Burke to laugh or give me shit. But he looked serious. “I’ve had my heart broken, bro. It kills, man. It really kills.”
I nodded.
“But it sounds like you had it coming,” Burke continued. “You can’t just ignore people when you feel like being busy. Dick move.” Okay. Now he was just pissing me off. “You should go talk to her,” said Burke suddenly. “And while you’re down there, see if Noemi Sax might want to date a Tight End. Tell her I like to cuddle.” He winked.
4
Jamie
We did all right. We won, barely. And I could have been better, but at least I hadn’t sucked all over the field. I’ve never, never been good at keeping my emotions in. If I’m feeling confident and happy, I play great. If there’s something in my life that’s distracting me, I play distracted.
“Proud of you,” Fernanda said, as we headed toward the locker room. “You could have had a meltdown. You chose to keep it together.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I said as kindly as I could. They say you never get over your first love. I think that might be true. But Caz wasn’t going to get any more attention than I’d already given him.
“Good game, Jay! You going to meet us out?” A bunch of the girls were going for sushi.
“Yes!” I said, faking enthusiasm. “I’m going to grab a shower, so I’ll meet you there.”
I took my time showering, trying not to fantasize about Caz in the shower with me. I got dressed, pulling on a dark red blouse, skinny jeans, and black ankle boots with enough of a heel to put me at the same height as some of the other girls. My hair was still wet, so I used a few bobby pins to keep it off my face. I put on some mascara and lip gloss, so I didn’t look as exhausted as I felt, and turned to follow the rest of the team.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket to google the directions, I wasn’t looking as I opened the door and strode into the hall, smack into something hard.
“I’m so sorry!” I said as hands came down to steady me. Oh fuck.
To say I’d never imagined what it might be like to run into Caz again would be a total lie. I used to think about it all the time. And now, there he was, staring down at me and smiling like he used to. Like I was the sky after a storm.
“Hey, Little Girl,” he said, his voice soft and warm with that gravelly rasp that used to make me shiver.
Fuck, Jamie, say something! “Hey.”
It was all I could manage. Caz had that effect on me. He was so beautiful, and in the years since we’d last met, he’d gotten even better looking. He was bigger, packed with muscle. He was wearing an expensive, gray t-shirt that clung to his biceps and the flat expanse of his pecs. His face had the same sculpted, familiar planes – sharp cheek bones, knife-bridge nose, and lush, gorgeous mouth. And his dimples were out.
“That was a great game,” he said.
Oh god. He had watched the game. “Excuse me,” I said, “I forgot something…” I turned and rushed back into the locker room.
Smooth, Jamie. I paced the locker room, trying to ditch the adrenaline that had flooded me with such quick intensity. Cassidy Woods, the man who’d broken my heart, had watched my entire game and come down to the locker room to say “hi.�
� Somewhere, pigs were flying and hell was freezing over.
I turned, staring at myself in the mirror. Why was I feeling inadequate? I looked fine! And he’d sought me out. This was my shot to show him what he’d thrown away all those years ago. I squared my shoulders and headed back out.
Caz was still there, still smiling, but he looked less certain now. “Did you find what you needed?”
“Yah,” I said, not elaborating further. “Hi. How are you? It’s been… a really long time.”
Caz didn’t respond. He was just staring at me, smiling. Finally, as if he realized that he needed to say something, he said, “I’m good. Great. I signed a deal with the Patriots. I was upstairs in the lounge when your game started. I actually didn’t know you played for the Breakers.”
“Yes,” I said. My phone buzzed, and I looked down. It was one of the girls, asking me if I was coming.
“Ah. I’m meeting the team,” I said. “I have to go.”
“You do?” Caz asked and stepped forward as I stepped forward. “Do you have to?” He looked disappointed for a moment, and his eyes met mine. God, they were beautiful. So dark blue they almost looked brown. And he was wearing his hair differently. It was long and wavy and swept back off of his forehead. “I was going to see if you wanted to go out to dinner. It’s been… Little Girl, it’s been years.”
Little Girl. He used to call me that. He’d had tons of nicknames for me, but he reserved Little Girl for the bedroom. And it still had the same effect on me. It made me feel naughty. And horny. I hadn’t had sex in a while.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?” he asked softly. His voice was all gravel.
“Sure,” I said before I could stop myself. My heart was pounding, and I was burning with an intense mix of anxiety, longing, lust, and heartbreak. But I knew I looked cool, confident.
“Great! I’ll drive us. Louie’s okay?”
“Louie’s is fine,” I said, “but I’ll meet you there.” Looking down at my phone, I shot a quick text to the girls.
I started walking toward my car, and Caz fell into step beside me, having to shorten his stride so as not to overtake me. “Where are you parked?” he asked. Did he think I wasn’t going to actually go to dinner with him?
“Over there,” I said, pointing to my seven year old, neon green Mazda 2, the same car I had driven in college. Caz blinked, and I wondered what he drove.
“All right,” he said. “Ten minutes. Oh! Park in the back, okay? I’d rather not have people gawking at us.”
Gawking at us? Was he that big of a deal?
“Okay. Fine,” I agreed. But I was irked. It’s not that I want to be stared at by strangers during dinner, but was he ashamed of being seen with me? I was glad for the anger; it helped push away some of the lingering longing.
I got in my car and called Fernanda to fill her in.
“Be careful,” Fernanda warned as I pulled into Louie’s back lot. “You can’t afford to let him mess with your head. He messes with your head, he messes with your game.”
I hopped out of the car in time to see a large, navy blue Porsche Macan Turbo pull up next to me, and Caz hopped out, still smiling. His smile was going to kill me.
“Go ahead,” I said, my voice more terse than I wanted it to be. “I don’t know where the back entrance is.” His smile lessened for a moment, but he nodded, moving toward the dumpster and a small side door. He must have called ahead because there was a hostess waiting just beyond the door, ready to seat us. She was a voluptuous, young, Italian woman who looked over Caz as if she were considering buying him. She led us to a darkened alcove in the back of the main dining room. People would have to look hard to see us.
I tried to hold on to my ire, but it was difficult to stay angry when Caz put on the charm. He pulled out my chair, and when he gently lifted my purse from my shoulder, his fingers brushed my bare skin.
“It’s been ages. I can’t believe how long,” Caz was saying as he picked up a menu. “You look… I love your hair like that.”
I resisted the urge to touch it. I’d chopped it off the summer after sophomore year when I’d decided that the best way to get over Cassidy Woods was to get rid of everything he’d loved. I’d thrown away a ton of clothes, burned a bunch of love letters, and cut my hair. I’d refused to grow it back since.
“Thanks,” I said. “Yes. It’s been a long time. How are you?”
Caz smiled warmly at me. He needed to stop. “I’m great, now.”
“Oh?”
“It’s just…” he paused, staring at me some more. “You look the same. The hair is different, but you look the same.”
“I guess I’m not much different than I was in college.” I shrugged. “Still playing soccer…”
“Yes! You went pro! Congrats!”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Caz shrugged. Going pro had been a forgone conclusion for Caz. After his senior season, he’d been drafted first-round.
“Do you know what you want to order?” The hostess was apparently also our waitress. She ignored me, staring at Caz, willing him to look up at her.
I cleared my throat, “I’ll have the linguini with the pancetta.”
She didn’t look at me as she wrote down my order.
“That sounds great,” said Caz. “Two orders. And a bottle of the Chianti, please. Do you want an appetizer?” he asked me, his eyes were sparkling, and he didn’t wait for me to answer before saying to the waitress, “Can we get the calamari? It used to be her favorite.” He winked at me.
He remembered my favorite appetizer? Was he kidding? I kept my cool. “That sounds nice.” It sounded wonderful.
As the woman left to place our order, I was the sole focus of Caz’s attention. “So. Tell me what you’ve been doing? How long have you played for the Breakers?” I feel bad for anyone who’s never had Cassidy Wood’s sole focus. Caz is a machine. When he sets his mind on something, nothing stops him. And when you’re on the receiving end of his attention, it can be a heady thing. And hard to resist.
I didn’t try to resist. I told him everything there was to tell: going pro, my sister’s wedding (he’d met her), the two invitations to national camp, only to fall short…
When I told him that, he reached over and grabbed my hand up in his. His hand was warm, callused from weight lifting, and mine fit so neatly inside his. “You’ll make it this year. I know you will. You were always great when you put your mind to it.” His voice was low, seductive, and I leaned forward without thinking.
His thumb brushed across the back of my hand, and he asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” What happened to showing him what he missed? I was about ready to leap over the table and straddle him.
The waitress chose that moment to reappear with the food. We had to let go of each other’s hands. When the waitress lingered, Caz looked up and give her a tight, “Thanks.” It was a dismissal, and the waitress looked disappointed before heading off.
“Jay,” he said, picking up his fork and twirling it in his pasta. “I’m sorry. I know that was a prying question. It’s just… It just feels so good being with you again, just sitting here with you. It feels good, you know?”
What did he want from me? This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. I needed to be cooler, more distant. I needed to change the topic. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Caz was always a bit self-centered, so ask him about him, and he can talk for an hour. He’s smart, too, and he has opinions on everything. He spoke for a long while on union contracts in the NFL. We had a lively discussion about fair pay. I told him how much I made as a professional athlete, and he was appalled for me.
“You’ve got to score an endorsement deal, then,” he said, as if it were that easy. He gave me a once over and beamed. “I bet you could sell anything. You could advertise toothpaste, and I’d run out to buy it.”
“Thanks.”
The check arrived, and Caz reached out to pay it, grabbing it before I c
ould. “Let me get it, Jay,” he said.
“No,” I shook my head. “We’ll split it. This isn’t a date.”
“I’ll let you split it with me,” he said, holding the check out of my reach, “if you let me pay next time.”
I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t sure there was going to be a next time. And I think he must have plucked the thought from my head because he leaned over, intent. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way I do? Tell me this doesn’t feel good?”
“I didn’t say that…”
“Let me take you out again. We always had such a great time.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Caz smiled. His dimple reappeared. My heart melted. He reached across the table and plucked my credit card from my hand.
When the waitress came back with the check, there was an extra piece of paper with her number on it. Caz ignored it. He might have been a jerk toward the end of our relationship, but I don’t think he ever cheated on me. His mother had cheated on his father, which had caused their nasty divorce. Caz vowed never to do that to someone else.
We walked out into the night, and I walked to my car. I realized Caz was still beside me. I stopped by my front door and tried to open it, but Caz’s hand came down on top of mine.
“Caz…”
But that’s all I got out. His lips were on mine, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close to his chest. Lightening shot through me, and wetness bloomed between my thighs. As if he sensed it, his lips pressed harder against mine, the kiss intensifying, and I kissed him back. His hand found its way into the back of my hair, pressed my mouth more firmly against his, and then his tongue pushed past my lips. The kiss went on and on as our tongues tangling.
I was burning up from the inside, absolutely burning with need. I pressed up against him and felt the hard length of his cock straining against his jeans. We can’t do this, I thought weakly. Not here.
He sensed my withdrawal from the kiss because he withdrew too, and pressed his forehead against mine for a moment, as if to steady himself. Even in the dim light of the parking lot, I could see lust sparking in his eyes.
Bad Ballers: A Contemporary Sports Romance Box Set Page 2
