by Max Monroe
As one of the leaders of the team, I made it a point to make time for all of my teammates. Practice time, life time—even time to share a meal or do stupid shit. In my experience, it kept them out of trouble, and it made them even more determined to protect me on game day. Both of those were very high up on my priorities list.
Just not today.
He jerked up his chin, and I motored again, weaving through the men strolling around in towels and various states of dress, all fresh from the showers after a vigorous morning practice.
Thankfully, we’d done most of the outdoor activity during the early morning hours, when the sun wasn’t quite yet at its full strength, but it’d still been hot as balls.
“Q!” Sean yelled from behind me, my stride casually eating up the hall on my way out of the stadium as fast as I could go. “Wait up, dude.”
I slowed to a normal pace, even though I didn’t really have the luxury of extra time, and gave him a chance to catch me.
“What’s up?” I asked as he finally made it to my side.
“Where you headed in such a hurry? You were moving around the locker room like your throttle got stuck, and I know you don’t have any kids to take to the doctor and shit.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “I have things to do today. They’re time-consuming. I’m in a hurry. What’s the big deal?”
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. “Fine, fine. If you say so.”
“I say so,” I said, and without waiting, started walking again. He fell into step beside me, the bastard.
I shook my head again as we walked and asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Sean—”
“You may have a busy day, my man, but I’m as free as that whale Willy.”
“Great,” I acquiesced. It was useless fighting him. Sean’s undying persistence was what made him one of the best receivers in the league.
I smiled then, though, as I thought about how funny it was going to be when Sean figured out what the fuck he’d just gotten himself into.
Down the hall, through the lobby, and out the doors, Sean and I walked in silence all the way to the parking lot, stopping beside my car.
“What about your Jeep?” I asked.
He shrugged as he pulled the handle to the passenger door of my F-150 and climbed in. I followed suit after tossing my bag in the back seat.
“I’ll leave it here for now. You can either drop me by later today when we’re done running around, or I’ll get it tomorrow,” he clarified when the ringing from both of our doors slamming shut silenced.
I smiled. Yeah, it’s probably going to be tomorrow, buddy.
“Okay.”
Something occurred to me, so I asked, point-blank.
“You have your driver’s license on you?”
His cheeks climbed closer to his eyes, but he didn’t question it—at least, not directly. “Yeah.”
I nodded, and with one flick of my wrist, the engine fired to life, and we were off.
Next stop, JFK.
Sean didn’t really start to get inquisitive until we crossed over the Verrazano Bridge onto the Belt Parkway. Traffic was thick, and the route was long as we weaved our way along the inlet shoreline, around Brooklyn, and past Coney Island. Summer was in the air, and the beach was thick with tan bodies and gelled hair. Rides spun and danced, and lights flickered and flared in bright, colorful patterns as people got in a little adventure at Brooklyn’s favorite amusement park.
Everyone was partaking in all the recreational time they could before fall came and wrecked it all with colder temperatures and school schedules.
“What do you have to do all the way out here?” Sean asked, surveying all the people with languid eyes and propping a sock-covered foot up on my dashboard as I rolled down the windows.
I hummed, pursing my lips with a grin. I wasn’t sure I could really say anything at this point without lying, and I wasn’t keen to have him beg me to turn the truck around either.
I settled on the truth—a vague version of it anyway—knowing I’d just struggle to fill in the gaps in any other tale I tried to weave. “Just have to swing by JFK.”
“Is your brother flying in?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn down into a funny little point. I glanced between him and the road, watching as traffic once again slowed to a crawl.
“Nah. His schedule’s too busy with preseason training for Alabama.”
He nodded in response to my non-answer, and thankfully, got stuck on a subject I was an expert at talking about in minute detail—football.
“How’s he doing? He’s starting this year, right?”
“Yep. Groover finally graduated, and they’re trying out Den as the starting quarterback.”
“How’s he feeling about it?”
I shrugged. “He’d probably be better if he didn’t hate football.”
“What the fuck?” Sean asked, surprised. Apparently, we’d never discussed the real details of my brother and all his complications with the game Sean and I both loved. “What do you mean, he hates football? Why’s he playing, then?”
“My dad,” I said simply. “My brother both hates my father and hangs on his every approval at the same time. Den and I are complete opposites in a lot of aspects, and my parents would have him believe that I’m everything he should be. Which is complete bullshit. When it comes down to it, my brother’s just trying to walk a line with being his own guy and getting a little parental warmth for himself.”
“Wow.”
I nodded, my fingers flexing on the leather of my steering wheel. “I know. The sad thing is, if my dad weren’t so invested in football, Den would probably love playing it.”
Sean sank his head into his hands and pretended to rub at his temples with a little chuckle. “I thought you said he’s playing because of your dad. Why would he love it if your dad weren’t invested?”
“Because then it’d have nothing to do with my dad.”
“This is some twisted shit.”
I nodded and hummed, trying to put the whole thing into words. “Den is doomed to unhappiness until he can let it all go. My dad is the factor that will forever taint everything. Den doesn’t allow himself to love football because my dad loves football. But he’s fucking good.” I raised one shoulder cockily. “I am his big brother, after all.”
“Wow, QB. I had no idea your family was so messed up.”
“Lies and blood, Phillips. The best camouflage there is.”
I pulled off the exit and followed the signs for short-term parking, and finally, Sean remembered why he’d been asking about my brother in the first place.
“Okay, so, it’s not your brother. Who else is flying in?”
I smiled as I pulled up to the machine to take a parking ticket, and pulled through the gate as it lifted to let us by. “Nobody.”
“All right, dude. You’ve been the most taciturn during this car ride that you’ve ever been in your life, and the ambiguity is starting to freak me out. If no one’s flying in, what the fuck are we doing at the airport?”
He’d been patient—way more patient than I’d have ever been in bumper-to-bumper traffic—and as I pulled the truck into a space and cut the engine, I figured he was stuck there with me whether he liked it or not. It was time to tell him the truth.
“We’re flying out.”
He laughed. Just one quick burst that turned into a scoff when I didn’t immediately start laughing with him.
“We have practice tomorrow morning!” he semi-yelled, reminding me of something I already knew.
I rolled my eyes and opened my center console to dig out my wallet. I couldn’t tell you how many times Jillian had yelled at me for leaving it in there, preached about how someone was going to rob me stupid one day, but I couldn’t be bothered. It was just so much easier to leave it in there for when I needed it. “I know. We’re flying to Birmingham on the 2:15 and then right back on the 6:45. We’ll be home by midni
ght at the latest.”
“We’re flying there and back again, back-to-back?”
I nodded.
“Why in the fuck would we do that?”
I smiled. “Sean, buddy,” I murmured and then paused to squeeze his shoulder. “I’d like you to meet someone. Someone who I think might just be someone special.”
Sean grumbled as we walked down the jetway, giving my Beats, wrapped conveniently around my neck, a flick. “I can’t believe I’m doing over six hours’ worth of flying, and I don’t even have my headphones.”
“I’ll remind you,” I said, the thud of our big feet on the extendable tube making the entirety of it shake, “You volunteered to come along. Chased me down at the stadium, as it were. I was supposed to be doing this alone.”
“I didn’t know I was signing up to fly to fucking Alabama and back!” he snapped. “I thought I was riding along to the goddamn post office. Maybe the grocery store.”
“Oh, Seany, growing up with that sister of yours, I know you had to have learned what a bad idea it is to assume.”
“Leave Cassie out of this.”
“She is insane. An impromptu trip to Alabama should be like a walk in the park for you.”
My most recent personal experience with her had been at the cabin in the Catskills last Christmas, but she was always coming to the games, cheering Sean on, and raising all holy hell. What I said was no exaggeration: Cassie Phillips, now Kelly, was off her fucking rocker.
He laughed and tried to touch the back of his head with his eyeballs. “It’s been several years since we lived together. I guess I’m out of practice.”
“Well, good then, ol’ buddy. Your Captain Quinn is good for practice any day of the week.”
We were both laughing, wide smiles lightening our sometimes mean faces as we stepped up to the plane and a pretty flight attendant’s eyes went wide at the sight of us.
“Quinn Bailey and Sean Phillips,” she muttered, her breath soft and her voice even softer. Her eyes, though, they danced with light.
My smile turned polite as I stuck out my hand, offering it to the woman I’d never seen before—a woman who was obviously a fan.
Shit. I sure hope Cat didn’t switch fucking flights with someone. I laughed a little to myself. Goddamn, that’d be one hell of a joke on me.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Sean nodded in kind.
“Carly,” she said, blushing. “My name’s Carly.”
She turned her body and reached out a hand toward the aisle of the plane, but her wide green eyes never left me.
“Uh, um,” she mumbled, trying to snap her fingers at someone down the aisle and failing. Finally, she got it together. “Cat!” she nearly yelled, turning to look down the aisle but stopping before actually making it far enough to look and jerking her gaze back to us.
I smiled and relaxed, knowing now with absolute certainty that my girl was on the plane. I could allow myself to enjoy the excited fan’s bumbling.
“What?” Cat asked, looking down at her hands as she stuffed some garbage in a little bag, her step hurried. “Why are you snapping at me?”
Carly just pointed. Sean and I smiled, still outside the plane, having been barred by a dumbfounded Carly. In fact, a line of waiting passengers had started to form behind me just like last time.
Cat’s gaze followed Carly’s hand, and when it landed on me, her whole body jerked.
“Quinn?” she said on a surprised whisper.
I winked. “Hey there, kitten.”
Sean, the asshole, nudged me from behind.
I shook my head slightly but smiled. “This is Sean.”
“Tell me something,” Nikki whispered into my ear as we stood near the entry doors, watching passengers from Birmingham file on to our plane. Luckily, she was on the flight back to New York with me this time, and Carly, a flight attendant for RoyalAir I worked with a hell of a lot less, was on her way somewhere else.
For three and a half hours, the enamored woman had chatted my ear off about Quinn and Sean and everything she knew about them—enough information to start a Facebook profile for each of them—and I’d had to smile and listen.
Because if I wasn’t telling my close friends all of the details yet, I certainly wasn’t telling her. Still, every swallowed comment tasted like vinegar.
Am I actually jealous of Carly’s little fan trip?
Christ. I was.
Get it together, Cat. The man is into you. He’s flight stalking you, for Pete’s sake.
“What?”
“Those two guys,” she responded quietly. “The ones that I saw get off the plane before I got on and are now reboarding the plane. They’re here because of you, aren’t they?”
“What guys?” I questioned dumbly, even though I knew full well who she was referring to.
How’d I know? Well, because Quinn, followed by Sean, was literally re-boarding the plane for their flight back to NYC. It was hard to miss two men that stood over six feet tall and had biceps the size of tree trunks.
“Lovely to see you again, Catharine.” Quinn winked as he walked by, and Sean smirked knowingly. Good God, what had Quinn been saying about me while I worked during the last flight?
“Uh…yeah.” Nikki rolled her eyes. “I think it’s safe to say you know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Shit. I’d managed to avoid the topic of Quinn Bailey and everything I felt for him for a couple of days, but that was done. Nikki wasn’t having it anymore.
“Technically, they’re not both here for me,” I answered honestly, and an incredulous laugh slipped past her lips.
“I think now is the time to explain to me why two of the Mavericks are on our plane, and one in particular—who just so happens to be the fucking quarterback—appears to be on a pretty fucking friendly basis with you.”
I turned toward her. “How do you know they play for the Mavericks?”
“Oh, come on.” She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Everyone in America knows Quinn Bailey and Sean Phillips. The men, because they’re considered to be the best team in the NFL, and the women, because, well, look at them.”
“Well, I’ll be honest, Quinn Bailey was on our last Birmingham to JFK flight, and you didn’t seem to even notice who he was then.”
“He was?”
I nodded.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “How in the hell did I miss that?” I watched as she mentally calculated the days in her head. “Oh, yeah, it was period week. I was probably just trying to not strangle passengers and hemorrhage through my uniform.”
“Ew.” I scrunched my nose. “Gross.”
She rolled her pretty hazel eyes. “Like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah.” I grinned knowingly. “You got me there.”
Every woman in the world had experienced her own personal version of period nightmares and the occasional murderous rage that menstrual cycles provided.
My gaze flicked toward first class, and I watched as Quinn and Sean filed into their seats, their wide, strong shoulders making the spacious seats in first class look more like a tiny house version of an airplane.
Speaking of which, if that tiny fucking house trend ever started to filter into the airline industry, I’d put my resignation in on the spot. Planes were small enough as it was, and anyone who didn’t believe that needed to attempt to make coffee in the coach galley while passengers waiting in line for the lavatory surrounded them.
Nearly fucking impossible, I tell ya.
Nikki grabbed my elbow and led me toward the back galley of the plane, politely pushing us past the passengers who were still working on getting their carry-ons into the overhead bins.
The instant she had us behind the curtain, she released her death grip on my elbow, and I grimaced from the abrupt change in nerve pressure.
“Okay. Explain yourself. Why are two of the Mavericks stalking you?”
My eyes went wide. “They’re not stalking me.”
/> Well, technically, one wasn’t stalking me. The other, well, I wasn’t so sure. He appeared to be flying on a lot of my flights lately…
“Oh, come on,” she muttered on a groan and proceeded to put her hands together in a praying position. “Tell me everything, Cat. Everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell…”
She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket. “Do not make me get Casey on the phone right now. I knew you two were hiding something from me the other day! I’d thought it was my period paranoia, but now, I know I wasn’t hallucinating that shit. This is why you switched cabins with me.”
Ah, man. She was playing dirty.
I stared at Nikki, and she stared back at me.
Once she raised her eyebrow and started waving her phone around in the air, I folded like a house of cards.
“Fine.”
Nikki’s mouth morphed into a grin, her lips cresting and lighting up her eyes to shades of outright giddy. She propped one hip against the counter and settled in, far too excited for what I was about to tell her.
“So…I met Quinn Bailey on one of my flights a little less than a week ago,” I explained. “Actually, it was the flight Casey and I were on that got detoured to Atlanta because of Tropical Storm Rita.”
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded in remembrance. “The flight with the sexy as hell guy in 2A.”
“He told you about the guy in 2A?”
“Yep,” she responded, popping the p. “He couldn’t shut up about him.”
Good Lord, he was such a little gossiper.
“So, I’m guessing he told you about the train ride too, then?”
“Uh-huh.” She grinned. “And the Journey serenade.”
“Does that diva keep any secrets?”
Nikki laughed. “When it comes to gossiping to me and you, no, probably not. But anyone not in his inner circle, he definitely knows when to keep his chatty lips shut.”
“Well…” I paused, not really sure how to explain the situation. The strange coincidence of it all sounded a bit crazy inside my head. “Well…”
“Well, what?” The tip of her toe tapped against the carpet in quick succession.
