by Lyssa Layne
“What if no one knew?” he asks, his breath almost a growl and my panties are immediately wet. “I don’t kiss and tell…”
I swallow hard, shaking my head and wetting my lips at the same time. Taking his sweet time, Evan lowers his mouth to mine. The instant they connect, every nerve ending in my body is on fire. My hands immediately go to his neck, pulling him closer, wanting him more and not wanting to let go. Evan’s hands are needy as they roam over my torso, pulling at my shirt and teasing my nipples. My moans are smothered by our kiss and the vibrations from his own tease me even more.
The loud shrill of my phone takes us both by surprise and we pull apart. My chest heaves as I fumble in my purse to stop the ringing. Finding it, I laugh and show the screen to Evan who shakes his head, snickering.
“Of course Blake cock block’s me without even knowing it,” he mumbles, his lips moving to my neck.
Bolts of heat shoot through me at his touch. Wiggling away from his body, I take three long steps away from him. Trying to sound firm, I say, “The cock block isn’t Blake, it’s the fact that I don’t date clients.”
I move quickly across the parking lot, letting him know we’re done. Evan guffaws. “Sweet dreams of me, Cami. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
Climbing into my rental car, I grip the wheel, watching Evan pull out of the parking lot and drive away. Of course I’ll have dreams of him tonight, like I do every night, but unlike most nights, Gregg is waiting for me at my hotel. I turn on the engine and take my time driving to the hotel. Just as I slide my keycard into my hotel room door, my phone beeps with a text.
You’re a great kisser. Can’t wait to feel your lips on me again.
Evan
AC/DC blares through my rental and I pound my fists on the steering wheel, keeping beat with the music. The usual adrenaline high I feel after being around Camila is a thousand times more after our kiss. I keep running my tongue over my lips, trying to taste her fruity lipstick. The ginger and floral perfume she always wears already had me in a frenzy at dinner, but after finally getting my lips on her, I’m rock hard. It’s been a month since I’ve gotten off and tonight is probably going to end up like every other time I’m with Camila—blue balls.
The song ends but thoughts of Camila don’t go away. My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel, knowing she’s probably naked with a certain pitching coach right about now. The thought pisses me off and I am fighting the urge to turn this SUV around so I can stop them. Instead, I grab my phone, sending her a text that will hopefully ruin any desire she has to sleep with Gregg Turner.
Turning up the radio, I try to block out thoughts of Camila and Gregg. Luckily, it’s only an hour and a half drive to my mom’s which goes pretty quickly. When I reach the city limits, I turn down the volume, an eerie feeling washing over me. This town is a mix of good and bad memories. Winning state championships, signing with Notre Dame University, only to turn it down because of my mother’s demons. Blake was pissed at me, but he didn’t experience our mother’s alcoholism the way I did.
After our father left us, Blake had been the male figure for both my mom and me. Blake handled all of the house maintenance, made sure the bills were paid on time, purchased all the groceries, checked my homework, practiced football with me every night in our backyard, everything to keep our house and family functioning. My mom depended on him more than either of them realized and when he left, her true colors came out. As a sophomore in high school, I was left to pick up the pieces of our mother yet again. Before I turn on to the long road that leads to our dilapidated Victorian-style house that our mother refuses to sale, I check my phone and grin when I see I have a text from Camila.
Too bad it was only a one-time thing…but you’re not too bad yourself.
Shaking my head and chuckling, I start the quarter of a mile drive. She says it was just a one-time deal, but she knows it’s so much more than that. Tonight, I got much more than I expected from her which is a start. I know I have to take things slow if I want more from her. My throbbing cock reminds me of how much I do and I groan, rubbing it with my free hand, hoping it shrinks before I get to my mother’s.
Reaching our driveway, all thoughts of everything and everyone are pushed away. It’s almost midnight and every light in the house is on while the front door is wide open. I throw the SUV into park and bolt inside, the engine still running. Fearing the worst, I yell for my mom at the top of my lungs.
“Ma! MA! Are you okay? Ma!” This house has no security and Ma refuses to let me pay for any upkeep or security system. She wants it exactly the way it was when our asshole father left. In her delusional mind, she thinks he’s coming back one day.
I race from room to room, stumbling over piles of junk scattered throughout the house. Beer bottles clutter the floors, a sure sign that Ma’s fallen off the wagon. My only hope is that she’s been a lone drinker, staying at home to get shitfaced and not going to the bar, bringing home random men who could do who knows what to her. I clench my fist at that image and shove a stack of magazines off the hall desk, walking into her bedroom, the only place I haven’t checked yet.
I let out a long breath when I see my mother passed out on the bed. Taking a seat beside her, I place my hand on her back and relax slightly knowing that she’s breathing. She’s a tiny woman to begin with, how the hell she gave birth to Blake and me I have no idea, but right now, she looks so fragile. Her skin is pasty, the smell of beer hangs in the air, and I can see every bone along her vertebrae through the thin shirt she’s wearing.
Her fingers still grip a bottle of beer, most of it tipped over and soaking into the mattress by this time. Slowly, trying not to wake her, I pluck it from her hand and she rolls over, mumbling as she does. I pull the blanket over her and push her gray and blonde hair out of her face.
“Hey, Ma, it’s me, Evan,” I say softly instead of screaming at her like I want to. I’ve been here and done that enough times to know that I have to be calm and rational with her in times like this.
She tries to smile, hiccuping as she does. “Hey, how’s my baby boy?” she asks, patting my leg.
I nod. “I’m fine. What about you? I thought you quit drinking.” I look around the room and see half a bottle of vodka on the nightstand, surrounded by empty beer cans.
“Well, you and Blakey’s season was over so I didn’t have nothing better to do,” she slurs her words while she pats my face adoringly.
Sighing, I shake my head. “That’s not the deal, Ma. Sleep it off and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
I kiss her forehead and stand up. She rolls over, falling right back to sleep like we hadn’t just had a conversation. Grabbing the bottle of vodka, I start to unscrew the cap then stop. If I take a drink of this then I’m no better than she is. Two more bottles of bourbon stare at me from her dresser. Swiping them, I begin my routine run of the house, checking for any and all forms of alcohol. Thirty minutes later, I’ve recovered five more bottles of liquor, two bottles of cough syrup, and a skunky box of beer sitting in the garage. I know all her favorite hiding places and I didn’t take it easy. Turning a blind eye will help no one.
Bottle after bottle, I empty them down the kitchen drain wondering how things got to the point. Ann Purser is the mother of two starting NFL football players. We both make more than enough money to get her out of this shithole and into a rehab program that could turn her life around, but she refuses any help and Blake’s a fuckin’ idiot who pretends we have the perfect home life in interviews.
The last bottle emptied, I turn around and hurl it at the wall. Listening to it break into a million pieces, I slide down the cabinets and lean my back against them. My elbows on my knees, I hang my head. Blake’s always had the good life. When our father left, the asshole still sent Blake birthday cards every year with a five dollar bill. I never so much as got a card or phone call. Blake leaves for his division one college and Ma brags about it to all her friends. I win three high school championships an
d wash the puke out of her hair. Blake deserts our family for a beautiful, driven woman that he could’ve had, and probably still could, if he wanted but never took the opportunity. In turn, I fall for the same woman knowing she’s not available. He’s the fuckin’ golden child and I’m no one.
I hear sobs but it takes a moment to figure out they’re coming from me and that the wetness on my face are tears. Fuck, I’m falling apart. I need someone to calm me, tell me it’ll be okay. I need Camila. Without thinking, I press her number into my phone and hold it to my ear. Her sleepy voice is even sexier than normal when she answers. I pinch my nose, pressing my fingers against my eyelids in hopes that will stop the tears.
“Evan? Evan, are you okay? Talk to me,” Camila says into the phone, panic filling her voice and I feel like a dick for causing her to worry.
Swallowing the lump that’s formed, I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. I—” And like that, I break down in front of a woman. In front of her, Camila, the one I want to take care of. Her words are calm and even as she tries to reassure me and then like a punch in the gut, I remember who she’s with.
“Fuck, you’re with Gregg,” I mumble, ready to hang up.
“No, I’m not,” Camila’s voice says over the line.
Shaking my head, trying to translate her words, I repeat, “You’re not?”
“No, we had a drink at the hotel bar and he left,” Camila explains, my heart beating louder, wondering the deeper meaning.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Ev, so I can fix it.” Her voice is soft and tears tease my eyes again. Sure, it’s her job to keep her clients out of trouble, help them however she can, but I know she’s not saying that because of her obligation to me.
“My mom,” I choke out, trying not to cry again.
Camila’s voice is more alert when she asks if she’s okay. Suddenly, I just start talking, spouting off everything on my mind. “She’s drinking again. I can’t trust her on her own. The house is a disaster, the door was wide open, anyone could have walked in and taken whatever they wanted, or worse. I can’t leave her, Cami, I have to move back to Florida and take care of her.”
“No, no, no!” Camila rebuttals, her voice unnerving. “There are more options, Evan. You are not giving up.”
Camila’s voice is so confident, so reassuring that I honestly believe her for a split second. A beer can falls from the counter and clinks against the floor, rolling toward me and reality hits again. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t leave her like this. She says she quit drinking when our season ended, but from the looks of this place, she started well before then.”
“Let’s move her to California. She’ll be closer to all of us and we can get her into rehab.”
I scoff. “Ma isn’t leaving this place, Camila.”
There’s a long silence between us. A small part of me wonders if I quit the NFL, if Camila and I could have a chance together. It’s the only silver lining in this fucked-up situation that I call my life at this point. Finally, Camila takes a deep breath before she speaks.
“I can hire a cleaning service to take care of her house. I know a guy that owns a business not too far from there and we can probably pay them extra to check on your mom, get rid of any alcohol in the house, befriend her, keep her busy, and off the bottle. It’s a short-term solution, so in the meantime, you and Blake will have to convince her to move to California.”
I close my eyes, thinking about the idea Camila just proposed. It could work, it’s not a perfect plan, but it’s better than giving up on my dream of winning a Super Bowl and it keeps my mom safe. Nodding, forgetting she can’t see me, I tell Camila it’s worth a shot and to set it up.
“Evan, your mom is lucky to have a son like you,” Camila says softly into the phone.
Tears prick my eyes once more and I shut them tight. “I’m lucky to have you, Cami.”
CHAPTER 11
Camila
Whistling, I’m seriously whistling. And this grin on my face? It won’t go away. I hug my knee to my chest as I scroll mindlessly through my emails. Sitting in my hotel room in Chicago, I’m trying to relax before the NFL draft this evening. Once I hit the lobby, I’ll be working until the wee hours of the morning and there won’t be any time for rest as I’ll be laughing, smiling, and networking with one coach, player, parent after another. I should be taking a nap, but I’m expecting Evan to knock on my door at any minute.
Since our first kiss, we’ve shared many more, each increasing with passion and intensity. Every time his lips touch mine, I hesitate for a split second, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this, but Evan pulls me in and the thought melts away. For now, he doesn’t mind keeping our kisses behind closed doors and he doesn’t pressure me for more, although we both want it. I know the time will come when I have to make a decision, but I refuse to think about it right now.
Two new emails pop up and my stomach churns. One is from the San Diego Seawolves, the other from the Chicago Lancers, and both have Evan’s name in the subject line. I knew his contract from the Seawolves would be coming in any day, but I’m shocked about the Lancers, especially since they’ve been chasing after Blake.
The Lancers can’t officially make an offer until after July so they’re ahead of the game. Clicking open their email, I scan through it quickly. Three year contract, typical. Legal stuff, publicity, injury, compensation. Five million dollars. I shake my head, making sure that I’m reading that correctly. Sure enough, the Chicago Lancers are planning to offer Evan five million dollars for a three year contract. This is way more than I expected, but Evan definitely proved himself on the field last season and he’s worth every bit of that offer.
Without closing the email, I open the other one from the Seawolves. If Chicago offered Evan five million then his own team’s bid is probably even more. My fingers are shaking slightly as I scroll down the email. When I see the compensation offer, my stomach sinks. A one-year contract extension for one million dollars. It’s a slap in the face and there’s no way I’ll let Evan take it. My negotiation skills will be put to use next week once I have all the Netsports rookies signed and the Is dotted and the Ts crossed. Knowing Evan’s temper, I don’t plan to tell him until negotiations are finished.
Standing up, I stretch my arms over my head, even more anxious to see Evan. There’s a knock on the door and I run to it, stopping before I open it. I smooth out my navy, scoop neck, tank top that has a curved side hemline. The blouse matches my navy and monochrome diamond and circle pattern cigarette trousers with tapered ankles. I’m working in a man’s world, hence the pants, but I do my best to add a little femininity to my outfit as well.
My fingers fluff my hair, which is in a low chignon on the back of my neck. While the hairstyle is supposed to look effortless, I spent a long time working on it and hairsprayed it until it was as hard as a football helmet. My heels were discarded the second I got to my hotel room so I know the second I open the door, I’ll be standing almost a foot shorter than Evan.
With a goofy grin on my face, I fling open the door and see Evan wearing a matching expression, tattered blue jeans, and a Seawolves t-shirt that clings to his chest and is almost busting at the seams over his biceps. Without saying a word, he steps into the room, picking me up and slamming the door behind him. Giggling, I wrap my legs around his waist as his hands move under my backside, holding me up.
“Miss me?” he growls, walking us toward the bed.
Smirking, trying not to let my lips turn up too much, I shake my head. “Nah,” I lie. It’s been almost two weeks since we’ve seen each other. While we talk every day, there’s just something about hearing his voice in person that excites me. My stomach flips at that thought, I’ve never wanted a man around me every day… until now.
Evan tosses me on the bed, falling forward and hovering over me. “No? Fine, then. I guess I’ll leave,” he says and starts to lean back up.
“Hey!” I grab his shirt, pulling him to me. He easily comes back and our lips touch but thi
s time, I don’t hesitate. I close my eyes, letting him take control, his hand slipping under my tank top, the other in my hair. Our tongues roll together and I wrap my legs around his hips, grinding against him. Despite the barriers of our pants, I can still feel his growing excitement.
Evan pulls away, both of us breathing hard. His finger moves to my collarbone, sliding it back and forth, sending both chills and heat through my body. “Camila, I want you,” he whispers.
My body is saying yes, in fact, my hand slides down his chest, but my brain stops it. “Evan,” I struggle to sit up underneath him until he rolls to the side, facing me. “We can’t go any further.”
Evan rolls to his back, letting out a disgusted sigh. “Then why the fuck are we doing this, Cami? Don’t deny that you have feelings for me, that you don’t want this, too.”
I scramble out of bed, fighting the urge to scream at him. Instead, in a calm voice, I explain, “You’re right, Evan. As much as I don’t want to, I do have feelings for you. And more than anything, I want you to have your fuckin’ way with me, but realistically, it can’t happen.”
Evan sits up quickly, pulling me between his legs, my hands still on my hips. He lifts up my blouse and caresses my bare skin, my legs immediately turning to jelly. His sky blue eyes look up at me. “Can’t or won’t?”
His lips move to my stomach, teasing me with his tongue and I’m so wound up that I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t come right then. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. “Both, Evan…mmm,” I moan and shake my head. “We should sto—”
“We should just let what happens happen and not fight it. I guarantee that one night with me will convince you to change your stupid rule,” Evan says confidently, his hand sliding between my legs, his thumb rubbing over my pants.
My hands on his shoulder, I look down at him. “You’ve never slept with a girl more than once.” There, I said it. More than my rule, that’s the part that’s been scaring me just as much.
