Table of Contents
Copyright
Books by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Copyright© Sydney Aaliyah Michelle 2016
All rights reserved
Published by SAM & Associates, LLC
Cover design © Rebecca Berto
Berto Designs
Editing by Jenny Sims
Editing 4 Indies
Proofreading & Formatting by Fel Wetzig
Fel Wetzig, Author Services
No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead or places, actual events or locales are purely coincidental.
The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
Books by Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Stand Alone
Another New Life
A New Season
Series
Hope for Her (Hope Series Book #1)
Hope for Him (Hope Series Book #2)
Hope for Us (Hope Series Book #3)
Anthologies
Affairs of the Heart
Valentine Pets & Kisses
To the victims who speak out and to those who remain silent, the suffering is the same.
Fuck, where is she?
Oh, shit, I meant, excuse me. I needed to stop cussing. My agent said first-round draft picks didn't need to cuss. It was fine when I was a young college punk who didn't know any better, but now, I was a professional athlete, a defensive lineman in the National Football League.
I'll never get tired of hearing that title.
But some statements didn't quite live up to the intended meaning without a well-placed fuck.
Like now.
Where the fuck was she?
"Anna?" I yelled over the breakfast crowd noise. The waitress came from behind the counter grabbing a mug and the pot of coffee on her way towards me.
"Hey, Ryan. Sweetie. Doesn't your sexy body look hot this morning?" Anna licked her lips. "What'll it be today, proteins or carbs?"
I grinned at Anna; her inappropriate compliments made my day. Not that I was attracted to her. Guessing her age at fifty was generous. She’d lived a hard fifty, too. Her wrinkles had wrinkles. Her uniform, how do I say this nicely, inadequately compressed her assets. "Protein. Thanks, love."
"Sure thing, sweetie." She reached out and pinched my chin. The first time she touched me, I had to force myself not to flinch. I figured if the old woman got a thrill from flirting with me every day, what's the harm. Besides, I needed information.
She dropped off my six-egg, low-fat cheese and ham omelet, and refilled my coffee mug.
"Enjoy." She winked.
"Anna? You remember the girl who used to come in here. She would sit over there." I pointed at the booth closest to the open door. "Black girl, wavy brown hair, light brown eyes."
"Oh, you mean Leah?" she asked. Her voice raised an octave.
"Leah," I said her name out loud and reveled in the way it sounded. The name conjured images of regalness, royalty, a princess. The name fit.
"Yes, Leah. Always on her laptop typing away between bites."
"Yeah, that's her. What happened to her?" I shoved a fork full of eggs into my mouth but reminded myself to slow down and eat properly. First-round draft picks didn't eat like cavemen.
"She's an interesting young lady. She doesn't say much. Been coming here off and on for the last three years." Anna shuffled to the counter. "I know she lives in the Quarter, but I haven't seen her in here for a while. Harry, you know Leah. Where’s she been lately?"
A distinctive grunt echoed from the kitchen.
"Oh, you know. The cute little black girl who's always click-clicking away on her computer." Anna made the motion with her hands.
Harry mumbled and shrugged his shoulders. I laughed and turned back to my food, but I stopped mid-bite when something to my left caught my eye.
A family of tourists pushed their way through the door and crammed themselves into the booth in front of me. I wasn't sure if they spotted me from the street, but they recognized me. I put my head down and tuned in as they debated with their young son on whether he should ask for my autograph.
The whole fame thing was new. I attended college at Notre Dame and was selected All-American for the last two years, but linemen weren't famous unless you were JJ Watt.
The kid rolled his eyes at his parents, slid out of his booth, and approached.
"Um, sir."
I smiled, and he blinked.
"I'm sorry to bother you." He gulped, and sweat popped out on his forehead. "Are you Ryan Ware?"
"I am Ryan Ware. What's your name?" I reached out and tousled the kid's messy brown hair.
"Dillon." He breathed a sigh of relief. We had introduced ourselves, so his lungs kicked back in.
"Nice to meet you, Dillon." I reached for the pen and napkin he held. His eyes grew wide as I signed my name. "Where you from?"
"Uh, Houston."
"You a Texan fan?"
"Yep," he said with his little chest puffed out. "But I'll root for you, too. I don't really like the Texans, but my friend Jimmy. His dad..."
I sensed her before I saw her. My job had honed my peripheral vision, and I knew it was her before she fully entered the optical nerve of my brain.
The kid's explanation continued, but I missed it. I watched her march down the block. Her dark green sundress flowed around her as her left hand glided down the side of the building. She paused at the street corner and surveyed her surroundings, but instead of heading across the street and into the diner, she took a left. I stared, watching her walk away from me. Another brain stirred as I caught a glimpse of her firm, slender legs as she took long, even steps. Her dress exposed the back of her thighs as the wind caught it. When she stopped at the next block, I came back to my senses.
"Excuse me, Dillon," I said as I scooted out of the booth. "Anna, keep my eggs warm. I'll be right back."
I sidestepped a couple walking into the diner as Leah turned the corner out of sight. Her long, thin fingers gripped the side of the building as she rounded it.
The French Quarter streets ran on a distinguishable north, south, east, west grid, but the streets themselves curved. If she took too many turns, I would lose her, and I couldn't let that
happen. My slow jog turned into a sprint. I rounded the next corner. I called out to her, but she ignored me.
She rounded another corner, and my stomach roiled.
Where is she going?
It was seven am. Nothing opened this early except a couple of diners, most filled with the morning tourist crowd.
She stopped to look in a store window on Royal Street. I slowed down and sighed in relief.
I reached out and grabbed her arm. My hand touched her flesh, and a shock shot up my arm.
My jaw slacked as she pivoted on her left foot, raised her arms, and balled her fist, ready to strike. She morphed from a carefree girl on a Tuesday morning stroll to a ninja-inspired posture ready to defend herself to the death.
She is so freakin’ hot!
"Whoa. Hold up." I held my hands out in surrender.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her tone strong. She stepped forward, and I snapped back into defensive mode, my thumb skating over my fingertips, ready to react.
I took a deep breath. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Why did you touch me? Why would you put your hands on me?"
"Leah, relax. I called out to you, but I guess you couldn't hear me." I reached out for the earbud in her ear, but she flinched and stepped back.
She removed her earpieces with one hand while maintaining her offensive posture with the other.
"How do you know my name?" She softened her tone.
"Anna at Poppies told me."
Her head cocked. She eyed me with uncertainty.
I lowered my hands, although the threat of her hurting me hung in the air.
My heart raced. I noted the rise and fall of her tits as my gaze landed on her cleavage. I blinked, shook my head, and wisely focused a few inches up.
"I promise I'm not going to hurt you."
She smirked and gave me a weary look.
If I took a couple of steps forward, at six-foot-four, I would tower over her. I outweighed her by at least one hundred and fifty pounds, but a part of me thought she could hurt me if she wanted to. She stared, her eyes moving rapidly. She crossed and uncrossed her arms. I took another step back.
"Don't hurt me, I just..." I didn't know what I wanted. Well, I did, but—
"What do you want?"
"I used to see you"—I pointed back—"at Poppies, and you haven't been around in a while. When I saw you, I couldn't risk not talking to you again."
"Why?"
"Why? What do you mean why?" I narrowed my eyes and shook my head.
She dropped her hands, which lessened the tension. Her left hand petted the building. "Why do you want to talk to me?"
"Because you're beautiful."
She rolled her eyes gorgeous brown eyes and turned.
"Wait."
She turned back. The muscles in her neck tensed. She waited.
"Fuck," I whispered under my breath, and she cracked a smile. It was slight and disappeared as soon as it appeared, but I caught it. It gave me hope, but I needed to talk fast.
"I noticed you at Poppies. It's the reason I made it my daily breakfast stop after my morning run. I looked forward to seeing you every morning. You seem in your own little world. I didn't want to bother you, but when I didn't see you the last few days, I missed you," I said without breathing. "Is that weird?"
"Yes."
"Hey, look. We agree on something. That's a start." I extended my hand. "I'm Ryan Ware."
She stared at my hand. Her eyes narrowed. She placed a hand on her stomach, the other flexed on the side of the building. She scanned the area. I turned to see what she was looking at, but my gaze returned to her when she reached out and touched me.
"Leah James."
I had run four miles this morning. The temperature remained a humid, sweltering eighty-five degrees and her touch gave me a chill in the best way. I tried to recall if a handshake had ever turned me on before. A hand job, yeah, but never a handshake.
Her throat hitched, and I noticed her nipples hardened under her thin dress. Her gaze caught mine before working its way down to my chest. It dropped further followed by her biting her lip.
"Oh, um. It's nice to meet you, Leah."
Fuck.
She blushed and turned away as she crossed her arms over her chest.
I can't believe I popped a woody in front of this girl. What am I, twelve years old?
I exhaled and adjusted myself. My eyes remained on the ground.
Fuck me again; if the scripted tattoo on her ankle wasn't sexy as hell and didn't help my hard-on go away.
My fingers twitched. "So, uh, why did you stop coming to Poppies?"
"I, uh, kind of have a thing about being around a lot of people." She turned back to me. "First-round draft picks kind of garner a crowd everywhere they go."
I gave up trying to decipher the tattoo and grinned. She had recognized me.
"I didn't mean to run you out of your place. I could go someplace else."
"No, really, it's fine. I found another place."
"Oh yeah, where?"
She hesitated.
"I promise not to ruin that place for you, too."
She laughed, and my dick ached it wanted out so bad.
"I do want to see you again." While wearing a pair of jeans. "Maybe I could take you out to dinner or something?"
Leah touched the building; her brow scrunched up as she contemplated my invitation. "Or something?"
"Yeah, I could wear a disguise if it will make you feel better."
She smiled. The breeze blew. Relishing the opportunity to touch her, I reached up to push a strand of hair off her face.
She beat me to it as she took another cautious step back and said, "I don't usually go out with strangers, but—"
"But... I like the sound of that."
She arched her eyebrow, and I shut up before she changed her mind.
"There's a bar on Iberville called 21st Amendment. I hang out there sometimes during the day. My friends own it. I'll be there tomorrow around three if you want to stop by for a drink."
"21st Amendment. Prohibition, right?" I asked.
"Very good." She giggled. "They taught you that at Notre Dame?"
"Nah, I learned that from Boardwalk Empire."
She laughed out loud, and it sounded so good and stopped too soon. She scanned her surroundings again and walked away.
"Tomorrow at three?" I asked confirming we had definite plans.
She waved.
I watched her walk away, memorizing everything before she disappeared. Her lean calves, her muscular thighs visible beneath her flirty little dress. I caught a glimpse of the profile of her round ass as she turned the corner.
I collapsed against the building, waiting for my own lungs to kick-start.
When I regained composure and the ability to walk, I pushed off the building and headed back to Poppies.
Perplexed at how being drafted, signing a multi-million-dollar contract, and achieving all my goals paled in comparison to meeting Leah.
Fuck me, I mean... oh hell, fuck me, I'm in trouble.
Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! What did I do?
I turned the corner. My steps quickened as I spotted my destination ahead.
Six more steps. Five, four, three, two, one.
I surveyed the crowd scattered under the green and white awning. I knocked on the window on the side of the building. The historic spot was crowded. At seven am, the place was too crowded.
Thankfully, I had someone on the inside.
Becca saw me and held up two fingers.
I leaned my back against the building welcoming the solid surface. I crossed my arms over my chest continuing to feel his gaze on my cleavage.
How did I let him sneak up on me? Usually, I was much more careful, much more alert, but he got the drop on me.
Shit, shit, shit!
I knew better.
I shook the idea out of my head. He wasn't trying to hurt me. He was hitting on me.
My s
tomach clenched.
"Hey, Leah."
I gasped and turned back to the window.
"Sorry." Becca handed me my coffee and a small white paper bag.
"No, don't worry about it. I'm jumpy today." I handed her a ten-dollar bill and turned to walk away.
"You sure you're okay. You look a little... off."
"No, I'm fine," I said.
"See you in a few days," she yelled.
Since Mr. NFL star made my favorite breakfast place his personal fan meet-and-greet spot, I had stayed home and fixed my own breakfast. At least once per week, I partook in the New Orleans tradition of cafe au lait and beignets. I would grab my food, find a spot near the Mississippi River, and watch New Orleans wake up.
I was too freaked out to linger today. The safety and security of my home beckoned me. My sanctuary called me to return.
I don't need any more surprises.
As I crossed back over Decatur, I speed walked the next few blocks and turned left on Dumaine. I exhaled as my home came into view.
The three-story building on Dumaine Avenue took up most of the block. My gaze scanned the ornate black railings on the balcony of the second floor. I hoped to catch a glimpse of Sophie, my tenant in one of the two apartments on the second floor.
My eye narrowed as I spotted the curtains flutter in the empty apartment. My parents might have left a window open when they visited a couple of days ago.
My mind calmed as I punched the six-digit number on the keypad. My gaze swept the area one last time before I stepped inside and moaned as the door locked behind me.
I headed up the stairs but stopped. Sophie, the girl who rented the apartment on the second floor, sat on the landing picking at her nails.
"Good Morning?" I asked, happy my normal voice returned. It had gone up an octave since my run-in with Ryan Ware.
"Hey, sweetie." Sophie hummed a few bars of some unknown tune as she greeted me with a smile. She worked in a nightclub on Magazine Street. I never saw her outside her apartment before eleven am unless she was coming home from the night before. She moved to New Orleans a few months after me, escaping a crazy situation back home.
Anxious Love (Love Sick #1) Page 1
