First and Tension

by Tara Sivec

  “What the fuck?” Tess and Birdie shout at the same time.

  Of course the two of them have known about my crush on the guy, since I’ve had it forever. They just didn’t know about my last night in California with him.

  “Nice,” I complain to Wren, who has been sworn to secrecy ever since I called and woke her up at three in the morning five months ago. “I did not spend the night with Quinn Bagley. Stop exaggerating. We’re not talking about Ryan, and we’re definitely not talking about Quinn.”

  “Oh, Quinn, is it? So you’re on a first name basis with the guy you’ve actually been in love with half your life, and we didn’t know anything about it? Bullshit we’re not talking about this!” Tess argues.

  “There is nothing to talk about—believe me. I’m fairly confident the guy doesn’t even remember I exist. It was ages ago, and it was nothing,” I roll my eyes, even though I’m internally screaming, Bullshit is right, because it wasn’t nothing, dammit!

  “This is all so romantic, you guys!” Wren gushes. “Palmer and Birdie were in love with each other forever without knowing it. Me and Shepherd had a thing for each other forever without knowing it. Tess and Bodhi—”

  “Leave me out of this shit,” Tess interrupts her. “I still don’t know if I like the guy, and I’m married to him and having his kid.”

  “Anyway,” Wren continues. “Something exciting is coming your way, Emily. I can feel it. I bet Quinn has been thinking about you just as much as you’ve been thinking about him these last few months, and it’s only going to be a matter of time before you get your happily ever after.”

  I laugh. And laugh, and laugh some more. While I finish off my second slush, the tequila finally making me feel nice and floaty.

  “Yeah, okay, sure. You’re forgetting the guy doesn’t even know my last name,” I remind her, still kicking my own ass for not giving it to him.

  I was moving back home, and I didn’t see the point. I figured if I gave it to him, I would just obsess about it every day he didn’t try to contact me, but I freaking wound up obsessing about it every day anyway!

  “The likelihood of him even remembering he met me five months ago is slim to none,” I finish.

  And doesn’t that just suck to say out loud, even though I’ve been thinking it every day for the last 150 or so, feeling like a fool for hoping he would have asked around about who Carson was, who the mystery redhead was he brought to his house, and then found me if he really wanted to.

  Or, you could have easily contacted him, since you know exactly who he is, and you stalk all of his social media accounts… like a freak!

  “Stop ruining the romantic future I’ve already planned for you,” Wren orders.

  “I’m a nobody, living all the way over here off the coast of Virginia, running my parents’ little island business. And he’s a big, fancy, professional football player, living thousands of miles away in California, who doesn’t even know who I am. There is no romantic future.”

  I have not had enough tequila for this.

  “You just need to think positive,” Birdie encourages, bumping her slush cup against mine in a cheers.

  “He’s definitely pining for you!”

  “I can’t believe we’re going to have another professional athlete romance happening right here on Summersweet!”

  “But did you see his dick?”

  “What does he smell like? I bet he smells like hopes and dreams.”

  “Long distance is hard, but I know you can make anything work!”

  “Seriously, what does his dick look like?”

  “Could you imagine if he’s been trying to find you this entire time?”

  “You should just message him already and speed this shit up!”

  “Show me the DickFax report!”

  Slamming my hands down on the picnic table to get everyone to shut up, I open my mouth and shout, “Oh, yes! I spent a handful of hours canoodling with Quinn Bagley in his backyard five months ago, and now he loves me a whole bunch, and we’re going to live happily ever after, forever and ever, the end!”

  “Who made out with Quinn Bagley?”

  Oh, for shit’s sake….

  “No one! Drink your butterscotch milkshake and go home, Ed!” Tess shouts to the only other customer sitting in his golf cart in the parking lot.

  Ed Walton, the owner of Dockside Eddy’s seafood restaurant and bar, who takes his sweet-ass time drinking his nightly milkshake just so he can try to hear the latest gossip on the island.

  And I just shouted something utterly ridiculous into the chilly night air for all the island to hear, just to get my friends to shut the hell up already.

  “Shit. What if he says something to Ryan?” I ask them worriedly, as Ed starts up his golf cart and pulls away right when Laura locks up. She gives all of us a quick wave goodbye before she hurries off to a date she has tonight.

  “See? This is why you should have told Ryan the truth months ago,” Birdie warns me.

  “Calm down. Ed didn’t even hear half of what was said.” Tess brushes us off with an unconcerned wave of her hand. “We can talk about how you’re finally going to put a stop to this shit with Ryan later. First, I want every single detail of what happened with Quinn Bagley, and I want it now.”

  I promised him I would never tell anyone about that night, ever. But I already told Wren. I mean, I didn’t tell her the really personal stuff we talked about, but what’s two more people when they’re my best friends, and we’ve been keeping each other’s secrets all our lives? It’s not like he’s ever going to know I told anyone. He forgot all about me and I’m sure moved on to the next available female as soon as I walked away from him.

  With a sigh, I give in and give Tess and Birdie the same details Wren got months ago, leaving out the personal stuff Quinn admitted to and that I’ve replayed in my head over and over again almost every second of every day since then.

  I probably should have been less concerned about making sure I gave an accurate description of how delicious the Vipers’s quarterback smells, and more concerned about Ed running his big mouth… and my friends not understanding the concept of hos before bros, now that they have fiancés and husbands.

  It’s all fun and games… until a rumor makes its way off Summersweet island.

  “Fans still in shock after the recent press conference from Quinn Bagley, star quarterback for the Los Angeles Vipers since he was drafted in college fifteen years ago, that he has decided to finish out his career with the Sharks. It will bring this three-time Super Bowl champ all the way across the country to Virginia, a decision we found out has been several months in the making.”

  “Quinn Bagley remains tight-lipped about his big move to Virginia and whether or not his initial statement of wanting to move closer to his family in North Carolina is actually the truth, amid new rumors that have been circulating all over social media about a secret girlfriend living off the coast of Virginia Beach on a small island no one has ever heard of.”

  “Secret love affair for the new quarterback of the Virginia Beach Sharks, or a shocking tale of infidelity, leading all the way back to a birthday party Quinn Bagley threw at his previous home in Calabasas five months ago? New photos of the mystery redhead from the party surface, leaving fans to speculate all over social media, “Who the hell is this woman who convinced Quinn Bagley to quit the Vipers and go to one of the worst teams in the league?”

  “Puking, pizza, and ping-pong at a party leads to love, a move across the country, and a happily ever after for Quinn Bagley, the new star quarterback for the Virginia Beach Sharks! Or does it? Fans recently uncovered the name of the mystery woman. Emily Flanagan, a former professional cheerleader for Bagley’s previous team, who we’ve been told by an anonymous source was fired from her position for being hotheaded, demanding, and extremely rude to her superiors. Sources from the party also tell us that they only remember her banshee-like voice interrupting the party several times throughout the night. All of this leaves
Sharks fans wondering if this relationship will help or harm Quinn Bagley’s promise to lift this team from the ashes.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Quinn

  “Rules are for pussies!”

  “Remember the redhead in Nashville who called the paparazzi and told them where you were going, just to make sure the two of you were photographed together?”

  Finishing off my last rep of bicep curls, I set the free weights on the ground and grab a resistance band to start cooling down with some stretches.

  “Angie Kennedy,” I reply to my agent, Tyler, as he leans his back against the floor-to-ceiling gym mirror in front of me with his head down, typing something on his phone. “The reason you came up with the rule that I do not disclose the location of dates ahead of time and never date an aspiring actress.”

  She threw her drink in my face in the middle of dinner and then walked out for absolutely no reason at all except she was auditioning for a part in a miniseries and needed an action shot for her portfolio. She sure was fun.

  Tyler Deal doesn’t appreciate the smirk on my face when I think about that night from years ago and the photo that wound up all over social media, but I’m honestly surprised he even looks up from his phone long enough to glare at me. I love the guy like a brother. Like a ten-year-my-senior, very rich, very snobby, very demanding diva of a brother, whose agency is on the Forbes list of the ten most powerful sports agencies in the world, who specializes in pro football, and whose slogan is, “All you need is a good Deal!”

  He’s been my agent since I was a twenty-one-year-old, scared-shitless senior in college being drafted into the pros, moving across the country and away from my family. He became my family when mine couldn’t be there at all times, and he has indeed gotten me a lot of good deals throughout my career and done everything in his power to protect me. I trust him explicitly, but I honestly can’t tell you what color his eyes are, since he’s probably looked up from his phone twice in the fifteen years I’ve known him.

  “And the redhead in New Orleans, who only slept with you so she could take a picture of you sleeping the next morning,” Tyler reminds me, head back down, tapping away on his phone, probably still arguing with my PR team as they continue denying all the interview requests that have been flooding in from the media over the last week.

  I chuckle a little as I pull the band apart with both my hands above my head, then bend to one side.

  “Amber Ellenburg, the reason you came up with the rule of no sleepovers.”

  She posted a picture of my ass all over social media and then slashed all the pillows in my hotel room. But not before leaving me a note on the kitchen counter to call her again soon because she had a great time. I did not call her again soon.

  “Can I just remind you that she did not show her crazy until the sun came up?” I add as I stand back up straight, then bend my body to the other side.

  “That is literally how females work. It’s in their user manuals.” Tyler huffs, eyes still laser-focused on the screen of his phone.

  I don’t know how he does it, but he can be having three different conversations on his phone while also having a conversation with me, and he still manages to make me feel like I’m the only important person in his life and his attention is 100 percent on me. This is why I pay him so much and why he showed up at our starting running back’s house at six this morning for a strategy meeting, where me and a few guys on the team had a scheduled workout.

  “When was the last time a woman even let you touch her, Deal?”

  “Don’t you still have a raging case of syphilis?”

  “I wouldn’t fuck you with Craig’s dick!”

  “Hey! Leave my dick out of this. What did he ever do to you?”

  Tyler looks up from his phone for a record-breaking number of times this morning to flip off all of my teammates on the other side of the room, inserting their two cents into our conversation while they work out on various pieces of equipment.

  “Why the fuck couldn’t we have this meeting in private?” Tyler complains loudly over the clanking and banging of weights and a few of my teammates now laughing, dicking around with each other, and dancing to “Shake it Off” by Taylor Swift.

  Yet another reason why I love my new teammates—they have the best workout playlists. I am not ashamed to admit that nothing gets me more pumped up during a workout than badass females belting out badass lyrics. This morning’s playlist included T-Swift, P!nk, some Alanis Morissette, and TLC, a few throwbacks from Janis Joplin and Joan Jett, with a short cardio break, dancing to Rhianna’s “Umbrella” in between deadlifts and planks.

  “You’re the one who told me to plan as many OTAs as possible as soon as I touched down here in Virginia,” I remind him as I toss my resistance band into the basket by the mirror with a handful of other multicolored rubber bands, then scoop up my bottle of water I left on the ground.

  During the offseason, the league has a lot of rules about when we can and can’t practice, and when we can and can’t use the facilities at the stadium. We are, however, required to have a lot of OTAs, or organized team activities, to promote bonding between the players until we have to report to training camp in July and are forced to spend every waking minute with each other. As the new leader of this team, and wanting nothing more than to finally have a family on the field after years of playing with a bunch of egos who only cared about themselves and their next paycheck, I’ve been all about planning these OTAs since I got here a few weeks ago, so we can get to know each other better. Where most teams strictly keep their OTAs all-business, like watching films and running drills, I make them more personal. We go out to eat together, we grocery shop together, we workout together, and we barbeque at each other’s houses together with our families.

  Except I’ve been living out of a fucking hotel since I got to Virginia, and this weekend was finally going to be my one free weekend to go house hunting so the guys can stop giving me shit about always borrowing their places. But now I have to deal with yet another crazy redhead.

  Seriously, what are the odds that on the same day I announce my move from California to Virginia, a goddamn rumor comes out all over social media, turning my honest reason of wanting to move closer to my family to finish out my career, into a PR nightmare?

  She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone.

  “What is the point of me giving you all these rules if you don’t follow them?” Tyler asks.

  “Rules are for pussies!” our left tackle shouts from the other side of the home gym, making a bark of laughter fly out of me. And also making me thank my lucky stars for the millionth time since I met these guys that I made the right decision joining them.

  I give Tristan, the guy who yelled in my defense, a thumbs-up in the mirror in solidarity. They have taken all of this in stride and have also taken great pleasure in making fun of me every time they see another ridiculous rumor pop up, like the one earlier this morning that said my secret love child is hidden away on that island. My previous teammates would have ripped me a new asshole for taking the spotlight away from them, insanely jealous of anyone on the team who got more attention than they did.

  “Huh. Who knew you had hazel eyes?” I mutter to Tyler when my laughter caused him to look up from his phone for longer than two seconds.

  Tyler stares at me like I’m crazy while I chug half my bottle of water, and maybe I am. I’ve felt completely batshit insane ever since a spunky redhead literally fell into my life five months ago.

  Emily Flanagan. It’s nice to finally have a last name to go with the new batch of insanity in my life. I think it’s officially time to stop obsessing about what I thought was one of the best nights of my life.

  “Quinn, I’m gonna need you to focus here,” Tyler orders, snapping his fingers a few times in front of my face, since my brain and my dick started thinking about long, toned legs, the way her soft skin smelled like a tropical island, that big, gorgeous smile, and how silky her dark-red hair felt wrapped ar
ound my fist. “No more redheads. Rule number one. I even made you write it on a piece of paper and sign it, for fuck’s sake! I knew that birthday party and you not letting me do background checks on all the guests was a bad idea. I just didn’t think it would take five months before it came back to bite us in the ass.”

  “What can I say?” I shrug as Tyler grabs a towel from a small table next to him and tosses it at my chest. “I have a type.”

  She just didn’t seem like the crazy type who would wait this long before selling stories to the tabloids. My crazy radar is really on the fritz. She was so fun, and normal.

  “She honestly never told you she was from Virginia? And you swear to fuck you never let one thing slip about you moving here that night so she could time this shit juuust right?” Tyler asks me for the tenth time since he got here. “I enjoy surprises as much as anyone. Like when my father surprised me with a yacht on my eighteenth birthday, or when my fraternity brothers surprised me with a Porsche on my thirtieth, and when JJ Watt surprised me with a Rolex on my fortieth. Fun, classy, everyday surprises that everyone loves and can relate to. I don’t like surprises where a gold-digging, attention-seeking whore tries to ruin your good name from a Podunk island no one has ever fucking heard of!”

  When I immediately open my mouth and realize I was just about to call one of my best friends a piece of shit and tell him to shut the fuck up about a woman he doesn’t know, I remember I don’t even know her. I’m still on the batshit insanity train, and I don’t know how to get off!