Pass Interference (Connecticut Kings Book 6)

by Christina C Jones

I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth, that they’d pierced him like a knife to the gut, but… it was the truth.

  “Wow,” he whispered, his eyes not leaving mine. “That’s what you feel?”

  “That’s what I know. You’re thirty years old, love. What happened to wanting to be a sports manager, something beyond working for your father’s team? Do you know what you want your life to look like at thirty-five? At forty? Nate, you want a woman who will watch the game with you and fuck you good at halftime and then what… leave you to sleep alone so you can put the temperature exactly how you want it? There’s nothing wrong with that – it’s fine. It makes sense. You are a single man, and you can do what you want, live how you want. Now that I’m divorced, I’m doing the same thing. I’m not prepared to give anybody a bigger role in my life than the one you have – have had, for years now. But when I am ready… guess what?”

  His eyelids drooped, then came back up. “You need certainty.”

  “Bingo.”

  He pushed out a painfully heavy sigh, sinking even further back into the pillows as he crossed his arm over his face. I gave him a moment, then moved the fruit bowl to the bedside table so I could drape myself over him, laying flush against his chest.

  “Hey.”

  He moved his arm, wrapping it around my shoulder, heavy and warm. “Yeah?”

  “This was supposed to be ending anyway, remember? The whole “inappropriate for me to be screwing the owner’s son since I’m a coach now” thing?”

  “So you say.” He flattened his hand against my back, running it up and down.

  “So you know,” I replied. “In a lot of ways, you’re a coach too. You’re responsible for putting people - your players - on their best possible path. Look me in the face and tell me that you would ever recommend one of them, or anybody else, to risk their reputation and credibility for… sex.”

  He was quiet – thinking – and then his fingers started moving again. “For sex? No. I wouldn’t.”

  “Okay so then… why are you going all distant on me right now? Ten minutes ago you were talking about pussy platters.”

  “That was before you took a shotgun to my ego.”

  I grinned. “Not your ego, lover boy. This dick is good enough that all it took was a stroke of your finger and I was breaking all my little convictions to get you over here tonight. So your ego should be well intact. What I destroyed was any possible delusion that we’d ever be more than what we are right now. Not because of you, not because of me, but because we’re just on two different orbits that happened to meet for a while.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like that though.”

  Pulling myself up a little, I folded my arms across his chest, to rest on them. “So what… you’re rethinking what you want?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So in the space of this conversation, you’re ready to change your whole trajectory? For what reason, Nate? A little more pussy? That, right there, is a mark of immaturity.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Ah, come the fuck on, Sloane. What is it that you want from me?”

  “Nothing,” I laughed, catching his face in my hands. “You’re young, and still a little impulsive, and figuring everything out, and I adore that about you. Please understand that I hold you in the highest regard.”

  “Well shit, what kind of things do you say about people you don’t like?”

  “Awww.” I lowered my lips to his, for the soft brush of a kiss. “Are you mad at me?”

  Looking me right in the eyes, he shook his head. “No. Just… processing.”

  I nodded.

  I didn’t say it, because he didn’t need me to, but that was why I thought so highly of him, while still recognizing the marks of youth. He was… coachable. He didn’t get wrapped up in his hurt feelings, didn’t get offended at the nerve of a woman critiquing him.

  He was listening.

  Adjusting.

  And I remained confident that he would make some woman very happy someday.

  Before I could mentally sign the mortgage on his house with a white picket fence, he shifted, flipping us so that he was on top. He didn’t bother unbelting my robe, just pushed my legs apart and plunged in, taking full advantage of my consistent state of wetness whenever I was around him.

  I sucked in a breath as he sank, swiftly, as deep as he could go, past the point of pain, with such force that his balls slapped against me. Instinctively, my hands went to his shoulders, fingernails digging in as he dropped his mouth to mine, swallowing any sound I could’ve made.

  The sweet, sweet friction of him pulling back, then sliding into me again so, so worth it. His tongue swept over mine, still tinged with the fruit from earlier as he kissed me. Slow, careful swipes, tenderly measured bites, precise little sucks, all deliciously, torturously good paired with his deep, languid strokes.

  He shifted us again, hooking my knee over his shoulder and pressing it all the way down to my chest as he kept his mouth bonded to mine. That gave him room to get comfortably deeper, perfectly deeper, waiting-outside-his-office deeper.

  Something-to-prove deeper.

  Only… he really didn’t.

  I was already very sure of who he was, and what he could do – he already had my admiration and honestly – adoration too.

  But, without explicitly stating it, it was already understood that this would be our last time. This was where our paths diverged.

  He was making sure I understood what I’d be missing.

  Driving home what I already knew.

  I was going to miss the hell out of him.

  Hell, he was still here, still inside me, and I already did.

  “Fuccck,” he groaned in my neck, unable to help letting me know it was good for him too.

  I grinned as he pushed himself up onto his hands, still stroking, faster now, sweat dripping, looking like exactly what I saw in my head when I closed my eyes to pleasure myself when he wasn’t around.

  It was so, so good.

  Too good.

  But with him here, I couldn’t close my eyes because he was staring right into them as he filled me up, over and over again. Pleasure coiled in me, rapidly, so fast that it caught me off guard, and before I knew it, an orgasm hit me so hard I couldn’t feel my damn toes.

  And Nate was still right there.

  Still, stroking, still moving, still sweating and growling until he released, and collapsed onto me with a satisfied groan.

  He was hot, and heavy, but I didn’t have even the slightest desire to move.

  Eventually though, he did, just enough to move beside me on the bed, giving me room for my lungs to expand fully. That was all the space he seemed inclined to give though – he hooked an arm around my waist, tight, keeping me close.

  A few seconds later, his soft snores filled the room.

  It was… nice.

  Any other night, I’d be ready to fuss, and make a big deal about him leaving, or at least moving to one side of the king-sized bed. Tonight though… I let him be.

  It was the least I could do, since this was our last.

  That “one last night” with Nate caught up with me sooner than I expected – on the pavement, the very next morning. The lack of good rest the night before showed itself in the form of lethargic legs, horrible breath control, and that damn fruit seemed to be on the verge of making a reappearance, back up the same way it had come down. I was only a disappointingly slow half mile from home when I turned around and headed back.

  Maybe I can get a nap in before I go to the office.

  Right now, my load was still light. There was still a week before the first offseason workout, so the only thing on my agenda was hours and hours of film, watched in minute detail, with the purpose of tracking every single minor mistake. I needed to know my wide receivers’ weaknesses, so I could work them out one by one, bringing them closer to the excellence I knew they were capable of.

  Boring.

  As I trudged back into my house, the first thing I
heard was Nate’s voice. I’d woken him on my way out before my run, giving my usual admonition to be gone when I got back. This time, he got a pass – I was home early.

  I followed the sound to my kitchen, where I found him on his phone, frowning through what must not have been a pleasant conversation, presumably about a player. The glass of water beside him at the counter explained his presence in the kitchen, and I wordlessly motioned that my ears were closed, but I needed the same thing he’d come for.

  Water.

  Desperately.

  For some reason, my presence made him frown deeper, and he met my eyes, mouthing, “What’s wrong with you?” I was halfway ready to catch an attitude when he approached me, touching my forehead. “You’re clammy,” he said out loud, then immediately remembered he was on the phone. “No, not you,” he explained to whoever he was speaking to. “Look, just… fix the shit, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up the phone, tossing it onto the counter before he returned to me, putting a hand against my back. “Are you not feeling well?”

  I shook my head. “Just ti – just tire—oh God.” Quickly, I moved away from him, to the sink, where last night’s strawberries made good on the threat they’d been offering all morning. Nate was right behind me, flipping the water on and turning on the disposal for a quick clean up.

  I felt too much like crap to be embarrassed.

  “This isn’t just tired,” he muttered, grabbing a clean towel from the cabinet behind the sink. He wet it with cool water, and pressed it to my face for a moment before he wiped my mouth, and I let him. “You’re not…”

  “Hell no,” I insisted, suddenly grateful for the firm strength of his body, to hold me up. “I’m just… I’m…”

  “Sloane. Hey. Open your eyes for me. Sloane!”

  “What?” I asked, flinching as sudden pain erupted in my jaw, quickly sweeping down my back and arms. I shook my head. “Nate. I don’t… no, I don’t feel good.”

  “Tell me what you’re feeling,” he demanded.

  So fucking pushy.

  “I… I’m tired. You kept me up all night, remember? And I can’t… I can’t catch my breath, from my run. I just need to lay down a second. Just… just a second.”

  “No, no. I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?” he asked, still propping me up as he reached for his phone on the counter.

  “I just need a nap, that’s all.”

  That was barely out of my mouth before the second wave of pain came, in my chest this time, spreading all the way to my shoulders and down my back, so suddenly, so severely that my knees buckled. If it wasn’t for Nate’s arm around me, I would have been on the ground.

  “Yeah, I need an ambulance at…”

  I could hear Nate speaking into the phone, but my eyes were closed, trying to block out the pain. I wanted to protest, wanted to tell him he was overreacting, but I couldn’t seem to get that signal to my brain.

  “Sloane. Slo—"

  I heard my name.

  I wanted to respond.

  But then… there was nothing.

  My arm hurts…

  A scowl graced my face as I peeled my eyes open, searching for the source of the itchy, achiness in my arm. The lights were dim, and the incessant beeping did nothing to soothe the supreme agitation I felt.

  That agitation spiked when I saw the IV catheter in my arm.

  The assortment of wires attached to sticky pads stuck to my chest.

  The nasal cannula across my face.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I flinched as a hand wrapped around mine, on the opposite side of where the IV was. My head rolled in that direction to find Nate seated beside the bed, the fatigue and concern evident in his eyes, even in the dim light.

  “Welcome back, Coach Brooks,” he murmured – words that did nothing to soothe my confused state.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but it was so dry that it hurt. Nate was quick though, jumping up to wash his hands, and then coming back to my bedside to open a sealed package with a tiny spray bottle inside.

  “Open.”

  I frowned, but did as he said, letting him spray what turned out to be cool, sterile water into my mouth.

  “I know it’s probably not the best, but they said I can’t give you anything to eat or drink right now. Not while they’re monitoring you.”

  “Monitoring me… why?”

  Nate pushed out a sigh as he dropped back into the seat beside the bed. “I don’t know the details – bribing only got me far enough to not have to leave you in here by yourself. The paramedics though… I was in the ambulance with you. Sloane… you had a heart attack.”

  “A what?” I asked, immediately pissed at the implication. Nate put his hands out, urging me to be calm, but there was no goddamn way. “I’m in my early forties. I run, every day. I eat well, I’m healthy, I did everything they say you’re supposed to do.”

  “I know,” he agreed, in a soothing tone. “I know that, Sloane, I promise. You must calm down though. You’re lucky to not have stitches right now, but if you stress yourself—”

  “Stress myself? You’re in my face talking about a fucking heart attack!”

  “Sloane, please—”

  “Is there a problem in here?” We both looked toward the door, where a pleasant-looking nurse was walking in. She, like Nate, went to the sink first, scrubbing her hands before she donned a pair of gloves and approached the bed.

  “Yes,” I told her, shooting a dirty look in Nate’s direction before I gave my attention back to her. “What am I doing here, and why is he talking to me about a heart attack?”

  She shot him a dirty look too, and he at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Well, you’ll probably want to speak to your doctor when he gets back in a few hours. Until then—”

  “Until then nothing,” I snapped. “Tell me what the hell is wrong with me!”

  She nodded. “Would you like him to step out of the room?”

  “Just tell me, please.”

  “You had a heart attack, Ms. Brooks. He,” she pointed at Nate, “Is one of the main reasons you’re alive right now. The heart attack caused a brief cardiac arrest, and Mr. Richardson performed life-saving CPR until the ambulance he called arrived, to get you here, to us. Yesterday.”

  My eyes widened. “Yesterday? But I was supposed to go to work, I had film to watch, and— I… I need to get out of here.”

  “You don’t need to do shit,” Nate responded to that, shaking his head. “Except rest.”

  “I need to see if I still have a job. I need to see what people are – oh God once the media gets ahold of this…”

  “They won’t.” Again, Nate shook his head. “Only me and the people here at the hospital know that you’re here, and they aren’t saying anything – by law. I called a private paramedic service, one that specializes in… discretion. And… I may or may not have lined a few pockets to make sure your privacy was maintained.”

  I blinked, hard. “I… thank you. Um… my family? Madison, and Garrett…?”

  “Don’t know anything yet,” he assured me. “I… didn’t have any details to give them even if I had reached out – the staff isn’t telling me anything. And besides that, I assumed you would want to call them yourself since we… uh…”

  “Are having a secret fling,” the nurse spoke up as she moved to look at the constant output of the vital monitoring machines. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

  “This isn’t happening,” I muttered to myself, closing my eyes, only to have a soft laugh meet my ears.

  “Sorry to report that it is, sweetie. You’re going to be okay though. Dr. Sharpe will be back in a few hours to explain. And as for you,” she spoke to Nate again. “You didn’t want her to wake up alone – mission accomplished. Now it’s time to go, so she can rest. This is still an ICU, remember?”

  “How long do I have to be here?”

  She turned back to me. “Just until you’re stable, and then you�
��ll be moved to coronary care.”

  “And how long do I have to stay there?”

  “As long as it takes. Relax, Ms. Brooks. You’ll be well taken care of.” Her head swiveled to Nate. “Ten more minutes. Don’t make me come get you.”

  Once she was gone, I sank back into the uncomfortable bed, struggling to process this new information. Somehow, it wasn’t even my health that was at the forefront of my mind, even laying out in a bed, with oxygen being forced up my nose.

  What would the Kings say?

  “Your phone,” Nate said, pointing to the plugged-in device on the bedside table. “Just so you know – and I already know I shouldn’t have done this but still… - Coach Underwood sent a text, asking where you were, and I… responded.”

  “You did what—”

  “I said, as you, that you weren’t feeling well – that you thought you’d had some bad shrimp, might have a little stomach bug. So you wouldn’t be in for a few days, so you wouldn’t be getting anybody else sick before the first work out. And that you already had somebody to take care of you, so no need to check in.”

  The tension in my shoulders released.

  “Um… thank you,” I said, closing my eyes, fully understanding that he’d just been trying to – and honestly probably had – help. “That was quick thinking. Good thinking.”

  He tipped his head. “I just… thought it might give you a few days to… process. And rest. Without worrying about your place with the team.”

  “Did you tell your father?”

  “Not my business to tell, Sloane. When and how you decide to tell the team is entirely up to you. And yes – you should tell the team.”

  I frowned. “What makes you say it like that?”

  “The fact that I know you. More than you think I do.”

  “And what is it you think you know?”

  “That as soon as you’re released from this hospital you’re going to be back on the field.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m not your doctor, so I don’t know,” he shrugged. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll want you to take care of yourself, and part of that is almost certainly going to be knowing your limits.”