The Quarterback_A New Adult Sports Romance ~ Landyn

by Zoë Lane

  “Don’t you have class?” I asked, eager for a different subject than sex with my sister.

  “Um…I got permission from my teachers to email the assignments and to make up for the absences when I get back.” Lacey picked up the remote and fiddled with it, yet the television channel remained the same.

  “Well, it’s not like I’m going to have a whole lot of free time this week. Practice and…other stuff.” I didn’t even want to think about the next assignment Rose had planned, although visiting an old folks’ home shouldn’t be as messy as eating lunch with kids. “The team’s having a meeting tonight, and we have practice tomorrow.” That was as far into the future I’d allow myself to think.

  Lacey burped and picked up her drink from the floor near the sofa and took an audible gulp. “No worries,” she said, wiping her lips with her arm. When had she become so sloppy? “You’ve got a spare bedroom.”

  “You know you’re welcome to crash here. You don’t have to ask.”

  “I know. Why do you think I’m here?” Lacey angled her head awkwardly, looking at me from upside down like a possessed demon. “What happened to you? You’ve got gunk in your hair and your jeans…”

  “Huh?” My eyes snapped to my jeans. Some sort of burger–Jell-O mix had hardened on my designer jeans. “Shit!” I jumped up and scanned the duvet. I didn’t want to have to reupholster furniture as well as buy new clothes. I wiped a hand over the seat, satisfied that it was still the same dark, unstained leather.

  “Did someone pelt you with food?”

  “A lot of little someones.”

  “Explain.”

  “Visited a summer camp today. Taught some kids to throw a football. There was a food fight in the cafeteria at lunch.”

  Lacey chuckled. “You were at a summer camp? How? Why? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

  I grimaced at the implication that I couldn’t do a good deed for a couple of kids. I remembered doing a lot for her when our had father wanted something to kick around. “What are you talking about? It was nothing.”

  “My big brother hates kids.”

  My eyes narrowed on her. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t hate you.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Seriously?”

  She belched again, and this time I smelled alcohol. “What are you drinking?” I snatched the plastic cup off the floor and inhaled. “Did you get into my good stuff?”

  Lacey swiped at the air, attempting to retrieve her cup. “Only a little bit.”

  “Lacey, it’s not even…” I checked my watch. “It’s not even five.” Lame.

  She shrugged. “Happy hour somewhere.”

  Exactly. “Right.”

  “Why were you at a summer camp?” she called out after me as I moved to the kitchen to pour the drink into the sink.

  I walked back into the den before answering. “You seen Carmencita?” Lacey shook her head. I shoved her feet off the couch and sat down where they’d once rested. “Feet off the couch.”

  “I wasn’t wearing shoes!”

  “It’s this new thing the team has me doing. I have to ‘repair my image’ with the public.”

  “What does that mean? What did you do?”

  “Too many shots in a bar on too many weekends.”

  “Ah. Yeah, I’ve seen the magazines. Have you seen yourself in the grocery store? You’re like on every one of those things.”

  She reeked. How much had she had to drink? “I don’t grocery shop anymore.”

  Lacey rolled her eyes. “Right. Carmencita.”

  “Besides, I don’t read those things.”

  “And since when do you drink?”

  “Since I got an NFL contract worth millions, and I can do whatever the hell I want, including house you.”

  “Ah. With great money comes great responsibility.” She laughed. “Found out it’s not so bad?”

  Eh. Depends on the drinker. “Has its moments.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just new, that’s all.”

  Yeah, it was. Never thought I’d touch a drop after clearing countless bottles off the tables and floors in our house when our father had passed out. I hated the smell, the sticky feeling of alcohol on my hands, the way it made our father act. All of it.

  Until I’d tried it and liked how I felt.

  Not like hitting little kids.

  More…relaxed.

  “Anyway, I’m under orders to allow a fixer to clean up my image. I have to go to these charity things, and we have two weeks to make the public like me.”

  “You mean look like you’re an NFL quarterback and not some college frat boy still living out his glory days.” She sent me a toothy grin.

  Sis sure had clarity of mind when she was a little inebriated.

  “You must be doing well in school,” I said sarcastically.

  Lacey dropped her gaze back to the remote. “It’s cool.”

  “Decided on a major yet?” She shook her head. “You’re a sophomore now. You gotta make a decision.”

  “Technically, not until my junior year.”

  “Whatever happened to you wanting to be a veterinarian? You always wanted to help animals when we were younger.”

  “Do you know how much science and math I’ll need for that?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I hadn’t majored in any of those subjects. No need to torture myself mentally after getting knocked around on the field all day.

  “Too much,” she replied. “And I’m going to need a lot of schooling for that. It’ll take years.”

  “Uh, yeah, sis, it’s a specialty field. How else are you going to be able to specialize without all the schooling and training?” Lacey stuck her tongue out at me. I stood. “Okay, I gotta shower. If you see Carmencita, ask her to make some popcorn. You’re gonna have to give up this television in”—I glanced down at my watch—“five minutes.”

  “Why?”

  “Can’t miss our show.”

  “What show?”

  I jogged out of the room. “Watch the one in your bedroom!”

  “But I’m already here!” she yelled back.

  That’s just it: she was already here. I shook my head. I loved my sister, but she was going to be an added distraction I didn’t need before the first game. I couldn’t babysit her and concentrate on learning plays.

  Two weeks.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ROSE

  I’ve got to get my own place.

  I entered the family home and shut the door as quietly as I could. Dad would be working until six, but by the smell of pot roast coming from the kitchen, Mom was home cooking.

  I tiptoed through the foyer and then began my careful ascent up the creaky wooden steps to the second floor, carefully placing my feet on certain spots I knew didn’t give under my weight.

  “Rose, is that you?”

  I hadn’t made a sound! She’s got to have some kind of extrasensory powers. “Yes, it’s me,” I attempted to say as lightly as I could, yet heard myself fail. It wasn’t even dinnertime, yet I was exhausted. Landyn’s charms wore on me, and now I’d top the night off with a healthy dose of Mother’s endearing characteristics: nag, nag, and more nag.

  “Are you going to come in here, or do I have to hunt you down?”

  Please, hunt me down. I can run faster than you.

  I meandered into the kitchen. I tried to ignore the heavenly smell of bread baking in the oven while the pot roast simmered in the crock pot on the counter. Mother’s roasts were excellent; moist and so tender, just like me after that kiss.

  Vulnerable, open, and wet.

  Irritation rose swiftly. Landyn had tried breaking down my defenses with his mouth, and now Mother would likely succeed with food. Everything came back to the mouth. How long would it take to forget Landyn’s lips?

  At least two weeks.

  “How was your first day? I’m assuming Landyn showed up or you would’ve called—what on earth!” She had finally look
ed up from crossing long strips of pie dough.

  I didn’t bother following her gaze. “Yeah. Food fight.”

  “Rose, that dress—”

  “Is expensive, I know, you bought it for me.” I dumped my purse on one of the island chairs and swiped a piece of sliced apple from a nearby bowl. Roast beef, fresh-baked bread, and apple pie from scratch? Sinister.

  “Then why on earth would you allow it to get stained like that? That’s not ketchup, is it? It’s completely ruined.” Mother grimaced before an eye-roll and went back to arranging the pie crust with a disapproving shake of the head.

  “I couldn’t exactly find cover. We were in the thick of it.” And I started it, was something I’d figured better left unsaid. “Landyn said he’d pay for a replacement, so it’s okay.”

  “It’s unprofessional. Aren’t you supposed to be improving his image? Did anyone get a picture of you looking this haggard? Your hair is a complete mess.”

  I snatched another apple slice and bit into it with ferocity, channeling the tension into the tiny slice. Not only did Mother have a talent for cooking, but her ability to criticize was blue-ribbon worthy. The only problem was, I’d made the same argument to Landyn just an hour earlier, and now I heard his coming from my own lips.

  Am I turning into my mother?

  Oh, God, please help me!

  “The kids had a great time, that’s what matters. It wouldn’t be a summer camp with a food fight.”

  “But who has to clean up that mess? The camp counselors.”

  “Actually, Mother, you’re wrong. Everyone pitched in, including Landyn and myself.”

  “You should’ve known not to wear and expensive dress to a summer camp.”

  Couldn’t win if I tried. I coughed to cover a groan, which would’ve initiated a lecture on respect. Mother still eyed me suspiciously. “Piece of apple went down the wrong pipe,” I lied. I picked up my purse and started the long trek back to my room. A shower; that’s all I wanted.

  “I’ll need you to keep your Thursday night free.”

  I half-turned. “Why?”

  “We’re having dinner with the Graysons. Their son is home on a break. He’s fourth-year med. Very promising, says his father, who’s a cardiologist. Your father and I would like you to meet him.”

  And by “your father and I,” she meant just her. Dad had always encouraged me not to settle down before I was thirty.

  “Experience the world. Take time to explore all your interests before responsibilities will limit your time, or you’ll have to give them up altogether. Enjoy life. Don’t be in a hurry to get shackled.”

  At the time, I had laughed at his post-graduation advice. If I wanted to pursue a graduate degree, he urged me to do it right after college—or take a year and backpack around Europe. Maybe by the time I was twenty-six, I’d want to do a year in Africa with the Peace Corps.

  “Are you regretting your choices, Dad?”

  His wistful smile had tugged at my heart until pain. “I believe we’re all where we’re supposed to be, despite our choices. Today, you’ve graduated and now, as you take that next step, I just encourage you to dream big, honey. Marriage keeps you small. Don’t worry about finding a guy. You’re too pretty to ever be without prospects.”

  Landyn.

  That kiss…

  He wasn’t exactly a prospect, despite his earlier challenge in the parking lot. He screamed one-night stand. Definitely not marriage material.

  Guess Mother thought I needed help in that department. “Um…”

  “If you can’t think of an excuse quickly, then it’s because you don’t have one. Dinner, right here at six thirty. I suggest you come home from work early, shower, and put on that lovely rose-colored dress I bought you last week—the one that shows off your waistline? You have a nice hourglass figure. Your hips will subconsciously get him thinking about babies.”

  My mother.

  “Mom,” I began with weight in my voice, “I don’t need to be set up. I just started work, and I have a major client that I need to remain focused on.”

  Mother made an audible sound of disagreement, flicking her hand in the air, dusting the counter with flour. “You can take time to meet someone new over a meal you would already be eating. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

  “You want him to think about impregnating me! If anyone’s making a big deal out of this, it’s you.”

  “Triggering his baser, primal instincts is natural. I didn’t say you had to marry him and start having babies this week.”

  “But in the future…”

  “In the near future would be nice. You have the job—as you said—and now you get the man.” She came around the island. With two flour-covered hands, she cupped my face. No big deal; I was already filthy. “I’m only doing this because I care. How many of your girlfriends can say that about their mothers?”

  None. None of their mothers interfered this heavily—that I knew.

  “Mom—”

  “I’ve already told them you wouldn’t miss it.” She sniffed, her nose crinkling. “Now go shower. You smell.” Mother retreated back to the island to finish making the pie.

  I closed my eyes and tried to count my way through the frustration. It wasn’t just Mother’s lack of recognizing boundaries, but if I really did stink, that meant Landyn had gotten a heavy dose since he’d stood far closer—and for much longer—than Mother.

  “And when you come back, your father and I want to hear about your successes today.”

  That’s all she ever asked for: success. Never wanted to hear or discuss my failures. Only Dad took the time to listen to me dismantle plans to figure out where I made a misstep. Only Dad had the time to hold me in his arms when I cried after losing a spelling competition—or any academic competition. Mother saw failure as a sign of weakness of character, not something to strengthen character.

  Well, today was a giant failure I wasn’t about to talk about.

  I’ve got to get my own place.

  I trudged to my room and when the hot shower water hit my face and the steam captured the stress on its rise above me, only then did I feel a sense of peace.

  It’s never going to be enough.

  I’d lost count of the number of times the sobering thought had reared its frightening head. Graduating with honors, securing an associate position at the elite firm of MacCallister, Wembly, and Poach, being selected to handle a major client—none of these accomplishments would placate Mother. Now I had to marry someone accomplished, who’d be rich in the near future. And have babies.

  Probably cute babies, too.

  If I could have my own place, it’d be a start to experiencing something I’d never had: freedom. My parents had offered to let me stay until I was settled in my new job. Two more weeks and then I’ll know if I need to find another job. And if I succeeded in rebranding Landyn, I expected a fat bonus, too. Enough to rent a condo and buy some furniture. I didn’t want any part of my new life to be touched by Mother. The guilt would be unbearable.

  Clean of sweat and potato salad, I exited the shower. My phone buzzed and I saw a message notification on the screen.

  You in the shower?

  Ugh! Landyn. When I didn’t answer right away, my phone buzzed again.

  Aren’t you on call? I’m an important client.

  Mr. Gallagher, how can I help you?

  Loaded question. Answer the first one.

  No, I’m not.

  About to, or just come out?

  I’m about to eat dinner. Do you have a business-related question?

  My phone didn’t buzz for two minutes, and I sighed happily. Shutting down Landyn actually felt refreshing. I’m proud of myself.

  “Rose!”

  Mother’s shrill voice shot through the house. Dinnertime.

  Buzz.

  Tempted not to look, I groaned and looked at the screen.

  I do have a business-related question. How often am I allowed to kiss you?

  Heat
instantly pooled in my belly, and I pressed my thighs together to stop desire from humming there.

  Never, I wrote back.

  That’s not going to work for me. Let’s discuss on Thursday.

  Not up for discussion.

  I bit my lip, anxious for his response. Nothing. A minute later, still nothing.

  “Rose!”

  I tossed my phone onto my bed, the device forbidden at the dinner table. I hurried toward the dining room, wishing I could just keep running. Not only would I have to think of a speech to get Landyn to back off, I’d then have to deal with my blind date.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LANDYN

  One thing I appreciated about Texas was the lack of humidity. I’d work up a good sweat in dry heat at Southwestern, but the wetness of Richmond summers was just as stifling as I remembered. I wiped the sweat from my eyes, blinked back the sting of salt, and pulled the helmet back down over my face.

  “Okay, guys. Sean, you’re fly. I’ll hit you on the cross.” We shouted, “Break!” and jogged to the line of scrimmage.

  More sweat.

  I battled against the sting with about a dozen rapid-fire blinks. I took a deep breath and nearly choked on the weight of the air. So much moisture. I’d have to be careful with my grip, because if I was sweating this much, the receivers probably were too, and if the ball slipped from my hands…

  Anything could happen in this heat. The early Broncos snap in Super Bowl 48 came to mind; anyone who’d watched that game had known it was over—and that was in the first ten seconds of the game. If the center overcompensated for his sweaty hands and the ball flew right by me…

  I hunkered down close to the center and refused to watch the replay of the football flying over Peyton Manning’s hands—nor that time the ball had slipped out of the hands of New York Jets quarterback when he had run into his guard’s butt. My lungs filled with air and I called out the play. A few steps back, my offense held the line, and when I saw Sean turn to cross the field, I launched a perfect spiral that landed right in the center of Sean’s hands. Damn, I’m good.

  Sean raced the remaining yardage to the goal line. He and I might never get along, but he was one of the best running backs in collegiate history, and despite our teams’ rivalry, his skill would match the league’s elite right now. I jogged to the goal to congratulate him and then sprinted back to the coach.