Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  “I’ve changed my mind,” I force out.

  He blows out a heavy breath. “Changed your mind on what?”

  I take another small step away from him. “I don’t care what you were doing with that woman tonight. Date, no date, it’s none of my business, and I’m sorry for my rudeness. I’m not usually like this.”

  After what seems like an eternity but is more likely a few seconds, he says in nearly a whisper, “Why won’t you tell me your name or if we’ve met before? The longer we talk, the more certain I am that we have.”

  Before I can answer him, his pocket buzzes. At first, he ignores it. But when the buzzing continues insistently, he reaches into his pocket.

  I walk backward three deliberate steps as he pulls out his phone and looks down at the screen.

  “Fuck.” His tone changes from playful to strained in an instant.

  I can’t help the worry that wells up in me for him. “Is everything okay?”

  He glances up, his eyes widening slightly at the question like he’s surprised at my concern.

  “I hope so. I’m sorry. I have to go.” He pauses like he wants to say more. “Look, maybe we…” His phone buzzes again, and he exhales. “I apologize; I really have to go. Take care.”

  He turns away from me, hails the cab coming down the street, and disappears inside it. The taxi roars off, and he’s gone.

  And for the second time in nine years, I’m left staring after Devon, watching him disappear.

  Devon

  As the taxi driver maneuvers the cab through L.A. traffic, I glance down at the phone on my lap.

  Code Cougars. Get to the facility now. Entire team.

  Code Cougars means something’s up. And it’s definitely not good. In my eight years on the team, I’ve only been sent that code twice—once when the owner went through a personal tragedy, and once when our coach was brought up for allegations of illegal draft activities. That turned out to be a false accusation by a rival team and was proven out.

  So when I saw the code on my phone, I immediately panicked.

  What could possibly be so important that the entire team is being called into the facility at seven o’clock at night during the off-season? Granted, we’re back practicing, and we’re practicing hard. But the preseason games don’t start until August and the regular season until September. So this is fucking unusual to say the least.

  I shove my phone aside and stare out the window at the endless city lights of Los Angeles. The firecracker from the restaurant had me so wired I had to hold back from slamming my mouth over hers. I wanted her so badly I could have taken her against the restaurant wall.

  But she’s not a one-time fuck, that’s for sure. Although if she were willing, I don’t know that I could hold back. Because I want her badly. But I don’t do serious.

  Her genuine concern when I got that text, though—it was touching. I’ve had a pretty low opinion of humanity since I was a kid. I have my reasons, God knows, but I’ve learned not to expect anything much from anyone. I put all my love into football, and when I’m on the field, I feel invincible. But off the field, that’s a different story.

  This woman was sincere. And I found myself liking her authenticity very much.

  Something about what she said is bugging me, though. Fuck, everything about what she did—and didn’t—say is bugging me.

  You always pay up, she mumbled.

  Her eyes were filled with remorse or—shame?—when she said it. That confused me. I wonder if she’s a fan of the team and I met her at a meet and greet, or maybe a charity event.

  But something about that feels wrong, like I’m trivializing our connection.

  And her eyes—that shade of blue is one in a million. And with her darker complexion and midnight hair, the aquamarine is so startlingly clear I could lose myself in it.

  My past flashes through my mind like a stack of playing cards being shuffled.

  I jerk back from the window as a memory slams into me.

  I’ve seen those eyes before.

  But they were on a completely different woman—she was blond. Bleached-blond. And she was so rail thin I was worried she hadn’t eaten a good meal in weeks.

  But she could have dyed her hair, then or now.

  And this woman, while her curves are nicely filled out, is slender.

  I shut my eyes, willing the memory to crystallize.

  And when it does…

  “Holy. Fuck. It is her.”

  She’s got black hair now, and she’s all grown up with a classy dress and eating at an expensive restaurant. But she’s still…

  The beautiful beach girl who saved my ass when I had a broken collarbone and wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Who put herself on the line to help a total fucking stranger. Who I fell so hard for I’ve measured every woman against her ever since.

  And now I know her name.

  “Jade.”

  6

  All I want to do is get the cab to turn around and take me back to Jade.

  But I have to deal with the reason for this text first. As one of only six captains on a ninety-man squad that’s going to shrink fast to a fifty-three man roster by the start of the season, I need to not only show up for an emergency meeting, but I need to get there first.

  When the taxi pulls up at the team facility, I pay the driver and hustle out the door.

  Colton and Dylan Wild are just walking in the doors, and they stop to wait for me.

  As captains of the offense, the three of us are close. Colton and Dylan are cousins and best friends, and they’re also really great guys I’ve been able to grow up with in the pros. I came to the team a couple years earlier than they did, but we were all drafted by the Cougars, and we appreciate the luxury of playing for one team our entire careers.

  “What the hell is this about?” I say to them in a low voice.

  “No clue.” Dylan’s face is half-hidden beneath his baseball hat, but I catch the flash of concern in his dark eyes.

  “You know it’s got to be a big deal.” Colton runs his hand through his blond hair.

  “And we’re about to find out why,” I say as we reach the meeting room and step inside.

  Coach Sanders nods at us as we take seats. We wait silently for a few minutes until the three defensive captains arrive together.

  Our coach doubles as a GM, and he’s usually a pretty friendly guy. Tonight, though, he’s all business. Mr. Smith, the owner, stands beside him.

  “Smith looks beyond pissed off,” I say as the rest of the team files in behind us.

  King and Gray, my other two close friends on the team, grab the empty seats behind us. They both joined the Cougars last season, but we immediately formed a connection both on and off the field. Colton, Dylan, and I hang out with King and Gray often, and the five of us are tight.

  King’s a beast of a blocking tight end, and he and Colt make a formidable duo. Gray’s talent as a slot receiver makes every other team in the league wish they had a guy at that position, who can take hit after hit while catching anything. From the little I know about his childhood, he had a rough upbringing. He makes sure to bring the toughness he gained from it to each and every game.

  “Hey,” Gray says as I turn around in my seat to greet them. “Any idea why we’re here?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “I had to leave Elijah with my neighbor,” King says, referring to his young son. “A night meeting? That’s not normal.”

  Gray finishes the bottle of water he’s holding and runs a hand through his unruly dark hair. “Dude, nothing about this feels normal.”

  Within a few minutes, everyone is accounted for. Everyone except…

  “Where’s Walker?” Colton mutters.

  Walker is the only other healthy running back on the team, the guy I split snaps with.

  “Don’t know.” I glance around the room. “He’s usually one of the first guys here.”

  Coach Sanders calls for attention, and we all
go silent and face the front as he steps back to let Mr. Smith speak.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he says. Then, he gets right to it. “Jeremy Walker has been cut.”

  “What?!” I say out loud.

  “We’ve received a video of him sexually assaulting a female reporter. He cornered her behind the building last week, and she had the presence of mind to keep her recording running on her phone. Thanks to one of the equipment guys who happened around the corner at the right time, Walker’s unwanted advances were stopped quickly. But that doesn’t take away what he was capable of and the emotional damage he no doubt caused to the woman he trapped.”

  Christ.

  “This kind of abusive behavior will not be tolerated by me or by the Cougars’ organization. In other words, I don’t care how many yards you can carry a ball per game or how many times you cross the end zone. If you’re breaking the law and hurting others, you don’t belong on this team. Do you all understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” we say in unison.

  And I do. With what I saw as a kid, I understand all too well.

  Mr. Smith steps back, then, and hands the stage to Coach Sanders, who says, “Now. The reason we called this meeting for tonight rather than wait until tomorrow is because the press is going to be all over this story—how could we allow it; where will we go from here…”

  He pauses to clear his throat. “Well, I’ll tell you where we go—we’ve got a yoga instructor coming in here first thing tomorrow morning. She’ll be working with all of you for the next month.”

  The groans from the room match my feelings exactly. I don’t need to do yoga. I’m a football player. What I need is to stretch, sure. But then I need to lift for strength, run for endurance, and practice ball security until I can barely stand. Yoga is great for some types of athletes. A running back? Not so much.

  But Coach Sanders is adamant. “You wonder why yoga when so many of you have never even thought about it? I’ll tell you why; we’ve had too many injuries since we won the championship. It took a lot out of us to play all those extra games, and we haven’t handled it well. We’ve lost games simply because we had trouble fielding all of our starters. Hell, we’ve got one healthy running back right now, and the season hasn’t even started.”

  I admit, being the only healthy running back on the team sucks.

  “This instructor has had success with stunt doubles and actors to help reduce missed time on set. So we’re excited to have her, and we’ll welcome her input. And…if any of you so much as look at her the wrong way, including any hint of an inappropriate comment, or fucking hell, if anyone dares to hit on her…”

  He glares at the section of rookies in the back and then shifts his attention to the veterans. His gaze skates right past Colton and Dylan, who are both married. And they’re not “married but looking” like some assholes on this team; no, Colt and Dylan are so in love with their wives I almost throw up when I see them together. But the other part of me—even though I hate to admit it—is envious. Colton and his wife, Sky, have two young sons. And Dylan and his wife, Jasalie, just finalized the adoption on their three kids out of foster care. Those guys are happy and settled, and it suits them.

  Me, though, I’m single. And I don’t have the greatest rep as someone who wants to settle down. So when Coach’s gaze reaches me, he pauses with a hard frown before moving on.

  As we leave the building a short while later, everybody’s still talking about Walker.

  Gray reminds us that we’re not supposed to talk to reporters. “So let’s get it all out of our systems now, boys. Because you know we’ll be pushed during media sessions. And we can’t lose our tempers; it will make the whole thing worse.”

  “I want to put my fist through his face,” I say, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “Forcing himself on a woman? I thought I knew him, but I didn’t see this side of him. Not once.”

  “Me neither,” Dylan admits. “I hope the reporter will be okay. Is she pressing charges?”

  Colton shakes his head. “I overheard Coach saying she didn’t want to. She just wants to be able to do her job. I swear, if Skylar ever got attacked like that…” He lets out an expletive, his huge shoulders tensing.

  Sky works as a reporter in the arts, and from what Colton’s said, she’s experienced her share of sexism and rude comments.

  I slap his back. “I know. It’s horrible to even think of.”

  King bangs a fist into his open palm. “Hate that this happened.”

  We lapse into a strained silence. To know that one of your teammates, a man you’ve looked at as a brother and a comrade-in-arms, did something so despicable—it’s gutting.

  As we reach the parking lot, Colton and Dylan offer to give me a ride home. The three of us all live in Malibu, and we sometimes commute into work together. We wave goodbye to King and Gray, and I hop into the back of Dylan’s black SUV while Colton takes the shotgun seat.

  Tensions are still high as Dylan pulls out of the facility, and I reach for a topic change.

  “Coach sure gave me a long-ass stare, huh?”

  Colton chuckles. “Well, I doubt he’s seen you with the same woman twice. I don’t think I have.”

  “Still,” I say. “Considering the circumstances, I didn’t appreciate the insinuation.”

  “Hey,” Dylan says. “He knows you’re a good guy. Don’t sweat it.”

  I run my hand down my face in frustration. “I never date anyone on the job. Take tonight—the woman I went to dinner with because she claimed she could help me with my charity actually just wanted a night in my bed.”

  Dylan glances at me through the rearview mirror. “Seriously? That sucks, dude.”

  “And I had no interest at all,” I say firmly. “Wasn’t even tempted. There was this other woman I ran into at the restaurant, on the other hand…”

  “Yeah?” Colton asks me, any trace of humor gone from his voice. “You liked her?”

  I go silent.

  “Oh.” He and Dylan look at each other. “He likes her.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I protest quickly.

  “Didn’t have to,” Dylan says in a smug tone that makes me want to smack him on the back of the head.

  “As long as she’s not working for the Cougars or the league, go for it,” Colton says.

  “I don’t date.” Jade’s fiery blue eyes flash through my mind. “But something more casual? Yeah, I might do that.”

  But for the second time in nine years, I have no idea how to find her.

  Jade

  It takes me forever to fall asleep. Seeing Devon again was a shock, and the heat between us was just as unexpected. He was such an ass the way he hit on me when he was on a date, but the current between us was impossible to deny.

  Sure, my ego was bruised that he didn’t remember me, but what did I expect? It was nine years ago, for goodness sakes. And despite all of that, his eyes were still as kind as I remembered, and good Lord, was he hot. All those muscles paired with that handsome face and those freaking clear blue eyes—I’m sure he’s got women lined up to date him. Or fuck him. And I’m guessing he’s a bit of a player the way he flirted with me in the middle of a date with another woman.

  He’s the strangest combination of hard and gentle. He’s all muscles and it feels like it takes a lot to get him to smile. But I know there’s more beneath the surface. When he asked me about my necklace, I nearly broke. I wanted to remind him that I was wearing that same black cross the first time we met, and I may have even wanted to share with him the meaning of the necklace to me.

  But of course, I didn’t. Devon’s got a full life, one that doesn’t have any room for a girl from one random afternoon in his past.

  Reality doesn’t matter to the heart, though. I was drawn to him all over again.

  I’m still turned on when I finally drift off, thoughts of Devon in my head.

  When I wake up in the morning, the news about my dad is weighing on me. I’m assumin
g there will be no funeral services, but I send Mom a text.

  Please let me know who I can contact about Dad. Will there be a memorial?

  Not expecting to hear from her for a while, or at all, with a response to my question, I go get ready for the day.

  An hour later, I give myself one last look in the mirror. Yoga pants with a long cream t-shirt that covers my ass to help prevent any inappropriate ogling when I’m teaching downward dog. My hair doesn’t need much styling—it’s been in the same chin-length blunt cut since I got off the streets and could afford a hair salon. Melody changes her hairstyle like she changes her underwear, but I don’t see the point.

  I do exhibit one quirk in my fashion sense with the red-dyed tips at the ends of my hair, plus the matching red streaks through the side section of my thick bangs and continuing down the front left strand of my hair. The meaning of the color is personal to me, and while it probably looks rebellious to an outsider, to me it’s the exact opposite.

  I turn away from the mirror and go grab my purse. My goal in life has never been about how I look. I want to make a difference with people. I’m hoping that my new master’s degree will be a stepping-stone to greater goals—like helping more injured people heal and working with clients to reduce their anxiety.

  Heading out the door, I lock up my tiny apartment and make my way downstairs. I step into my coffee shop—which is basically a room attached to my studio—and run straight into Marina.

  “Hey!” she says in her usual perky tone. She looks flawless like always with her green eyes clear, her face flushed without the help of any makeup, and her long blond hair up in a high ponytail, prominently revealing the winged tattoo on her neck.