Trick Play (Mavericks Tackle Love Book 3)

by Max Monroe

  “Cam!” she yelled, alerting the others to my presence. They were all the way in the back on the football field, and her yell apparently carried in a manner my booming appearance hadn’t.

  With quick steps and happiness, I rushed to my mom and scooped her into a hug that brought her feet off the ground. She was a petite woman—something people often marveled about when they saw us together—but I had a feeling I’d be able to pick her up no matter how big she was.

  There was an extra strength and resilience in happiness and joy. I just needed to remind myself of that fact when I wasn’t scooping my mom into my arms.

  “It’s good to see you, Mom.”

  “Always, baby, always.”

  As I set her back on her feet, she cupped my cheek and sighed. “Always so handsome.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Good genes, Mom. You gave me good genes.”

  She smiled. “That’s right. They’re mine. Not your father’s. Just remember that.”

  Her jab was commonplace, and just like everything else about home, only made me smile harder. Carmen and Mark had been in a competition to one-up each other since 1975. I didn’t figure it’d end anytime soon.

  “Is he grilling?” I asked hopefully, just, you know, while we were on the subject of my father.

  My mom laughed. “Yes. Just as soon as he finishes this game with your sister and…her, um, young man.”

  My eyebrows rose as I looked out back to the football field and squinted a little. “That’s who that guy is? Beth’s got a boyfriend?”

  My mom shook her head and waved at me. “We’re not really sure. I’m guessing yes, but you know Beth. She’s being very cloak-and-dagger about the whole thing.”

  “Well then,” I cooed, pretending to slip on a hat and monocle. “I’m all ready to play detective.”

  My mom’s headshake was resigned and amused all at once. “Don’t be too hard on her.”

  “Never,” I swore dramatically, crossing my fingers behind my back for good measure. She laughed and stepped around me. “I’m going to go get the burgers.”

  “Okay,” I agreed easily, already headed to the steps of the deck to go get introduced to everyone.

  “Mark!” my mom yelled from behind me. I smiled. Good old Carmen was going to distract my dad so I could have some investigative time by myself. “Come get the burgers on the grill! Cam is hungry!”

  My dad picked up at a jog—eager to do my mom’s bidding despite their decades-long challenge—and headed for me and the house.

  They never hesitated to test one another, but they were also always the first to be there to help. They’d somehow found a balance of love and fun that I desperately wanted for my own one day.

  “Hey, son!” my dad said excitedly, slapping me on the shoulder as he jogged by. “See what you can find out about the new kid.”

  I laughed and jerked up my chin. “On it.”

  Never slowing on his mission to get the burgers moving, he headed for the house, and I continued to the field. Beth saw me coming and slapped at the mystery man’s abdomen to get his attention.

  He snapped to full height and gulped as I approached.

  Perfect.

  “Hey, CamCam,” Beth greeted with a smirk, obviously trying to throw me off my game from the beginning. She wasn’t an amateur, but I was a pro.

  No childish nickname was going to stop me from engaging in the third degree for her date.

  “Hey, Beth. Who’s this?” I greeted, smiling big as her eyes narrowed.

  The pip-squeak with perfectly coiffed hair found his voice, though there was a tiny crack in it in the beginning.

  “I’m…Ta…Tyler Foreman, sir. Mr. Mitchell.”

  Mr. Mitchell. I had to hold back my laughter.

  Instead, I held out a hand and grinned at his obvious nervousness, gripping with a little extra intensity but refraining from breaking any bones.

  “Nice to meet you, Tyler. How do you know my sister?”

  He looked to her, his mouth opening like a gulping fish and closing again, and then he swallowed thickly as he looked back at me.

  I waited patiently, but Beth gave me a shove, grabbed Tyler’s hand, and pushed past me. “We go to school together, nosy. Come on, I want some chips.”

  I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing at her avoidance as I followed them toward the house, jogging a little to catch up and walk on the other side of Tyler.

  “So, Tyler, do you like Mavericks football?”

  “Oh…uh…yes, sir. I love it. You’re, like, one of my idols.”

  Sir. Man, this kid made it too easy to tease him.

  “Do you play?” I asked with genuine interest, sizing him up a little to try to get a bead on a position. Maybe when I got done interrogating him, I could give him some pointers.

  “No,” he admitted, squashing both of our dreams. “I wish, but I never really had the skill level.”

  I nodded, admiring his self-awareness. “That’s fair. It’s not for everybody. I’m sure you’ve got stuff you excel at that I could never even attempt.”

  Tyler opened his mouth to deny it, I could see the panic all over his face, but Beth cut him off.

  “Blah, blah, blah. Enough of the crap. When are you going to bring a girl home, Cam?”

  Oh man. The little witch. One-upping the situation just like her mother.

  “I was seeing someone,” I admitted begrudgingly. “It ended, though.”

  Surprised by my honesty, she stopped and jumped at me to give me a hug. “Sorry. I never actually thought…” She shrugged. “You never date anyone, so I was just teasing.”

  I laughed, intent to drag the conversation far away from Lana and Feel Sorry for Cam Land. “Kind of like you never work. Funny, huh?”

  Agitated, she shoved me back and laughed. “When I’m out of school, I’ll work. You didn’t work when you were in school either, genius.”

  “I was preparing for a football career.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Come on, Tyler. Let’s go. The Doritos are calling.”

  Tyler’s eyes were sympathetic to my battle and apologetic as she dragged him away, but I didn’t mind.

  In fact, the buzz of my phone in my pocket drew my attention as they faded toward the house, so I stopped in my tracks and pulled it out.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite prepared to have my good mood yanked right out from under me.

  Lana: Seeing as we were never dating, I know you don’t owe me anything, but I can’t stop myself from wondering…why?

  Wondering why? What was she even referring to?

  Me: Why what?

  Lana: Did you not think the girls would tell me about the other night at the club?

  The club? I hadn’t done fucking anything at the club. I’d gone to visit her, stayed as long as I had to against my will, and then gotten the hell out of there.

  Me: What does that even mean?

  Lana: Apparently, even during my absence, you had a really good fucking time.

  Jesus Christ. Is this what she’s been holding on to and stewing over for a week?

  I wanted to feel bad, but instead, I felt angry. I had no idea what assumptions she was working off of, or what she’d been told, but I knew without a fucking doubt I hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she’d never given me a chance to make it right.

  Instead, she’d cut me off without even attempting to get an explanation.

  Me: Wow. A good time? That sure comes as a surprise to me. I mean, I don’t recall enjoying myself that night, but what the fuck do I know, right? Surely, someone else knows what I experienced better than me.

  Lana: People talk, Cam. The girls. Marco. Everyone talks.

  Marco. Of course he was mentioned. I hadn’t liked that skeezy bastard from the instant he’d come over and introduced himself.

  I didn’t trust him, especially when it came to Lana.

  I was surprised to find out she hadn’t figured out the same.

  Me: For someone s
o immersed in that life, you’re a hell of a lot more naïve than I expected.

  Lana: You have NO idea what I am.

  I laughed sardonically to myself. She was fucking right about that. Frustration built with every word I typed, and I was sure she’d be able to feel it when she read my message on the other side.

  Me: For the most part, I’d say you’re right. It’s fucking hard to know anything about someone when they refuse to open up. But I don’t have to hear it from you to know you’re naïve. I have all the proof I need just by seeing how easily manipulated you are by Marco. He’s just as reluctant to have you get involved with me as you are.

  Lana: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  Now she wants to know? It was too late.

  Me: If you don’t get it now, you’ll just have to figure it out. You’ll never understand if I have to explain it to you. Just ask yourself this…why do you REALLY think I was at the club the other night in the first place?

  I didn’t wait for her reply. Instead, I shut my phone off and put it back in my pocket. I had a night with my family to get through, and my head was already fucked up enough as it was.

  I stared down at the phone in my hands and reread Cam’s text messages for what had to be the one-hundredth time.

  It was well after midnight, and I should’ve just gone to bed, but I couldn’t stop myself from analyzing each and every one of his words. Attempting to comprehend what he was trying to say. Struggling to understand the meaning behind his ambiguous—accusatory—responses.

  Magic Mike: For someone so immersed in that life, you’re a hell of a lot more naïve than I expected.

  Naïve. He’d called me fucking naïve.

  Anger boiled over the surface and prickled at my skin, and I chucked the phone onto the couch cushion beside me. An impression of its outline marred the skin of my fingers from how tightly I’d been clenching it.

  Fuck that. Fuck him.

  Just stop thinking about him. Just be done with him, I coached myself.

  I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flipped indignantly through the channels, but it was futile. I wasn’t even paying attention to what was on the television. No, I was still too busy mentally cursing out Cam Mitchell.

  I wasn’t fucking naïve.

  I also wasn’t stupid. He’d never said that word, but oh boy, had it been implied.

  He’d been the one who’d spent a night slipping dollar bills in strippers’ G-strings and enjoying the Skins’ buffet of women, not me. He’d been the one who’d decided to stay at the club even though I wasn’t there.

  He’d been the one lacking fucking integrity, and yet, he was questioning me?

  We weren’t in a relationship, and we weren’t exclusive, but I’d given him pieces of myself. Even when I’d tried not to, I’d shown him Lana.

  Now, in the face of everything we’d been through, it seemed like maybe he’d been the one putting on an act.

  That was probably what hurt the most.

  Had he ever been truly interested in me? Or was I just another girl he’d wooed and wowed in an effort to fuck?

  The more I thought about our text conversation, the more kindling I found to stoke the fire inside of me.

  Once my brain had replayed Cam’s words a good fifty times, that fire might as well have been doused in gasoline.

  I gritted my teeth and stood to my feet, and the TV remote that was in my lap fell to the hardwood floor of my living room with a loud, crashing clang.

  What a fucking dick!

  I couldn’t remember the last time in my life when I’d felt this overwhelming level of anger. I felt crazy with it. Consumed by it.

  With a frustrated move of my arms, I brushed my long locks out of my face and inhaled a deep, expansive breath before letting it out with an irritated whoosh from my lungs.

  If I had some fucking balls, I would go over to his house and prove that naïve and stupid were the very last two things I am.

  I paced the floor of my living room.

  Then, I paced some more.

  And when that outlet wasn’t enough, I found myself picking Trixie’s phone back up and scrolling through our text conversation…again. Eventually, I was inside the Uber app and making note of the fact that his address was still saved inside my recent trips.

  In an instant, I decided that, yes, I did have balls.

  In fact, I had a giant fucking pair of gonads, and I was prepared to give Cam a piece of my mind. Face-to-fucking-face.

  My keys were in my hand and flip-flops were on my feet not even a minute later.

  And five minutes after that, I was inside my car, following my GPS’s instructions as it led me straight to his house.

  I drove like a bat out of hell, my foot made of more lead than anything else, and next thing I knew, I was parked in his driveway, staring through the windshield and directly at Cam’s front door.

  I didn’t think twice. I didn’t hesitate. I just hopped right out of the driver’s seat, kicked the car door shut with my sandal and stomped like a motherfucker straight up to the big, ornate wood door of his house and pounded my fist against it ten times.

  I waited. I prepared. I anticipated the moment his face would appear on the other side.

  My back was straight, my defiant chin was up, and I was poised and ready like a boxer waiting to hop into the ring.

  But twenty seconds later, I was still on the porch, and the door was still shut.

  Frustrated, I abruptly poked my index finger against the doorbell once, twice, three fucking times.

  Surely, he’d hear my arrival now.

  When another twenty seconds went by with no response, I repeated the circuit, this time multitasking and using both hands—one pounding against the door while the other urged the doorbell to chime manically.

  “What the fuck?” I asked on a shout. As the words slipped past my lips, I caught my reflection in the clear glass of the sidelight windows framing either side of the door.

  With a clenched jaw and hair that had seen better days, I faltered.

  Flip-flops, jeans, a white tank top, and scraggly hair, I looked like a lunatic. Like a woman who had lost her ever-loving mind.

  I didn’t know the woman staring back at me.

  The woman I knew had control over her emotions. She was typically strategic and calculated and never did anything without thinking through the possibilities and consequences.

  She sure as fuck didn’t let impulse and rage take the wheel.

  What am I doing? What is wrong with me?

  I stepped back from the door like it stung and damn near tripped over my flip-flops as I did.

  Jesus. I shouldn’t be here.

  I nearly laughed at myself in absurdity.

  Proving I wasn’t naïve was one thing, but discounting the implication that I was stupid by showing up unannounced—at nearly one in the freaking morning—and ready to throw punches, wasn’t exactly helping my case.

  I need to leave. I need to get the fuck out of here before anyone sees me like this. Before Cam sees me like this

  Thank God he hadn’t been home. Thank fucking everything for that.

  But now wasn’t the time to count my blessings. Now was the time to get the hell out of Dodge.

  Resolved to have a good, old-fashioned come to Jesus talk with myself when I got home, I hopped off the porch and damn near sprinted back to my car.

  I barely had my fingers wrapped around the door handle when the sounds of a familiar motorcycle engine filled my ears.

  Fuck.

  When Cam’s bike pulled into the driveway and came to an abrupt stop beside my car, adrenaline and nerves spilled into my bloodstream like a rushing river. Any and all displaced blood went straight to the apples of my cheeks.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Lana?” Surprise widened his brown eyes as he stepped off his bike and slipped off his helmet. The light of the moon bounced off his hair and highlighted the perfect lines of his face, and I cringed.
God, I hated how devastatingly handsome he was.

  Instantly, I felt like burrowing myself into the ground.

  Maybe I can just tunnel myself back home? Who needs a car, right?

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. I shook my head as though it were a genie’s twitch, like it actually had the power to teleport me back to my apartment and let me have a redo on the emotional outburst that had led me here in the first place.

  Surely, the next go-round, I’d be a rational human being and stop myself from getting in the fucking car.

  “I need to go,” I muttered, and my hands trembled as I fumbled with the driver’s side door handle. By the time I had it open, he was already standing beside me, his fingers wrapped around the frame of the door to ensure it couldn’t close.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, searching my eyes for the answer I obviously wasn’t willing to give verbally.

  Don’t even bother, I thought. There’s apparently nothing but crazy rolling around inside here.

  “I need to go,” I repeated lamely.

  “No, you don’t.” His big brown eyes locked with mine and refused to release me from their hold. “Obviously, you came here for a reason, Lana. Why don’t you just be honest with me and, more importantly, yourself, and own up to that reason?”

  His words hit me like a slap to the face.

  Be honest? Own up to it? This guy had some fucking nerve.

  “Be honest with you?” I questioned, my volume elevating by the second. “That’s rich, Cam.”

  His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “You don’t think I deserve your honesty?”

  “No!” I shouted. “Why would you deserve my honesty when you can’t even be honest with me?”

  “I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Bullshit,” I spat. “You lied about going to the club the night I wasn’t there.”