Be Mine

by Jen Frederick

  “But you’re starting out and building your business from scratch.”

  “Exactly.” Charlie reaches into her huge purse and pulls out planner after planner, all in different colors with a thousand Post-it note flags sticking out of the edges. “I’ve got all these planners and notes but feel more disorganized than ever. I want to do this so bad, Lainey.” There’s a note of desperation in her voice. “I don’t want to brag, but I come from a lot of money. My dad inherited millions and my mom made it into a fortune. Nate, my—I mean, Nick’s brother is a Navy SEAL. Nick just won the Super Bowl. All I have is this and Stacks.”

  “Stacks?” That seemed to come out of nowhere.

  The corner of her mouth flashes up. “Didn’t I tell you? I bought the bar last year. Well, Nick, Reese, and I did.”

  “Reese?”

  “He’s like my only friend since you left. You’ll love him, though, and so will Cass. Please come back to Dallas and help me,” Charlie pleads.

  “I’ve never done any office work.” I hold up my hands. “These don’t type. They clean toilets, fold clothes at the mall, handle money, and pour beer. They don’t file and type and do other important stuff.”

  “We both know you were running Stacks after working there only a few weeks. I bought it for so cheap because even the players stopped going there. And, for the rest of it, you can learn on the fly. It’s not like I know exactly what I’m doing. This is new to me, too.” Charlie shoves a planner toward me. “I’ve got the opportunity to move three players—two to the east coast and one on the west. I can make the travel work, but the research—I need someone I can trust. Who knows what my business is all about. All that person needs is a phone and an Internet connection, really.”

  I give her a sharp look. “Did you come here to visit or offer me a job?”

  “Both. Can’t it be both?” She reaches across the table and grabs my hands. “I miss you guys every day. I wish you were back in Dallas, just a knock away. This job would allow you to work at home, take care of Cass, and you could work at home, be with your mom, and you wouldn’t have to spend as much money on home care.”

  I blink at the flood of words. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “You have no idea,” she admits with a rueful smile. “I’ve been looking for someone to help me, but I didn’t know who I could trust. Tonight I was feeling sorry for myself. I was missing—” She cuts herself off with a shake. “I was deep into my feelings and then you appeared and I felt like it was a higher power bringing us together.”

  “I…don’t know what to think.”

  “I know. I’ve thrown a boulder at you. Take some time. There’s no need to give me an answer. At least not tonight.”

  But we both know what my answer will be. Her smile is too bright to turn away from, and the future that she dangles in front of my eyes is too damn enticing. It might be the wrong decision, but I find that I can’t say no.

  Chapter Eight

  Lainey

  I run nervous hands over my hair and double-check the bottle count. Are twenty-five bottles of Jack Daniels enough? Do I have enough olives? Do football players even eat olives? My mind goes blank.

  “It’s going to be fine,” says Charlie. “You’ve got this.”

  “Can you tell that to my stomach? There’s a whole mariachi band blaring ‘Volver, Volver’ down there.” I press a hand against my belly, but it does nothing to stop the roiling down there.

  She grips my shoulder with her thin fingers and squeezes. “It’s perfect. You run this place in your sleep.”

  I glance toward the door.

  “Right. I’ve got this.” I take a deep breath. I’m not nervous for me, but for Charlie. She’s invested a lot in this place and put a shit ton of trust in me. The least I can do is make sure she earns back all her money.

  “Oh, by the way, I need you to make a run to Houston tomorrow. One of my players is getting an aquarium installed and the only place that sells the kind of fish he wants is over at a specialty store in Houston. I’d do it, but remember the Spurs player I’m helping out? He’s thinking of buying a villa in Italy and wants me to come down and talk to him about his options.”

  “Sure. I’ll have to get someone to watch Cassidy.” Charlie’s personal service business is really picking up. She wasn’t lying when she said she was busy.

  “Don’t worry,” she says airily as she walks toward the end of the bar. “I’ve already got you a babysitter.”

  The way she avoids looking at me makes me suspicious. “It is the first day of training camp today, right?”

  “Yes.”

  But her evasiveness clues me in. “You didn’t.”

  She pretends the already spotless bar top needs another wipe down. “Reese is busy. He’s going to a horse show in Kentucky this week.”

  “Charlie.”

  “Lainey.”

  I reach for my phone. “I’m going to call a service.”

  “No, you’re not.” She pushes my hand down to my side. “Nick loves kids and he’s dying to see Cassidy again. Please don’t take this away from him.”

  Charlie gives me her patented puppy dog stare, which I can’t turn down. She and Cass can make me do about any damn thing.

  “Fine, but just this once,” I warn.

  The bite in my tone flies over Charlie’s head. She beams. “You won’t regret it.”

  “Too late,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” I can’t let on to Charlie that I secretly fantasize about her best friend, Nick Jackson, an unhealthy amount. He’s become this fantasy figure—sort of like a movie star. I knew I’d never get with him, so it made it okay for me to picture him in my head when I was using my vibe. But soon I’m going to see him in the flesh and it makes me a hundred kinds of embarrassed. And a hundred kinds of turned on. I’m a mess, basically.

  He’s been spending his off-season doing stuff with college friends—boating, hiking, fishing. I think Charlie said that he even entered a bowling tournament in Minneapolis for shits and giggles. He won, of course, because there’s nothing that golden boy can’t do. I’ve been both dreading and anticipating his return to Dallas.

  Dreading it because when he’s around, I’ll have to be extra careful not to let my feelings leak through. Not that he’s going to be interested. Yes, there was a flame that flickered weakly between us, but that was probably the result of Nick being lonely and me sending out not-so-subtle messages that I’d be down for anything with him.

  I remind myself that he’s a professional football player and my life’s already been incinerated by one before. While Nick Jackson is all my girlhood dreams made flesh, I have to stay away. I can’t allow my old feelings to ruin my present. My little girl’s future depends on me.

  I tighten my ponytail and then my apron strings and go out to flip the door sign from closed to open. Five minutes later, a husky man with a big tan cowboy hat and dusty boots strolls in. A slight smile paints my lips. Don hasn’t changed a bit.

  “About damn time you re-opened.” He slides up onto a bar stool. “Give me a cold one. Where have you been?” he demands.

  “Ah, Don, I didn’t think you’d remember me.” I slide a cold one in front of him.

  “’Course I remember you. You’re pretty, aren’t you? No one forgets a pretty girl.” He says this all with a veneer of disgust as if being pretty is somehow sinful. I haven’t ever been to his home, but I imagine he sits on his front porch and unironically yells for kids to get off his lawn.

  “Gee. Thanks.” I wipe my hands off on a towel.

  He grunts. “You why this place was closed up for two months?”

  “Nope. You are. We wanted to make it pretty for you.”

  “At least you didn’t paint it pink.”

  "Oh, the horror!” Charlie yells from the other end of the bar. “Not pink!”

  “Careful or Charlie’ll paint your stool that color,” I tease.

 
The corner of his mouth quirks up a tiny bit in what I think is a smile. He covers up this rare show of humor by taking a deep gulp of the beer.

  “Tastes about the same,” he concludes, laying a five on the refinished cherry counter.

  I take the compliment and the money.

  Don swings around and surveys the place. “Looks like the old Stacks.”

  “It should. We just spruced everything up.” First thing we did when Charlie and I got to town was to remodel Stacks from top to bottom. The floors were refinished. The paneled walls were stripped and restained. The cherry bar was given about a thousand coats of new lacquer and the old brass hardware was dipped, polished and re-attached. The biggest splurge was the new booths that lined the walls and the new tables on the floor, but even those aren’t technically new. Charlotte had found a restaurant down in San Antonio that was going out of business. We drove a huge truck down there, loaded them into the trailer, and hauled them back. It was hard, dirty, hot work, but it saved us so much money.

  It’s still Stacks. We serve beer, hard liquor, a couple of wines, and a small menu of bar food. It’s not a dance club. It’s not a place that’s going to host live bands. We’re a neighborhood bar. It just so happens that our closest neighbor is the pro football team the Mustangs.

  As long as we have them, Stacks will always be relevant. And, as if I summoned them, the doors fly open and a flood of tall, muscled, sweaty men pour in, flopping onto chairs and bar stools and booths.

  I tense up as I register each one. Thankfully—or regretfully, depending on which body part is in charge—he does not make an appearance.

  For the next thirty minutes, I don’t have time to worry about the stock, the interior decorating, or my inexperience in managing a bar. I pour drinks, deliver food, clear tables, and supply charging cables for what seems like half the squad who are furiously scrolling through social media either looking for their own names or for a hookup later tonight.

  “The USB ports at the tables was inspired,” Charlie whispers in my ear when I come around behind the bar to grab an empty tub. “And everyone is loving the pulled pork sandwiches.

  I glow under the praise. “Thanks.”

  After a couple hours, the players move on and the bar empties out except for a couple of stragglers. Nick still hasn’t appeared.

  “You keep rubbing the counter and the polish is going to disappear,” Charlie whispers in my ear as she passes by.

  I slap the rag down and rub my sore knuckles against my apron.

  “I’m going to go look at the supplies.”

  “You do that,” Charlie smirks.

  I stomp away, afraid if I stick around, I’ll say something I’ll regret. I’m not angry with Charlie. I’m mad at myself, but I don’t know what bothers me the most—that Nick never appeared or that I can’t stop wishing he would.

  Chapter Nine

  Nick

  I hesitate at the door of Stacks. Inside is Elaina Valdez, five and a half feet of delicious curves and fierce sweetness. I haven’t seen her in almost two years, but I’ve never forgotten her. I had a fat crush on her when I first joined the Mustangs, but Charlie warned me to stay away. Lainey was a single mom and I shouldn’t fuck around with single moms. There were plenty of other single, available girls for me to play with, plus, I needed to focus on the game. Lainey made it easy for me to do that by disappearing—completely.

  I was sick with worry. Charlie and I looked all over for her, but we couldn’t find even a trace. I gave up and threw myself into a pit of women and the game of football. I won easily at both, but the day after I won the Super Bowl, I found myself in the condo staring at an unlit fireplace wondering where Lainey and Cass where. Whether they’d watched the game. Whether they’d cheered for me. Whether they’d be at the city parade honoring our win.

  I guess I knew the answer to all of those would be no and that made me even madder. I hired a private investigator, but before he could turn up anything, Charlie ran into Lainey in San Antonio. All these years and Lainey was sitting just a couple hundred miles south.

  When I first met Lainey, I was a wet-behind-the-ears rookie without a sure understanding of where my future lay. But this year the Mustangs are my team. I’m not Chip Peters’s replacement. I’m not the third-round draft pick from two years ago. I’m the returning quarterback of a Super Bowl-winning team, and this time I’m not letting anything get in the way of what I want.

  I pull open the door and run straight into my prey.

  “Elaina Valdez,” I say, holding her tiny waist between my hands. “I thought you were a ghost.”

  The curvy brunette narrows her eyes at me and wriggles free. “If you’re here to see Charlotte, she’s in the back. I’ll get her for you.”

  The frost in her tone surprises me. I haven’t seen her in two years and she’s pissed at me? I’m the one who should be pissed.

  “How come you left without an explanation?” I demand.

  “I didn’t know I owed you one,” she retorts.

  “Uh, can you take your flirting away from the doorway?” Diane Mott, one of the Mustang trainers, taps me on the shoulder. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

  “We’re not flirting.” Cass tries to push me aside—try being the operative word since I outweigh the woman by at least a hundred pounds. “Come in. It’s Diane, right? Charlie says that they have a woman trainer now. That’s awesome.”

  Cass escorts Mott over to the bar and proceeds to give the trainer a five-star treatment while I stand just to the side of the entrance, like a forgotten piece of tissue.

  Two years and I don’t even warrant a hey, I missed you? This is bullshit. I stomp over to the bar and am gearing up to demand a beer when Charlotte suddenly pops up in front of me.

  "There you are!” she cries. “How was practice?”

  “Good.”

  “Good? Is that all you can say?” She starts to pat my arm and chest, looking for injuries. “Did you get hurt?”

  I gently pull her hands away. “I wear the red pinnie. No one is allowed to touch me.”

  If someone even breathes on me wrong, Coach is benching them. He wants me to succeed, he said, which is why, I guess, they brought back Chip Peters. He coached me through the Super Bowl win last year and then retired, but I guess they lured him back into active duty.

  “Good. That’s how it should be.” Charlie squeezes me again before straightening. “It’s hard enough watching you get beat up during regular season games, let alone having you walk in here injured after practice. What do you want?”

  “New barbecue today?” I ask. Now’s not to the time to throw a tantrum, I realize. Not on the first day of Stacks’ grand re-opening. I live with Charlie. She might put spiders in my bed or something if I ruin today.

  “Yup.”

  “I’ll have a sandwich, fries, and a beer.” It’s still training camp so I’m going to indulge. Once the season starts, I try to adhere to a cleaner diet. Ever since Tom Brady divulged his training and nutrition regime, teams have been preaching more about our food intake, but, hell, if you can’t enjoy a good meat sandwich and a beer, what’s the point of doing all this shit?

  Charlie told me that they’ve been buying meet that has been barbecued for twenty-four hours from some specialty place west of the city. She brought some home the other night and I nearly wept with how good it was.

  "We have cranberry beef brisket, hand-cut fries, and some special zesty ketchup. How's that sound?” She sets a cold draft on a napkin.

  "Sounds great. I’m going to need the energy.” Peters plans to work me like a dog. He wants me to do extra strength training so that I don’t get injured.

  She trots off to put in my order. Without her distracting me, I can’t keep my eyes from drifting back to Lainey, who is leaning over the bar chatting up Diane. What are those two talking about? Diane wasn’t around two years ago when Lainey first got her job, so their sudden chumminess confuses me. And makes me a little jealous, which is stupid.
Why am I jealous of Diane who is married to a man and has three kids?

  It’s Lainey, I guess. She makes me a little wild in the head. My mind goes through a hundred different scenarios that feature her naked in my condo. Good thing I’m sitting down because my dick hardens into a spike.

  “Here you go, Nick.” Charlie presents me with my food.

  “Looks great.” And it does. The heaping mound of brisket smells amazing, and after the workout this morning, I feel like I could eat about ten of these. I dig in to satisfy one lustful craving since the other one will be unfulfilled.

  “Do you have anything going on tonight?” Charlie doesn’t care that I can’t answer because my mouth is full of tongue-melting brisket. She probably prefers it that way. “No guys coming over? No girls?” I shake my head. “Good,” she replies. “Because you’re on babysitting duty.”

  She picks up her purse and slaps me hard on the back as she passes by me. The quarter pound of meat I just inhaled stays stuck in the back of my throat. I finally swallow it, but not until after Charlie exits Stacks. When I look up, I see Lainey’s mouth set in an unhappy line.

  “This wasn’t my idea,” I tell her, feeling weirdly defensive.

  “I know.” She looks pissed anyway. “But I need to run over to Houston for the afternoon to pick up something for one of your teammates, and Charlie’s driving to San Antonio to meet with a client.”

  Houston? I’m going to have to buy Charlie a hothouse full of flowers for engineering this. I try to hide my glee so as not to tip off Lainey that the errand run to Houston isn’t all that it seems. She’d probably try to weasel out of it if she knew. "What time do you want me to pick up Cassidy?"

  "In an hour.” And then, as though it kills her, “Thank you. I appreciate it."

  "No problem. We’ll have fun. Does she remember me?" It’s been a while and the little peanut was so young when we last saw each other. My chest tightens slightly as I remember the last day in the park we had together. I didn’t realize I loved kids until Cassidy came along.