by Kali Willows
“I said it’s nothing.”
Candace sat back with a dip of her chin and tapered eyes. “Fine, then. Fill out the application and ask for qualities you find a turn on. You won’t be disappointed.”
After more than a year of sexual deprivation, she needed an outlet. Connor’s lack of geographic availability allowed her to keep her word, but taunted her with unquenched desire. He might be single, but she couldn’t tell him about her divorce. “I hate you,” she scoffed at her tormentor.
“You probably do, but you’ll be singing a different tune in a few weeks.”
***
Connor cracked his beer open and took a long gulp, letting the foamy coolness buy him time and patience. “I’m not going to the NFL mixer, Dave. Not to schmooze, not to negotiate myself onto another team next season. Nothing.” He dropped onto the couch and clicked the remote to the big screen TV. “I DVR’d last night’s game since we had practice.”
“Perfect.” Connor’s coach joined him, open beer in one hand, big bowl of popcorn in the other. A handful of the buttery snack scattered across the suede pillow between them. “The mixer is only part of it. This event was booked in Canada because the league is broadening their draft options and Canadian fan base. There are a few investors interested in product distribution, as well. We also have a press release booked in the morning, so really, it’s double duty.”
“Dude, I don’t have any sports news to share, and….” He picked up the spilled popcorn and dumped it in the bowl. “Don’t you have a TV twice the size of mine at home? And your own DVR?”
“Sure I do, but I can watch it here without my kids screaming in the background.” He set his beer can down in the holder on the arm of the couch and kicked off his brown loafer shoes. “And while we watch the game….” He propped his feet on the glass coffee table.
“No, you can’t talk me into going to Ottawa.”
“Okay, hear me out,” Dave pleaded. “You know your fans will be lined up for a chance to meet you at the hotel. You can’t let them down.”
“Not gonna happen.” Connor cranked the volume on the TV and stared straight ahead.
“I’m serious.” Dave snatched the controller from his hand and shut the unit off. He jumped to his feet and drew a slow inhale before he continued. “Look, man. I know your injury set you back, but it happened months ago. The surgeon gave you the go ahead.”
Connor dropped his jaw and chortled. “Do you really think I’m not interested because I’m afraid of getting re-injured?”
Dave crossed his arms. “Yes?”
“Injury is the last thing on my mind.”
“Enlighten me, then.” His coach took his seat beside him again and tucked the remote away from Connor’s outreached hand.
“They can trade me with whoever they want. I’m a free agent after next month.”
“And?”
Connor scrubbed his palms over his face. “I’m sick to death of the star-fucking groupies who paw all over me at every social event. Going solo sucks, and I’ve had it up to here with the glory hounds who think fake tans, tits spilling out, and miniskirts are the end-all and be-all of my existence.”
“Wow, buddy. That’s deep.” Dave cracked a one-sided grin.
“I’m serious. Not one chick who’s thrown herself at me in the last three years has had the slightest interest in anything about me but the fringe benefits of fucking football players for the camera.”
“Not many guys in your position take offense at that.” Dave picked up his beer and sucked back a mouthful. “It’s a beautiful thing, man.”
“Bullshit.” Connor shook his head. “I can’t stand the string-bean airheads who think thick layers of mascara, fake tits, and baby talk are enough to get my interest.”
“To be an intelligent man and a famous jock has its ups and downs.”
“Said by the coach who was a first-draft pick in his glory days.”
“True story, bro.” Dave chuckled.
“If I blow out my knee one more time, I’m done. I accept that. I’ve had my moment in the sun. But the groupies will be long gone once the money train leaves the station. If I’m gonna fuck someone, it’s gonna be on my terms, because I’m attracted to them. Not because they leave it all hanging out. They’re all void upstairs. I might as well jerk off and save myself the wads of cash it takes to impress them.”
“Let me get this straight,” Dave said. “You have unlimited women at your beck and call, some of the hottest chicks on the planet, and they have absolutely no appeal for you?”
“Haven’t I explained this in great detail?” He tossed his hands up.
“What gets your motor running with a woman, then? Or, have you kept some vital information from your long time mentor and friend?”
“Jesus, Dave. Just because a guy wants more than a piece of ass doesn’t make him gay,” he scoffed. “You got married, why?”
“Because I fell in love with the captain of the cheerleading team. She’s hot, and she likes me a whole lot.”
“But it was more than a pretty face, right?”
“Sure, yeah. What does it matter?” He grabbed the remote and aimed at the TV. Connor snatched it away before he could turn it on.
“Tough jocks don’t discuss real emotions, I get it. There’s no locker room. This is me and you, and I need an honest answer.”
“If you repeat a single word of this to any of the guys, I’ll knock you into next week.”
“As if,” Connor snarled. “Tell me.”
“I blew my shoulder out in the championship game, right before halftime.”
“I remember.”
“Trish was the hottest chick I’d ever met. Incredible in every way. Once my career was over, I thought she’d be out the door. We’d only been together for three months.”
“Then what?” Connor snagged his beer and chugged a mouthful.
“She left her squad to be by my side. When the doc gave the news, she held my hand. Fuck, the pain was unbelievable.” Dave’s eyes reddened. “She leaned down, gave me the sweetest kiss, and told me she wasn’t goin’ anywhere.”
“You knew she loved you and not for the money or fame?”
“Yeah, I mean, I had no contract. No offers. I was thirty-nine with a blown shoulder, and both my knees were screwed. I had officially done my time in the NFL limelight. But this incredible woman with emerald eyes, luscious blonde hair, and a body that didn’t quit still wanted me. Talk about love.”
“That’s awesome, Dave.” Connor smiled and took another drink.
“With Trish, I have my whole world, and now two gorgeous kids. My injury turned out to be the biggest blessing of my life.” Dave chuckled. “I traded in my six-pack for a trusty keg and an awesome job as a coach.” He patted his rounded gut. “And you, my star quarterback, named MVP three seasons in a row. You’ve got the best long throw I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Your precision is unreal. Shit, I bet you could knock a beer can off the goal post!”
“Yeah.” His smile faded.
“What kind of a woman do you want?”
Connor thought a long while before he answered. “One I can’t have.”
“Dude, I poured my heart out, and you’re not going to dish? For real?” Dave shot a punch to his shoulder.
“I want one woman, with blue bedroom eyes, real curves, and nothing fake. She’s intelligent, funny, witty, and has this phenomenal talent. Perfect lips I’d love to taste…and belt loops….” He sighed, recounting the traits he coveted online.
“Belt loops?” Dave snickered.
“Never mind.”
“Who is this heartbreaker?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Connor said. “She’s married. Happily.”
“How can you be sure she’s happy?”
“Because she said so.”
“Does she know how you feel?” Dave shifted sideways, beer in hand.
“Sort of.”
“I’m lost.” He shrugged.
“We’ve been
chatting online, I flirted with her.”
“And how did she respond?”
Connor paused, flooded by memories of their more risqué exchanges.
“I see,” Dave interjected. “She says she’s happy, but she’s online with you. Doesn’t sound like her marriage is all you think it is, my friend.”
“Maybe, but I’ve gotta respect her wishes.”
“So, what are her wishes?” Dave arched his brows.
“I-I never asked,” he huffed.
“Right.”
“No, it’s not gonna happen. I would never interfere with her marriage. She’s a great lady. I missed my chance in high school.”
“I might have a temporary solution for you, buddy.” Dave grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth.
“What would your great idea be?”
“Come to Ottawa.” He crunched.
“I said those women are a waste of my time.”
“Not what I meant.” He gulped back some beer. “I heard about this private dating service.”
“Are you crazy?” He must be to even suggest such a thing.
“Hear me out. It’s discreet and just for a single night. Madame Evangeline managed to set up an awesome date for a friend of mine….” He winked.
“You?”
“No.” Dave slammed his beer into the holder at his side and pulled his smart phone out of his shirt pocket. “When I say friend, I mean more like, a higher up in the league, but I can’t say specifically who.”
“Gossip, dude?” Who could it be?
“No, this is for real. He filled out an online application. It’s private, she has an awesome track record, it’s for a single night…one night….” He tapped the screen. “Aha! 1Night Stand.”
“Fitting.” What next? Cybersex?
“You’re miserable and pining for a married woman you can’t have. Nothing else appeals. Ask for the qualities you like about this lady and get matched with someone who can get your rocks off for this one date. Someone with some brains. You can bring her to the mixer and keep the leeches at bay.”
The absurd suggestion might hold some merit.
Chapter Three
Gemma’s flight landed right on time at noisy Ottawa Macdonald–Cartier International Airport. Her luggage was first out on the carousel.
The single time she’d have welcomed a delay and the universe rushed her toward a one-night stand with a stranger. What if he turned out to be hideous or a major creep?
Only one man held her attention these days, and for the sake of her career, she had no option to tell him the truth about her being single. His living in Washington while she resided in New York added another level of difficulty. The continued text messages kept her entangled in a web of lust and deceit, but she couldn’t resist his charm or the attention he gave her. How had she managed to get herself caught up in such an impossible situation? Gemma found herself hooked on so many levels. Connor Caine aroused her mentally, as well, although she hadn’t set eyes on him in years.
“Let’s go, doll. There’s our limo driver.” Candace dragged her colossal suitcase on wheels and balanced her briefcase over her shoulder. She teetered and banged into Gemma.
“For a woman who can’t be more than a hundred pounds, Candace, your luggage likely outweighs you by triple.”
“You know, your moody, eccentric author ways could easily get confused with constipation. Let’s go. Chop, chop, princess.”
The usual tyranny of her publicist grated on Gemma’s rankled nerves as she followed her to the driver. Once they were in the car, the distinct chime of her message notification rang out. Gemma pulled her phone out of her purse and glanced at his name. She looked up and caught Candace’s curious stare then turned the power off and tucked it back into her purse.
“Has your date already begun, hot stuff?”
“Shut up,” she shushed as she pushed the button to raise the window between them and the driver.
“Oh, relax. No one has a clue about the arrangements. It is for this weekend, at the hotel, right?”
“Yes, if you must know, it is. And no, the message is not from my date.”
“Oh, then who brought the naughty smile to my best-selling author?”
“He’s an old friend. Nothing more,” she lied and glanced out the tinted window, fixing her attention on the cars streaming out of the airport.
Candace grimaced. “Oh crap. You haven’t told him about the divorce, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Gemma snapped. “He thinks I’m still married. He’s here for a work function, too, and wants to meet for coffee. I told him I’m busy. Let it go.”
“Oh no.” Candace folded her arms over her chest.
“What?”
“I see the look in your eyes when the message notification dings, the hidden smile, wide eyes, fixation on the phone….”
“You have an over-active imagination. I’m supposed to be the fiction author.” Gemma waved off the frontal attack. “How long till we get to the hotel?”
“Long enough to talk,” she retorted. “Level with me. When’s the date?”
Gemma exhaled a heavy breath. “Tonight.”
“Oh, goodie.” Candace beamed. “Details, please.”
“I don’t have any. I have to meet him in the lounge at eight thirty.” Her stomach muscles tensed. The knowledge Connor will be in the same city overpowers any appeal of an actual interlude with another human being, no matter how horny I am.
“How will you know each other? Did you get a picture or something?”
“Madame Eve told me to sit at the very end of the bar and wear a hot-pink flower in my hair, and he will be wearing an olive-green shirt.”
“I hope you brought a fancier outfit than your current attire for the conference.”
“Of course I did. Glamorous attire for a published author, blah, blah, blah.”
“And for your date?”
“It said casual, jeans optional.”
“Classy. Where’s he taking you to, a hoedown?”
“I brought glitzy jeans, stilettos, and a black sequined top; scintillating but classic.”
“Will you be chewing a wad of Hubba Bubba, too?”
Gemma folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. Annoyance bubbled through her veins. “Maybe you should have booked yourself a date tonight, too, Candace. Someone sounds like they need to get laid.”
Candace sank back into her seat. “Well played, my little smart ass, well played. We’ll make a diva out of you yet.”
Gemma burst out in laughter. For now, this alleviated her tension about the unknown abyss of sin and shame awaiting her after her book signing.
***
Seated behind one of twenty oblong tables lining the walls of the elegant ballroom, Gemma crossed her ankles and stretched her sides. She straightened the black tablecloth and tidied the last of the items before her as she scanned the vast, but almost vacant, ballroom. Most of the other authors had already packed up their things and departed. Soft baroque music played in the background, and, until now, it had been filled to capacity, making it impossible to appreciate the massive chandeliers and blue floral patterns on the walls and carpets.
The slowest four hours of her life, at long last grew closer to an end. The pile of books on her table had thinned out, and the boxes underneath were empty. The mountain of swag pens and postcards were almost depleted, and the endless excited fans with books to be signed had dwindled to less than a dozen people left in her line. Some readers were quick with a name and a thank you for her autograph. Others took more time to engage in small talk and flattery. Gemma’s energy had long since depleted, but she had to persevere.
“Ms. Daveen, I’ve waited a long time to see you in person.” A velvety voice resonated in her ears as she held open the cover to the book.
“I’m happy to meet you as well.” Too tired to look up, she began to pen her standard greeting of, Thanks for coming out to meet me. Happy reading. “Wha
t’s your name?”
“Mom, look!” a young boy shouted. “Mom, I told you he’d be here for the football thing. Look! It’s Connor Caine.”
She snapped her head up. “Connor?” There, before her, stood the real-life image of striking brown eyes and jet-black hair with powerful shoulders encased in a brown leather jacket. “You’re here?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” He nodded toward the young lad.
“Of course.”
Connor knelt down to speak to his thin-framed fan who couldn’t have been more than ten. “Mr. Caine, you’re my all-time favorite quarterback. When I’m old enough, I wanna join a pro team just like you.”
Gemma spied on the charming interaction while she continued to sign autographs.
“What’s your name, little man?” Connor held out his hand to shake the boy’s.
“I’m Kyle. Kyle White.” The boy’s voice shot up another octave. “I told you, Mom. I said he would be in the hotel. Thank you for bringing me.” He flicked his gaze between the tall, blonde woman at his side and his real-life hero. “I got so mad when we missed the train and got here late. I didn’t get to wait in line to see you this morning because it was over.” He flashed a slight pout but then perked up again. “I waited in this room all day so she would take me downstairs to see if I could find you. Now here you are.” The boy squealed and jumped up and down. “This is awesome.”
“It’s my honor.” Connor bowed his head. “You want to play football, too?”
“Yeah, I really do. I tried out for the team at my school, but they said I’m too small.” Kyle’s bottom lip quivered. “They said maybe after I hit a growth spurt.”
“Tough break, kid, I know. But I’ll tell you, little buddy, football isn’t all about size.”
“You’re so big, though. How tall are you?”
“I’m six-foot-two. Size is the easy part. You have to work hard and practice a lot to get into the big leagues. Do you have anyone to teach you?” Connor glanced up at the blonde lady.
