End Zone: A Second Chance Romance (Bad Ballers Book 5)

by S. J. Bishop

  Sara paused. "No. Not exactly. It was more like... a pinch. And then it was over."

  "So it was fast?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Do you regret it?"

  I could hear Sara breathing heavily on the other line and wondered if I was pushing her too far. These were very personal questions. If I was gonna ask them of her, the least I could do was tell her why.

  "No," she finally said. "I was only seventeen. I wasn't ready. Why? Do you think your... friend might regret it if she got one?"

  Sara was no dope. If I didn't change the subject fast, she was gonna figure this out in about two more seconds.

  "I'm meeting Jackson tonight at Dorian's to go over his contract."

  "You are?" she squealed. "Emma! No one goes to Dorian's to discuss contract negotiations."

  "But we are," I protested.

  "Whose idea was Dorian's? Yours or his?"

  "His," I admitted.

  "Emma, he wants to nail you."

  I sighed. "I know. He kissed me."

  "Oh my God! When? Where?! I want details!"

  There was no going back now. "In the locker room at the stadium."

  "What'd you do?"

  "I slapped him."

  Sara laughed. "I guess he wasn't a very good kisser."

  "Actually, it was a great kiss. One of those long, hot, passionate ones you read about in romance novels."

  "Oh really...?"

  "Yeah. He had these soft lips. But they weren't too soft, you know what I mean? They were like... butter. Like they could just melt right into me. And his hands... He has these really solid hands. A workman's hands. With little callouses at the tips of his fingers that sort of add to his ruggedness, you know?"

  "Does he have a nice body?"

  "Oh God, yes. You should see his chest. It's like Da Vinci sculpted him from clay or something. It's hard to believe he's not Photoshopped. His skin is this deep golden color. The kind that surfers get from being in the sun all day. And he's got this scent, like ocean water and eucalyptus. It drives me crazy whenever I'm around him."

  "You got all this from a kiss?" Sara asked.

  Suddenly, I realized I'd been gushing.

  "Emma, you need to fuck this man. Tonight."

  "What? No, I can't."

  "Why not? You're obviously into him."

  "No. It's not like that."

  "Who are you trying to kid here? Me or yourself?"

  "I'm telling you it's not like that."

  "Fine. What are you wearing?"

  "A dress. A business dress."

  "Okay. What are you wearing under your business dress?"

  "Underwear."

  "What sort of underwear?"

  "Jesus, Sara. I don't know. Underwear. A bra and panties. What difference does it make?"

  "The true test of whether or not a woman wants to sleep with a man is in her underwear. If it matches, then she's good to go. If it doesn't, then the poor schmuck doesn't stand a chance."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "It's not my rule."

  "Whose rule is it, then?"

  "Cosmo’s. And they never lie."

  I laughed. "Okay, I'm going now."

  "Call me later and let me know what happens."

  "Nothing is going to happen." I hung up with her and took a deep breath. I rose from my bed and looked in the mirror. The hot pink bra I wore, trimmed with black lace, matched my hot pink thong, trimmed with the same black lace. "Be careful," I told myself. "Don't fuck this up. You'll never be able to make it right again if you do."

  10

  Jackson

  "I hope Dom Pérignon is alright with you," I said to Emma as she was sitting down. I wished she would have let me pick her up—my Porsche always got a girl's panties wet—but she was just as stubborn as her father.

  I handed her a champagne glass. Emma took it and immediately set it aside. "I prefer water," she said. "Thank you. Shall we get to business?"

  "What's the rush?" I asked. She was wearing a light gray dress with a black sweater. Not exactly the sexy little thing I'd been hoping for, but not bad either. She was trying to play it safe. But even that couldn't stop her tits from shaming every other pair in this room. Whether revealed or covered up, Emma was stacked.

  "No rush," Emma said, "except that you've been putting this off for the last week. What is it about these negotiations that makes you so nervous?"

  I scoffed. "Nervous? I'm not nervous. I'm the best goddamn quarterback in the NFL right now."

  "So why have you been avoiding me?"

  I wasn't sure what was happening here. Emma wasn't playing into my hands precisely as I'd planned. I scanned the room, trying to think, and for a second, I thought I saw Carter watching us through the flower bed lining the room's partition. I blinked and he was gone. I was probably imagining things.

  "You wanna talk?" I asked. "Let's talk. What is it you think you can say that's gonna change my mind about Florida?"

  Emma took a deep breath. "Just this..." Her lips puckered into a Cupid's bow when she smiled, and my prick hardened under the table. She really was breathtaking.

  "There's nothing to stop you from going to Florida. But remember, there's nothing for you in Florida either."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your family is all here in California, isn't that right? Your parents? Your friends? I heard that you don't even like Florida."

  I felt myself get annoyed. I didn't like haggling, especially when all I wanted to do was kiss her. "My family will understand. They know the money is important to me."

  "More important than they are?"

  "More important than football."

  Emma blanched. "What? You can't mean that!"

  "Oh yeah? Try growing up eating cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because you can't afford anything else. You get tired of Wheat Crispies real fast."

  "I don't believe you," she said, her eyes turning steely. "I call bullshit. Nothing's more important to you than football. Everyone knows that."

  "You don't get it," I told her.

  "I get it, alright. You're trying to make me look like a fool. You think if you say money is the most important thing to you then it will drive up your price."

  "You're wrong."

  "You were drafted right out of college. I've been watching you play ball for years. You throw a pass with more heart and soul than anyone I've ever seen. You're either lying to me or to yourself right now."

  I hesitated, suddenly uncertain. "Maybe you have a point," I told her. She smiled. "But it's not enough. If I'm lying to myself, then it's a lie I've been telling for a long time. I'm not about to give it up now."

  Emma looked down at the table and started playing with her spoon. I felt bad for giving her such a hard time, but there was no way I was going to take less than what Florida was offering.

  "Shit," she mumbled to herself. She grabbed the champagne and swallowed it in one gulp. "I'm blowing this, aren't I? That was the best idea I had to keep you here, and it sucked."

  Her eyes were moist, and she suddenly looked like a sad-faced angel. "Look," I said, "if I promise to think it over, will you promise to lighten up a little?"

  She nodded, pouring another glass of Dom. This one took her two swallows before it was all gone. "Another?" I asked.

  She nodded. "Yes, thanks."

  "You look nice tonight."

  "Nice?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What am I, your great aunt?"

  I laughed and she smiled at me. Her teeth gleamed in the restaurant's light and her perfect mouth transformed once more into that Cupid's bow I was coming to know so well.

  "I was just trying to keep things professional," I said, swallowing the rest of my own champagne now.

  "Sure," she said. "That's why you picked Dorian's. The fanciest restaurant in all of San Francisco. Look at these tablecloths. They're velvet, for God's sake."

  I laughed in spite of myself. "Too much?" I asked.

  She nodded. The waiter
came by, and I ordered another bottle of champagne, pleased to see Emma relaxing a little. A steady buzz began to sound in my ears, and my head grew heavier as we made our way through the second bottle. It was almost gone when the waiter came back and asked if were planning to order any food.

  "We haven't ordered yet?" Emma asked, laughing.

  "Give us a minute," I told the waiter. When he was gone, Emma and I looked over the menu together.

  "Do you see this stuff?" she asked. "Bird’s nest soup made with real bird's nest? Snails? I'm not eating snails."

  "What if I said they were good for virility?"

  "I doubt you need any help in that department, Jackson," she said, giggling. "If that kiss you gave me was anything to judge by, you must be the most virile player in the NFL."

  "Did you like that kiss? It was a little hard to tell from the way you slapped me and all."

  She giggled some more, and the sound was like music to my ears. I was getting a hard on just thinking about kissing her again, and that didn't even include all the other stuff I wanted to do to her. I swallowed the rest of my champagne and decided I'd better stop before I got too drunk to drive home.

  "I'm sorry about that slap, but you deserved it, you know."

  I shrugged and flashed my million-watt smile at her. This time, it had the reaction I had long been searching for. She smiled back. Her eyes sparkled that dazzling ocean blue. I reached across the table and stroked her hand with one finger. She stopped giggling and stared back at me. I could see the perspiration beading on her upper lip as she began to heat up. Her scent filled my nostrils. I longed to know whether she was wet between her thighs. If I reached down there now, what would I find?

  "Do you want to blow this place?" I asked. "We can go somewhere more low key. They close soon anyway."

  "I think... I think maybe I should just go home," she said.

  "Yours or mine?" I teased, disappointment rising in me.

  "Mine," she said, smiling and rising from the table. I sighed. I'd thought we were making such progress. I couldn't let her slip through my fingers, but it wasn't like I could force her to stay either. She tripped as we made our way to the door and almost slammed her head into the pavement before I caught her. The contents of her purse spilled over the ground, and the doorman rushed to pick it all up. Her hands wrapped tightly around my neck. Our bodies pressed together as I helped her up.

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  "Mmm hmm," she said.

  "Are you sure you can drive?"

  "I only had as much as you," she said.

  I cocked one eyebrow at her. Her hands were still wrapped around my neck. She either didn't notice or didn't care. "But I weigh twice as much as you."

  "So you get to drink more? That's not fair!" she pouted and fell into a spell of giggles.

  "Wow, you really are kind of a lightweight, aren't you? Maybe I should just take you home. Where do you live?"

  "Brookside."

  "Okay, no problem. You can leave your car here and get it in the morning."

  "Maybe that's a good idea," she said, finally letting go of my neck. I was sorry to lose the velvet feel of her hands against my skin. She took her purse from the doorman with a thanks.

  "This is mine over here," I said, opening the door to my Porsche for her. She slid into the seat next to mine and I started up the car.

  "Ready?" I asked.

  "And willing," she said, batting her lashes playfully. "Thanks for the ride."

  We peeled out of the parking lot and were almost to her apartment before she realized she didn't have her keys.

  "Shit!" she said, throwing her purse to the floor.

  "What?"

  "I don't have my keys!"

  "Hey, it's alright. I'm sure they're here somewhere. Did you check all your pockets?" I reached out to touch her cheek, hoping to calm her down.

  "Yes!" she snapped. "Of course I checked my pockets. I'm not stupid." She slapped my hand away harder than I would have expected, and for a second I got distracted, paying more attention to her than to where I was going. When I looked back at the road, I realized we were headed straight for a tree.

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