Superstar

by J Santiago

  Molly joined in, chuckling.

  “You know how you have to negate any declarations of love that come in the middle of or right after sex?” Amber asked suddenly.

  “Uh, sure,” Molly answered uncertainly. “Did Tank tell you he loved you in the middle of sex? Kinda cliché,” she quipped.

  “Ha! No,” Amber said.

  She stayed silent, watching Andy unsuccessfully navigate his ice cream. She reached over and grabbed the cone from him. Licking up the melting concoction from around the cone, she handed it back to him. He glanced up at her, pouting.

  “I was cleaning it up, champ.” Her explanation did nothing to appease him. Shrugging, she turned back to Molly. “He’s told me he loves me only twice.”

  Molly’s eyes widened, but Amber didn’t try to explain. She didn’t necessarily want to admit that she’d never even said those words to him.

  “Both times, we were at a crisis point. The first was in the hotel room the night he won the Heisman. The other was right before Franco came clean.” She didn’t want it to bother her, but it did.

  “I hope you aren’t asking me if I think if that man loves you.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m asking. Every time we’re close to that elusive almost happily ever after, something crazy happens. It’s like there’s some reason we shouldn’t be together. I don’t know.”

  “Three years ago, I’d have agreed with you. I think a lot of women would have accepted his apology and taken him back. I always admired you for walking away. It was the right thing for both of you.”

  Amber appreciated the vote of confidence. She still wondered sometimes, mostly when she was wrapped up in Tank’s arms, sated physically, if she’d been out of her mind to walk away.

  “He didn’t hesitate this time. Franco said Tank had called him right after he left Madison. He didn’t try to handle it alone. He didn’t try to find some way around it. He knew you were strong enough to handle it.”

  Amber had thought about that. She dissected every part of the information. Taken it apart and turned it over, looking for chinks in the armor.

  “Madison told him about the cause of the crash. And the lingering implications.”

  “What a bitch,” Molly hissed.

  Amber laughed. “That’s not what you said a couple of months ago.”

  “I know, I know. Trust me!”

  “I didn’t get the chance to tell him myself. I think, of everything, that’s what makes me the most mad.”

  “Would you have told him?”

  “Of course. I just hadn’t figured out a where and a when.”

  There was a pregnant pause between them.

  “Did I just say that?” Amber whispered.

  Molly reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s different. But, yeah, it’s hard to tell someone you love something that you know will be hard to hear.”

  “Point taken.”

  “I wasn’t making a point, Amber. There’s no comparison here. And I want you to know, I don’t expect you to just forgive your father. I just hope that you will.”

  Like in the restaurant, a rush of love and warmth stole through her. She reached out and grabbed Molly’s hand. They stayed like that for a moment, an exchange of strength and understanding. Neither one of them remarked on the rarity of these moments between them; they merely held on.

  Camp had always filled Tank with anticipation and excitement. Two weeks on the field with his future team—what more could a guy ask for? But, this year, camp meant two weeks away from Amber at a time when she actually needed him. Or maybe that was a pipe dream because Amber was truly one of the most independent people he’d ever met.

  The phone calls they’d shared during the last fourteen days were a bit stilted, short, and worrisome. He disconnected every night, swamped with thoughts of the ever-widening gap between them. He didn’t try to broach the subject of her father because he knew that was the surest way to increase the space. So, he asked about work, spoke about his work. But her disinterest about what was happening on the field made his fears greater.

  The day he’d left, Amber had come clean about her visit to Madison. He wasn’t sure what reaction she’d been hoping for, but her parting words to Madison made him sputter with laughter. Only Amber could have pulled that off. He recoiled mentally as she admitted what she’d said about his last encounter with Madison. Truth that it was, he hated that Amber knew he’d slept with Madison the night he saw her again. When he thought about the possibility of Amber being with Steele that same night, it had driven him crazy.

  On a circular loop, he thought about all of it. And, in the back of his mind, during the entirety of camp, he wondered if he would come home to an empty house.

  The thought dominated his ride home. When he pulled into his garage and saw her Audi parked in its spot, he grew dizzy with relief. He put the Maserati in park, and his head dropped to the steering wheel as he stole a moment to gather his thoughts. He had no idea what the next couple of hours would bring, and he found he was afraid to walk through the door. If she said she was leaving him, he was certain he would bar the door and find some way to keep her there until he could convince her otherwise.

  Great headline that would make.

  Finally, the suspense a ball in his gut, he stepped out from the car. His mind tripped on images of her, a scroll through their recent history. Grabbing his bag from the trunk, he manned up and opened the door. The house was quiet but not empty. He could feel her presence without seeing her. On the kitchen counter sat a bouquet of flowers, much like the ones he’d tried and failed to surprise her with that first time. They were in a vase, which made him smile. He’d never actually decided how to give them to her.

  He heard strains of music pumping through his audio system coming from the loft. As tired and beat up as his body was, he didn’t bother waiting for the elevator. Instead, he took to the stairs, two at a time, up both flights, the fastest he’d ever run indoors. He reached the top and turned to take in the room before him.

  Amber’s elbow rested on the back of the couch, her chin perched on top of it. Her head was slightly tilted, her shoulders above the back of the couch. Her hair was piled high on her head. Her scar, the lovely stretch of skin that made her who she was, was on display. He smiled as he took in her attire. Just his jersey. He wanted to rush toward her, but he leaned casually against the wall, crossing his ankles and his arms.

  “Good to see you, Sunshine,” he said, modulating his voice as best as he could. Every muscle in his body was alert. This was a homecoming he had wanted but was afraid to hope for.

  Amber smiled tenderly. “Hi,” she said sweetly. “Welcome home!”

  The panic of the last two weeks must have shown on his face because her expression changed.

  “You knew I’d be here, right?” she inquired tentatively.

  He shrugged, trying to downplay his irrational fear.

  “Right,” she whispered.

  She unfolded from the couch and sauntered toward him. His jersey reached her mid thigh, and he was fairly confident that, underneath it, she was completely bare. His blood began to rage, pulsating through his body. He was certain that she could see the pulse point on his neck vibrating with his need.

  She didn’t stop until she was pancaked against him. Her hands clutched his and she pulled them away from his chest. She wrapped them around her and then draped hers around his neck. She got as close to him as humanly possible.

  “I missed you,” she said clearly. “And you don’t ever need to doubt me being here.” She leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips.

  Like a matchstick touching a fuse, his control snapped. He wasn’t sure what kind of kiss she’d envisioned, but he took control, delivering a bruising one. A tsunami of feelings whipped around them—his hopes, her fears, his worry, her disappointments. They were exchanged in a furious meeting of lips, tongues, and teeth. It was a claiming, a possession.

  He picked her up without releasing her mouth and t
urned her pushing her up against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she pushed into him, rubbing her bare, wet heat against his raging erection. His need was a tangible presence and he thrust, moving his jean-clad length along her seam. His left hand snaked around her, so he could hold her in place as he freed his right hand to unbuckle and unzip his pants.

  “Please,” Amber gasped next to his mouth. “I need you.” She bit gently on his bottom lip. “Hurry,” she groaned.

  There was nothing soft or gentle, nothing cautious or questioning when he released his dick and slid into the warmth of her body. The capitulation and acceptance he’d been craving for years overwhelmed him. He could feel it in every line of her body, in every word she whispered, every touch she ventured. He moved in and out of her in uncoordinated, frenzied motions. But even in his mindless need he knew the tells of her body—the exaggerated inhalation of air, the quickening of her muscles clamping down on him, the lust-filled look in her eyes. He wanted more than just her body in that moment. He reached for her hands with one of his and pinned them above her head.

  “Look at me,” he demanded as he held her body of the precipice of an orgasm.

  Her languid brown eyes were an essay of emotions he could easily read.

  “God, I love you,” he whispered, the tide of his emotions too much for him. He slammed back into her, just where she needed him, the murmurings of her words lost as they both went over the edge.

  Night had come at some point. A time between kisses and talking, during caresses and traded secrets. They’d relocated to their room, and they lay in bed, limbs entwined, draped with sweat-dampened sheets. Tank’s hand flitted leisurely up and down the line of Amber’s spine, and her thumb swept unthinkingly along his beard-shadowed jaw. They’d talked in bits and spurts, sharing things they’d kept hidden away over the last two weeks, unimportant tidbits that meant nothing and everything. It wasn’t until the moon was high and every other topic had been exhausted that Tank thought to ask about Franco.

  Amber’s thumb stopped its stroking, but otherwise, she banked her reaction to his question. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him,” she explained. “I’m not sure when I’ll be ready, but I think it will be like a lightning strike. Suddenly, one day, I’m going to wake up, and I’m going to need to talk to my dad. But, until then, until I feel that unmistakable draw, I’m going to wait.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, and Tank let her have the time.

  “I did talk to Nona. She didn’t fill in any blanks or make anything different. She only told me what I already knew.”

  “What’s that?” Tank inquired.

  He absorbed her shrug.

  “That he loves me, that I couldn’t be any more his daughter than I am. That he would never intentionally hurt me. And, I mean, I already knew all that.”

  “True,” Tank said.

  He wanted to push her in Franco’s direction, but he knew her too well to do that. She’d get there when she was ready and not a moment before.

  “What’s your superpower?” she asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Haven’t you ever gotten that question in an interview? If you could have one superpower, what would it be?”

  “Ah,” he said, getting it. “Teleportation.”

  “Ooh, that’s a good one.” Her hand paused in its ministrations. “I’d always said speed. And then, for a while, after the accident, it was invisibility. For obvious reasons.”

  Tank couldn’t help it when he hugged her close for support.

  “I’d never once wanted to be able to survive fatal car accidents.” This time, it was a whisper.

  He didn’t have any response to that, nor did he think he could come up with something if he’d had time to prepare for it.

  She squirmed against him, and he wondered what she was working herself up to.

  “We need to talk about Madison. And Steele.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Steele,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to talk about Madison either.”

  Tank chuckled, and she pinched him in retaliation.

  He yelped. “What was that for?”

  “We do need to talk about her and the baby.”

  “No, we don’t. Madison agreed to a paternity test.” He rolled over, taking her with him so that he rested above her, his weight supported by his elbows. “Right before camp, I submitted a blood sample for a noninvasive prenatal paternity test. It’s ninety-nine-point-nine percent accurate. I’m not the father.”

  “Oh,” Amber responded.

  He pushed up, so he could get a better read on her face. What he saw confused him. “I thought you’d be happy,” he stated, perplexed.

  She smiled tentatively. “I am.”

  “Then, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Her eyes locked on the ceiling—to gather her thoughts, he presumed. He gave her a moment, but when she didn’t look at him again and didn’t say anything, he pushed up onto his knees. He flipped over and leaned against the plush fabric headboard. Reaching for her, he scooped Amber up and set her on his lap, so she was straddling him. His fingers gently took her chin and tilted her head up, so she had no escape.

  “Talk to me,” he pleaded.

  “You know everything Madison told you is true.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “The cause of the crash?” she said, questioning him.

  He nodded.

  “I mean…there’s no guarantee I can get pregnant. I might not ever be able to have your children.”

  “I know.”

  “Since we met, I’ve been trying to tell you that I’m a bad bet.”

  Everything in him screamed at him to handle the situation correctly. But his heart began to beat rapidly, panic rising. He did not want to fuck this up. “I did some research,” he began.

  She smirked. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a grin as his heart rate started to regulate. “There’s no guarantee that you can’t get pregnant either. Our odds, they’re stacked against us a little more than the average couple. But there have been so many advances in helping women get pregnant.”

  “So, you’re willing to risk it?”

  He smiled softly. “I’d risk anything for you.”

  “Anything?” she said on a wobbly breath.

  “My career, my money, anything. And you’re taking a risk, too. How do you think I feel? I hate that, every time we figure things out, something happens. I always manage to mess up your life.”

  Amber pushed in closer to him, as if his corporal body could absorb hers, like there was a better way to merge their lives.

  She took a deep breath. “Always with the ego,” she said, her face buried against his neck so that he felt the words rather than heard them.

  Tank stiffened against her. Then, he felt her shake, like her tears took over. Tank shifted, uncomfortable. He’d said the wrong thing again. Then, he noticed the difference. Her smile curved against the line of his Adam’s apple. He gently pushed her away from him. Her mouth was indeed smiling, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. He smiled back, so happy to see that look on her face, to hear the laughter spewing from her mouth.

  “Oh, you got jokes?” he said, teasing her with a nip against her mouth.

  “Well, the world does revolve around the great Tank Howard.”

  “Really?” he asked as he flipped her onto her back. He shoved his mouth against her scar, nipping and kissing, rubbing his scruff-covered jaw against her, making her squeal and writhe. “That’s what you think?”

  “I mean,” she said between giggles, “I’m in the presence—”

  “You’d better watch it,” he warned, digging his fingers into her most ticklish spot.

  “Of greatness,” she managed to eek out between her shrieks of laughter.

  He laughed with her until this one second when she was stretched out underneath him, her hair a dark halo around her face, her body lined up with h
is. Tank watched, reveled in the feel of her, the joy she brought him. He stopped laughing and took it all in. It was a moment before she noticed.

  She calmed and reached up, her hand flat against his cheek. “What?” she asked.

  “I love you,” he said simply.

  She smiled. “I know,” she answered. “I love you, too.”

  Monday—after the Super Bowl

  The sun shone unabashedly through the windows of the suite because they’d forgotten to pull the blackout shade the night before. They might have considered it, but with the lights of the city reflecting off the bay, they’d opted for the view. The backdrop it provided for the Super Bowl victory celebration was too perfect.

  “Sunshine,” Tank whispered, nudging her on her side, “it’s time to get up. Daylight in the swamps. Literally.”

  Amber rolled over, hair a mess, with the remnants of her makeup leaving telltale marks under her eyes. Even like that, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “Ugh, I’m not ready.” Then, she turned and buried her head under the pillow.

  Tank pulled it off of her and gently hit her with it. “Let’s go. We’ve got a bet to settle.”

  Amber instantly perked up, her smile mischievous, as she sat up, cross-legged. His jersey hung precariously off of one of her shoulders. She looked sexy as hell, and he suppressed his desire to tackle her back onto the bed. They had things they had to do today. And he had people waiting for them.

  “Shouldn’t Super Bowl Champs and MVPs get to sleep in?” she complained.

  “You’re kind of cute when you’re tired,” he teased. He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss because he couldn’t resist. But he cut himself off. If he took too much, he’d have to satisfy his craving, like an addict. His fists dropped to the bed, so he was braced right in front of her. “Seems to me like someone is trying to weasel out of the settling up.”

  “I’ve been telling you for weeks that I’ve got this.”

  “Then, get in the shower.”

  Amber rolled her eyes but complied. Moving off the bed, she sauntered toward the bathroom, a little extra shake in the hip. He held back a laugh. When she got to the door, she looked back over her shoulder, no doubt making sure he was watching. Then, she whipped his jersey over her head and dropped it on the floor next to her feet. She stood, framed by the doorway, his living fantasy.