by Cassie James
I’m ready to fucking break.
I’ve been waiting two long years for a chance to sink my teeth into that delicious ass of hers. Another day just feels like a torture I’m not prepared to face.
Behind me, the sliding glass door opens and noise comes spilling out of the house. Over everything else, I hear the faint sound of Gemma’s laughter, and my gut twists painfully. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard her laugh so freely.
Declan sidles up next to me by the porch railing. His muscles tense as he stares out over the backyard, hands clasped as he seems to work up the nerve to say something.
“Spit it out,” I tell him with a sigh.
He still takes his sweet time before he speaks. “This team is like a family. We built a program out of nothing together. How many guys get to say that? I feel lucky every day that I signed with the Storms.”
“You’re a damn fine utility player, Dec.”
Just as happy to play forward or back, Declan’s the kind of guy anyone would kill to have on their team. Not fussy in the slightest, and comfortable anywhere on the field you need to put him. He nearly joined a team in the Midwest, so we were lucky as hell to sweet talk him out of that shit.
“It’s not enough, though, is it?” I turn my head to study him. If he’s about to quit on us, I’ll toss his ass out into the yard. “Hard to feel really fulfilled when you’re going home alone every night.”
Well, hell. I certainly didn’t expect Declan to be the first to break.
“That rule we made…” The one where we agreed not to go after Gemma because she was too perfect, too important, too taken. “Things have changed, haven’t they?”
“They sure as hell have,” I agree with no hesitation.
She might still be the most important person the team’s got, but she’s not taken anymore. And even losing just one thing off the trifecta of don’t touch seems to have unbalanced everything. It’s unleashed long buried feelings in all the guys.
We need a new rule.
Something that could somehow make it where everyone wins.
I’ve got an idea, but I’m not sure everyone’s going to like it. The thing is, it’s pretty much all or nothing at this point. If we don’t do something and fast, the odds are pretty fucking good that some other guy is going to come swooping in and steal our one chance.
I’m about to captain the fuck out of this shit.
“I gotta go talk to Ryan,” I tell Dec, excusing myself.
I step back into the house, leaving a wide distance between myself and Gemma so that I don’t wind up distracted by the wait she lets her head drop back with another laugh, exposing the smooth skin of her neck, begging my eyes to keep trailing down, down, down…
Fuck.
Why does she have to be so goddamn gorgeous? In the worst way, too, because she really has no idea. She throws her hair up all sloppy and shows up to work with no make-up, and still I’m fighting constant hard ons for her.
I force my mind back to my mission and find Ryan in the kitchen pouring himself a drink.
“What’s up?” he asks without bothering to look up.
“Let me ask you something.”
Ryan puts down the whiskey he was pouring and gives me his full attention, a serious expression on his face. “Is it about Gemma?”
“Isn’t it always?”
He barks out an uncharacteristic laugh. “Sure feels that way. We’ve been dancing around it forever, huh?”
“I’m ready to stop dancing.”
The laugh dies off into a sharp silence. His eyes narrow slightly, just enough to let me know I’ve said something he really doesn’t like. It only takes me a split second to realize he thinks I’m saying I’m going to go for Gemma all on my own.
“Aren’t you?” I prompt, not wanting to say the words, but still wanting him to know I don’t think this is just about me.
Ryan contemplates my question.
It’s the reason I chose him to seek out. He’s not a rash decision maker, he’s the kind of guy who thinks things through. And while I’m sure he’s thought about this as much as any of us have, he’s still going to take his time answering me because he’s not going to take a risk until he’s pretty sure the outcome would be worth it.
I recognize the cloudy look his eyes take on. I clear my throat to keep him from getting lost in a fucking daydream.
“Yeah,” he answers me, his voice cracking a little. “I want so badly to…” he cuts himself off to tell me, “I would never want to hurt the team.”
“Me neither.”
It’s the only reason I didn’t snatch Gemma up and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her the second she was single.
Ryan gives me an encouraging nod, trusting me as his captain to do the right thing. I’m just hoping like hell what I’ve got in mind doesn’t end up blowing up in my face. The idea that’s been developing isn’t exactly an easy sell.
But it’s the only option any of us have got.
“Cyrus?” a soft voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn to see Gemma lingering in the doorway. She smiles easily at me, no idea the wrecking ball I’m thinking of unleashing into her relatively quiet life.
“You have to go already?” I ask, not bothering to hide my disappointment. She was the first to leave last year, too, desperate not to leave her father alone for the holidays. She’s got a good heart, wanting to keep him company even though I know he always tries to insist that she spend the time with friends and the team.
“Yeah, you know if I’m even a minute late Dad’ll start eating without me.” She pulls a face, but I know she’s only teasing.
Her dad’s a great guy. The first time I met him, I told him I liked his New York Giants shirt, and three days later he sent Gemma in to work with the same shirt in my size. Plus, he raised Gemma, so that’s one hell of a reason to respect the man.
“I’ll walk you out.”
Her eyebrows dip down as she stares at me. If she wonders why I’m suddenly being such a gentleman, she doesn’t ask. I’m not sure if I want her to either. I don’t know that I’ve got all the words straight just yet.
I put my hand on the small of her back as we move past the guys toward the front door. They’ll all be filtering out soon, too, some of them going home to their families for dinner. Some of them just content to go back to their own places and enjoy the peace of this day off.
Gemma pauses at the door, glancing at me again like she’s waiting for me to say something.
She’s going to have to wait a little longer.
I let go of her so I can open the door. When I lose the touch of her warmth, my whole body seems to run cold.
“Thanks for hosting,” she tells me with a formalness that almost makes me laugh aloud. I’ve really put her on edge already.
And I’m just getting started.
“You want to meet at Midtown tonight?”
Her eyes flicker behind me where the rest of the team is probably wondering what the hell is going on. I’m standing close enough to Gemma to see the rise and fall of her chest as she wrings her hands together nervously.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” she says as if I would have somehow forgotten.
“You’ll do dinner with your dad, right? But you can come out after that.”
I don’t want to leave her any room to disagree. This invitation, I don’t consider it optional, and I hope that’s coming across because if she says no I might just throw her over my shoulder and keep her here forever just to make sure she can never deny me again.
After a long pause she answers, “Okay, yeah. See you guys there.”
I don’t correct her.
With a final wave, she darts out of the door. I don’t take it personally that she can’t seem to get out the door fast enough. I just threw her a curveball, and whether she knows it or not, I’m sure she’s feeling the tension in the air.
The warning that things are about to change.
I’m so unbelievably fucking r
eady.
I watch to make sure she makes it safely into her car and out onto the road before I close the door against the cool fall air. I still have one thing left to do… Talk to the team.
“Gather ‘round, guys. We need to have a little chat.”
Conversation falls silent as eyes turn to me. Slowly, they all gather around, their faces plainly showing their uncertainty.
I’m about to change everything.
Seven
Gemma
“There’s my girl.” Instead of letting me make it into the house first, Dad wraps his arms around me right there in the doorway, nearly squishing the disposable pan in my hands in the process. “Just you today?”
He not-so-discreetly peers out the door as if he’s expecting someone else to materialize.
It takes me a second before I remember that weeks ago he’d encouraged me to invite Colin for Thanksgiving. At the time, we hadn’t broken up yet, so I’d said yes to keep from having to admit how bad things had gotten.
Now, I can’t put off telling him any longer.
“He’s not coming.”
A look of relief crosses his face before he quickly hides it. “Ah, that’s a shame. Work on a holiday, huh?”
A very awkward moment of silence passes before I force myself to answer, “Colin’s not coming because we broke up.”
He doesn’t say anything at first
“Well, that’s a hell of a relief.”
“Dad!”
He winces, but still holds his ground. “The last time you managed to wrangle him into coming for dinner, he started dropping hints that he was thinking marriage. And I just kept picturing you ending up one of those women on Snapped years down the road when you got tired of being talked down to.”
“You think he talked down to me?”
He gives me a look like I should already know the answer to that.
I shake off my discomfort—Colin’s not my problem anymore—and cheerfully wiggle my pan instead. “Ready to eat?”
Dad leans back and loosens his belt, giving himself a little breathing room after tossing back what had to have been at least six servings worth of dinner.
“Alright, kid. How about a movie? Slapshot? That one still your favorite?”
I nibble my bottom lip, really considering his offer. It would be nice to spend some time relaxing with Dad, but then again Cyrus would kick my ass if I stood the team up tonight.
“Raincheck?” I ask. “I’m supposed to meet the guys at Midtown.”
“You spend a lot of time with those guys. You ever think about dating one of ‘em?” The question is so far out of left-field I nearly trip over my own feet in surprise—even though I’m sitting down.
“What!”
“They’re a good looking group, right? And they must treat you well if you keep hanging out with them.” He shrugs. “Just thought that now you don’t have a fella in the picture anymore… Well don’t mind me, I’m just an old man. What do I know about dating anymore? Maybe you could get yourself one of those apps that date for you.”
I don’t even want to begin to explain everything wrong with what he just said. Instead, I plaster a smile on my face and nod as if him suggesting I date one of the guys on the team doesn’t make my whole body heat with embarrassment.
“Love you, Daddy,” I tell him before I go.
He winks and tells me, “I love you, too.”
The drive to Midtown takes almost twice as long as it should. It’s flanked on both sides by shops, so it’s not super surprising that Black Friday traffic is bad over here, too. I’m shocked as hell when I pull into the Midtown parking lot to find the place nearly empty. Sure, it’s a holiday, but I thought the guys would beat me here.
Maybe I’m early.
I climb out of my car and head for the door, my eyes still glancing back as if a rush of the players’ cars is suddenly going to come rolling up. In theory, that’s exactly what I’m expecting.
There’s Christmas music playing softly in the bar when I pull the door open.
I blink back confusion as my eyes land automatically on Cyrus. That’s not the confusing part, though, the confusing part is that he’s alone. I can’t remember the last time I saw Cyrus without at least half the team surrounding him.
He looks completely unbothered to be sitting alone in a booth at Midtown on Thanksgiving.
Like he planned it.
What the hell?
My feet feel like lead as I cross the floor towards him. I’ve always enjoyed hanging out with Cyrus… and the team. I’ve never just hung out alone with him. And because I’m apparently a total masochist, my mind wanders back to him standing shirtless in my office after a workout.
The last thing I need is to be alone in a bar with this man.
Still, his eyes are steady on me as I move towards him. I can’t very well turn and run after he’s seen me. He could make my life with the team hell if he wanted to.
I watched him do it our first year. One of the original players was a disrespectful shit—and Cyrus went out of his way to make the guy miserable until he broke contract and quit altogether. Cyrus doesn’t fuck around. Not when it comes to the team.
“Where is everyone?”
He stares up at me with a lazy grin. “My company not good enough for you?”
I shift from foot to foot until he raises an eyebrow, his eyes dropping down to watch the way I shuffle uneasily on my feet. I force my body to still.
“I thought this was a team thing.”
“Just sit down, Gemma.”
I hate being told what to do. He knows it, too. I cross my arms over my chest and do my best to ignore the way Cyrus’ eyes dip to my tits for a second longer than is polite. As if he should be staring at my chest at all.
He’s being weird. He was being weird earlier, too.
His eyes give me a long once-over that I swear I can feel right through my clothes. I’m only wearing jeans and a sweater, but I swear the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m dressed in something way sexier than anything I actually own. Well, except for the red dress.
“What’s going on, Cyrus?” I’m suddenly nervous that maybe he’s asked me here alone to reprimand me for something. Technically, he’s not in charge of me, but Cyrus is the heart of the team. If something is wrong, it’s completely feasible that Marty might have asked him to…
“You look good with your hair down. You should wear it like that more often.”
My anxious brain comes to a screeching halt.
I self-consciously push some of my hair behind my ear. I don’t wear my hair down often because it’s just easier to throw it up—especially considering it would just get in my way at work. I could cut it I guess, but I’ve always loved my long hair even though I don’t do much with it.
“I need something from you,” Cyrus abruptly answers my question from before.
I let my shoulders relax a little. Now this makes more sense. He’s buttering me up because he’s going to ask for a favor. I can handle that.
I ease into the seat across from him just as one of the usual waitresses pops by.
“Oh!” she squeaks in surprise as she gets close enough to recognize the two of us. “Where’s the rest of the team?”
I shoot Cyrus a smug look. See? I’m not the only one that thinks this is weird.
“Just us tonight,” he answers her in a rough voice that doesn’t encourage any more questions.
It doesn’t do any good. The woman—Shelly, I remind myself—is staring at us like we’re the cover of a gossip magazine in the grocery checkout lane. I’m half-tempted to remind her this isn’t a reality TV show come to life in front of her.
“Do the other guys know you’re here?”
Cyrus snaps, “Can you mind your own damn business, please?”
My lips tug down into a look that’s not at all pleased. Cyrus might be bossy but he’s not usually rude. Especially not to people here, where we spend so much of our free time as a team. His eyes
catch mine, and he winces, turning back to the waitress.
“Sorry.”
It’s not the greatest apology I’ve ever heard, but it seems to do the trick for Shelly. She grins like we’ve now somehow won her approval despite being here solo.
“Can I get y’all something to drink?”
Cyrus orders both of us beers, then seems to think twice before changing our order to a beer bucket. I raise my eyebrows. I drove here, and I can’t imagine I’ll have much chance of finding an Uber home on a holiday if we start drinking for real.
Shelly flounces off to grab the ice bucket full of beer for us. My lips part the second she’s out of earshot.
“I shouldn’t have been rude,” Cyrus says before I can get a word out.
I raise my hands in surrender as if I hadn’t been planning to chastise him over exactly that. Team freaking mommy. “So what’s this favor you need?”
He looks away and rubs his jaw like he’s thinking. It only takes me a moment to realize he doesn’t have anything prepared. He doesn’t actually have a favor to ask, he was only trying to get my ass in the seat.
Dammit, I hate that I bent so easily to his will. I like to at least pretend to put up a fight most days.
Still, I’m curious what on earth would compel him to invite me here alone. That’s reason enough for me to stay planted.
“You still hear from your ex?” he asks finally, not giving me anything even remotely close to an attempt to stick to his lie.
But the change in subject nearly gives me whiplash.
“He texts sometimes.” Cyrus’ face darkens until I add, “But I don’t bother answering. We don’t have anything left to talk about, as far as I’m concerned.”
If Colin wanted to talk, he should have put the time in when there was still something between us left fighting for.
“Some men are too dumb to realize what they have.”
I duck my head to turn my eyes away from his intense stare.
“You ever think of the guys on the team that way?”
My gaze snaps back to his. “What way?”
“Like there’s something there.”
