We chat for a few minutes about what he’s been doing in Argentina, how his Spanish is improving, and how long he’s planning to stay. He tells me that he might be coming back to Springville at some point this summer for a couple of weeks, but that he’s expecting me to continue staying in the guest room while he’s there. “You have a room there for as long as you want it, sweetheart,” he tells me. “You know your mama’s like a sister to me, so you’re basically my niece.”
“Thank you, Franklin,” I say sincerely. “I really love it here. And you’re saving my financial life.” Then I remember he’ll want to know about the condo next door. “Oh! By the way, here’s something interesting. Someone moved in next door.”
“Lovely!” Franklin crows. “Have you met them yet?”
“Yeesss…” I try to think of what to tell him that won’t include all the embarrassing encounters we’ve already had. “His name is Knox something or other. Harper, I think.”
“A single man?” Franklin’s eyebrows go up suggestively. “Interesting. Your dating pool or mine?”
I laugh. “I’m guessing mine. But who knows?” Even as I say it, though, my face begins to flush, and I hope Franklin doesn’t see it. “Oh, and he’s a southerner, like you.”
“Oh, lovely. A southern gentleman.”
I laugh. “He’s hardly a gentleman,” I say. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Well, tell me more about him.” He leans forward toward the screen. “Handsome? Young? Old?”
“Um…” My face flushes even hotter. “Maybe about my age, or a little older? Mid- to late-twenties. And yeah, he’s… good looking…”
Franklin’s hands come up and fold into a steeple under his chin. “Oh? Do tell!”
“I mean…” I falter. “Nothing. He’s good looking, is all. Um, he’s blond, darkish blue eyes. Very muscular…”
“Yum. What does he do? Did you ask him?”
“I don’t know, actually. Our first conversation was a little… brief.”
“Well,” Franklin grins impishly. “If he’s single, maybe this will be the beginning of a beautiful something between the two of you.”
I snort. “I doubt that. He’s kind of full of himself.”
“Well, if he’s as handsome as you say he is,” Franklin points out, “he probably has good reason to be.”
Sadly, he’s probably right.
A voice from off-screen makes Franklin turn his head. “Oh, that’ll be Juan Carlos coming back from the market. I’m gonna let you go, hon.”
“Okay, sounds good,” I nod. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“One more thing before I go,” Franklin says, smiling at me. “Don’t tell your mother I’m giving you such slutty advice, but if the new neighbor is single and handsome, and straight, you should just go for it. Live a little, honey. And if he isn’t straight,” he continues with a wink, “tell me right away.”
“Franklin. I’m shocked!” I tease. “Aren’t you in a serious relationship?”
“Well, yes, of course,” he concedes. “But one must always keep one’s options open, mustn’t one?”
6
Knox
I show up early for my first official day of the off-season. I want to give myself some time to meet my teammates, get all my equipment, and reintroduce myself to the coaches I met when I first signed on to the team.
Today, the first thing on the schedule is a weight-lifting session, then a team meeting, then an offense meeting. I spend a few minutes talking with the head coach, Phil Porter, in his office before practice. Then he has the offensive coordinator, whose name is Bruce Smith, take me to meet the quarterback, Jake Ryland.
I’ve met Jake off the field once before, actually, back last spring. We find him in the locker room suiting up. He immediately stands and puts his hand out for a firm handshake.
“Hey, man, good to see you. Good to have you on the team,” he greets me.
“Good to see you, too,” I nod. “I’m fired up, ready to get going.”
“All right, then. See you out there!” Jake claps me on the back and heads out of the locker room.
As I get ready, I dig through the pile of practice equipment that the equipment manager, Corey, gave me. I pick up one of my practice jerseys, feeling the little rush I always do when I see my last name on the back. Below it is my number: 89. I requested it specifically, to honor my buddy Chris. I didn’t tell him I was choosing this number — the one he wore all through high school, when we played together for the Southwest Raiders. I don’t know if he’ll notice it, or figure out why, and I’ll never bring it up. I wouldn’t know how to say it, really, without bringing up shit that neither of us really wants to talk about.
Shaking my head a little to clear the bad memories, I put the jersey back down, then get dressed for weight lifting.
The day passes quickly, with all the different meetings and shit. I meet Zach, the center, and Reed, Rory, Davis, Westy, Omar, Travis, and a bunch of the other offensive line. There’s the typical good-natured bantering back and forth in the weight room and between meetings, and it seems like everyone gets along pretty well. Most of the guys seem pretty chill.
By the end of the day, I’m tired but happy. I’m feeling pretty good about the move to the Rockets, and I’m hoping the offensive line is one I can work well with and make a contribution to. A couple of the guys suggest grabbing a drink, and I agree and meet them downtown at a bar Zach suggests called Ziggy’s. It must be a place they go pretty often, because the bartenders and wait staff don’t seem super star struck when we walk in. One thing about being an NFL player, it can get pretty claustrophobic not being able to go anywhere without being noticed — although here in Springville, I’ve been pretty incognito so far, since I haven’t been in town long enough to be a familiar face or a household name.
We order a round of drinks, and as we wait for the waitress to bring them, the guys ask me where I’m living and how I’m liking Springville so far.
“It’s good,” I say. “I’ve only been here a couple days, though. This is the first chance I’ve had to really do anything other than unpack.”
“Yeah, we’ll take care of that,” Omar laughs, and high fives me. “We are gonna take you out, man.” He looks around at the crowded bar. “And you are gonna discover that Springville has some fine ladies, and they are all sorts of excited to spend time with a Rocket. You are gonna have your pick of the female population, my man.”
“Well, after I’m done with them,” Zach interjects with a laugh. It’s supposed to be a joke, of course, but there’s a glint of a challenge in his eyes that tells me his competitive streak continues off the field.
Jake rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Johnson. Dial it back, and leave some tail for the other guys.”
I grin. “I’m pretty sure I can hold my own.”
Jake takes a swig of his beer and puts it down. “You on or off the market?”
“On,” I reply. “Hey, I just got to town, right? I haven’t had time to meet anyone. And in any case, I’m not much for relationships. The last one I had was a couple of years ago. She kept trying to pressure me for a ring. I told her the only one she was likely to see from me would be a Super Bowl ring, and I’d be the one wearing it.”
Zach nods in approval and gives me a fist bump. “My man. Jake over here used to be my wing man, but he’s taken himself out of commission. A woman finally roped him.”
Jake snorts. “Your wing man? Dream on, motherfucker. And Rinn hardly roped me. Shit, if anything I was the one doing the roping.”
They argue about who was whose wingman for a couple of minutes while the other guys laugh and trade insults. Just like with guys anywhere, the argument never gets resolved, and only stops when they get bored with giving each other shit.
“So,” I ask eventually. “Is Jake the only one of you with a serious girlfriend?”
“Well, Travis has a wife, but they’ve been married forever,” Omar says. “And actually, I got a girl back hom
e in Chicago, but I dunno, man. She hates football. Hates that I play it, hates to watch it, hates that it takes me away from her. I don’t think it’s gonna end up working out.”
“Yeah,” Westy nods sagely. “I know that. Football is life, man. It ain’t gonna work with a woman if she’s not down for that life.”
The other guys nod and murmur their approval. Zach raises his bottle. “To the life, man. To football.”
We raise ours, too, and as I drink, I think to myself how right he is. Football is my life. I love it like nothing else, and for better or for worse, it’s what I’ve chosen. And right now, it feels pretty damn good.
I get back to my place a little after one in the morning. I’m already starting to feel a little sore after today’s workout, and I know I’m gonna be stiff tomorrow, but that’s the way it goes. Once I’m inside, I go to the kitchen and swig a couple big glasses of water to hydrate myself after the beer. Then I head into the bedroom, pull my shirt off over my head, and kick off my shoes.
I’m just unbuttoning my jeans when I hear a high-pitched scream coming from Ivy’s apartment.
I hesitate for just a second, then bolt out of my room and race through the living room to the balcony. I fling open the door and rush over to hers, trying to peer through the windows to see what’s going on, but there’s no one in the living room. I start to pound on the door with my fist, yelling Ivy’s name, and try the handle, but it’s locked. I don’t have shoes on or a shirt, so I’m trying to figure out whether I should kick the door in or break the glass when the dark shadow of Ivy’s form comes running down the hall toward me.
She opens the door in a short, dark pink spaghetti strap nightie. Her hair is messy like she just got out of bed, and her eyes are wide and frightened. “Oh my God, Knox! There’s a bat in my room!” she says in a panicked voice.
I almost laugh, I’m so relieved. But I don’t, because I can see she’s legit terrified right now. My muscles relax, and I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Okay,” I say soberly. “Don’t worry. I can take care of that for you.”
She steps aside to let me in. “It’s still in the bedroom,” she tells me, cringing. “Zeus is in there, too. He’s no help at all.”
As soon as she mentions Zeus, I realize the bat might be a slightly worse problem than I thought. “Is Zeus up to date on all his shots?” I ask her.
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Yes, I’m sure he is. He’s got his tags on his collar, so I can check afterwards, but Franklin is super organized. I can’t imagine he’d let Zeus’s shots lapse.”
I frown, then remember the names on her mailbox. “Who’s Franklin?” I ask.
“Oh,” she says again, and laughs. “That’s right. You don’t know. Franklin is Zeus’s owner. I’m just dog sitting here. Franklin owns the condo.”
Huh. That explains it. A weird wave of relief washes over me at the news that this Franklin guy isn’t her boyfriend. I wonder how long she’s dog sitting for. Then the relief turns into a prick of disappointment at the thought that she might not be here much longer. I kind of enjoy teasing her and rescuing her from bats.
“Okay,” I say, turning my attention to the task at hand. “I need a broom.” Before Ivy can say anything, I stride into the kitchen and grab the one I used to clean up the broken glass from the closet. She follows me, and when I turn back to her she’s blushing a little, like she’s thinking about that day, too.
“Zeus!” I call. “Cm’ere, boy!” I whistle softly, and in a second I hear the heavy thuds of his footsteps coming down the hall. When he comes into the kitchen I give him a pet on the head. “Good boy. You stay here with Miss Ivy, okay?”
Zeus looks up at me and gives me a slobbery grin.
I take the broom down the hall until I find a room with a disheveled bed that must be Ivy’s. I take just a second to imagine her in it, sleeping, the sheets warm and smelling like her. Then my dick starts to get hard, so I shake myself out of it and get to work. Closing the door, I turn on the light and immediately see the bat flying around dizzily up near the ceiling. I go over to the windows and open them, taking out the screens and setting them underneath the sill. Then I go and stand in the corner opposite the windows, and wait for a couple of minutes to see if the bat will fly out on its own. It flies around the room, trying to orient itself, and then it must sense the fresh air coming from the windows, because it zigs in that direction and suddenly zips out into the night.
I replace the screens and shut the windows, then open the door and go back down the hallway. Ivy’s sitting on the couch in the living room now, knees drawn up to her chest, with Zeus planted beside her on the floor. “Did you get him?” she whispers with wide eyes.
“Yep,” I grin. “Didn’t even need to use the broom.” I go to the couch and sit down beside her. “You okay?”
Yeah,” she nods slowly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re getting better at thanking me all the time,” I grin, giving her a wink.
She looks a little sheepish. “I feel kind of dumb that I keep doing things I end up needing your help with.” She glances toward her room. “I feel like such a girl. I should have been able to do that myself. But,” she shivers. “Yeesh. That was so gross.”
“You look like you were in bed when it happened,” I remark, trying to keep my voice neutral. Now that the crisis has passed, it’s a little harder to ignore that I’m sitting next to a hot-as-hell woman who’s got nothing on but a flimsy cotton nighty.
Luckily, Ivy doesn’t seem to notice anything. “Yeah. I was almost asleep,” she says, shuddering at the memory. “And then I felt something brush against my cheek. I thought maybe it was my hair, or something, so I reached up to push it away, and then that thing —“ she shudders again. “Ugh, that gross thing was flying past and I touched it with my hand.” Her face is twisted up in a horrified grimace, like she’s just touched a dead body or something. “God, ew! How am I ever going to sleep in that room again?”
I laugh. “You’re freaked out now, but that’ll pass.” I remember something then. “Hey, did you check on Zeus’s shots?”
“Oh! No, not yet.” She leans down and twists his collar around so the tags are on top, as I try not to look down her nightie. “The tag has this year on it,” she breathes in a relieved voice. “He’s good. I’m guessing he didn’t get bitten, but even so.”
I nod. “You feeling better now?”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Yes. But…” She hesitates. “Could you stay here for a couple of minutes, until I calm down a little bit?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she seems to regret it. “I mean, you don’t have to,” she adds hastily. “I know it’s late, and you…” she reddens slightly. “You look like you were maybe in bed, too.”
I glance down at my bare chest, and realize she’s trying not to look at it. A bell goes off in my head.
Bingo.
“I can stay,” I say casually.
7
Ivy
Knox leans back against the couch, his shirtless pecs flexing distractingly as he stretches his arms along the back. I try as hard as I can to keep my eyes on his face, but it’s a huge effort.
“I wasn’t asleep, actually,” he tells me. “I just got home from grabbing a few beers with my teammates after practice.”
“Teammates?” I repeat. “Are you on a sports team or something?” I figure he means like an after-work intramural baseball league or something. It makes sense, since he’s obviously in amazing shape.
His eyes twinkle with laughter. “You could say that. I’m the new starting speed wide receiver for the Springville Rockets.”
“You…” I sputter. “You play football? Like, pro football?”
He smirks. “I ain’t the water boy, cupcake.”
Holy cow. I don’t really follow football — like, at all — but still. He’s a freaking professional NFL player. And a starter. Which means he’s good. Really good.
“H
ow did I not know this?” I say, stunned.
Laughter erupts from him, a low, sexy rumble in his chest that makes my stomach feel all fluttery. “Well, we weren’t exactly chatting over coffee the first time we met. And if you remember, you weren’t very neighborly to me.” He taps his chin like he’s trying to remember something. “I believe your exact words were… ‘go to hell.’”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but I just can’t. As pissed off as I was when he saw me naked from the balcony, in all fairness he didn’t exactly try to. And in a way, it was sort of my fault for walking around in the buff in the first place — even though as far as I knew, the place next door was still vacant. And besides, except for that, really, he’s been pretty nice, as much as I hate to admit it. Even when he barged into my living room that first day, it was to clean up the mess from the glass I’d dropped.
I take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “Knox,” I say, “I think I owe you an apology. I was really pissed at you that day when you…” My face flushes hot. “Well, when you saw me from the balcony. I was ruder than I needed to be. And you’ve been awfully helpful, honestly, with cleaning up that glass, and helping me get Zeus up, and then now, with the bat. So,” I make myself look at him. “I’m sorry.”
A small muscle twitches at the corner of his mouth. “Apology accepted,” he says. Something in his eyes tells me he’s amused, and I drop my gaze, feeling sort of stupid.
“So,” he says, changing the subject. “What about you?”
I’m confused. “What about me?”
“What do you do, when you’re not telling NFL players to go to hell?”
I look back up at him to defend myself, but he’s grinning now, and I relax.
PLAYERS: The Complete Series (Springville Rockets (Sports Romance Books 1-3) Page 21
