Bad Business

by Nicole Edwards

  I turn and glance up at the owner’s box. From down on the field, I can’t make out the people up there, but I know she’s there. I know she’s watching. I can’t see her, but I can practically feel her cheering me on.

  Turning back, I survey the stadium, giving it one final perusal.

  This has been my safe haven for the past thirteen years. It’s been the only thing that matters to me. And although I’m going to miss it, I know that when this season is over, I’m going to venture into something else, something just as exciting.

  And despite the fact that Savannah was thrust into my world in an attempt to convince me otherwise, I’m going to retire.

  The best part is knowing that she’s behind me, no matter what I do.

  That’s what makes the decision easy. Knowing that I’ve got her.

  Truthfully, that’s all that matters.

  Well, besides winning the Super Bowl.

  That matters, too.

  * * *

  —

  By the time the post-game celebration is complete, the stadium is quickly clearing out, yet we’re all still down on the field. There are tons of reporters lingering, waiting for a statement from any one of us. I keep waiting for Luke Devereaux’s ugly mug to pop up. So far, I haven’t seen him, and I’m hoping that trend continues. I never did find out what happened to him last week when Savannah led him from the room.

  I make a mental note to ask her about it.

  “You headin’ out to celebrate?” Snyder asks, his grin wide.

  The rookie looks proud of himself and he should be. The kid did great all season long. He’s got one hell of a future in the NFL.

  “Possibly,” I tell him. I don’t want to make that commitment until I talk to Savannah.

  “Don’t punk out on us, Stone,” Snyder says. “I get that you’ve gotten all googly-eyed over the chick who’s far too hot for you, but…you’re the man, and if you don’t show up, the party won’t be the same.”

  “Too hot for me, huh?”

  “Most definitely.” Snyder smirks. “She’d do much better with a young stud like myself. So, you know, if she ever—”

  I hold up my hand. “Don’t go there. I’d hate to hurt you and keep you out of the playoffs.”

  He laughs. “Fine. I’ll shut my mouth if you agree to go out with us tonight.”

  “Where’re y’all headed?”

  “Same place as always.”

  I nod my head, which is the best answer I can give him at the moment.

  “Stone! Do you have a few minutes for more questions?”

  I glance over and see Coach Hannagan waving me over. I’d already answered plenty of questions when I was bombarded by reporters who flooded the field after we won. They should’ve all been gone by now, but it looks like they’re still waiting around.

  I nod to Coach. Not like I can decline the invitation, although I really would like to. I grab the ball cap they hand me, which boasts the Wranglers as the NFC champions, and then head toward the cameras.

  “Stone, can you tell us, now that the regular season is over, whether you intend to return to the field next year?”

  I swallow hard.

  Something catches my eye near the player tunnel, and I look up to see Savannah standing there with her father. She offers a smile.

  “I still have every intention of retiring,” I tell the reporter, although I never look away from Savannah.

  “Can you share with us what your plans are?”

  “I’ve got a few things I’d like to do after football.”

  “Such as?” someone probes.

  “I was thinking about holding a football camp for kids,” I say honestly.

  Savannah’s smile widens.

  “My brother and I have tossed around the idea for some time now. I think we’re both looking forward to it.” I glance back at the reporter. “However, the season’s not over yet. With the playoffs coming up, that’s where my attention will be.”

  “Stone! Can you confirm the rumor that you are dating Savannah Andrews?”

  I knew the question would come up. Realizing I can’t dodge it forever, I once again glance over at Savannah to see if she’ll give me some sort of signal. I don’t know if she’s willing to go public with our relationship yet or not. Regardless of what we do or say, there is going to be speculation, so I’ve always found it’s best to be as honest as possible.

  She gives a slight nod.

  Before I look back, I notice her father put his arm around her and squeeze her tightly. I’m not sure what the significance is there, but I take it as his support.

  “It’s not a rumor,” I tell them. “Savannah and I are…dating at this time.” Before someone else can launch into a more personal question, I continue, “However, that is my personal life and I’m not willing to discuss it at this time or in the future.”

  “Is it serious? Your relationship with Savannah?”

  I knew they wouldn’t give up. “It’s as serious as it can be,” I say.

  The reporter smiles.

  “All right, guys. Let’s give the man a break. He’s worked hard today.”

  A chorus of cheers and congratulations erupts from the crowd, and I feel a hint of embarrassment. I did work hard, however, I’m not looking for praise. The win was enough for me. It’s been one hell of a season and not merely from a football perspective.

  And right this second, I’m all for celebrating. Just as long as the woman standing on the far side of the field, the one grinning from ear to ear, is going to be celebrating with me.

  Hell, with her by my side, I’m willing to do just about anything.

  Savannah

  “He’s retiring,” my father says, his voice soft.

  He doesn’t sound surprised. Then again, he shouldn’t be. My father’s been around long enough to identify a player who is ready to move on.

  “He’s retiring,” I confirm.

  My father hugs me closer to his side as we watch the interview break up and the reporters sneak over to talk to other players.

  “Well, maybe this time next year, we’ll be celebrating something other than advancing to the playoffs.”

  I peer up at him, waiting for him to clue me in on his line of thinking.

  He leans in closer. “Another grandbaby.”

  I grin, then glance over at Stone. “You never know,” I say softly.

  It’s possible. I can’t deny that this thing between Stone and me seems to be moving full steam ahead. As to what that means for our future, I don’t know yet. Nor am I in a hurry to rush things. I like what we have. It’s simple, easy, and fun. Most importantly, it’s real.

  No, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to keep moving forward, maybe a wedding one day. Then some babies. But right now, like Stone, I’m focused on the season. The playoffs, then if all goes well, the Super Bowl.

  Movement to my right catches my eye, and I peer over to see Luke Devereaux slipping onto the field. His beady eyes scan the area, obviously in an attempt to locate someone or something.

  “Mr. Devereaux,” I call out, slipping out from under my father’s arm. “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t see you back here again.”

  “You’re really gonna hinder my access to a story, Ms. Andrews?”

  “I really am.” I move toward him.

  “Would you mind elaborating on your relationship with Jason Stone?”

  I knew he wasn’t going to play nice.

  “Actually, I would mind,” I tell him. “In fact, I would mind so much that I’m considering an exclusive interview for Stone and me to discuss at length our plans for the future.”

  I can practically see him drooling.

  Luke glances behind me at the same tim
e I feel someone move in close. A strong hand lands on my shoulder, warm and reassuring.

  “But we won’t be sharing that information with you,” Stone adds.

  I shake my head. “No, we won’t. And”—I narrow my eyes—“if you consider running a segment on any of this, I will consider suing you for slander, Mr. Devereaux.”

  “Slander.” He smirks. “I simply call it as I see it.”

  “When it’s fictional, it’s slander. So, I suggest you move on to something else. Maybe one of those early morning talk shows with the harpy women.” I smile. “You’d fit right in. They don’t consider accuracy in their segments either.”

  Stone chuckles. “You ready to go?”

  “I am. I’m serious, Mr. Devereaux,” I remind him. “If you air this, I will sue. And I assure you, I’ll have enough evidence to prove that your sole objective is slander.” I grin. “And hell, I might just foot the legal bills for players, too. I know quite a few who’ve been burned by you.”

  When Stone takes my hand and leads me from the field, we’re met with a barrage of questions from Luke. He obviously doesn’t get it.

  If he’s going to pretend to be a football commentator, he needs to act like one. This is the football world he’s immersed himself in. And like other reporters, he has the ability to go far in life.

  If he’ll remember one thing.

  The game is the most important thing. What happens off the field and out of the locker room is not his business.

  “You up for some celebrating?” Stone asks as we walk toward the exit doors.

  I peer up at him. “What’d you have in mind?”

  He must’ve seen the hint of mischief in my eyes because he smirks.

  “Well, I was thinking we’d go to the club, but if you’re gonna look at me like that, maybe I should reconsider my plans.”

  “I go where you go,” I tell him. “But remember…if you decide to get a little kinky, there’s a spotlight that slips right into that darkened corner every so often.”

  He laughs, a booming sound that goes right to my heart.

  “Trust me, sweetheart, I know just how to avoid the spotlight when necessary.”

  Right.

  This man will never be out of the spotlight. No matter how hard he tries. He’s Jason Stone. Not only is he a phenomenal quarterback, he’s a truly amazing man.

  And me…

  I’m one hell of a lucky girl who knows just how to play the game.

  And win.

  Epilogue

  Stone

  I’m not the golden boy and I don’t have the Midas touch like some people claim.

  However, I am good at what I do. Plus, I’m disciplined, determined, and focused. Playing football is like any other job. You get up, get dressed, go to work, earn a paycheck. You have to have an objective in order to be successful.

  That is what has earned me four Super Bowl rings in my lifetime.

  Four.

  You know how many that is?

  It’s two more than my brother has, that’s how many.

  Turning, I grin at Jeremy who’s watching me from my mother’s kitchen.

  “What’re you smilin’ at, asshole?”

  “Don’t be jealous, bro,” I joke. “It’s all good. Like I said, you can always borrow one of my rings if it’ll make you feel better.”

  He points at me. “You’ve got three seconds to gloat.”

  “What happens in three seconds?” Savannah asks in a mock whisper.

  “Three…two…”

  I lean down and kiss her. “Be right back.”

  “Yeah! You better run!” Jeremy yells as he scales the couch and takes off after me.

  I crash through the front screen door, leap over the porch, and take off at a dead run down the sidewalk.

  He might get me to run.

  But he’ll never catch me.

  Only one person has ever caught me. And that’s why, after my brother is finished huffing and puffing behind me, I fully intend to ask that woman to marry me.

  After all, I did officially announce my retirement, so it’s time to move on to the next phase of my life.

  And as long as Savannah’s in it, I’m sure there’s nothing that I can’t accomplish.

  Acknowledgments

  First and always, I have to thank my wonderfully patient husband who puts up with me every single day. If it wasn’t for him and his belief that I could (and can) do this, I wouldn’t be writing this today. He has been my backbone, my rock, the very reason I continue to believe in myself. I love you for that, babe.

  I also have to thank my fabulous beta readers: Chancy Powley, Allison Holzapfel, Amber Willis, Karen DiGaetano. I couldn’t do this without you.

  I also have to thank my street team—Naughty (and nice) Girls. Your unwavering support is something I will never take for granted. So, thank you, Traci Hyland, Maureen Ames, Erin Lewis, Jackie Wright, Chris Geier, Kara Hildebrand, Shannon Thompson, Tracy Barbour, Toni Thompson.

  Nicole Nation 2.0 for the constant support and love. You’ve been there for me from almost the beginning. This group of ladies has kept me going for so long, I’m not sure I’d know what to do without them.

  And, of course, YOU, the reader. Your emails, messages, posts, comments, tweets…they mean more to me than you can imagine. I thrive on hearing from you; knowing that my characters and my stories have touched you in some way keeps me going. I’ve been known to shed a tear or two when reading an email because you simply bring so much joy to my life with your support. I thank you for that.

  BY NICOLE EDWARDS

  Bad Boys of Sports

  Bad Reputation

  Bad Business

  Austin Arrows

  Rush

  Kaufman

  The Caine Cousins

  Hard to Hold

  Hard to Handle

  Club Destiny

  Conviction

  Temptation

  Addicted

  Seduction

  Infatuation

  Captivated

  Devotion

  Perception

  Entrusted

  Adored

  Distraction

  Office Intrigue

  Office Intrigue

  Intrigued Out of the Office

  Pier 70

  Reckless

  Fearless

  Speechless

  Harmless

  Standalone Novels

  A Million Tiny Pieces

  Inked on Paper

  Writing as Timberlyn Scott

  Unhinged

  Unraveling

  Chaos

  PHOTO: CYNTHIA PHOTOGRAPHY

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author NICOLE EDWARDS lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband, their three kids, and four rambunctious dogs. When she’s not writing about sexy alpha males, Nicole can often be found with a book in hand or making an attempt to keep the dogs happy. You can find her hanging out on Facebook and interacting with her readers—even when she’s supposed to be writing.

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  Newsletter

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Thirsty

  by Mia Hopkins

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  You want a hero.

  Before we start, you should know—I’m not him.

  I’m not your he
ro.

  A hero is a Prince Charming, a firefighter, a cowboy. He’s handsome and perfect. He’s probably white. He has his shit together.

  None of that is me.

  For example, would a hero be standing barefoot and half-asleep on a sidewalk in his chones, holding all his belongings in a backpack? Because that’s what I’m doing right now. Staring at the scene in front of me.

  “You lying, no good son of a bitch!”

  Regina tosses another drawer full of clothes out the second-story bedroom window. The clothes are followed by a wrestling trophy, which falls gently on a pile of T-shirts.

  “You’re a fucking liar!”

  Next, a PlayStation controller, followed by a grip of games. Some land on the grass and others on the concrete driveway with an ugly crash.

  “You wanna live with that puta? Fine! Go be with that whore! Go!”

  The neighbors are coming out now. Some of them are holding coffee mugs. Kids in pajamas appear, pointing and laughing.

  I might be the one standing here in my underwear, but luckily I’m not the one they’re looking at. I put my bag down and pull out a clean T-shirt and basketball shorts. I get dressed, right here in the street.

  My buddy Spider stands on the lawn. He’s shouting up at his old lady like some kind of opposite-day Romeo. “Regina! Listen to me!”

  “Go to hell.”

  And down comes the PlayStation itself. It doesn’t land on the grass or on a soft pile of clothing, but on the driveway. It crashes nasty, parts flying, and all I can see are dollar signs, floating away like little butterflies.

  Oof. Ice cold.

  “Regina!”

  This goes on for a few minutes. Some of the kids are pulled back inside, some neighbors get in their cars and drive off. The neighborhood chismosas are all out, though—gossipy old ladies, grandmas and tias. And they’re not going anywhere until this plays out. They’re looking for a fresh scandal. This is good stuff.