“Dude, it’s Houston. It’s not exactly the wild west out here.”
Max chuckles his token rumbling laugh.
“Well listen, cowboy, what are you up to this weekend?”
“Eh, the usual I guess,” I lie.
The usual would be getting shit-housed drunk and seeing which particularly eager club girl would let me fuck her and her friend in the VIP booth. The usual would be me waking up hungover and hurting in a stranger’s bed ready to do the whole thing all over again.
Somehow, that’s changed recently.
In fact, I haven’t gone out once the last week or so. Hell, I’ve barely been drinking at all either, which is strangely a healthy feeling.
But it also means that in a brand new city, playing for a new team I haven’t met yet, and with the one person I do know basically wanting nothing to do with me now, I’ve just been bored.
“Well, if your dick and your liver can take a break for a few days, we were thinking about maybe coming down to check on you.”
I grin widely, my eyes lighting up.
“We? As in you and Hannah and the girls?” I say eagerly, not even bothering to keep the excitement out of my voice.
“Alright, Alright; simmer down,” Max mutters.
“We’re coming down to see Hannah’s sister. You’re just the day-trip, so don’t let it go to your head.”
I grin.
“Hannah’s sister lives in Florida.”
I know this, because I once tried to get her into bed at Max’s birthday party before Hannah promised me she’d cut my dick off if I touched her sister.
…The woman can be extremely convincing when she wants to be.
“Well, I- you know, she’s uh…”
Max starts to stumble over words as I start to laugh.
“Aww you big fucking softy. Did you miss me, buddy?”
“No,” Max huffs.
I chuckle as I grab a seat on a park bench.
“It’s okay, Max, I won’t tell everyone what a big emotional teddy bear you are - missing your good buddy Holden and all.”
Max growls. “It’s more to check in with you to make sure you’re not drinking yourself to death.”
“Max, you can just say you miss me, it’s okay,” I say as earnestly as possible with the big grin on my face. “You know, it takes a big man to admit how much he loves another-”
“I could always take the girls to Disneyworld instead, douchebag.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“Dude, I’d love if you guys came. I’m fucking dying on the vine down here.”
“You going to behave?”
“My best behavior. Besides, Disneyworld is over-rated.”
Max laughs.
“Alright, we’ll see you Friday then. And Holden?”
I can almost feel the glare through the phone.
“Tone it down while we’re there, okay?”
“My best behavior.”
32
London
“You’ve been sour the last week.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Oh, okay.”
Serena rolls her eyes and looks back to her laptop.
I sigh loudly, enough that she grins, still looking at her work.
Both of our offices have decent views, but if we’re being honest, mine’s way better. Serena’s looks out on the city, which is certainly cool at night, but during working hours, mine has the luxury of looking out over the empty and usually fairly quiet stadium itself.
Her bringing a laptop in here to do work is really nothing new.
In any case, she’s right: I have been sour. For some reason, I also haven’t told anyone about the paperwork on Holden’s kitchen counter.
Hell, I don’t even know how much reality there is to that either.
He’d hardly be the first player to try and play a shiny new signed contract as a bargaining chip for something bigger or better. In fact, I’ve dealt with other players on this very team who got traded or head-hunted, only to come back to the Bulls with their new pay-grade and try and re-sign.
I usually shut that down pretty quickly.
So, it does happen. Hell, it’s a business, and I of all people know that you’ve got to take the “personal” out of things when you’re dealing with million-dollar contracts and assessing someone’s ability to play for more than the next two seasons.
So why am I so pissed?
I know why, though, and I know it’s got very little to do with Holden and his manager doing the usual contract dance that comes with professional athletes and multi-million dollar contracts. It’s the fact I didn’t know about it.
And I’m not mad because he didn’t tell me - me, the co-owner of his current team and architect of his current contract. I’m mad because somewhere deep down, I’d want him to confide something like that in me.
Which is ridiculous.
Take the “personal” out of it.
It’s ridiculous and I know it. It makes me feel like some sort of stupid puppy-love girl with a crush. Or like I’m his girlfriend or something.
It’s an eye-rolling sentiment.
Right, dating Holden Cade. Please.
Because as incredible and mind-blowing as the other night with him was, that’s all there will ever be between me and a man like that. Pure sex. Pure unfiltered, raw, toe-curling, body-shaking, I-think-I-might-die-it’s-so-good sex.
Not a relationship, no matter how comfortable it felt being in his arms like that.
“Like puttin’ lipstick on a pig,” I think would be my dad’s Texas-flavored take on that idea.
And yet here I am keeping Holden’s possible move a big secret, like he has confided it in me. I’m keeping it a big secret from my fucking team; information that the board should probably know, considering Holden is our ticket back into relevancy.
Thinking of the board etches a scowl into my forehead.
Ugh.
In a few days, we’ll all reconvene for another vote, where I’ll see just how much “sway” Tom has, and whether I’ll be running my father’s organization or not. I’ve decided it’s best not to think about it for the sake of not losing my mind.
Serena coughs loudly.
“Hey, let’s go out tonight, you and me.”
I blink away the last of my stressful thoughts on Holden and my future here as I turn back to her and make a face.
“I’ve got work to-”
“Nope, uh-uh.” She wags a finger at me. “You me, a bottle or two of wine, and dancing. Who knows, we might even go crazy and talk to some boys.”
I grin.
“And chill about the board thing. You’re London Jacobs, girl. Your family is Bulls football. They’d be fucking idiots not to have you running things.”
“Yeah, well…” I trail off and turn to look out the window.
“Seriously, forget about Tom’s shit, at least until the board meeting.”
“It’s not just Tom you know.”
Serena scowls. She knows who I’m talking about.
“I’ve already told you, that woman’s had ‘scheming bitch’ written on her damn forehead since the first time I met her.”
I grin as I turn back to her.
It may be true, but something’s in the works here, and combined with the punch to the gut at Holden’s place a week before with those stupid contract papers, I’m barely hanging on.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “You’re right, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
It’s a lie. I’m not sure it’s going to be fine in the slightest bit.
There’s a cough by my open office door, and I look up to a pair of smoky green eyes, perfectly coifed blond hair, and chiseled-from-marble jaw-line.
“Ms. Jacobs?”
I blink. “Yes?”
The man grins an easy, practiced smile that looks like it’d be right at home in either a boardroom, on a yacht, or in a freaking magazine.
“Landon Reece,” he steps into the room towards my desk, his hand outstretched.<
br />
No, “steps” isn’t the right word.
The man stalks; moving more like an athlete than a suit, despite the insanely expensive-looking one he’s wearing.
I take his hand, feeling his strong grip as he shakes mine.
He flashes that smile again before darting a look at Serena.
“Uh, hi,” Serena smiles widely, biting her lip coyly as she takes his hand next.
“Serena Roth.”
“Pleasure, Ms. Roth,” Landon says, his voice like velvet before he turns back to me. “Is now a good time?”
I furrow my brow.
“I’m sorry, for?”
He laughs easily. “I guess I skipped that part.” He glances at Serena once more before his eyes move back to mine. “Maybe this would be more appropriate outside your office?”
I can feel the blush creep into my cheeks as Serena’s brows raise way up at me over his shoulder.
“You know, I was just leaving, Mr. Reece.” She smiles at him as she grabs her laptop and heads for the door. She stops just outside it and pantomimes a phone to her ear while gesturing wildly at me with her eyebrows.
I quickly turn my attention back to the blonde man in front of me.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Reece?”
He smiles as he turns and closes my office door before facing me again.
“I work for the Denver Rattlesnakes.”
Oh.
“I see,” I raise a brow at him. I smile thinly as I take a seat, the mystery of his visit dissipating in the room.
Yeah, this has happened before too. Former teams of traded players looking to make an under-the-table deal to get them back.
“Look, Mr. Reece,” I clasp my hands on my desk, instantly slipping into “all business LJ” mode, as Serena calls it. “I appreciate you coming all the way down here to talk, but honestly, we’re quite happy with Mr. Cade’s contract and we’re looking forward to seeing how he performs on the field this season.”
Landon chuckles, taking a seat across from me and steeling his fingers under his chin.
“I’m not actually here to talk about Holden Cade, Ms. Jacobs.” He leans back in his chair, his eyes twinkling as they pierce into mine. “I’m here to talk about you.”
I raise a brow.
“Pardon?”
Landon grins at me, his whole body exuding confidence and poise.
“As I said, maybe this would be best to discuss outside your office.”
He stands suddenly, his body seemingly uncoiling from his seat in his smoky grey tailored suit. He takes a card from his breast pocket and places it on the desk in front of me.
“Tonight, say, eight o’clock at Chez Toulouse?”
My brow shoots up.
Dinner?
Landon grins broadly.
“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” He turns without another word and moves to the door. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Jacobs.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me even more confused than I was earlier.
I sit there another minute, fingering the edges of his business card and chewing on my lip, when the sound of faint laughter pulls me out of it.
I furrow my brow as I turn towards the wall of windows overlooking the field.
The unmistakable sound of children’s giggling comes again, and this time, I stand and move towards one of the half-open windows and look out curiously.
The first thing I see are two little tow-headed blonde girls giggling out on the field. And though they’re far enough away that I can’t be sure, there’s something about the matching outfits, matching pigtails, and matching size that makes me think they’re twins.
I furrow my brow, smiling as I see a gorgeous blonde woman who must be their mom come in after them.
Maybe one of the player’s wives I don’t remember?
But it’s a weird thought, because I know my team, and their families.
The huge man with the black beard that follows them out though I definitely also know.
Max Sheffield, of the Denver Rattlesnakes.
First Landon Reece, now Max Sheffield?
What, did they get a group rate down here or something?
And right after Max, who else but Holden comes jogging out onto the empty field. I narrow my eye at him, thinking again about the papers, and then getting angry with myself all over again or even being angry about that.
So, the player turned out to be a big player; shocker.
What, did I think I was going to have a meaningful relationship with the most notorious, most arrogant jock of a guy in pro football?
Of course not.
What we had was casual - just sex between two consenting adults. Well, very hot, mind-blowing, I’m-not-sure-how-it-gets-better-than-that sex.
I scowl, shaking my head.
Out on the field, Holden roars as he starts chasing after the two little girls, who giggle and squeal as they run from him. He catches them, scooping them up in his big arms and laughing as they hug him, the sound of laughter echoing around the empty stadium.
I have to smile at that.
The big, tough, macho bad boy, reduced to a grinning doofus by two little girls. It pulls at something deep inside of me, and for a moment I suddenly feel like an asshole.
Because here I am judging him based on who people say he is. It’s exactly what I hate when people do it to me - when they just assume I’m “Archie’s daughter” or “just a girl trying to play a man’s game.” It’s me having to come into situations like that and prove that I’m more than that.
And maybe Holden’s the same way.
Maybe’s he’s more than the reputation - more than the party animal, skirt-chasing jock that everyone says he is.
Maybe he’s more than a player.
Maybe he’s-
I stop as out on the field, the cheer team comes out for their pre-season practice. Bouncing, perky young women in booty shorts and tight tank tops, who of course all go to mush when they see the legendary Holden Cade out there playing with those kids.
Can’t say I blame them.
But then I’m scowling as Holden sets the kids down and runs his hand through his hair. And even though I can’t see it from up here, I know damn well he’s flashing that stupid smile of his.
Two of the cheer girls run up to him, giggling and throwing their arms around him. And then he’s scooping them up, twirling them around and roaring with laughter.
Yeah, so much for that no judging thing.
Because whatever I want him to be, this is what he actually is.
A player.
A man-whore.
A self-aggrandizing, arrogant prick of a jock.
…Exactly what I thought he was.
I glare at him as I pick up my phone.
“Hey,” I say as Serena answers the phone. “I gotta bail on our plans tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’ve got dinner with Landon Reece.”
33
Holden
We only have time for a quick tour of the field before it’s time to feed Max’s little monsters.
Back at their hotel, we end up grabbing a table on the roof terrace restaurant overlooking downtown. I watch enviously as Cassie and Ginger scarf down chicken fingers, bread, and mac and cheese that has my pre-season diet stomach growling while I poke at the steamed vegetables on my own plate.
“So, being good, Holden?” Hannah says with a grin over the lip of her wine glass.
Max snorts.
“Of course I am.”
She raises a suspicious brow at me and I laugh.
“Hannah, I’m being good. There’s this girl, actually, who’s keeping me-”
I stop and frown immediately.
Why the fuck did I say that? It just comes out though, despite being an absurd thing to say.
Hell, I think it’s pretty clear that London isn’t “a girl” in that way - the way like “I’ve been seeing someone” or “there’s someone I’m dat
ing.”
No, fuck that.
We’re not “seeing each other” and we’re sure as hell not “dating”.
We’re fucking, from time to time.
Really good, really hot, really casual, no strings attached, fucking.
Max laughs deeply.
“Wow, shocker; there’s a girl huh?”
“Not like that, ass,” I mutter, out of earshot of Cassie and Ginger who’re now done with their dinner and doing a puzzle on the patio floor near our table.
Max rolls his eyes.
“Brother, I’ve known you a long time, and it’s always like that.”
“Well maybe I’m getting better,” I say with a shrug.
“Something in the Texas air, huh?” Hannah grins at me.
“You guys are dicks.”
They laugh, Hannah leaning into Max sitting next to her and snuggling into her husband.
They look happy.
They look genuine.
They look like they’re in love.
Hell, the idea of even hooking up with a girl more than three times terrifies me, let alone being with someone for seven fucking years. Or fuck, marrying them, and having kids with them.
Kids, yikes.
Cassandra and Ginger are goddamn adorable, and tons of fun to play with. But holy shit is having kids so much more than that. If all it took, were cartoons and games of hide and seek, then sure, sign me up.
Maybe.
But it’s a lot more than that, and I’ve known Max long enough to see that. They’re loud, they cry, they smell.
They poop all the time.
And yet, Max looks like he’s got the fucking world in his back pocket, with his arm around his wife and his eyes on his two little girls. He looks fucking untouchable, invincible, and like the rest of the shit in the world just doesn’t matter.
And maybe it doesn’t when you’ve got a family like that, who knows.
Not me, that’s for sure.
Max turns back to me. “So, who’s the girl?”
“Oh, interested now?”
He laughs. “Sure.”
I scowl and look away.
“It’s nothing, actually.”
“Oh?” Hannah’s brow perks up.
“Okay, it was maybe something but,” I trail off and wave my hand. “It’s nothing.”
Jock: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 19
