Girls' Night Out (Bad Boys)

by Susan Arden

  Counting down, Brett held his mark then sprinted on a diagonal line halfway across the field, and then heard the whistle blow. Turning, he saw Colin had been knocked to the turf. A yellow penalty flag laid on the field and the emergency crew, along with Coach Rollins, were running onto the field. His gut twisted. He jogged back to where his teammates stood at the thirty-yard line. The referee had yet to make an announcement to the stadium.

  “What happened?” he asked Hector.

  “San Diego tackled him without tracking Mike or you. They knew the play. Doesn’t make sense.”

  Someone blurted out snitch. Not loud. Didn’t have to be when said. Snitch carried weight and speed. If the other team had gotten their hands on their plays, the rest of the game would be a war. The Devils would be forced to scramble, hustling plays they’d not practiced. It would be a battle with everyone playing for honor. At the same time, it might be a fluke that San Diego had rushed forward so soon.

  The fans clapped and whistled when Colin was assisted to his feet. From what Brett could tell, Colin didn’t need medical treatment, but it was serious enough for Drummond Sanders, the backup QB to step in.

  Coach Rollins called a time-out and the offense circled around him. “Men, two more downs. Give me everything you have. We’re laying it out there for a Sprint Left Option along with a fake pass to shore up a breakaway. Let’s see how that runs. If we have to, we’ll do a no-huddle on the next down and go for Envy to get the ball to the zone. Questions?”

  The players in the huddle shook their heads. The coach listened to one of his assistants and glanced over to Brett. “We need to gain ground. This has gone way past serious. Gold, you better be prepared to move. I don’t care if he you have to bust through San Diego’s whole defensive line...block, rush, fly.”

  “Ready on go,” Brett replied. His adrenaline infused body buzzed as though geared for takeoff.

  San Diego more than likely realized things weren’t going to plan. But hell, if they had information about last week’s plays, they could have the whole damn book. The Devils offense lined up and Drummond took the hike as Brett sprinted, then zigged and cut to the middle. The QB hit him with a line drive that had him backpedalling but not beyond the sideline. Hector blocked San Diego, giving Brett an escape route. Digging in his cleats, Brett spun and pushed off the turf, his target the end zone. Rushing forward, his muscles burned after sprinting over the ten yard line. So close. Another ten yards and he’d bring it on home. Then the pain tore into him before he hit the ground.

  His whole body smacked downward and he rotated to keep his hold on the ball. Getting tackled was nothing new, but he wasn’t about to let the ball go. After the referee blew the whistle, Brett tossed the ball away. The turf pricked his arms and then he moved his foot, preparing to lift off the ground. Jolts of stabbing pain shot up his leg.

  “You okay?” Hector asked. “Shit, Brett you were on fire.”

  “Team effort,” he said, taking a deep breath.

  Hector reached down and pulled him up. He held off putting weight on his ankle, and cautiously tested how much damage he’d have to deal with. “Slow,” Hector warned.

  By the time he was surrounded by the assistant coaches, more and more people had arrived and were waiting on him to deliver the conclusion.

  Shit. He fucking hated this part. “I’m out.”

  “Let’s get Gold off the field,” the assistant coach barked, then stepped away and began rattling off commands to get the backup tight end prepped and on the field.

  Brett limped off the field while scanning the stands on the opposite side of the field. Where is she? Nearing the sideline, he squinted until his eyes came to rest on the familiar form of heaven. A jolt of awareness unfurled from deep within him.

  “Cory,” he exhaled her name. He shot his hand up toward her with a peace sign. His chest constricted with the need to get to her. Cory, he silently groaned again.

  She waved back. Helped off the field, he took the bench and asked for a phone to use while the trainer removed his cleat and rolled down his sock. Brett unclipped his chin strap and pulled off his helmet. He licked his tongue over cracked lips. He needed something to drink. Sitting in a puddle of sweat, he downed a bottle of water someone offered to him. Then another. He crushed the bottle in his hand, then took hold of the cellphone delivered by the Devils’ field technician. He gripped it, typing in Cory’s number and ignored the work being done on his ankle when Cory’s number started to ring.

  “Hello?” her voice was hard to hear above the roar of the fans when the next play went wrong.

  “Checking in,” he said.

  “Brett! Oh my God! What happened?”

  “Sprain. I’m hoping, anyway.” He glanced over to the trainer.

  “You’re off this for the rest of the game.” Paul snapped out a set of instructions to his assistant.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked her.

  “Yes. But you beat your record. It’s not all a wash. Right?”

  He laughed. “My little ray of sunshine. If we can hold our ground, it’ll be a great day for the team. No matter, win or lose, this goes down as the best day of my life as long as you meant what you said.” It was a risky move to ask a girl to marry you on national television. Not so much because Cory might have said no. A small part of him had weighed that she might say yes for all the wrong reasons. He figured after the game, he’d lay it all out there, and give her a timeline to really consider marriage. His gut roiled as he held the phone.

  “Stop, Brett. I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  The Devils didn’t walk away with an easy win. In heading for the divisional playoffs, a win was never handed over. Each team came willing to risk it big. Owners and GMs spent the game in the skyboxes, trading heated conversations with head coaches on both sides of the field. But the Devils won, scoring a last minute touchdown. Champagne bottles popped and camera flashes kept going off in the corridor and locker room. Vic found Brett at his locker, congratulated him and asked about the wedding. Even posed with Cory and him for photographs.

  “Is it always like this after a game?” she whispered to him as they exited the stadium.

  “Not always. Things were tense today. This type of day is rare, but we made it. No player would trade a game ending in a victory,” he said, taking her by the hand. With his ankle taped, he refused a wheelchair and opted for crutches to keep the weight off his leg. “Now, we can celebrate.”

  He gazed at Cory, and nearly stumbled. Her sparkling blue eyes captivated him. Holding her hand, he ran his thumb over the ring he’d put on her finger, and his chest tightened.

  “What’s running through that head of yours, Mr. Gold?” Cory bit her lip and arched a brow at him. “Do you need some TLC?”

  “That. And anything else you got. Do you want to go out and celebrate?”

  “Celebrate? Yes. Go out…no. How about room service?”

  CHAPTER 26

  “I’m turning this sucker off,” Cory said. Over a hundred calls and messages already, and still more arrived. You’d think she’d figured out how to cure cellulite from all the texts and calls that slammed her phone. Pursing her lips, she considered how oodles of Annona women suddenly had accessed her cell number. Someone must have posted her number online. And she could just imagine who that someone was. Some of the messages were from strangers and why they’d contacted her was a friggin’ mystery.

  She tossed her phone into her purse. That blasted thing was jam packed with message after message, asking all sorts of personal questions. Seriously not good. All fine and dandy when it came to congratulations and best wishes; definitely demented when photographs arrived with offers for three-ways and other truly nutcase suggestions.

  This was her moment and she’d not let anyone ruin a second. She touched her engagement ring and peered at Brett. They were…engaged! Her pulse jangled. “Can I borrow your
phone?’ she asked him. She wanted to send a text message to her brother. Impossible to stay focused on a conversation with all the nonstop buzzing until she turned her phone off.

  “Sure. What happened to yours?” He reached into his pocket and dragged his out. “It didn’t get damaged, did it? The stadium will take care of that.”

  “It didn’t. But why would they?”

  “My agent called and said more than a few attorneys have already contacted him about filing a personal injury suit.”

  “I’m fine.” Not exactly true. She’d managed to get a huge bruise on her upper thigh where she’d careened into the railing. The bump on the back of her head, aching something awful, came from an unknown source—maybe the stairs. Cassandra made her promise to get it looked at, but she wasn’t about to have Brett take her to the hospital after he’d played a hard game. If she felt bad, she’d go when she got back to L.A. With only a few hours before her flight left, she intended on spending quality time with her fiancé.

  She gazed at her ring. Mama had been the first call she’d made in the stands before everyone could put two and two together and figure out it was her. She assured her parents she was fine. Laughed at the experience and told them she’d never be able to live down how she’d caught a man. Her parents were chuckling at that and said they’d call her later.

  “We’re taking a cab back to the hotel,” Brett said, limping out to the curb.

  This all felt so surreal. She blinked, trying to clear away the fog in her head. A pounding pressure had her holding the sides of her temples. She steadied herself as Brett gave directions to the taxi driver. Must be from too much excitement and too little sleep.

  All she had to do was pinch herself to know it was real. Or do something easier and much nicer, like gaze down at her finger and the breathtaking princess cut diamond set in platinum. The novel weight on her finger made her all too aware this wasn’t a dream. Brett had put a ring on her finger and soon he’d be her husband. That future was so easy to envision; she wondered why she couldn’t conceptualize life after college as easily. Probably because her future packaged with dark hair and mind-bending emerald eyes was what held her attention.

  “Do you like it?” Brett asked her in the back of the taxi.

  “You caught me gawking again.” She giggled. “It’s so beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at it.”

  “If it’s too much…or not the right—”

  She leaned over and pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Babe, it’s perfect because you picked it out.” Her other hand had landed on his thigh and when he glanced down and groaned, and she realized the lines his mind was traveling. Even though her head was pounding, she couldn’t put aside the hunger he unleashed within her. Being this close to him, she smiled as she traced the outline of his lips. At the hotel, she’d find some ibuprofen and then she’d be ready to leave him breathless before she departed.

  Brett brought his hand up her neck and pulled lightly on her hair. “I can’t wait to get you right where I want you.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, twisting his hand playfully, and a piercing pain shot through her head.

  “What’s wrong?” Brett asked, his brows drawn up tight.

  “Nothing.” She laughed. “I was just thinking about getting back to the hotel.”

  “Wincing like that? Questionable,” he said, holding on to her shoulder. His gaze shifted, scanning over her face. “I doubt you were thinking about my palm and your bottom. It’s your head.”

  “My head feels heavy. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m just excited.”

  “How about if I drove you home?” he asked.

  “No. I won’t waste your time. What about the plane ticket?”

  “You’ll use it on another flight. By the time I get you checked in, we could be halfway back to your place.”

  “You’re being overprotective.”

  “Fine. Shoot me.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then tapped on the Plexiglas barrier in the taxi. “Hey buddy, take us to the nearest car rental outfit.”

  ~~~

  By the time Brett had pulled up to her apartment, she was holding on to her middle to keep from shivering. Her teeth chattered and sharp knots twisted in her stomach. Brett came around and opened her door.

  No sooner had he helped her up than a mass of stars shot off in her head. “I’m going to be sick,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Let me help you inside,” he said, putting his arm about her waist.

  “I mean right now.” She turned away from him, braced her hands on the car, and her stomach heaved. She vomited at the corner of the curb, the bitter taste made her heave again. And then again.

  “I’ve got you.” Brett held her hair back from her face while he steadied her with a strong arm hugging her securely.

  “Please. I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered, then dry heaved.

  “You’re doing fine,” he said, holding her close to him.

  “We’re a fine pair. You should be leaning on me with your ankle. Not the other way around.”

  “Perhaps we can lean on each other and make it.” He dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief. “I hope you don’t mind me getting this from your purse. I remember seeing it in there at LAX.”

  He had her purse thrown over his shoulder the way her big rough and tumble brothers sometimes kept track of their wives’ and girlfriends’ bags. Her heart lurched. She could see her future in his eyes. She’d come all this way and in a flash, deep in her bones, something told her she’d found a place to call home.

  “Only a Texan like you can get away with that look.”

  Brett helped her into her apartment. “You need to lie down.”

  “Will you stay with me?”

  “I’m not leaving until I’m certain you’re fine. I don’t have a game for a while and with this ankle, I’ve got my excuse for taking off a few days.”

  She nodded and headed into her bedroom. The walls seemed to waver and then the room wobbled, or at least seemed to, as she walked across the floor. She pressed her fingers to her temples to try to ease the pounding pressure. “I feel so strange.”

  “Careful,” he said. “Let me help you.”

  Once in bed, she had to get up and go into the bathroom with Brett’s help. Again she vomited. Her head pounded. Pounded. Pounded. And then blackness overtook her.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Cory!” he repeatedly called her name. Nothing. She lay unconscious in his arms. He lifted her up and hobbled over to the bed. Shit. He pressed 9-1-1 on his cell. He didn’t remember her address. She’d programmed it into her phone and he’d followed the directions. He looked around for an envelope or magazine, anything that might have an address. Shot, her wallet would have her license. He dug it out of her purse when the dispatcher answered the call.

  “Orange County Emergency. How may I help you?”

  “My girlfriend is unconscious.”

  “What’s your address?”

  He flipped open her wallet and read the address from her license. “1992 Marigold Place, Los Angeles. Apartment E.” Yeah, he remembered the street name. And the apartment was E. No mistake there.

  “Name and age?”

  He answered the questions and limped across the floor toward the bed. Staring down at Cory, he bent to place his hand on her forehead. “No fever. She took a fall today and bumped her head.”

  “Was she in an altercation?”

  “No. She fell during a football game.”

  “Oh my God. Is this the girl who fell out of the stands? In San Diego?”

  His stomach plummeted. “Yeah. Am I the biggest idiot for not taking her to an emergency room?”

  “Are you the player who caught her?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Heck no. You deserve a medal. An ambulance will be right there. Sounds like she might have a concussion. Just get her to a hospital and I
bet things will look better real soon.”

  He sank down on the bed and went to put her wallet on the nightstand, then thought he’d need to take her ID to the hospital. He dug out her license and then looked into the interior of the wallet for an insurance card. He froze, staring down at Ryder Bennett’s business card.

  Don’t go there, Gold. Trust her. He did trust her. Completely. Didn’t he? He inhaled a deep breath and shoved the man’s card back into her wallet. He couldn’t loosen what felt like a band of barbed wire that had suddenly slapped around his chest. He took the card out of Cory’s wallet and ripped it into pieces. He got up and threw the pieces into the toilet and flushed.

  He knew it was wrong, but he didn’t care. That man was nothing better than a predator preying on young university students. Business man, his ass. Everyone knew what the hell crossing the line and rationalizing a conflict of interests looked like. Motherfucker. If he ever caught up with Ryder Bennett, he’d teach that son of a bitch a lesson he’d not soon forget.

  The sirens from far off became louder and louder. Red swirling lights bathed the street outside. A firm rap on the door and he let the EMT guys in. One carried a bag while the other began setting the brakes on the gurney.

  “In here,” Brett pointed. He led the guy wearing the blue coveralls into the bedroom and watched as he set his bag by the bed. He opened it and removed a flashlight and pulled on gloves. “How long has she been unconscious?”

  “Less than five minutes. Cory was vomiting and her head hurt.”

  The EMT lifted Cory’s eyelid and flashed a beam of light at her pupil. “Responsive. That’s good. He took her blood pressure and listened to her chest. “Her blood pressure is low. We’re going to L.A. General. Can you drive?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be right on your tail.”

  The other tech came into the apartment, rolling the gurney. Brett stood back as they lifted and strapped Cory in, then maneuvered the gurney back outside. Her face was ashen and she had not come to. His mind churned and a cold sweat broke out across his body. He’d seen enough burly guys go down and they’d ended up in the hospital. What had he been thinking, not taking her directly to get checked out? He grabbed her cellphone and followed the ambulance to the hospital.