“Mr. Perez,” she said politely, interrupting his thoughts. He smiled at her, wishing she’d called him Beau so he could hear his name in her pretty little voice.
“Yes, ma’am?” he answered just as politely.
She cleared her throat. “I was wondering what your thoughts were on Tom Kelly.”
“I don’t have any,” he answered honestly. Mike laughed and Beau smiled at him. When he turned back, Marian Treadwell was frowning. “That is,” Beau said, “I don’t really know anything about him. I had no idea we were considering him. I watched a few games last year, is all. Like Cass said, he was okay, not great.” He shrugged. “Who am I to judge? We all know you can’t predict how someone’s going to fit in. You’ve just got to wait and see.”
“Oh,” she said. “I assumed you had some insight, which was why you were here at the meeting.” Beau didn’t think she meant anything by it. She looked genuinely confused. She turned to Mike. “Are all players allowed to attend these meetings? Doesn’t it get a little crowded?”
Her questions were met with uncomfortable silence. Beau resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. She didn’t know he went where Cass went. Used to be because neither one of them trusted Beau. It’s bad when a man can’t trust himself. Now they just hated to be separated. Cass couldn’t concentrate if Beau wasn’t around. He worried too much. Marian Treadwell probably wouldn’t understand even if they tried to explain it. She didn’t look like she needed anyone around. She was completely self-contained and confident. Must be nice.
“He’s here because I want him here,” Cass said. “Do you have a problem with that?” He sounded like he was getting mad. Cass mad was not a good thing. Beau was about to step in when she answered.
“No. Do you have a problem with my asking questions about things I don’t understand? Seeing as how I’ve only been with the team for two months, and this is my first meeting with you, I confess I don’t know all the rules yet.”
She had to go and mention rules. Beau sighed inwardly as Cass got that heated look in his eyes. Cass sure loved rules. “I’ll answer all your questions about the rules,” Cass told her, and Beau bit his lip again as Cass ran one of his thumbs along the length of the other where they rested on the table. Cass did that when he really wanted to touch someone else. Beau had to clasp his hands on the table to keep them from wandering where they shouldn’t—couldn’t—go.
“Good,” Marian said briskly. “Well, Mr. Perez, I assume you feel free to contribute to the discussion, correct?” Beau nodded, hiding a smile at her sudden burst of efficiency. “Excellent. If you do form an opinion about Mr. Kelly, please come and talk to me about it. We’re still working on the playbook.”
“What about Danny Smith?” Beau asked, curious that he hadn’t been mentioned. “Mandatory mini-camp starts in three weeks, and he’s not answering calls and he’s threatening a no-show in the press.” He was watching Marian closely and saw her flinch a little around the eyes. No one else noticed. She busied herself with straightening the pile of papers in front of her and didn’t answer.
“Smith damn well better show up,” Mike said. “He’s our ace in the hole. Four Pro Bowls, NFC champs last year, a Super Bowl appearance two years running. That’s the kind of player we need to help solidify the offense.”
“I hear you,” Cass said, frowning. “I’m looking forward to playing with him, for all he’s supposed to be a giant asshole. As long as he can still run the ball, he’s the man.”
“I’m sure Mr. Smith will be here for camp,” Marian said firmly. “He was unprepared to be traded by the Ravens. He’s merely having some adjustment issues.”
“He’s a salary-cap casualty,” Cass said dryly. “He knew the trade was coming. His issue is being traded to the Rebels.”
“I don’t give a shit if he and his mama need therapy to get over the trade,” Mike said. “He shows or he gets his ass fined.”
“You want me and Cass to try to talk to him?” Beau offered. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to talk someone into playing for the Rebels. He wasn’t sure what Danny Smith’s deal was. Beau had enough of his own shit to deal with. He didn’t bother with other people’s if he could help it.
Mike shook his head. “No, not yet. I want to keep this through official channels for the time being.”
Beau kept watching Marian. Her shoulders relaxed at Mike’s decision. Why didn’t she want them to talk to Danny Smith? She’d met assholes in football, she said. And she didn’t want Danny Smith here. He was a world-famous asshole, but Beau got the impression there was more to it than that. Interesting. If Beau were a thinking man, he’d put those two together and make something of it. Maybe do the math.
Or maybe not. He mentally shook off the urge to think about it. He was only three years sober. Some days it was still a struggle to stay that way. Those days he had Cass, and sometimes whatever woman they managed to find who wouldn’t sell them out on YouTube. That was enough. It had to be enough. He didn’t want to get tangled up with Marian Treadwell. Something about her set off his warning bells. She wasn’t the girl for them. There were secrets in her eyes and the set of her shoulders. She didn’t like Cass’s take-charge attitude or anything about Beau. She might be the stuff fantasies were made of, but he was worried she had an agenda. Most women he met did. She could use Cass to improve her position on the team, and Cass wouldn’t even know it. He’d be too busy trying to solve her problems, trying to chase the shadows from her eyes.
But if Cass decided he had to have her, then Beau would go with whatever play Cass called. Because the one thing Beau knew for sure was that he couldn’t lose Cass. He meant everything to Beau, even if he didn’t know it and never would. Beau would never tell him how he really felt. He’d settle for sharing him, if that’s all he could get. Even with a woman between them Beau loved submitting to Cass’s every desire, every demanding, dirty, kinky desire. And if he wanted to make Marian submit to them too, then Beau would play along, improvising as he went.
Chapter 2
“Marian!” The call of several voices rang through the locker room and Cass grinned as he wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. They were all sitting around chugging some cold water and catching their breath after a hard day at mini-camp. Marian had just opened the locker-room door and stood there, her shoulder against the door frame. Today she was casual. A nice pair of light-blue athletic shorts with the Rebels logo, and a white polo, also with the Rebels logo. The big red R rested on the upper curve of her left breast and Cass envied that damn stitched letter. She had one foot crossed over the other as she regarded them all with a cynical smile. Her white Nikes looked too damn clean. He wanted to dirty her up, but good.
“Nice job today, boys,” she said. “If we were playing high school ball.” The entire locker room erupted in boos and Marian laughed.
Between the off-season workouts and rookie mini-camp, Cass had gotten to know Marian pretty well. She had a great sense of humor, high expectations, a hard-core work ethic, a sympathetic ear, and she knew statistics about everything football-related.
And she never, ever came into the locker room.
Beau had theories about that, theories that Cass didn’t even want to consider, but there was a voice in his head that kept arguing louder every day that Beau was right. She didn’t like the locker room, that was for sure. She hid it pretty well. She joked and leaned casually against the door like she was doing now. But if she miscalculated and arrived before all the players were inside, there was a moment of panic in her eyes as some big-ass football player came up behind her. And even on the field she never let herself be surrounded by them. She’d stand back or just yell from the sidelines. So it wasn’t only football locker rooms that bothered her. It was football players.
Cass bit his tongue and said nothing. It wasn’t his place. Not yet, anyway. But the more he got to know Marian, the more he wanted her. If what they suspected was true, then she had more guts than anyone he’d ever met. Football was
her passion, anyone could see that, and she’d refused to give it up. She was living the dream, coaching for an NFL team.
What she didn’t realize was that she didn’t have to worry here. Cass and Beau had made it very clear that Marian was off-limits. She was theirs, period. If anyone messed with her in any way, they’d have to deal with him and Beau. He hadn’t stood in the locker room and made an announcement, but he didn’t have to. He just stood a little too close to her, made her laugh, walked her to her car, and called her “Mari, Mari, Quite Contrary.” Add a little touch here and there that was more than friendly, a few suggestive conversations, a heated look or two. He didn’t let anyone else take those liberties with her, and neither did she. Marian was resisting his slow seduction for all she was worth, but she wasn’t protesting. Which was why Cass was going to step up his game today.
His only worry was her obvious distrust of Beau. And Beau wasn’t really helping. He had left all the courting to Cass, and that just wasn’t going to work. Cass knew that once Marian really got to know Beau, once he opened up and let her in, she’d change her tune. Everyone loved Beau. Surely she could see that. And he was clean. It was the way Beau wanted it, and Cass helped him stay that way every day. So if it was Beau’s past that was holding her back, Beau would have to make her see that it wasn’t an obstacle. Not at all. Cass wouldn’t let it be.
“Hey, sugar, come here often?” Jo Jo Jones said to her as he came around from the showers wearing nothing but a towel, his dark-cocoa skin starkly contrasting with the white terry cloth. Jo Jo was a great linebacker, but he had a death wish. He couldn’t stop smoking weed, and he liked to tease Marian. One of those was going to get him thrown out of the NFL, and the other was going to get him dead.
“Really?” Marian said with exaggerated disappointment. “You had the whole day to think of a come-on line, and that’s the best you could come up with?”
The guys all laughed and Jo Jo got snapped with a few towels. He laughed, too, as if he’d really been joking, which was good. Cass crossed beating him up off his to-do list.
“Okay, gentlemen—and I use the term loosely,” she said, teasing them. “Today is press day. You get to be smart and funny and irresistible for the press corps. Make yourselves pretty before you join us back on the sidelines.”
There were groans from all over the room. “Oh, man,” Tyler Oakes, team quarterback, said. “You have to, too, right?”
Marian frowned. “Hello? I’m already pretty.”
Cass laughed out loud with the rest of the team. “You sure are,” he said, loud enough for her to hear him. Her gaze darted over to him, as if she’d been avoiding looking at him but couldn’t help herself now. He was sitting there in his shorts and nothing else, sweating. Beau was leaning on the locker in front of him, similarly undressed. Cass looked at him, hoping to lead Marian’s eyes that way, too. Beau was sure enough pretty when his copper skin was all sweaty, his tats gleaming black and slick.
Marian cleared her throat and Cass turned back to her. “Uh,” she said, blinking nervously as she backed up, holding the door with her hand. “Thanks. Hurry up. Down on the field. Press. Bye.” She turned and hurried off, letting the door swing closed.
“That girl got it bad,” Jo Jo said with a whistle. “You gonna put her out of her misery, or let me pick up the pieces of her broken heart?”
“Do you have a death wish?” Cass asked quietly, rearranging his to-do list again. He took a sip of his water as he stared at Jo Jo over the top of the bottle. Jo Jo backed up, his hands in the air.
“No, sir,” he said, shaking his head. “Not me. I didn’t say anything.”
Beau laughed. “Chicken.”
Jo Jo grinned. “You got that right, my man. Smart chicken.” He laughed as he sat down and started to get dressed. “See, I’m gonna be the first one down there with Miss Marian, while you pigs still got to wash the dirt off.” He laughed again as he danced out of the way of Cass’s reaching hand. “None of that,” he chided him. “Miss Marian would be very put out if I appeared all bloody for the press.”
“We’ll just make sure you don’t appear at all,” Beau said, which made Cass feel better. Beau may not have been actively pursuing Marian, but he was definitely interested in her, thank God. Cass didn’t want to be with a woman without Beau. He hadn’t been for…hell, three years. There was something between Marian and Beau. He just had to push it past the edge of whatever it was and into sex. No, more than sex. He wanted more than sex with Marian and Beau. It was time for more.
Before he could digest that mind-boggling thought, Beau slapped his shoulder. “Come on, man,” he said. “We’ve got to shower and get down there before they miss us.”
“Coming,” Cass said. He put aside his confusing thoughts and focused on the upcoming interviews. He really hated the press.
—
Beau twisted his head and cracked his neck with a satisfying pop. He was so tense he was getting a headache. Even his eyelids felt tense, and he knew he was frowning. Most of the sports reporters were avoiding him like the plague. He felt diseased when he was around them. Like if they came too close his personal shit would infect them. But they made him feel that way with their questions. They didn’t ask him about the team’s chances this year, or how the rookies were playing. No, they asked him about his drug addiction and the sex tape. Always the drugs and the sex. He’d done that to himself, so he really had no cause to complain. But, Christ, you’d think no one had ever gotten clean and stayed that way. Cass was frowning from about ten feet away, watching him and picking up on his tension. Beau took a deep breath and blew it out, trying some of the breathing techniques he’d learned in rehab. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t.
“Beau,” a bright, happy voice said from beside him. He turned and Marian was standing there with a big fake smile on her face as she led a reporter around. It was Stan Litchfield, one of the anchors of ESPN’s Football Junkies. Litchfield usually didn’t give him the time of day. “Stan, this is Beau Perez. I’m sure you two have met. Beau is one of the veteran players who anchor the Rebels. We’re thrilled with his performance at tight end.”
Well, that was a surprise. “Marian,” he said, politely returning her greeting. He held his hand out to Litchfield. “Stan. How are you?”
Litchfield looked unhappy. “Perez,” he grumbled, shaking his hand. “How are you doing?”
Beau gave him a crooked, cynical smile. “I’m clean and sober, thanks for asking.”
Marian’s eyes narrowed in warning, but Beau ignored her. He’d danced enough for these losers today.
Litchfield looked a little taken aback. “Are you? Good.” He grinned. “Feeling a little ornery today?”
“A little,” Beau said. “Take advantage. Ask me anything.”
Litchfield waved a hand at the cameraman, who aimed his lens at Beau, the green light on. “Last year the Rebels had a less than stellar season. Can you diagnose the issues last year, and give us an idea of what the Rebels are doing this year to fix the team, particularly the offensive weakness on the outside and the lack of solid defense in the secondary?”
Bam. Litchfield was putting him on the spot, and he thought Beau would fail. Fuck him. “Sure, Stan. We sucked last year in the running game. Truth. So we’ve picked up some great running backs in Danny Smith and Tom Kelly, a rookie out of Nebraska that everyone else was too busy kissing ass to notice. As for the secondary, I’ve never seen Michael Swan running as fast as he is this year. Rasheed Davis moved into the strong safety position and his leadership on the secondary is obvious, even this early in the game. They are going to be a force this season.”
Marian was beaming as if he’d taken his first steps under her watchful eye. Beau grinned at her. Litchfield looked a lot less bored.
“We all know Swan can run,” Litchfield agreed. “Let’s get back to Danny Smith. He’s not here. Why?”
“You want the party line?” Beau asked. Marian frowned again, and may even have gna
shed her teeth a little. He ignored her.
Litchfield grinned. “Nope. I want the truth.”
“The truth is, I don’t know.” Beau paused and Litchfield looked unhappy. “But he better get his ass down here.” Marian threw her hands in the air in disbelief behind the reporter. “I know from experience that you don’t want to fuck up your team’s confidence in you,” he went on, glad to finally be speaking his mind. “You don’t come back from that. And the longer Smith delays, the more the team questions his dedication here. We don’t need players who are going through the motions to earn endorsement deals. We need guys who are ready to play, who are passionate about the game, who want to be here, and who want to win. I don’t give a fuck how great a player he is. If he doesn’t stop acting like a fucking prima donna, he can kiss the Rebels goodbye, because we don’t want him.”
Around him, most of the other players and reporters had gone silent. Cass had walked over to stand slightly off to his side, as if to protect him, but he didn’t need protection. He was over that.
“I see,” Litchfield said. He glanced around. “Do you speak for the team?”
Beau grinned. “Hell, no. Do you think they’d give me that kind of power? But I do speak for myself, and a few others here. This is the Rebels, Stan. Let’s not dance around it. This is the last stop, the last-chance saloon, as Cass calls it.” He glanced at Cass, who was grinning. “If we don’t make it here, we don’t make it anywhere. We’re the redheaded stepchild of the NFL. The place trouble goes to either fade away or break out. I’m sick of fading away. I think this is the year we break out.” Around him there was a chorus of cheers from the other players. “So, how about this for a sound bite?” He turned to the camera and pointed at it. “You better watch out, cause the Rebels are bringing trouble right to your fucking door.” He saluted and turned away to face Marian. She was just staring at him in shock. “Sorry,” he mouthed, giving her a half smile. He took a deep breath and walked through the crowd, done for the day. A few of the players slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a fist bump. He wasn’t sure if he’d just made his career in Birmingham, or ended it.
Broken Play Page 2
