“No,” I said quickly, trying to quell whatever nightmare scenario Nate had probably conjured in his mind. “He never said or did anything inappropriate with me, I just got a… vibe. You pick things up from people when you spend time with them, and I’m just saying that I picked up “creep” from Todd Browning.”
“And you never said anything?”
“To who, about what?” I asked, pulling my face into a scowl. “What was I going to do, run and tell daddy I couldn’t work with that player because he skeeved me out?”
Nate gave me a look like he thought I was insane. “Yes.”
“No,” I shot back. “Would you do that, Nate? Tell your boss you couldn’t do your job because you were intangibly creeped out by one of the players?”
“No, but I can’t say that I’ve ever been creeped out by one of the players.”
“Exactly.” I sat back, my elbows resting on the sleekly curved arms of my office chair. “It’s not something you have to contend with, but I do. Out of the twelve guys on my roster, there are only five that don’t creep me out.”
Nate sniggered. “Is JJ one of those five?”
“You can shut the fuck up,” I snapped, and he laughed harder. “Anyway, my point is that even though they don’t make me feel that comfortable, I deal, because that’s what women do.”
“So you’re telling me almost 60% of your players make you uneasy?”
“I’m telling you 60% of men, period make me uneasy. You’re awful.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It’s true.”
“It sounds… stressful.”
“Well, being called a bitch because you don’t want to sleep with someone is stressful, Nate. But again, I deal. Did you need anything else? I have work to do.”
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
“So you can do the opposite? No thanks.”
Nate clapped a hand to his chest. “That’s how little you think of me? You’re my twin, Cole. When you hurt, I hurt. When you cry, I—”
“Laugh.”
“Are you really going to hold that against me forever?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Now get out so I can work. I need to talk to scouting. We need another quarterback, remember?”
Nate groaned as he pushed himself up. “Yeah, I know. Mayfair is…”
“Freaking out?”
“A little bit,” he answered, heading to the door. I turned my attention to logging into my computer. “We should all be freaking out, honestly. It’s a lot of pressure on him, especially when all we’ve got now is a third-string backup.”
My head shot up. “Don’t talk about Trent like that. He’s good. Better than Mayfair’s wack ass,” I mumbled, as I turned back to my screen.
“That’s not a shot against TB. He’s good, but is he good in a game? He hasn’t even played since before he got locked up. I don’t know if he could handle the pressure.”
“Because we aren’t letting him play, which I still don’t understand. He never let the Kings down, which is why he was allowed back on the roster in the first place. What good does it serve to keep him benched?”
Nate shrugged, then put his hand on the door handle. “I don’t know. Above my paygrade. I just do what’s needed to keep my guys in the black… unlike your delinquents. Who’s next, Cole? JJ hasn’t been arrested all year. Is he keeping that shoulder safe, or is his annual assault and/or drunk and disorderly coming soon?”
“Shut up,” I said, throwing a pen at him, which bounced off his neatly tapered haircut. “You just worry about making sure your quarterback doesn’t have an anxiety attack, so we can win this game. Get him in some sewing classes, so he can learn how to thread a needle for once, okay?”
“Oooh,” Nate said, wrinkling his face into a pinched expression. “That was nice.”
I beamed. “It was, wasn’t it? Now get out, seriously.”
“You coming to dinner tomorrow night?”
I tipped my head to the side. “The team dinner?”
“No… dinner at dad’s. Apparently Mel learned a recipe in some gourmet cooking class, and she’s excited, wants everybody to come over so she can cook.”
I scowled, then moved my hands to my keyboard. “I’m going to pass. I have no interest in being fed by daddy’s child bride.”
Nate winced. “Come on, Cole. You can’t be making those kind of jokes around here after the Browning thing.”
“Yikes,” I said, scrunching my nose. “You’re right. But still. No.”
“Mel is like thirty-five. She’s not a kid. And she’s cool.”
“Of course she’s cool. She’s a hot, kid-free, thirty-five year old divorcee. She’s the epitome of cool. And she could also be my big sister.”
“They’re married.”
“So? They’ve been married for damn near ten years, it’s not new information.”
Nate’s lips parted, and he slowly shook his head at me. “So… you don’t see the problem here, do you?”
I smiled. “Can’t say I do. Bye Nate.”
“Bye Cole. See you at dinner tomorrow.”
“I’m not… coming to dinner tomorrow.”
It was pointless. The door had already closed behind him, before the “not” was even out of my mouth. I let out a loud, exaggerated groan as I ran a hand over my head, smoothing back the imaginary hairs that were out of place.
I’d never – ever endeavored to be “that” child, who couldn’t accept it when a parent moved on with their love life, away from the person who gave birth to you. I wanted my father to find love, wanted him to be happy.
The least he could have done was not bring home a twenty-three-year-old Kings cheerleader when I was barely sixteen years old. He had a thing for those cheerleaders – my mother was one too.
It wasn’t so much that I was bothered by the age difference between them. Some people frowned at a man pursuing a woman who was 19 years his junior, but I didn’t really give a shit. She was hot, and pretty, I got it.
What burned me up was the age difference between me and her – only seven years. We were close enough in age that people thought she was my big sister. When I turned eighteen? She was only twenty-five, which meant we were in the same age demographic. We could have reasonably been in the same damned dating pool – and more than one of my boyfriends over the years had made a pass at her before getting shot down.
It was weird.
I was never openly mean to her, or intentionally rude. I just avoided her when I could, kept to myself when I couldn’t, and if she wasn’t in my direct presence, I pretended she didn’t exist.
Looking at our situation, someone could probably assume that I resented Mel and my father, for trying to replace my mother. As much as I wished I could use that completely logical – even if it was unfair to Mel – excuse, I couldn’t.
I’d never even known my mother – giving birth to me and Nathan had claimed her life.
I knew of her though. Eli Richardson was a man who made no secret of the fact that “Evelyn, with her fine ass” as he frequently referred to her, had been well loved. We were very young when her pictures came down off the walls, but there were albums on albums available to us, and daddy always had a story to tell about her. We had grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, from her side of the family, and he made sure that we knew them.
My mother wasn’t there, but her presence was, even if it was in a way that was abstract. That helped, but didn’t eliminate the feeling of lack. My father dated some – he was a young, handsome, eligible bachelor, still in the NFL at the time – but he didn’t settle down, didn’t get serious, until a few years after he left the league.
And then, Melinda.
I thought she was just another of my father’s flings – he didn’t bring her around at first, but after the NFL, he’d gone into sports commentating, and became well known in the business world for various good investments. He was popular enough that his personal affairs made entertainment news, and I saw pictures
of them together.
But then he did bring her around. Again, and again, and I began to realize that he was actually serious about her. Really serious about her. And then, when he was 45, and she was 26, he married her.
Nine years later, I was still trying to pretend none of it had ever happened. What started as teenaged rebellion and indifference had continued into just… indifference. I didn’t dislike Mel, and she was fine by me as long as she did right by my father, but I had no interest in becoming some perfect little blended family. In that vein, me going to her little dinner? It just wasn’t happening.
So I went to the damned dinner.
The more I thought about it, the more I felt bad, especially after I received the text invitation from Mel herself, which would have been blatantly rude to ignore. Early on, Mel had caught on to the fact that I wasn’t trying to forge any relationship, so she’d left me to myself instead of forcing the issue – and talked my father into not forcing it either.
He’d told me so.
It wasn’t like I had hot plans anyway.
I wasn’t seriously dating anyone, and the guy I’d been fooling with was currently on my shit list, so male company wasn’t on my radar. My girlfriends? Those heifers were on a girls’ weekend I couldn’t attend because of work. Without either of those? My perfect evening would have consisted of takeout, something new to read, and maybe a little quality time with my vibrator.
Dinner at my father’s was probably a step up… or at least lateral.
When it was just me, my brother, and my father, we’d lived in a sprawling house out in Greenwich, complete with the private schools and everything. It was the house my mother had chosen, and decorated for the family she never got to experience.
Now, he lived in a renovated historic townhouse in Bridgeport with Melinda, which is where we gathered on Friday to eat overcooked steak au poivre. I sawed off a piece of the meat as daintily as I could while Nate nudged me under the table from his place beside me. I shot him a “leave me the hell alone” look as I forked the meat into my mouth. It was dry, and dense – something I’d never even known was possible for a filet mignon – but at least the sauce was good.
“What do you think, Nicole? Baby hooked us up, didn’t she?”
Ummm…
“This is lovely, Mel, thank you for having me over. The sauce may be the best I’ve ever had,” I said, with a genuine smile, hoping that answer was good enough. At the very least, it was the truth.
Mel smiled back, an image that was honestly exquisite – her honey toned skin and light blonde natural curls lent themselves to a look that was very… sunny.
“You hear that, Eli?” she teased, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “The sauce is the best she’s had. That’s her polite way of saying the steak isn’t worth a damn.”
She, my father, and Nate laughed about that, but I hurriedly lifted my wine to my lips to avoid a reaction on my part.
“It’s fine, Cole.” She reached for the bottle to pour herself another glass, then held it towards me, nonverbally asking if I wanted more. I nodded. “I know I was a little aggressive on the fire with these steaks. I’m still learning.”
“And it was a great attempt,” I said weakly, trying to soften the blow. “The sauce really is good.”
“Well thank you,” she smiled. “I think so too.”
I felt eyes on me from across the table, and looked up to see my father beaming between me and Mel. “Now, isn’t this nice? My two favorite girls, bonding.”
“We’re talking about sauce, Eli. Relax.”
“Well maybe it should be more,” my father continued, apparently ready to dig his heels in on the issue tonight. “You two have a lot in common, you would probably get along well.”
“Eli…” The warning in Mel’s voice was clear. Nate looked down at his plate, and I made myself interested in my wine glass. “We’ve talked about this, remember? I’m sure Cole already has enough going on without you trying to force me on her. She’s a grown woman, with a full, busy life. How are things at work?”
I lifted my gaze back to her. “Oh, ummm… they’re fine. We have pro personnel looking at quarterbacks to replace Todd Browning since we need three on our roster. And we have everything set for the social media usage seminar next month.”
Mel raised an eyebrow. “Social media usage seminar?”
“Yes,” Nate answered. “It was a collaborative effort for the entire Player Success team. It’s important for the players to recognize that when they get on social media, no matter what they say or feel otherwise, it’s a reflection of the team. That the things they say don’t just affect them – they affect their teammates, and the organization.”
I nodded. “Right. We don’t want the team or the players trending for the wrong reasons.”
Mel scoffed. “Someone ought to explain that to Jordan Johnson character. That kid makes me so mad, with that attitude.”
“He’s not a kid, he’s a grown man with an incredible amount of pressure being laid on his shoulders by everyone with an interest in the Kings. On the field, he performs better than 99% of his peers, and he’s the best wide receiver in the league.”
When that last word left my lips, the table was quiet, and all eyes were on me. I pressed my lips together, pretending not to notice as I grabbed my wine glass and lifted it to my lips, but didn’t drink.
What the hell was that?
Where did I get off reacting to that as if I hadn’t said damn near the same thing, in much harsher words, right to Jordan’s face? I never wasted an opportunity to tell Jordan exactly how and why he wasn’t shit, but when someone else did it…
“I’m glad to see how Nathan and Nicole have really embraced their roles with the team, and gotten protective over their players. She was ready to cut you about her wide receiver, did you hear that?” My father teased, even though his expression was serious.
Mel nodded. “I noticed. I might get a little protective over a big tall piece of dark chocolate like that myself.” She turned and looked at my father after she said that, and the way he damn near purred a second later let me know she was being handsy under the table.
Gross.
“It’s nothing to do with his appearance. He’s valuable to this team.”
“Very valuable,” Daddy agreed, once he’d regained his composure. “How are things looking toward getting him to sign a new contract with us this spring? It’s about that time he’s going to ask for real money. Have you been talking with his agent?”
Shit.
“Um… he is actually… in transition, at the moment. So no, I haven’t.”
“In transition?” Nate asked, and I shot him a look that I really wish could have melted him where he sat. He grinned back. “What does that mean?”
“Yes, what does that mean?” My father looked concerned.
Honestly? I was surprised this little tidbit hadn’t come out sooner.
“Well,” I started, then drained the rest of my wine. “Jordan actually fired his agent. And his PR rep was hired by his agency, so essentially…”
“He has no one.”
I glared at my empty wine glass. “Right. But, we’re on it. It’s handled. He’s meeting with Chloe McKenna next week, and we are putting together a list of potential agents for him. It’s being handled.”
“It better be,” Eli warned. In that moment, he wasn’t my daddy – he was my boss. “Jordan is the face of this team right now, we can’t afford mistakes with him. Make sure he gets good people on him this time, not like the hacks he fired. And whatever requests he makes in his contract… give it to him. I didn’t fire half of my front office, do this restructuring for nothing. We need him here.”
My stomach lurched. “Well… that might be a problem.”
Again, the table went quiet, all eyes on me.
“Why would that a problem, Nicole?” Eli’s voice was deadly serious, and my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
I cleared my t
hroat. “Well, he has um… implied that unless he gets a new Super Bowl ring this year, he will not be returning to the Kings. He’s frustrated. He feels like he has no help, and he doesn’t understand why you won’t let Trent play.”
“Because Mayfair earned his place. I like Trent – believe in him, want to see him succeed. But he’s not acclimated to the game, and I can’t tell the coaches to take that chance with him now. Not with our current record.”
“But you know what the chemistry is like when Jordan and Trent play. They make magic together.”
“Mayfair is a great quarterback, and Jordan needs to figure out how to make magic, period. No matter the quarterback,” Nate snarked, shaking his head.
“The magic he makes alone is the only reason our record isn’t worse than it is now. Don’t minimize what he does for this team.”
“And don’t exaggerate it either.”
“Oh, like you’re doing with Mayfair? “Great quarterback”? Please. Could you ride his dick any harder?”
“I’ll leave that to you with Jordan, thanks.”
“Enough.”
We all flinched as Eli smacked his hand on the table, then looked between us, letting us know we’d gone too far – at least in front of him. Which was surprising, because in the past we’d gone much, much harder.
Maybe he was getting softer with age.
“I need for you two to treat each other a little better,” he said, morphing back into “Daddy” right before our eyes – softer tone, relaxed shoulders. “All of this snipping back and forth…”
“Are you sick or something?” I asked, alarmed. Growing up, my father had never pushed “daintiness” or anything like that on me. He raised me to think like a warrior – like a winner. Avoid collateral damage where you could, but win. Even if the competitor was my brother. All the way up to us getting our jobs with the team. So for him to now say that we should be nicer to each other…
“He’s definitely sick,” Nate chimed in, eyes wide. “Is it cancer?”
“Will you two shut up?” Daddy looked back and forth between us, shaking his head. “I’m not sick, I’m… I’m trying to get you two to think about the right way to treat a sibling, instead of whatever it is you two do now. You’re supposed to support one another, and get along.”
Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) Page 4
