“Yeah, we won tonight,” he continued, his thumb playing over the open neck of his beer. “But Mayfair is out, possibly for the season, and that’s sobering. Am I happy to get Trent back in a starting position? Hell yeah. But one of my teammates is still down. And then that bullshit interview my dad gave, and then Kendra Fulton with further bullshit after… I just wasn’t in the mood to celebrate,” he shrugged, then chugged back the last half of his beer. “Look.” He pointed at the screen, where the last play was taking place.
The camera followed him, so I saw where Griggs, the defensive back, latched onto Jordan’s arm before he’d even touched the ball, in a clear pass interference. Somehow, he still managed to catch it, and even carried it a bit, but with Griggs hanging on his arm he couldn’t get anywhere, and the ball slipped out.
“I’m watching this shit trying to figure out what the hell he thought I was supposed to do.”
I didn’t have to ask to know that “he” was Jordan’s father. I knew the man well enough to know that he’d never been satisfied with anything Jordan did. I grew up with a dad who held high expectations too, but the difference was that our targets were always reasonable, and within our reach. Eli had pushed us, sure, but he also praised and rewarded us. With him, there was balance. There wasn’t any with Greg, and beneath that unaffected front of his, it bothered Jordan.
I took a deep breath, and then put my knees on the couch to move closer to him, a scolding expression on my face. “Well, you could have teleported or something, you know? Don’t make excuses. Find solutions.” It was something my father had always said to me and Nate growing up, and I was positive Jordan had heard it enough to recognize it.
He stared at me for a few seconds, then chuckled as he shook his head, looking toward the TV. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Motherfucker can’t hold me if I slick myself with Vaseline next time, right?”
I grinned. “Right. Now you’re using your head.”
Jordan turned his gaze back to me, so intense that I wanted to squirm, but forced myself to stay still. I averted my eyes, trying to kill some of the intensity that was brewing, from… whatever it was that was happening between us.
“I lied,” he said, bringing my attention back to his face. “When I said you weren’t cheering me up. That’s not true.”
I nodded, slowly. “Good. Because… I lied when I said that wasn’t why I came.”
This time, Jordan was the one to drop his gaze, looking at the empty bottle he still held in his hands. He put it down on the coffee table, then reached over, wrapping a hand around my bottle.
“Give me this. You’re not drinking it,” he said, frowning a little when I didn’t let it go.
“But it’s mine,” I countered, lifting it to take a long swig. “You said you didn’t like it.”
“But I’m thirsty.”
“So get up and get another one.”
Jordan grunted. “Wow. So you’re going to sit here and drink a beer you don’t really want, just to keep me from having it?”
I smiled sweetly. “Basically.”
“You don’t have to be so damn mean, Nicki.”
I closed my eyes over the use of that nickname. Usually, it annoyed the shit out of me, but right then, I felt… something else.
My eyes snapped open at the feeling of his skin on mine. I didn’t realize until then just how close to him I’d gotten, close enough that he’d barely had to move at all to run his fingers up over my collar, moving his hand to cup the back of my neck.
“We used to kick it like this all the time.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I remember.”
His thumb began to move, sliding up and down on the side of my neck, sending a shiver through me that landed right between my legs. I put my free hand to his chest, pushing him away so I could stand up.
“I should probably go,” I said, already moving. Instead of coming around the couch like I had, Jordan easily just climbed over it, getting in front of me. Before I knew it, his fingers were in the front belt loops of my jeans, dragging me up to his body.
“Says who?” A whimper left my throat as he brought one hand up, burying his fingers in the back of my hair. His other arm hooked around my waist. “Says who,” he repeated, and I shook my head.
“Nobody.”
The word was barely out before his mouth was on me. Firm, insistent, and so damn hot I could have sworn I was melting as he pushed his tongue between my lips. I accepted him eagerly – pressed my body to his, met his tongue stroke for stroke as he poured into me. His hand in my hair kept me firmly in place as he licked into, devoured my mouth until I felt like I was turning to liquid against him.
He’d always kissed me like this, like it was the last chance he’d ever have. He angled his head, leaning into it, leaving behind the peppery flavor of the beer, and the achingly familiar flavor of him. Every time I managed to take a breath, he hungrily snatched it back, groaning against my mouth as he pulled me impossibly closer, then lowered a hand to my ass to cup and squeeze.
He gave the kiss everything.
Kissed me like I was everything.
“I can’t do this,” I said, as soon as I’d pushed myself away from him. My voice was embarrassingly thick with emotion, and I had to clear my throat. He kept his arm hooked around my waist, his expression confused as I shook my head. “No. Not… again. I can’t do this.”
He ran his tongue over his lips, then let me go, taking a step back. “Damn… you’re still on that, huh?”
I shrugged, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. “Nothing has changed.”
Jordan’s reaction to those words was subtle – just a slight widening of his eyes before his expression went blank, and he let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I guess not.”
There was silence between us for a few seconds before I cleared my throat, then grabbed my purse from the counter. “Um… so, we’re cool right? I mean, professionally?”
He shook his head. “Sure, Nicki. Why the hell not? We’ve worked together fine all this time before now. Like you said… nothing changed.”
I didn’t offer anything except a nod as a response before I left, and I flinched when I heard how firmly the door closed behind me. Climbing onto the elevator, I pressed my back into the way and closed my eyes remembering the dejection on Jordan’s face when I ended the kiss, and the hurt in his eyes when I told him nothing had changed.
In reality?
Everything had.
Six.
Three hours, and a real drink later, I could still taste Nicki on my lips. Still feel her body pressed up against mine, still hear her little gratified whimpers ringing in my ears.
Shit.
I definitely shouldn’t have kissed her.
I knew that before I touched her the first time, knew it when I practically vaulted over the couch, knew it when she melted so easily into my touch. So I’d done the most obvious thing – I kissed her anyway. And now there was no way the aftermath wouldn’t be fucked up.
But how was I supposed to know she would still be tripping on shit we went through back in college?
Even after we broke up, there was never a period where we were far outside of the other’s orbit. When I got drafted, it was to the Kings, where Eli Richardson was serving as General Manager before he purchased the team, so Nate and Nicki were always around, learning the game. She never seemed affected though – always casual – and whatever she told Eli and Nate about our breakup, neither man had ever expressed a problem with me.
Hell, Eli still treated me like family.
So what the hell was tonight about?
Six goddamned years had passed, with her never seeming to be bothered by my presence. For two years, she worked an apprenticeship in the front office while she completed law school, dealing closely with the team – whole time, acted like she and I didn’t have history. When she graduated, got the new job role with player success, working directly with me, she never broke character. Never dropped a sign, never gave a cl
ue, nothing that even hinted at lingering feelings for me… until tonight.
The physical attraction was irrelevant. It was outside of our control, something that couldn’t be helped. But feelings? Nicki held those tight. I still remembered her completely unimpressed, unshaken demeanor when we broke up. She didn’t seem that bothered by it.
Tonight though…
“Not… again. I can’t do this.”
There was no mistaking the tremble in her voice when she said that, and she hadn’t been able to get away from me fast enough. That was what she always did with shit that was out of her control – got the hell away from it. Running meant she cared. I just wasn’t sure what she was running from this time.
I pushed out a deep sigh, then pulled myself up from the couch to get in the shower. We’d won the game, but we still had plenty more ahead of us. With Mayfair out, and Trent in, I knew we had a tough week of practice ahead. I needed the sleep.
And I needed to get Nicki off my mind.
I was a firm believer in keeping promises.
That was why I had my ass in a chair at Sucre Noir – the French-African fusion restaurant that had been chosen for this meeting – at 6:52 on Tuesday. I wasn’t taking any chances.
Chloe breezed up to the table precisely at seven, and she wasn’t at all what I expected. I probably should have looked her up, but I trusted Nicki to put me with who exactly I needed, so I hadn’t bothered. If I had, maybe the fact that Chloe McKenna was tall, chocolate, and fine as hell wouldn’t have been so surprising.
“You’re Jordan,” she said, with the barest hint of a British accent, telling me who I was – not asking. I quickly remembered my manners and stood to greet her with an extended hand, which she briefly – and firmly – shook before sitting down. “I’m Chloe McKenna,” she informed, looking expectantly at my chair. I guessed that was my signal to sit down, so I did, and waited for her to continue speaking. “I don’t have much time, since this was a last-minute reschedule, but Nicole tells me you need my help. And from what I’ve found of you online… that’s correct.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Okay…”
“Okay.” She smiled brightly, showing perfect teeth between her burgundy painted lips. She swiped her blunt-cut bangs out of her eyes, only for them to fall right back as she pulled a folder containing a stack of forms from her bag. She placed a pen on top of the folder and then laced her fingers together. “So here’s where we are: If we’re going to do business, the first thing to understand is that I am not your babysitter. You’re a grown man – you don’t need one, and I expect you to act like a grown man who doesn’t need one.
“Secondly, I expect you to do as I ask. Nothing will be illegal, or outside of reason. I’m very very good at what I do, so I need you to trust that. If you don’t, you can consider yourself relieved from my client list. Are both of those understood?”
My eyebrow hiked further. “Uh… yeah…”
“Good! Now that we’re on the same page there… tell me what you want, Jordan.”
“Uh… PR representation?”
She chuckled. “No. I mean as in… your deep, personal desires. Not what you want from me, what you want from life. What do you want?”
I sat back a bit in my chair, searching my mind for an answer that fit what she was looking for. “I… I want to win the SuperBowl I guess.”
Chloe scoffed. “Of course you do. You and every other player in the NFL. Be serious with me, Jordan. What do you want? Not what you think I want to hear. Give me three things.”
What?
What kind of pseudo-psychological, faux-motivational, con-artist shit was this? Was she about to pull some vitamin supplements out of her bag for me to sell?
“I need answers, Jordan. And I know you’re capable, so out with it then.”
Shit.
“Uh… I don’t know what kind of answers you’re looking for.”
“Bullshit. Answer the question.”
My eyebrow shot up again. “Seriously, I don’t know what you want to hear.”
“It’s not about what I want to hear, it’s about you being honest with yourself. What do you want?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
“I really don—”
“Answer the question, Jordan. You can drink, and party, and what was it last year? Fighting? You can do all of that and can’t answer a question?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything. Answer the question. What do you want?”
“I want to be taken seriously,” I blurted out, frustrated with the way she was riding me about it. “I want people to stop acting like my personal life keeps me from getting shit done on the field. I want that to be the focus, if they want something to talk about.”
Chloe smiled. “Okay.” Confused, I watched as she picked up the pen, and right on the front of the folder, wrote down “#1 – be taken seriously”. “Alright, what else?” she asked, looking up, expectantly.
I sat up, shrugging. “I don’t kn—”
“Yes you do. Besides being taken seriously, what do you want more than anything else?”
I blew out a sigh. “I… want respect.”
“Isn’t that the same as the first thing?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. “I want it from my father.”
She studied me for a moment, her eyes darting over my face, and then she nodded. She lifted the pen again, and wrote down “#2 – gain father’s respect.”
“One more.”
I brought my hands up, letting out a low groan as I scrubbed them over my face. “That’s all I’ve got. Seriously.”
“No. Everybody has three.”
“What are yours?”
She laughed. “That’s none of your business, love.”
“But you’re all in mine.”
“Because I’m paid to be.”
“Then… shit, help me.”
“I can’t help you, Jordan,” she said, laughing again as she shook her head. “It’s something you have to do for yourself. I can tell you that everyone’s number three is always hardest.”
“To achieve?”
“To admit. To say out loud. To express wanting something that feels impossibly out of reach. To share with someone else.”
I propped my hands behind my head, studying Chloe the same way she’d studied me just a moment before. Beautiful woman… impeccably dressed, obviously successful, with weary, burdened eyes.
“What’s yours?”
She flinched. “Pardon me?”
I smiled, giving her full dimples and everything. “Come on, Chloe. You know what I’m asking.”
“I sure do.”
“So…?”
She let out a deep sigh, then leveled a look at me that made the smile melt off of my face. “Just between you and me?” she asked, her tone solemn.
“Absolutely.”
She ran her tongue over her lips, dropping her gaze to her hands. “I need my husband back.”
My eyes dropped to her hands too, noticing for the first time that she was wearing a simple wedding band – so simple it almost seemed out of place with the obvious luxury of everything else she had. I wondered where her husband was, for her to need – not want – him back, but I was smart enough to know she wouldn’t answer. There was no point in prying.
“So what’s yours then?” she asked, tapping the end of the pen against the folder. “Your thing you’re scared of wanting, afraid of what will happen if you get it? The thing you’re not sure you deserve, but want so bad you can taste it?”
“Nicki,” I said, without even thinking about it. “I want Nicki.”
Both of Chloe’s eyebrows hiked this time, and then furrowed together. “Nicki? Are you talking about Nicole?”
“Yes.”
“As in Eli Richardson’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Chloe blinked.
And then she aimed th
e pen, and wrote down, “#3 – Nicki”.
“Alright then,” she said, replacing the cap on the pen, then putting it down. She turned the folder around, so that the words were no longer upside down, then pushed it across the table toward me. “In there, is a contract. If you sign it, you are pledging yourself to be a client who won’t end up embarrassing me, and who will pay me my fees in a timely manner. The first is more important than the second. Understood?”
I nodded.
“Good. In exchange for that… I can help you with this list. I feel like these are probably out of order for you, but that’s fine, because it’s not a ranking anyway. Just three things, that for the sake of argument, are of equal weight. Unfortunately… I can only promise results here,” she said, tapping the pen on the first item on the list. “I work in public relations, and these other two… these are private.”
I nodded again.
“But,” she continued, in a bright tone, “I will say that in my experience, intimate relationships can often fall victim to public perceptions. However, they can also be healed by them. There’s a very good chance that if we handle the first one, these other two will fall into place for you as well – depending on the reason these relationships were damaged in the first place.”
“I understand.” I swallowed hard, moving my hand up to run my fingers over the neatly penned letters on the folder. The first and the second thing… those were no-brainers. But the possibility of me and Nicki? It had been years since that crossed my mind and yet here I was, with her name on a list of what I wanted more than anything.
This shit was crazy. I needed to tell Chloe to scratch it, so I could name something else. Something that actually made sense. I took a deep breath as I scanned my mind for an alternative to my current number three. Chloe said nothing. After a few minutes had gone by, I cleared my throat and looked up, meeting her eyes.
“When do we start?”
She smiled. “We already have, love.”
“You heifers are supposed to be helping me. Not laughing.”
Across the counter, Naima pressed her lips together as she carefully arranged sliced peaches on top of the crumb crust I’d watched her meticulously form into the pie dish she’d brought with her. Me, her, and Margo were all spread around my spacious, rarely used kitchen. We’d made these plans after the frantic phone call I placed on the way out of Jordan’s building. Now, it was Wednesday, and here we were.
Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) Page 7
