Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

  “You were on my mind. Just wanted to let you know.”

  I typed that, then stared at it, picking it apart until I decided it was weak, and boring. If I was going to send a corny text… it should be at least be interesting.

  “You were on my mind. I’m thankful, for you. You fought for us, and reminded me that I loved you. Love you. As in right in this moment. Just wanted to let you know.”

  I flopped back on my bed, satisfied, after I hit send. I already regretted being so sentimental in a text message, so I knew it was definitely corny enough. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when my phone buzzed, letting me know I’d received a reply.

  “Man, cut this shit out. You tryna have a nigga’s eyes sweating or something? – J. Johnson.”

  I smiled, biting my lip as I typed out a reply. Before I could finish, he’d sent another one.

  “I love you too, beautiful. And I’m thankful you gave us another chance. – J. Johnson.”

  “Oh, and I’m thankful for that ass. – J. Johnson.”

  I broke into giggles, feeling like a teenager all over again. “Silly. What are you doing up? Isn’t it like four in the morning for you?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t get a certain crazy ass girl off my mind. – J. Johnson.”

  “Wishing I’d brought her with me. Nobody knows who the fuck I am here. It’s beautiful. – J. Johnson.”

  “Nairobi, or nobody knowing who you are?”

  “Both. I miss you though. – J. Johnson.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “I’m horny. – J. Johnson.”

  “That feeling is also mutual.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. – J. Johnson.”

  “I’ve got you, tomorrow. – J. Johnson.”

  “Don’t do anything. Go to sleep. Save it for me. – J. Johnson.”

  I grinned.

  “You too…”

  “Bet. I’m gonna be thankful all over you. – J. Johnson.”

  “Ewwww!”

  “That ain’t what you were saying the other day. – J. Johnson.”

  “GOOD NIGHT.”

  “LOL. Good night beautiful. J. Johnson.”

  Seventeen

  “So. Keith, Heinz, and Bond aren’t returning next season. Gordy, Bell, Vance, Pitts and Kyle are on existing contracts. Redford and Lawrence are probably getting released. That leaves… Johnson and Sanchez.”

  I folded my hands together, letting out a heavy sigh as I leaned back in my chair. This was one of the few things I could say that I disliked, full stop, about my job as ADPS. Finding schools for their kids, making sure their mothers had tickets to the game – or the medical care they needed from a doctor across the country, on the team’s dime, like what I’d managed to pull off for Pitts – were the parts I enjoyed.

  Hell, telling them they needed to get their shit together on the field, being the one to inform them that their wives were getting ready to leave their trifling asses, things like that… to be honest, I enjoyed those moments too.

  But I hated dealing with the money.

  The team had a certain budget to build a roster that would consistently make wins happen. There were salary caps, franchise numbers, veteran minimums, all of that to deal with, and luckily for me, between Presley’s accounting degree and my contract law degree, we were able to handle it without asking for too much support.

  But that didn’t make me like it any better.

  “How much do you think Sanchez will go for?” I asked Presley. “I’m pretty sure he wants to stay, especially now that we’re winning, but we lowballed him before. His talent is proven now, so we’ll have to do better. Think ten million, over three years, is reasonable?”

  She pursed her lips as she stared at the spreadsheet we had set up on the oversized tablet in front of us. “Depends on how he finishes the season… may need to offer more. Especially with that fiancée of his.”

  I lifted an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden venom in Presley’s voice. “What is that about?”

  “Oh!” She shifted her gaze away from me, back to the numbers. “Nothing. Just commenting. But I think ten is enough to put down for now.”

  I side-eyed Pres for a few more seconds before I turned back to the numbers myself. “If we can make that work, that means we can make a very, very sweet offer to Johnson.”

  “It’s going to need to be syrupy,” Pres mused, mirroring my own thoughts. “He wasn’t happy this season, until Bailey came back. Maybe that will give us some cushion?”

  Pressing my fingers to my temples, I blew out a sigh. “Maybe. Hopefully. Prayerfully.”

  Because of the delicacy of our situation, I’d been very careful to keep my discussion of business matters with Jordan to an absolute minimum. He hadn’t said anything to me again about the possibility of him not returning to the Kings next season, but I’d be a fool to think it wasn’t still on his mind.

  Sure, he had his help on the field now, in the form of Trent Bailey, but the Kings’ road to the SuperBowl was still a tightrope walk – very little margin for error. With our record, we needed every possible win to even make the playoffs – gaining a wildcard position would be a saving grace, but it still didn’t guarantee a crack at the championship title. And even making it to the SuperBowl wasn’t the same thing as a win.

  “Put down fifty million for now,” I said, ignoring the gasp Presley let out over that number.

  “Is there precedent for that?!” she asked, and I shook my head, then pointed my gaze at her.

  “Does it matter? Eli wants Jordan on this team, so we need to have a contingency in place for if we don’t win this championship. Jordan is ready to walk, and money talks. Fifty million dollars. Twenty-five guaranteed. Signing bonus of ten. That screams.”

  My heart was racing, but I tried my best to keep my voice calm, not letting on that just discussing this was stressing me out. Jordan was an integral member of our team – we could afford whatever he wanted – so I didn’t think I would get any pushback about that number. That wasn’t the stressor.

  Wondering if I would have considered offering him that much if I wasn’t sleeping with him was. Was it reasonable, or was I suffering from “dick too bomb”?

  “Okay. I put it down. Honestly, it makes sense. And we’re still under the salary cap for the year, so it works. Now we’ll just have to see what happens through the rest of the season, but we’ll be ready in Spring.”

  I nodded, glad for her declaration that my numbers made sense. We saved the spreadsheet, closed it, and were ready to move to the next item on our agenda when the door to my office flew open.

  “E-Coli. I need to talk to you, sis,” Nate said as he strolled in. He grinned at Pres, who blushed before she looked at me.

  “What do you want?” I asked, making a point of busying myself with the computer. “Presley and I are busy.”

  He scoffed. “You can give me a few minutes of your time… and a few million dollars from your cut of the salary budget.”

  “No.”

  “Come onnn,” he whined, positioning himself right behind Presley’s chair. From the look on her face – which she was trying valiantly to hide – I knew what was happening to her. My brother, with his looks and smell and body heat, was happening to her.

  Gross.

  “I know you talked about it already,” he mused, leaning over her. “I see it right here on Presley’s list. You have beautiful handwriting by the way,” he added, making her blush. “Fitting.”

  “I said no, Nathan. You can go now.”

  He shot me a scowl. “I’m talking to Presley, Nicole.” He lowered his mouth, way too close to her ear. “You had money left over after your contract projections didn’t you?”

  “Um… a little,” Pres replied, sounding breathless.

  I rolled my eyes. “Not enough to help you balance millions.”

  Nate cut his gaze over to me. “How much are you giving Johnson?”

  “Fifty,” Presley answered, before I
could tell her to shut up, and Nate’s eyes bugged out as he stood up straight.

  “Fifty?!” he repeated, as I jumped up from my desk, hurriedly shooing Presley from my office, and locking the door behind her. “Fifty, Cole?!”

  I shrugged. “Yes, fifty. He’s valuable to this team!”

  “Bullshit,” Nate scoffed, laughing. “He’s valuable to you. Who do I need to sleep with to get a fifty million dollar contract around here?”

  My heart slammed to the front of my chest, and a second later, I shoved Nate in his. “Who the hell told you that?!” I demanded. My words were first met with a blank stare, but then a grin crept across Nate’s face.

  “Nobody,” he said quietly, shaking his head as he tried to contain himself from laughing. “You told on yourself.”

  Immediately, anger swamped me as I realized Nate had just been doing his normal messing around, but I was so on edge that yeah – I spilled my own damned beans.

  “Get out,” I hissed, stomping away from him to get back to my desk.

  “After that revelation? Hell no,” he declared, dropping into the seat Presley had been in. “I need to hear this shit. You and Johnson again, huh? I never would have thought. I mean, I did, but I didn’t really think you’d actually do it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What are you even talking about?”

  Nate shrugged. “I see how y’all are with each other. The chemistry. I figured it was just a matter of time before something popped off again… but I also figured you’d fuck it up.”

  “You thought I would fuck it up?”

  “Hell yes,” Nate laughed. “You’re controlling, competitive, neurotic, emotionally repressed –”

  “Excuse you, asshole.”

  He lifted his hands, chuckling. “Hey, just calling it like I see it. You’re… a lot. Most men aren’t wired for that.”

  “Jordan isn’t most men,” I said, sneering at him.

  He nodded, conceding to my words. “Apparently not, and hey… good for him. And good luck to him. Please don’t bleed the man of all his energy, we need him on the field.”

  “Again, excuse you,” I snapped, scowling. “For your information, I plan to be a great girlfriend.”

  Nate shook his head, laughing. “You know what Cole… you’re just crazy enough to make that happen.”

  “I sure as hell am.” I sat up in my chair, proudly squaring my shoulders. “You see, one of the perks of being all the things you named is that I’m very aware that I’m all the things you named. So, I use my “weaknesses” as strengths. I’m competing against myself, and any future girlfriend, wife, cutty buddy, whatever, Jordan will ever have. And I will be the best. For posterity, okay? Sorry future bitch – you’ll never compare. He’s already had the best girlfriend ever.”

  “Again – you’re crazy.”

  “Or am I a genius, Nate?”

  My brother shook his head as he stood from his chair. “I’m going to stick with the first one.”

  “I trust that this stays between us?” I called as he approached the door.

  Nate looked back, grinning. “Of course… as long as you point that budget money my way.”

  I rolled my eyes as he left, knowing that threat was empty. As much as my brother and I went back and forth, I knew he’d keep the secret for me, but I really needed to get it together. How was I asking people to keep a secret I couldn’t seem to keep myself?

  Sitting back in my chair, I closed my eyes, trying to clear it from my mind. I had too much to do today to let my personal life take the lead while I was at the office. Instead of dwelling on how many people knew about Jordan and I, I focused on the next item on my shared itinerary with Presley.

  Engage – Talk to players about their place on the team.

  Shit.

  “I need to speak with you, Mr. Johnson.”

  My heart flipped over in my chest when Jordan looked up, and the warm brown of his eyes met mine. One corner of his mouth curved into a smile, dimples piercing his cheeks. His mouth said nothing – his eyes said everything. It was crazy to me how just a look could give me so much.

  I hoped that wouldn’t ever fade.

  “What can I do for the Kings’ front office?” he asked, following the physical therapist’s directive for him to sit up. It was after practice, in the recovery room. I’d interrupted his session.

  “Well,” I started, walking up. “It’s more about what the Kings can do for you.” I sat down on an empty table as the perky blonde therapist started massaging Jordan’s legs. “Can we have a moment, please?”

  She turned around, giving me a look so hostile it caught me off guard. “We’re trying to work here. Can it wait?”

  I felt my lip curling up when Jordan intervened. “Yo, I was just about to tell you I needed a little break anyway Rebecca. It’s cool.”

  “Are you sure, JJ? Your recovery is important to me, and we can’t skimp.”

  Is that a vein twitching at the side of my head?

  “Yeah. I’m gonna holler at Cole for a minute, and then we can finish.”

  “Okay. Don’t try to sneak off without letting me finish your massage.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Rebecca shot me another scowl, then sashayed off, ponytail bouncing as she went.

  I looked at Jordan. “Did she just…”

  Jordan chuckled. “Yeah. She sure damn did.”

  “I’m gonna just pretend that didn’t happen.” I pushed out a sigh, then straightened up. “So… how’s the shoulder?”

  Jordan lifted an eyebrow as he leaned back on his elbows, looking me over like he was thinking about snatching my clothes off. “It’s good. But you’ve already talked to the team doctor about that.”

  “Busted,” I grinned. “They say you’re good as new, but I wanted to hear it from you. How are you feeling now that Trent is back? Are you happier?”

  “I’m good.”

  I huffed. “Is that going to be your answer for everything? “Good”?”

  “That’s all I have for Cole from the front office, beautiful.”

  “I see. So… no chance that I could get a little hint on if you still intend to leave the team if rings don’t happen this year?”

  “Nope.”

  “No chance that I can drop a bug in your ear about what we’ll offer to keep you?”

  He grinned, shaking his head. “Nope. Talk to Margo.”

  I looked around, making sure nobody’s attention was on us before I gave him a playful pout. “What fun is being your girlfriend if you wanting to get inside of me isn’t incentive to answer my questions?”

  Jordan laughed, then pulled his lip between his teeth, a move that made me clench my thighs. It was easy to see why Rebecca was eager get back to touching on him. He was in nothing but compression shorts and a matching tee – the fabric of both molded to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  “There’s no fun in it,” he answered. “We keep it separate so we don’t get the two twisted, Ms. Richardson. Remember?”

  “Uh huh. Tell Rebecca I’m finishing your massage.”

  “She’ll beat you up,” Jordan teased.

  “I will sling her around by that perky little ponytail,” I whispered, noticing that she had her nosy face aimed right at us. “Anyway,” I said as I stood, stepping so that my back was to her, and blocking Jordan. “Point taken. I’ll talk to Margo.”

  “Aiight.” My face heated as Jordan’s eyes landed on my breasts, then drifted lower, to the juncture of my thighs. “I like your pants. They make your pussy look fat,” he whispered, then grinned.

  “Look?” I asked, then winked. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson.”

  “You’re welcome, Ms. Richardson. Hey, you know what’s coming up next week, right?”

  I nodded. “The game against Seattle.”

  Jordan sucked his teeth. “And?”

  “And… your birthday.”

  He bit his lip again. “Yeah. So what are you getting me?”
<
br />   “Whatever you want,” I shot back.

  A wicked grin spread over his face, and he sat all the way up. “Whatever?”

  I shrugged, then gave him an affirmative nod before I turned and walked away. “Whatever.”

  Thank God this is almost over.

  I fidgeted in my seat, waiting for the server to hurry and bring the check. I was at the end of yet another seemingly endless lunch meeting with other team execs. While I could respect what my father was trying to do – foster relationships across all subsections of the team’s corporate structure – these meetings were… boring. And they cut into time I could actually be working. I couldn’t wait until he sent out the feedback survey for this particular venture, so I could tell him exactly that.

  I sighed.

  At least I got a free lunch though.

  That was reason enough to smile as the server finally returned, and the meal went onto the corporate dime. I spent another long ten minutes on drawn out goodbyes, then excused myself to the ladies room, insisting I could find my own midday transportation back to the office.

  Hell no I didn’t want to share a cab.

  I was stepping out of the ladies room, on my way to call my own car when a familiar voice called my name. I stopped in my tracks, hoping I was imagining it, but a second later, there he was, right in front of me. Cedrick Michael Rochester, the third.

  All I wanted to do was melt through the floor.

  “Nicole, how are you?” he asked, in that accent I used to find inexplicably sexy, but now just grated on my nerves.

  I extended a hand toward him. “I’m wonderful, Cedrick. You?”

  “The same. But I don’t know why you’re offering me your hand. We were engaged, Nicole. Surely you can a spare a hug?”

  Ugh.

  Did he have to bring that up? We’d pulled the plug on that years ago, after I realized how completely mortified I was at the prospect of marrying this man. The only reason I’d said yes was because he wouldn’t stop hounding me about it, and even then, we hadn’t even made an announcement before I called it off.