“Angel’s grandmother died yesterday morning.”
I stopped, my nagging headache fading to black. “Oh, shit.”
“She’s in quite the state, as you can probably imagine.”
The decision didn’t need thinking about. “I’ll be on the next flight—”
“No you will damn well not,” Coach barked, slamming a lid on that idea. “I’m telling you to stay right where you are. She’s grieving with or without you here, just call her, offer your condolences, and keep your ass in Miami where it belongs. You’re a professional, act like one. You don’t just swan off out of state whenever the fancy strikes you.”
I was only half tuned in. Nellie had been dead all this time and Angel hadn’t said a thing about it.
“With all due respect, sir”—there it was, that fucking word—“you aren’t my coach anymore.”
“Stay where you are, Julian. Trust me, you’ll thank me for it. Quarterbacks are replaceable. You aren’t the only young idiot out there with a good arm and no sense.”
And with that, I hung up.
“W hat can I do, Angel?” Marilyn hovered over me, almost falling out of her chair. I’d cried for a whole day straight and now I felt… nothing. Not sad, not unhappy. I’d emptied out somewhere around limbo, my emotions spontaneously shifting like icebergs.
“I want to go out,” I said. “I need a drink.”
Marilyn’s eyes flickered over my face. “Do you think you should talk to Julian?”
“No. Later.”
“Okay, well, I could use a drink too, now you mention it.” Marilyn needed no convincing when it came to alcohol. We were at my dad’s house, but he was at the nursing home with grandpa, arranging a charity collection of Nellie’s clothes, and sorting through the rest of her belongings. His no-nonsense attitude made him the perfect candidate in a crisis. He had to be upset his mom was gone, he just refused to show it like the rest of us. I was sure he thought the display of emotion somehow made him a weaker person. He didn’t get that no one cared.
I’d spent most of the day in the same clothes from Sunday. The only reason I’d washed and changed was because Marilyn insisted I’d feel better if I did.
I had to admit, she was right.
We left Elena, my dad’s girlfriend who had been nothing but lovely to me, at the house, and we agreed we’d walk to Player’s. It was a chilly Monday night, the unforgiving air biting into my exposed skin. It was fine, though. At least it made me feel something, even it was only cold.
I took off my coat as soon as we were inside the bar, the heat hitting me like an oven. The place was packed, football games showing on every mounted TV screen. We squeezed in at the bar and I let Marilyn order me a beer when I didn’t see my old boss Ricky anywhere.
We hadn’t been in there long when Nicky’s thick arm looped around my neck. I braced for his dirty mouth to kick into gear, but I felt his lips at my head instead, the weight of a kiss completely unexpected.
I looked up at him pressed to my side, his smile shadowed with a look of understanding. “I’m real sorry, Angel. About your grandma. Life sucks dick sometimes. When my nanna died, I bawled like a snot-nosed baby. My shoulder’s yours any time you want it.”
“How did you—”
Marilyn slid my beer in front of me and took a sip of her own. “I pre-warned him.”
“I’ve missed you, though. I didn’t come over here to bum you out some more. I thought we could have some fun—cheer you up.” Nicky winked, his smile turning familiarly sleazy. “You know, like old times.”
I leaned into his side. “Ah, I’ve missed you too, Nicky. But not that much.”
As the night wore on, my beer buzz became a powerful sedative. Dealing with any unbearable situation was always easier with alcohol.
I sat on Katlyn’s knee, my legs and feet propped up on the leather booth we had snagged. “I’m so happy you guys got back together. I knew you would.”
Katlyn shrugged, all matter-of-fact. I nodded along through my beer goggles, just as serious. “Nicky’s nothing without me.”
“I fucking heard that.” Nicky swiped our pitcher of beer, drinking from the jug.
“Hey, that’s ours,” I complained. “I take back what I said earlier. I don’t miss you at all.”
Nicky grunted and returned the pitcher, the frothy beer sloshing up the scratched, plastic sides. “You lie.”
There was a notable absence at the table, and I slid off Katlyn’s knee. “Hey, where’d Marilyn go?” I stood up to go and look for her when blank expressions stared back at me.
I squeezed my way through the cramped bar and into the ladies’ room. Marilyn wasn’t in there, so I used the time to fix my hair into a sloppy up-do with drunken, clumsy fingers, the signals from my brain shot to shit. I splashed my face with cold water to cool down and then walked back out to the bar.
I was almost at our booth—where Marilyn had resurfaced—when the door to the bar opened. I turned to my right as the crowd parted like the Red Sea, wolf-whistles ringing out above the music pumping from the speaker system.
I had the perfect, unobstructed view.
Hands reached out to pat his back or his shoulder, and then more to shake his hand. “Congratulations” and “it’s nice to see you back where you belong” were passed out between “good game” and “that was one helluva touchdown.” But he wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. He was walking toward me, his strides evenly measured. It must have been freezing out by now, but only a thin navy t-shirt covered his torso.
The closer he got, the smaller I felt. His body so much wider and taller than my own. He stopped dead in front of me, eyes as dark as the denim jeans he was wearing, sucking the butterflies right out of my stomach and catapulting them back at me twice as hard.
If I was never given anything in this world other than the feeling tearing through me when Julian looked at me the way he was looking at me now, I wouldn’t care. This was everything to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was calm and undemanding, but it didn’t take a genius to see he was far from happy.
“I just couldn’t. I couldn’t have you drop everything.”
“I already dropped everything. I should have been one of the first people you called, Angel. I could have been here right after the game on Sunday.”
“I’m sorry.” It was a feeble apology that I only partially meant.
“I don’t want you to be fucking sorry. I want to be here when shit like this goes down to tell you everything will be okay because… Christ—” His exhale was loud and irritable. “I’ll make it okay.”
“Julian…”
His hands dropped to my waist and he picked me off the floor, sitting me on the bar stool directly behind me. He nudged my legs apart with his knee and positioned himself in the space between, his gorgeous thighs taking all the room I had to offer. He looked over my shoulder and said, “Two vodkas. Straight up, no ice.” Then he lowered his gaze to me, and I had no idea how I hadn’t kissed him already. “I’m sorry about Nell. I’m really fucking sorry.”
I nodded, my heart both soaring and freefalling. “I know you are.” He handed me my drink, knocking back his own before asking for another. “I’m staying in Boston until after the funeral.”
“Fly back to Miami with me and I’ll have you home in time for the funeral. You’re already missing college.”
“Julian, I can’t. I need to be here. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I hate it.”
“You’ll be back, though?”
He sighed, reaching out beside me to take his drink from the bar. “I’ll be here.”
I smiled, my stomach muscles loosening. “Good. Now tell me, Mr. Lawson, how does it feel to be making plays that could put veterans to shame? I didn’t see the full game, but I watched the highlights. Most of them involving you.”
Julian smirked, eyelashes lowering and sending an internal army of fluttering wings into overdrive. I no
longer needed alcohol. Go figure.
“I’m not here to talk about me.”
“But it’s true that you are the earliest predicted solid contender for most valuable rookie in NFL history?”
“I wouldn’t say history.”
My voice lowered. “Then answer me this, Mr. Lawson. Have I ever wanted you to take me to bed more than I do right now?”
Julian finished his drink, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. He slammed his glass down on the bar top and leaned over me, catching my face in one hand. I felt his kiss down to my toes, his hot tongue colliding with mine, and I seized a fistful of material at his chest, bringing him closer. PDA was never my thing, and I had to get out of this bar filled with too many people—take this someplace private.
“Nicky’s place. Now,” Julian growled, his deep timber rumbling against my mouth. We never said bye to any of our friends, and I followed Julian obediently out the door and the few hundred yards to Nicky’s house.
The house Nicky shared with his Lions teammates, Dan and Rocco, stood in darkness. Everyone was still at the bar, and probably would be for another few hours.
Julian led me to the end of the ground floor hallway and into an empty bedroom. Gray curtains hung open, a triangle of creamy moonlight and golden streetlight on the surface of the hardwood floors and across the minimal furniture. We didn’t bother with actual lights; they weren’t necessary.
“Uh, whose room is this?” I asked dubiously, when Julian closed and locked the door. I was not getting it on in Nicky’s king size. Not even for Julian.
“It’s a spare.” Julian moved to sit on the edge of the bed, guiding me between his legs. His eyes raked from my feet to my face, slowly and intentionally, and then he tugged me down onto his knee. I’d left my coat back at the bar, and my tender skin still prickled with goose bumps from the harsh weather and the mad dash over here. It was the perfect temperature for snow, and it really wasn’t that much warmer in this room.
Julian’s hands homed in on the top button of my jeans and he loosened the round, metal stud, popped the second one free as easily as he did the first. Then he set me down on top of the comforter. I read his silent commands, and as he smoothed my jeans down my thighs, I lay back, my head hitting the pillow. Even in darkness, his hooded gaze on me never failed to draw an honest, uncontainable reaction. Julian’s eyes were a weapon, and I was completely beaten into surrender. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it, either.
As my jeans hit the floor, one hand gripped my ankle, yanking me farther down the bed. Julian sat upright, his waist, back and stomach between my upper thighs. His hand slid under my tank top, the stream of air snaking over my skin reigniting the flood of goose bumps tenfold. His palm rose steadily over my stomach, then around to my back while I arched off the bed, allowing him the room to move freely. His fingers unhooked my bra with minimal sound or effort and then his hand was back at my chest, his invasion of rough skin rousing my nipples to attention, the soft skin of my breasts firming and tightening. My eyes closed, the blotched darkness behind my eyelids causing my head to spin. I was drunker than I thought, and I pushed myself up onto my elbows before I threw up.
Julian got up from the bed and left the room. I didn’t have to wait long before he’d returned with a glass in his hand, re-locking the door.
“Diet Coke,” he said, giving me the full tumbler. “I know you rely on this crap.” He dropped two pills into my other hand. “Aspirin. Take them now and get rid of the hangover before it starts.”
“But I’m fine,” I said around the aspirin, swallowing them greedily.
“You are now. Let’s keep it that way.” Julian kicked off his shoes and took off his jeans while I drank the Coke, so dehydrated I could have easily asked for another. He pulled his t-shirt down his arms, the muscles in his shoulders rolling and flexing, and then climbed in the bed, arranging the cover around me.
“I’m not tired,” I mumbled, quickly followed by a wide-mouthed yawn.
Julian settled on his back, the cover at his waist and one arm folded under his head. His free arm moved toward me, around my back and my shoulders, pulling me to his side. “Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.” I broke free, albeit clumsily, and threw one leg over his middle, straddling his hips. His skin felt hot under mine, warming the cold right out of me. I scooted back, so my ass settled on his groin, and ground down on him, determined to keep this night alive. I hadn’t come here to sleep. Neither of us had.
Not even the dark could disguise the tilt of his smirk. “Woman, you’ve had too much to drink. Your head just bobbled like you belong on the dash in my car.”
“But I’m not just any woman.” My hands trailed his toned sides, my fingers gliding over solid muscle, up past his trim waist. “I’m your woman, and I give you permission to do whatever the hell you damn well please with me.” I worked myself free of my tank top, throwing it to the other side of the bed, and then let down my hair, the long strands swishing against my nipples like silk. I leaned forward, my lips a hair’s breadth from Julian’s. “I’ll take this one, shall I?” His laughter rumbled under my hands, regardless of my not even joking. “What?” I said, moving back so quick the spinning in my head intensified.
“You’re taking the lead? You’d struggle to stand if you tried. Your mind’s only just realized it’s drunk, and your body’s making its best effort to catch up.”
I scoffed. “No, watch this. I’ll show you I can do more than walk. I’ll show you exactly what I can do.” I was going for sexy, but Julian’s incessant smirk made me think it wasn’t working.
I shuffled off the bed anyway, walking in what I was sure must be a straight line over to the desk under the window. There wasn’t much on it, but I blinked twice to be sure, my vision distorted. I moved a grubby bong, two porn magazines, and an empty console game case to the far edge and then turned to face Julian, boosting myself up onto the desk. I almost fell off the first time, my arms too slow to catch and support my bodyweight, but I made a smooth landing the second time, crossing my leg over my knee.
Julian watched me from the bed, both arms under his head. “Real graceful.”
But the bed wasn’t where I wanted him.
I swept my hair over my shoulder and then braced my hands against the desk behind me. My inhibitions were lost, and I uncrossed my legs. Dragged the roller chair in front of me with the sole of my foot and left it to rest on the seatback, so I had some cover. I wasn’t as bold as I’d intended to be, even in a drunken stupor.
Julian sensed this, sitting up from the bed and stalking over to me. He could see everything now he was upright. The chair no longer hid my naked body, and he pushed it away, my foot falling as the chair rolled across the floor.
Julian’s hands gripped behind my knees, teasing my legs apart to a cool rush of air. “Now what did you need that for? Pretty sure you weren’t made to be hidden. Not from me.”
I struggled for a satisfying breath, my heartrate quadrupling in his gaze beating down on me, never straying. Julian could say everything with one look. More than he ever could with words. He feared nothing, his levels of intimacy beyond anything I could see myself venturing into. He didn’t need to be pushed, but he knew when I did. Only he could turn my mortification into something so sexual. Lord knows I hadn’t done it on my own.
I tugged down the front of his boxer briefs, taking him in my hand. Hard, long, and warm in my fingers. And then he was inside of me, all the things I wanted to say I settled for showing him instead.
“M
an, I’m starving. Seven, go see if those Pop-Tarts are still in the cupboard.” I wore the number ten now, but my old number refused to budge.
“Get your own fucking Pop-Tarts,” I told Nicky. “Or roll a joint.”
He shifted forward in his seat, pausing Gran Turismo. “You want one?”
“I can’t smoke that shit now.”
“Oh, right. High-time roller, I forgot.”
“Should you even
be smoking that? Don’t you have class today?”
“Later.” The bong covered Nicky’s mouth, plumes of smoke funneling through the tube ‘til the green plastic was clear again. He put down the bong, his lungs full. “Gimme those skins,” he croaked.
I picked up the RAW from the coffee table and threw it directly into his hand. He took his first exhale and got started on his masterpiece. At this rate, he would be fucked in no time. It wasn’t even ten in the morning.
“Hmm, breakfast, I see.” Angel walked into the living room, fully dressed, her wild, dark hair looking sexy as fuck. I’d take her back in the bedroom now if I couldn’t tell her head was ready to explode.
“How do you feel?” I asked as she sat on the floor between my calves. She tipped her head back, looking up at me.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said shortly. “How do I look?”
“Like a fucking monster,” Nicky answered, separating buds of weed. “Want a hit? It might perk you up. Certainly can’t make you look any worse.”
“No thank you.” Angel cradled her head in her hands, talking to the floor. “I’d hate you to starve.”
I finished the race with Nicky, while Angel lolled against the couch like a lifeless doll, hands covering her eyes. “I’ll take you home,” I said. The sooner she got out of here, the better.
“You still want to train later?” Nicky asked, lighting up.
“Is that cool with you?” Angel dragged herself to her feet, walking toward the door. “Angel,” I said louder, catching her attention. She stopped, turned back with her hand at her temple securing her head like it might fall off. “You mind if I hit the gym later? I’ll only be an hour.”
“You don’t need to ask my permission.”
“I know, but…”
“It’s fine. Really,” she said, firmer. “Bye, Nicky.”
Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2) Page 3
