Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance (Touchdowns and Tiaras Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

  His eyes focused, but I didn’t let him up.

  “I can’t be here,” I said. “You never saw me, okay?”

  “See you in my dreams every night.”

  What a sweet-talker. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Haven’t even bought you a drink yet.”

  I was still hung-over from the binge three months ago. “A good deed is its own reward.”

  “No good deed goes…” His expression twisted. Confused. “Shame. I’d punish you, naughty girl.”

  Obviously I couldn’t leave him alone. God only knew who he’s spank in gratitude as he woke up.

  His bag fell open at our side. I rifled through the pockets of the Tinkerbell backpack—the first of many items the team would use to haze the rookie. Lachlan laughed.

  “Fuck fairies. Told them I wanted a princess,” he said. “Always looking for a princess.”

  “You’re lucky they don’t have you wearing a tutu.”

  “Tell me I wouldn’t make a good-looking ballerina.”

  I couldn’t tell what was head-injury and what was genuine Lachlan Reed, but if the line was blurring, he was going to be okay. But he still needed someone to stay with him.

  I couldn’t find his phone in his bag. I groaned.

  “Lachlan, is your phone in your pocket?”

  Lachlan nodded with a grin. “Permission to search. Careful you don’t rub the lamp.”

  “You know what? Maybe this injury is fatal. I should just put you down.”

  “End this misery, Red. Can’t go on without you.”

  “You’ve made it this far.”

  “Missed you.”

  Was he concussed…or was he being honest?

  I wished my tummy hadn’t flipped when he spoke. But there was no way he recognized me, not when he probably couldn’t remember his own name.

  Right?

  I yanked his phone out of his pocket. “No wonder you aren’t waking up. Your blood isn’t in your damn head.”

  “…Cause of the erection?”

  “Yes, Lachlan.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Does it?” I gestured to it, bulging his pants. “You’re hurt. How can you possibly be horny?”

  “Can’t help myself.”

  His hands tickled up my legs. I hopped off of him before his touch summoned those damn goosebumps again. I thumbed through his phone, finding the one contact I recognized.

  “I’m calling Piper Hawthorne,” I said.

  Lachlan flailed, nearly knocking the phone from my hand. “Not Piper.”

  “She’s your agent.”

  “She’ll eat me. Not supposed to get in trouble.”

  “That’s impossible for you.”

  “Not Piper.” His laugh snickered with a perverted glee. “Call my wife.”

  “You aren’t married.”

  “Once upon a time, Red…”

  “There’s no such thing as fairy tales. Just concussions.”

  “Not true. Ever been in love?”

  “No.” I found an entry I recognized. My finger hovered over the contact.

  “You’ll love me one day,” he said.

  Been there, done that, long time.

  I pressed delete on the one contact that didn’t belong in his phone—mine.

  “I always pack a parachute in case I fall for the wrong guy,” I said.

  “What if I’m the right guy?”

  “And what if you’re bleeding out your ears?”

  “A hard-on is better than a tourniquet.”

  “Here’s hoping the Rivets’ trainers have better medical instincts than you.”

  Lachlan didn’t have many teammates in his phone yet, but I recognized one name. I texted Jack Carson and hoped that Play-Maker was early to the stadium. Asking Jack for help wouldn’t make Lachlan’s hazing any easier, but I trusted the quarterback to take care of his tight-end.

  In the parking lot. Tripped. Hit head.

  I tucked the phone in Lachlan’s hand. “Okay, Jack’s coming to help.”

  “Who?”

  “Please be joking.”

  “Okay?”

  I eased Lachlan up and sat him on the curb. It seemed to help clear his head.

  “Remember,” I said. “I was never here.”

  “Never where?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain…well, I probably won’t,” I said. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but if I don’t get out of here…”

  They’d know I was the thief. I’d get fired.

  And there’d be absolutely no way I could protect the players from the trouble Peter had caused.

  “You’re leaving?” Lachlan asked. “No kiss goodbye?”

  “That first one was a freebie.”

  “You didn’t say goodbye last time either.”

  I froze. Did he remember? Was he lucid?

  His eyes widened, but he hadn’t said my name. Hadn’t mentioned Vegas. Then again, even Lachlan Reed must have realized how big of a mistake that weekend was. Anything that redefined the word debauchery was best forgotten barring any sort of public indecency charges.

  I flinched as someone called his name from the entrance of the practice facility.

  “Stay here.” I stood. “They’re gonna help you.”

  Lachlan couldn’t have followed if he wanted. He held his head in his hands and hissed. Pain was probably a good sign. So was his swearing.

  Time to bolt.

  I rushed across the sidewalk and gathered my camera bag—praying I hadn’t smashed the lens on a camera worth more than my car and apartment. I dove behind a half-wall and crouched next to an unfortunately placed evergreen shrub. I gave a peek just to make sure Lachlan wasn’t alone.

  Jack Carson jogged to Lachlan’s side. He whistled for the hulking linebacker behind him. Cole Hawthorne wasn’t as eager to find the rookie.

  “Charming, you okay?” Jack offered Lachlan his hand. “It’s a little early in the day to black out. Learn from the best. You gotta pace yourself.”

  He blinked, staring at Jack’s hand. He didn’t take it, instead looking up as Cole approached. Lachlan bent his neck back to gaze at the linebacker. Too much. He almost tumbled backward.

  I didn’t let the blonde ponytail fool me, Cole was an absolute beast of a man. He grabbed Lachlan’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

  “What the hell happened?” Cole asked.

  “A girl…” Lachlan rubbed his head. “Rescued me.”

  Cole glanced at Jack. “Don’t make me call Piper.”

  “I’m serious. She tackled me.”

  “Well, that bodes well for my offense.” Jack grinned. “Tackled by a girl?”

  “Where did she…?” Lachlan searched the parking lot. I ducked before he saw me. “The fuck. She was here.”

  “And she tackled you?” Cole said.

  “Yeah. There was a car…it almost hit me.”

  Jack shrugged. “Where’s the car?”

  Lachlan blinked hard. “Where’s the girl?”

  Jack and Cole steadied him. Neither looked happy.

  “What do you think?” Cole frowned.

  “Hell if I know,” Jack said. “I’ve never had to hallucinate a woman before, I always woke up to one in the bed with me.”

  “Let’s get him inside to a trainer. Piper will flip shit if he’s hurt.”

  “Not just Piper.” Jack slapped Lachlan’s shoulder. “Leah has him scheduled for an interview tomorrow. He’ll get my ass in trouble.”

  “You? Piper’s pregnant and sleep-deprived. I’m not going to tell her that her only other client was playing in traffic. She’ll kick me out of bed and give my spot to the toddler.”

  Lachlan wasn’t paying attention. He fumbled with the Tinkerbell book bag Cole pushed into his arms. “You really didn’t see a girl?”

  “No,” Jack said.

  “But she was fucking beautiful.”

  “Most imaginary women are.”

>   Lachlan grinned. “I’m gonna marry that woman.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Let’s get him a trainer.”

  Cole agreed. “Immediately.”

  Lachlan didn’t fight, but he searched the parking lot until the guys took him inside.

  I hid behind the wall and sunk into the dirt. I wished I could breathe easier.

  The SD card was safe, and Lachlan hadn’t been lobotomized by a speeding car.

  So far, the day was looking up.

  Except that my pocket now housed the biggest scandal to rock the league since Cole Hawthorne knocked-out Jude Owens. Maybe even since Jack Carson gave the league his middle finger and changed his image with a smile, wife, and new baby.

  And while the SD card and the damning photos should have worried me most, I nearly rushed inside to ensure Lachlan was okay.

  And that would be the biggest mistake of my life, even worse than stealing incriminating property from the team offices.

  Whatever I felt for Lachlan, whatever thrill or fantasy I found in his arms, was over. I couldn’t get involved with a player on the team, and I certainly couldn’t fall for a man like him.

  Fairy tale romances didn’t exist. Prince Charming only showed off his tight-end, he didn’t play one on the field.

  For three days, I had been a part of Lachlan’s world. Now I was back in mine.

  And no magic spell, wish from a magic bottle, or shooting star would bring us together again.

  2

  Lachlan

  “Look, I’m telling you guys, she was real.”

  The team didn’t believe me. Hell, I didn’t believe me.

  What kind of mystery woman roamed the streets, rescuing men from speeding cars and then flittering off into oblivion? If that wasn’t hard enough to imagine, I still remembered flashes of her—some beautiful princess straddling my hips and whispering my name.

  I had wet dreams that weren’t as exciting as that.

  I leaned against the goal post, banging my head against the padding. It still hurt from where my skull tried to imbed itself in the pavement yesterday, but the training staffed played nice and loose with their assessments. After a couple Ibuprofen and a trip to the locker room, I was cleared to practice faster than I could say concussion.

  And I wasn’t about to miss a single day of training camp.

  Every camera, media outlet, coach, player, and fan waited to see the magic I would cast over the offense. I’d give them what they wanted—a little song, little dance, some gratuitous stretching in my pads as I suited up for my first official practice with the Rivets. Plus, I looked damn good in the gold and black uniform.

  Or I had looked good, before the team dressed me in copious amounts of ankle tape. Amusingly, the tape was everywhere but my ankles. It’d be a bitch to peel off my arms, but I wasn’t about to complain to the handful of offensive linemen, diligently working to ensnare me. No need for them to offer me a full-body wax as well.

  I’d only ever done that once.

  No amount of sex was worth polishing the boys with molten sugar.

  Well…it depended on the girl.

  And the sex.

  Though it had felt pretty nice in silk boxers. I wasn’t too classy of a guy—no monocle or top hat—but a velvet-soft manscaping felt like the chivalrous thing to do for a lady willing to gargle my bits.

  But I wasn’t giving them any ideas. Jack Play-Maker Carson had another nickname—Trouble-Maker. Yeah, he was reformed. Yeah, his new son had tamed him a bit. But I’d be damned if I trusted that man with a roll of tape in his hand, half of the offensive line at his disposal, and me as the only rookie in a three-hundred-foot radius.

  It paid to be cautious.

  “Men…” Jack tossed another roll of tape to Caleb, his right guard. “Proceed. Let’s make sure his head stays on nice and tight. He nearly shattered his skull yesterday.”

  “You gotta believe me, Jack…” I pinned my elbows to my sides and let them mummify me. At least it wasn’t superglue. Not sure what I expected, but I hoped for a little more originality with their hazing. This was the pros after all. “She was real. She came out of nowhere and saved my life. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Orlando, Jack’s left guard, was too familiar with this particular style of bondage. He snickered and stretched the tape tighter across my chest.

  “How cute was she?” he asked.

  “I’m willing to go stand in traffic to find her again.”

  Jack was impressed. “Nice eyes?”

  “Color of melted caramel.”

  “Curvy?” he asked.

  “In all the right places.”

  “Dark?”

  “Toasted hazelnut.”

  “Strong as an ox too.” Caleb taped me up vertically and horizontally, just for some added structural support. “She tackled Wonder-Boy here.”

  The nickname was Charming, but I wasn’t correcting any veteran on the team. I already owed Caleb a bagel every morning before we stepped onto the field. No sense making his order any more complicated.

  “She had legs to her chin,” I said. “The most perfect pair of legs you’ve ever seen. Would have thought they were created by goddamned magic.”

  They ran out of tape, but Jack was prepared. He whistled to summon Cole Hawthorne—not the beast I would ever trust with a good, old-fashioned hazing.

  Cole didn’t play well with others, but his new wife was my agent. I got to see a completely different side of Cole when our strategy meetings transformed into play dates with her toddler. Cole marauded the field as a two-hundred-and-eighty-pound rabid beast. But at home? He was a perfect teddy-bear for Piper’s two-year-old daughter.

  Jack ripped a piece of tape from the new roll and directed the offensive line to wrap my knees. He crossed his arms, surveying the work.

  “So she tackles you, saves you, then what did you do?” he asked.

  “I kissed her.”

  Cole snorted. “Christ, I’d have run away too.”

  The guys laughed. I shrugged, a motion made difficult by the two pounds of tape bunching my shoulders.

  “Look, I don’t know who she was,” I said. “Some mystery girl. A guardian angel. The queen of my fucking world. It doesn’t matter. She was real.”

  Caleb aimed the tape for my fingers. I groaned.

  “Come on. You’re not taping my hands too?”

  Orlando snickered. “You get your hands back when you catch the ball, rookie.”

  Yeah. I’d expected that. I’d missed three easy catches today.

  Three.

  Good thing it was hard to embarrass me. Problem was, I’d never had an ounce of performance anxiety before—on the field or off. But nerves were a better excuse than hands turned to wood or a concussion confusing my right from left .

  “Okay, he’s had enough.” Jack’s mercy came at a price. He waved a hand. “Let’s get him on the goal posts.”

  Caleb and Orlando did the honors, and they turned me around to face the goal post.

  That sucked. At least in college we’d taped the freshmen with their backs to the post. This was much more…uncomfortable.

  “So what are you gonna do when you find this mystery girl?” Jack adjusted my head so my cheek smooshed into the padding. “You should reward her, right?”

  “A real reward or your kind of reward?”

  “What’s my kind of reward?”

  “I’ve heard how the old Jack Carson would treat a lady.” I grunted as the taping began again, tethering me to the goal post. “I’m dirty, but I’m not that dirty.”

  The offensive line cackled. Jack sighed, dumping a cup of Gatorade on my head.

  “I was gonna take it easy on you, rookie,” he said. “I even offered to take you and my family out to eat.”

  “Yeah, but you said I was supposed to pay.”

  “Of course.” Jack grinned. “You treat me, and I reward you with my company and the chance to meet my son. That’s a privilege. See how this works?�
��

  Yep. It was going to be an expensive training camp. I was the quarterback’s newest weapon, a blocker with the O-Line, and a receiver with the rest of the core. I’d owe most of the offensive vets a dinner out.

  Good thing I’d soon be worth millions.

  “You know…” Orlando slowed down his taping. “What if this is all a conspiracy? What if…” He pointed at Jack. “What if that girl was scamming him? Working with the driver of that car?”

  “That’s some Inception-level shit.” Caleb warned. “Don’t want none of that.”

  Orlando patted my head. “Maybe she knows Charming here is a momma’s boy. Maybe she heard about that big house he bought for his momma with money he don’t have yet.”

  “Doesn’t everyone buy their mom a house?” I asked.

  Orlando snorted. “Not like the mansion you found.”

  “Hey, my mom deserves a house like that. If you only knew half of the shit I’ve put her through.” I shifted against the goal posts only to be crammed harder against the padding. “And I promised I’d get my kid brother out here before the season started. I wasn’t stepping on the field without him watching.”

  “Ain’t he sweet?” Orlando cackled.

  Jack shook his head. “Nah. Let him be. A man should do everything he can for a younger brother. Believe me. Good on you, rookie.”

  “Yeah, Sebastian’s all about the swimming pool,” I said. “If we could figure out a way for him to play Minecraft while he was swimming…I’d be his goddamned hero.”

  And I’d make it happen too, just to see the kid smile. At least…before I inadvertently electrocuted him in the pool with an extension cord, the X-Box, and his Minecraft game.

  “Well, shit, you better hope you make it through camp first, rookie.” Orlando dumped two cups of Gatorade on me. “Especially if you want to keep those million dollar checks.”

  I couldn’t move, but I smirked anyway, despite the foul, rain-soaked pad cushioning the goal posts and my cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’m the fucking Heisman Trophy winner. You guys are in for a treat. Just sit back and watch the magic. Nothing’s gonna stop me.”

  I wouldn’t let it.

  I’d bluffed my way through two less-than-impressive practices. It just meant I had to focus more tomorrow. No sense getting bitched out by Coach Thompson three days in a row.