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

by Sosie Frost

  I sprinted fifteen yards down the field and counted the seconds in my head. The route was a timing pattern, and I had to hook back at the right moment for the ball that would already be in the air and aimed for me.

  Three. Two. One.

  I turned. Too soon. The pass flew over my head. I leapt to grab it. My fingertips grazed the edge, but I fell to the grass. The ball bounced away.

  Son of a bitch. That was two missed passes.

  The offensive coordinator blew the whistle sharper this time. Any more of this bullshit and Coach Thompson would leave the sled drills with the offensive line to tear me a new asshole.

  “What’s wrong, Charming?”

  I didn’t need the attitude from Ray, one of our veteran receivers.

  He nudged Elle and winked. “Baby, you gotta let him get some rest before practice. Can’t be sexing a man up all night and expect him to do good work in the morning.”

  Elle never needed me to defend her. She gave Ray a bit of attitude. “Don’t hate on my man for going all night just cause you nut in three minutes.”

  “It’s not about the time, baby.” Ray thrust his hips. “It’s about the ride. I buck my woman like a rodeo stallion.”

  “What? Done in eight seconds?”

  The team laughed, but I set up for the next pass. Last thing I needed was my wife sticking up for me. I gritted my teeth.

  Jack slapped his hand on the ball. “If you miss this one, Charming, you owe us a steak dinner.”

  Jesus. How could these fuckers think of food now? I’d blown three hundred dollars in donuts for them this week, but in this heat, constantly running these goddamned drills, I was lucky to have eaten at all. Nothing tasted better than pride, but mine went rancid too quick.

  Elle aimed the camera. “Okay, never mind the epic catch. Just nab one, and I’ll make sure you look good.”

  Jesus Christ. Now she was patronizing me? What the hell was going on?

  Since when couldn’t I run a goddamned route?

  I’d been playing football since I fit into pee-wee shoulder pads. All-fucking-state in high-school. Offered a free ride to any college I wanted. I had a Heisman Trophy proudly displayed in my mother’s house.

  So why the fuck did my hands turn to bricks? My legs didn’t communicate with my head, my brain fogged on the damn play, and the pressure beat on me harder than the burning sun.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  I was Lachlan Charming Reed, first-round draft choice. Not some charity case running bullshit drills and failing in front of the entire team.

  The whistle blew. I burst into the route. Fifteen yards down. Count from the snap. Hook back.

  The ball bounced away before I even turned.

  I checked the yardage. Damn it.

  I ran eighteen yards. Two extra steps.

  My timing was off, and I fucked it up.

  “That’s some magic fucking pussy, Elle…” Ray shook his head. “You’ve ruined him.”

  She sighed. “Don’t get superstitious now. Remember two years ago? When no one wanted to change their practice socks cause we were on a streak?” She gagged. “We needed real voodoo to clear the smell out of the locker room.”

  Ray snickered. “You’re right. Let’s run it again. Throw you down the field. He might be able to hit that.”

  “Darn.” Elle snapped her fingers. “And here I didn’t pack my pads.”

  “At least you’ve got some underwear on today.”

  I set for the ball, but my back stiffened. I stepped towards Ray. “Leave her alone.”

  Ray grinned. “Uh-oh. DH is jealous. You get her all night, Charming. Leave us our locker room memories.”

  “I said shut it.”

  Jack called me to the line. “Let’s go, rookie. We just gotta count together. That’s all.”

  “I got it.”

  “It’s all right,” Jack said, his voice a little too calming. “These plays take some practice to get right, but we’ll keep working.”

  “I said I got it.”

  Elle took another picture. I regretted giving her the camera. “One catch, Lachlan. Easy peasy.”

  Something snapped in me. I gritted my teeth.

  “Yeah? You think? Maybe I could catch the fucking ball if I didn’t have someone in my face flashing a damn camera while I’m trying to learn the play?”

  Even the coach’s whistle trilled into silence. The team stiffened.

  Shit.

  Did I say it out loud?

  Jack ducked his head low, murmuring under his breath. “Take it back. Take it back. Take it back.”

  Elle’s hand fit snuggly on her hip, cocked just like her eyebrow.

  “Do realize that once you’re playing this game for real, there’s going to be a couple million people watching you through all those cameras.”

  “No shit.”

  “Fine. You want me gone?” She shoved her camera in the bag. “I’m not wasting my time on a tight-end in name only.”

  She demonstrated the insult with a slap to her own ass and stalked away. The guys hissed through their teeth—that universal sound of you done fucked up. Jack clapped my shoulder.

  “One crisis at a time, lover boy. First you catch this ball, then you hand her yours.”

  Christ, he was right, but I couldn’t do shit about it now.

  It had been two weeks since our not-so-lazy river ride. Two weeks since we whispered promising words and held each other close. But the camp got busy, and the coach’s demands a little too heavy.

  I hadn’t been a decent husband. Hell, I hadn’t even seen Elle outside training camp. After the increasingly bad practices and a tweaked hamstring that slowed me half-a-step, we hadn’t met up for anything more than a couple stolen kisses and a sexy text off the field.

  I owed her a third date.

  But hell, if I had asked her out right after our river trip, I would have probably woken up beside her this morning. Instead, I screwed myself. Thought I could focus more on the team and the camp. I worked out in the afternoon and evenings. Memorized the playbook at night. Studied film in my downtime.

  But I didn’t have time to figure my shit out in the huddle, let alone plan out how to make a woman fall madly in love with me.

  Especially when that woman still didn’t trust me.

  Something was bugging her. I wasn’t sure what, but she rushed around training camp trying to keep busy, fighting to stay smiling. It wasn’t normal Elle. Whatever bothered her, she bundled it up tight inside, and she didn’t think she could share it with me.

  I should have run after her, but the whistle blew. I sprinted down the field.

  Jack threw the ball, and I caught it instinctively.

  Just like I had done thousands of times before in my life. Just as I would a thousand times in the coming years.

  So what was wrong with me?

  Practice ended, but I didn’t stick around any longer than it took for me to haul the team’s bags from the field to the facility—two trips. The offensive line invited me out to eat. They seemed surprised that I declined, but they followed me to my car anyway.

  And I saw why.

  Popcorn.

  I circled my Lexus. Thousands of kernels of popcorn smooshed into the interior.

  All popped. All buttered.

  It was like a corn field gangbanged a matinée movie.

  “Dinner’s on us, rookie.” Ray slapped my shoulder. “Too bad you pissed off the missus. You could have had a nice movie night together.”

  The guys snapped the obligatory pictures and cackled, leaving me to shovel my way into a car that had housed popcorn for an entire ninety-degree day. Kinda smelled like Uncle Bowie’s feet.

  That reminded me I had to call Bast. I hadn’t read to him in three days.

  That made me feel even more like an asshole.

  At least I could put my Tinkerbell book bag to use. I shoveled some of the popcorn from my seats, just to tunnel my way through the car and sit like the priz
e in a Crackerjack box through Ironfield’s traffic.

  The stress was getting to me. I slammed my front door.

  Hungry. Exhausted. Slimy with butter.

  Pissed at myself for pissing off Elle.

  But there was nothing I could do about it. I’d call her later, after I talked to Bast.

  If either of them wanted to talk to me. Seemed unlikely.

  I turned on the television, but my phone rang before I could sit down. It wasn’t Elle—it was Mom.

  Great, first my wife watched me fuck up at practice, and now my mother was calling to check-in. Why did she have to sound so cheerful? I didn’t have the energy to bluff my way through a conversation.

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  “Oh, Honey. I just saw you on TV. You look so handsome!”

  TV? Great. I collapsed on the couch and stared at the television. Sports Nation ran through a recap of the league’s training camps. My finger hovered over the mute button until they started talking about the Rivets.

  And my grinning face filled the screen.

  “The Ironfield Rivets’ had a great draft—on paper.” The reporter talking had some ungodly jowls. Ainsley Ruport wasn’t a fan of Ironfield, and he made his bias well known. The asshole was greying and fat, and I figured he’d eat the pigskin before throwing it. “But this wouldn’t be the first time the scouts got it wrong.”

  “Lachlan, I don’t want you to be worried,” Mom said.

  Well, that wasn’t a good start to the conversation. “What’s wrong? Is it Bast?”

  “Oh no. He’s fine. Drew a picture of you in your uniform today at school. It’s on the fridge, you’ll have to autograph it for him. He’s just so thrilled about—”

  “Mom, focus. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, right. Well…you should know, Victoria stopped by here earlier today.”

  I clutched the phone, nearly kicking the coffee table over as I leapt to my feet. “She what?”

  “She was looking for you.”

  The TV flashed to an image of me in college, catching a touchdown pass during my last bowl game. “We have reports that first-rounder Lachlan Reed is having difficulty during this camp. Though highly rated by every scout at the combine, many teams are breathing a sigh of relief today, fortunate they didn’t sign this uncertain prospect.”

  Mom tried to calm me down. “She said she wanted to talk.”

  “What the hell is she doing showing up there? Especially after the shit she pulled five years ago?”

  “I know, honey. But you might have to meet her.”

  “I got absolutely nothing to say to her.”

  “You might not have a choice. She said she wanted to talk with you…or she was getting a lawyer.”

  “Bullshit. With what money?”

  “Probably your millions, Lachlan. We knew this was a possibility when you got drafted. She was going to see you on television and try her luck again.”

  “And she doesn’t care whose life she’ll ruin.”

  The television droned on. “This wouldn’t be the first time a highly commended draft choice choked during training camp. The Rivets have a tough decision ahead of them, especially if they are willing to wait to see if Reed’s performance improves. Fortunately for Ironfield, Reed’s rather lucrative contract can be terminated without a hit to the salary cap—”

  I turned the television off and pitched the remote into the wall.

  It shattered, and my heart nearly stopped with it.

  Christ. I’d never broken anything in anger before.

  I’d never had trouble on the field either.

  And I’d fucking never imagined myself snapping at the woman of my dreams without trying to fix it.

  My head hurt, and I hated myself for being such a goddamned coward.

  “Mom, I’ll take care of Victoria.” I rubbed my face. “Do me a favor. I got something going on tonight. Tell Bast I’ll call him tomorrow?”

  “He misses you, Lachlan.”

  “I know. It’s just…” I sighed. “Things have gotten a little intense.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “How’s that new house treating you and Bast?”

  Mom knew better, but she answered honestly. “It’s the home of my dreams, honey.”

  “Then don’t worry about me. That’s all I needed to hear. I’ll call Bast tomorrow. Love you.”

  I didn’t pocket the phone. Instead, I put in an order for a pizza and grabbed my keys. Fortunately, it was early evening. I hadn’t let Elle stew for too long.

  But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still pissed.

  I grabbed the gift I had set aside for her and sped to her house, picking up the pizza along the way. I arrived at her doorstep bearing dinner and the most charming smile I could muster.

  She answered the door. That was surprising.

  But she was scowling. That I deserved.

  Before I offered her the pizza box, I raised a hand. “Let me be clear—this is not our third date.”

  “Of course not.” Elle sniffed the food, made a face, and retreated from the dinner. She crossed her arms over that too-tiny shirt. “I haven’t agreed to see you.”

  I took the opportunity to invade her apartment. She didn’t stop me. A good sign. I set the pizza on her kitchen counter—moving aside a collection of miniature salt-shakers in the shape of various animals, landmarks, and touristy objects.

  “I know,” I said. “I just mean…I don’t want it to be the third date, because then I might have blown all my chances, and I’m not ready to give up yet. I really…”

  Elle arched an eyebrow, flicking a piece of popcorn off my shoulder with a bewildered glance. But she didn’t ask questions, just offered me enough rope to hang myself. Her laptop rested on the counter. She followed my gaze and closed the lid.

  Point taken.

  I heaved a breath. “I needed to see you, Red. I had a shitty day, and I know, deep down, you’re the only one who’s gonna make it any better.”

  I took her hand. Elle didn’t resist, but her fingers didn’t curl into my shirt like when she usually fought my embrace until she realized how perfect it felt.

  “Is that a rock in your pocket…” She bit her lip to tame the smirk. “Or are you happy to see me?”

  I pulled it from my pocket. “It’s a rock, actually.”

  Now she did push me away, frustrated.

  “A river rock.” I pointed to her shelves and cupboards. “From when we went tubing. I found it in my bag when I unpacked. You can add it to your Lachlan collection.”

  “You think I have a Lachlan collection?”

  “If you don’t, you should start one.”

  Elle cast her eyes down, guilty. She searched the shelf on the far side of the living room and returned with the sunglasses I thought I’d lost at the combine.

  “Okay…are you a pack-rat or thief?”

  She shrugged. “I have some pictures of us too…”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah…they’re nothing I can upload to Facebook.”

  I handed the sunglasses to her. “Look, Red. I was a jerk today. I…was stressed. I’m not used to having bad days. Can you forgive me?”

  She puffed a stray lock of hair from her face. “I shouldn’t have snapped either. I wasn’t feeling very well today, and—”

  “You’re sick?”

  “Just too much sun. My stomach’s in knots. But I’m okay. Rotten day though.”

  “Can I make it up to you?”

  She made a face. “Normally I’d love some pizza…but I don’t think I’m very hungry.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, there’s paper plates in the drawer by the sink, or I have a couple collectable plates from different amusement parks—”

  “I’m not hungry for pizza, Elle.”

  I tugged her to the couch, grinning as she tried her hardest to act demure and scandalized.

  I wasn’t buying it.

  I knew this woman. How she felt. How sh
e reacted. How she tasted.

  She might have hidden it, but Elle longed to be kissed, licked, fucked, taken.

  And I owed that much to her.

  And to myself.

  I pushed her onto the couch, flat on her back with her skirt up and legs spread.

  My cock would burst through my jeans. “Can you stay like this forever?”

  She hummed. “Might take a bit of convincing.”

  “Oh, I can be very persuasive.”

  Panties.

  Why did a woman like her bother with panties? The tiny scrap of cloth barely protected her secrets from my watering mouth. I rolled the material down her legs and savored the sight.

  Perfect legs. Curvy hips. Smooth skin.

  And a pussy so wet and slick it was like we’d never left the river.

  Some men took their time. Some liked to tease. Some idiots didn’t offer a lady anything at all.

  That wasn’t me.

  I held a power over this woman when her legs were spread and that soft little slit was exposed to me. I dove for Elle, burying my face within that dark secret of hers. One good lap with my tongue, and I had her for my own.

  Back arched.

  Hands in my hair.

  My name on her lips.

  She was so easy to please, and such a tasty treat. Her silken folds opened to me, and I plunged my tongue as deeply inside as I could get. She bucked against the intrusion, but not in a bad way. No. She arched to get closer. To feel more. To be licked.

  Eaten.

  Devoured.

  And it’d be my pleasure…as well as hers.

  “Lachlan…” Elle’s voice already trembled. I sucked her clit to hear the rest of her words waver. “Maybe we should talk?”

  “Not polite to talk with my mouth full.”

  I made a point of it though, so she’d hear how slurred and wet my words were. She shuddered in the vulgarity of it all. That made it fun, watching her writhe and squirm.

  Best part of the day.

  “But you were upset,” she said.

  I nibbled her clit. “Better now.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Her words gasped. “On the field…?”

  I was nose-to-clit in a beautiful pussy, slurping up her cream just so she’d make more, and she wanted to talk about the team? I wasn’t letting anything kill this hard-on.

  “Don’t worry, Red.” I planted a kiss on her swollen nub. “I’m working the kinks out.”