Hard Knox

by Amber Malloy

  As he soaked in the women’s amazing beauty, Dahl grabbed Remy by the waist and squeezed her close. They were breathtaking. “That one is a Remy Bell original.” Dahl pointed at one of the pictures behind them.

  He turned toward the wall plastered with personal and professional photos of his boss’ life. A framed magazine with Dahl on the cover sat front and center. She stood in the middle of a busy kitchen, with the blurry movement of her staff behind her. Antique colors of burnt gold illuminated Dahl at the stove. “Then she wrote this awesome article that led to my first television show. We’ve been friends since forevah. Oh, the stories we can tell.”

  A twinge of jealousy tugged at his gut. Knox shoved the irrational feeling down and plastered on a smile. “Wow, I would love to hear them.”

  “Did she ever tell you about the time we went running with the bulls?”

  “The bulls, huh?” His voice pitched a tad higher at the image of her in Spain without him.

  “Not actually running, per se, because we’re not stupid.” Dahl laughed. “But we had an awesome view from our hotel balcony.”

  Bane cleared his throat.

  “Oh, that’s my cue,” she babbled sweetly. “My husband wants to rip yours a new one, and he doesn’t want any witnesses around to see it.”

  “Dahl…” Bane sighed.

  “Kidding.” She guided Remy toward the door. “Good seeing you, Knox. Hopefully Bane isn’t too hard on you.” Remy tossed a wave over her shoulder. They left the office in a musical symphony of laughter.

  “So, what’s new?” his boss, a bigger and more ferocious version of The Rock, asked before he walked back to his desk. “Look… I don’t really like to get into the personal stuff, but you’re the face of the Mavericks.” Bane gestured for him to take a seat. “Any reason why we didn’t know about a wife until last week?” Without any discernible expression on his face, Bane sat down.

  “Plenty, but I can’t go into it,” he said, hoping his answer didn’t get him fired. The league structured the contracts in such way the players basically had to walk on eggshells.

  “I heard that in one more season you’re looking to get out. Now, if you were just some run-of-the-mill player, I would wish you good luck, but you’re the best. We want you to stay in some capacity, even if it’s not on the field.”

  “Shyeah right?” Knox said, shocked. He hadn’t put much thought into his post-football life, but he found the soft offer nothing less than amazing.

  “What is that, a Canadian thing?”

  “Wayne’s World.” He brought up the cult classic.

  “In other words, yes…Canadian.” Bane swung his chair toward the stadium view. “We can work with a lot of stuff, but the public won’t go for swingers or anything that messes with their hot dog-and-apple pie ways.”

  “It’s not an open marriage and there’s no cheating. I’m just an idiot. When I get the opportunity to clear things up, I will,” Knox admitted.

  “But that’s not going to happen before the next season, right?” Taking a deep breath, his boss swiveled back around to his direction.

  Sitting stock-still, Knox fought off the urge to bob his leg—a nervous tic he could never shake. Remy had encouraged him to remain cool before they’d arrived. “Probably not, but fingers crossed, eh?”

  Bane chuckled. Most the guys got a kick out of his Canadian roots. Generally, they forgot he didn’t share the same background, but every once in a while, he found a way to remind them.

  “The team’s publicity department can step in if you need them.”

  “My father got me someone,” Knox confessed.

  “Anybody I know?”

  “Doris Petite.”

  “Hmmm, that’s strange.” Bane picked up a pen from his desk and tapped the ballpoint against the top of his Mavericks season calendar.

  “Why?” he pressed, surprised by Bane’s response. “I hear she’s good.”

  “The best. We tried to hire her, but she has this thing about men. She’ll only deal with women. I’m just surprised is all.” Bane rubbed his hand across his face with a groan. “Okay, Knox, I’m going to trust you to clean this up, but I’ve got to tell you that it looks like America’s favorite quarterback is a skanky ho who just cheated on a magical unicorn.”

  Unable to fully process that sentence, Knox cleared his throat. “Um…so, how are the kids?” A few years ago, Bane had inherited two nieces and two nephews. Apparently, the girls had done a number on the once-relentless linebacker.

  “Yeah.” Bane cringed. “I just heard how that sounded on playback. I may need lots of booze and a good poker game to wipe those words out of my vocabulary.”

  * * * *

  Coasting on the remains of a mild Chicago winter, Remy found herself slurping down the best lemon Italian ice she had ever tasted. Dahl had taken her to a little hole-in-the-wall diner named Ed’s Polish Sausages and Hot Dogs, a block away from the stadium. If Remy judged them by their Italian ice, then they were clear winners of the award-winning chef’s imaginary junk food contest.

  “When I saw you on the news last week with Knox, something occurred to me.”

  “We were on the news?”

  “Not the real news. You know…tabloid crap. Alana loves it. There was this awesome shot of Knox helping you off the plane.”

  While her mind wandered, Remy tried to nod in all of the appropriate places. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how her uncle’s goon had tracked her to Barbados. She suspected he had been close throughout the years, but never in striking distance.

  “Who’s Alana?”

  Dahl held her hand up in a time-out gesture. “You first…my stuff later. Anyway, it occurred to me you were the one to always call—and from a new number, no less. It only made sense, since you’re the one who traveled all around the world, right?”

  As smart as she was beautiful, Dahl would pick and pick at the same scab until it bled. There was no need to burden her friend with this mess. Remy sucked on her fruity dessert but kept her face impassive.

  “Now that I think about it, I changed my number when I came back to the States,” Dahl continued. “I emailed you and got short little messages back but nothing substantial…”

  Remy only realized that she had completely zoned out once she no longer heard her friend’s lulling tone. She looked across the table. Eyes soft with worry, Dahl was frowning at her.

  “Honey, I consider us really good friends—two American black women making our marks on the world. But, I mean…” She yanked the knit cap off her head, releasing soft, bouncy curls, and leaned forward. “I thought the way you lived, hopping from one country to another, was amazing. However, the more I think about it, I can’t help but wonder… Are you in trouble?” Dahl placed her hand on top of Remy’s. “You can tell me if you are.”

  Remy took a hard swallow before she answered. She’d been on the run for so long that she’d forgotten what standing still felt like. “Well, I don’t want to lie if I don’t have to, so-o-o-o…” She patted Dahl’s hand and went back to her Italian ice. Eying a group of teenagers’ fries in the next booth, she considered ordering some. It would do her no good to have a nervous breakdown in a greasy spoon. Got to keep that adrenaline up, she coached herself with a small pep talk.

  “Is it Knox? Because I can get Bane to kick his ass.”

  Remy damn near choked on her drink. Dahl’s childish offer helped loosen the tight knot of dread that coiled in her chest. “No, not Supastar… Never him.” Once she got down to the bottom of her cup, she sucked childishly on her straw.

  “All right,” Dahl said before she threw up her hands. “You’re like a little sister to me and I love you, so I’m going to respect your privacy, but let me know if there’s anything I can do. Since I started banging Bane Carter again, I have major pull.”

  “Again?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s a long story that involves four kids and a football team. If you want to hear it, you’ll have to, at the very least, giv
e me your new phone number.” Dahl winked.

  Chapter Eleven

  Since Remy was far from a morning person, Knox usually let her sleep in. He nudged the bedroom door open with his foot. “Wakey, wakey,” he sang. Clutching the Starbucks cup in one hand and the mail in the other, he walked to the bed.

  “Come on, sweetie. Rise and shine.”

  She groaned and turned away from him. Kneeling by the bed, Knox blew the hot cappuccino smell in her direction.

  “Leave me alone,” she muttered, sinking farther under the covers.

  “We’ve got stuff to do, and I have a meeting in less than a half hour, so wake up.”

  Remy’s hand shot out from beneath the covers. She felt around until she made contact with his forehead, then shoved him.

  “Dammit, Rem.” She continued to muff his face with her palm until he got out of arm’s reach of her smothering hand. “Fine.” Putting the coffee on the nightstand, he grabbed the remote to the blinds. “One last time—”

  “Get the hell away from me!”

  He hit the remote, causing the slats to open. Bright sunlight penetrated the bedroom.

  “Knox, I swear…”

  Pretty black curls peeked above the comforter. She had always tied it up with a scarf in a complicated manner he couldn’t figure out but found sexy as hell. He waited for her to emerge.

  “The covers are next, babe,” he threatened. “I don’t want it to be like this, but you’re leaving me no choice.”

  “Fine.” Remy sighed.

  As she stuck her hand up, he hurried to the side of the bed and handed her the cup of coffee. After a couple of sips, she flipped the covers down and poked her head out. “What?”

  “Good morning.” He grinned. Remy stared at him with a level of hostility he hadn’t encountered in his fiercest competitor. “The first order of business.” Knox held up her magazine. “Congrats.”

  “Oo-o-oh.” When she opened and closed her hand in the give-me gesture for the USA Today, he tossed the newspaper into her lap. “I felt this was a good time to go over the rules again.” His teammate’s girlfriend, Lisa, graced the cover.

  As a swirl of colors and people swam in the background, her smiling face stood out. Pure elation. “What’s the problem?” she asked, obviously pleased with her work.

  “For starters, Doug is a jealous psycho.”

  “Which means what? He doesn’t want his hot girlfriend to be admired? Got it.” While she sipped from her Starbucks cup, Remy scooted up the headboard and leaned against the wood. This early in the morning, he had hoped to catch her at a disadvantage. The next time, he would definitely leave out the coffee.

  “Probably not by Mooch.” He reached over and flipped the magazine around to face her. “This is the back of a huge football player. She is staring right at him with pretty much an ‘O’ face.”

  Remy tried to hide her smile behind her Venti cup, but failed miserably. “Come on, baby. There’s no way Doug recognizes that look.”

  Despite his best effort to remain serious, he laughed at her. “Remy…” As he petered out, he dropped his head back, unsure how to get through to his wife. Out of all of the years they had been together, she had never hung around his teammates this long.

  “Everyone seeing that picture thinks that she’s happy to be at the festival. You’re reading way too much into this,” she assured him.

  Knox shook his head at her flimsy excuse. “Okay, I see we’re going to do this the hard way. This is your job.” He held up the magazine. “Pithy little title, Catch the Wave, majestic picture, great story.” He pointed at the byline. “Remy Bell right here. But this guy’s job”—Knox chucked his thumb at his chest—“is to go on the field and avoid getting my skull cracked in.” He approached the bed and took a seat on the edge of their California king. “Unlike you, I need a team. I can’t do it alone.”

  “Doug’s a roided-up hophead, taking his aggression out on her, and you know it.”

  “Let’s just say the team has called for an intervention,” Knox sighed. He knew better than to push too hard. She wanted to protect the weak—everyone did—but there were limits to what they could do. “If we see something we don’t like, then he’s off the squad by any means necessary.”

  Remy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Lisa’s family is in New York, which means she has no one here and no money of her own.”

  “He isolates her, I got it, but you’re not going through the same thing, and—”

  “The team’s little plan to keep her safe will work for a minute. What happens when he finally tests dirty?”

  The same thought had crossed Knox’s mind, but he had his own wife to worry about.

  “Modeling agencies will be interested in her after this, and Lashonda may even have a contact from her stylist days who can help—”

  Knox held up his hand in retreat. “The wives have it under control. It’s just the Mooch thing.”

  “We’re not pushing it.” Remy reached over and played with his hair. She knew he loved the feeling of her fingers against his scalp. It was distraction, plain and simple. The woman was crazy good at it. “I tried to crop him out of the shot, but the contrast of his body gives the picture depth, if you get what I’m saying.”

  “Yeah.” He laid back against her. “It’s that whole ‘what you’re seeing and what your eye actually has to focus on.’ It’s signature Remy.”

  “Okay, so what’s next on the agenda?” she asked with enough humor in her voice to let him know she’d won that round.

  He held up a square envelope. “I found this in the trash.”

  “Dumpster diving, Knox?” She plucked it from his hand and gave it a glance. “It’s for some award ceremony.”

  “And you’re being honored.” He rolled onto his side to face her. “Why don’t you want to go?”

  “Hours in a formal dress with wilted salad? No thanks.” A curl fell from the top of her scarf. She pushed it aside, causing the comforter to slip from her breast.

  Instant hard-on.

  “Besides, I bet you’ve been to a million of these things.” She tossed the invitation near the trash. Of course, she missed and it landed on the wood floor.

  “True, just not with you. The committee that runs this thing hunted me down. They really want you to attend.” Unable to help himself, he reached over and circled her areola with his finger, which forced the bud of her nipple to grow taut.

  “What are you trying to say, Knox?”

  “Obviously, that I want to see you get an award.” He pushed himself up and flicked his tongue against her nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth.

  Caressing the side of his face, Remy parted her legs under the covers just enough for him to get the hint.

  “Don’t you have a shoe signing that day?”

  Rubbing his hand over the crotch of his shorts, he quickly did the math. He had a meeting with his agent and a potential sports drink sponsor in fifteen minutes. “I’ll worry about that. Just take me out every once and a while. I feel like a dirty secret.”

  While Remy laughed at his joke—which held a ridiculous amount of truth to it—a dreamy glaze entered her eyes. If he drilled her pussy and manipulated her clit at the same time, ten minutes might put him in reach of an attainable goal.

  “Dealer’s choice,” she huffed.

  “Come on, babe.” He shoved his shorts down. “I got a conference call in a few minutes.” Since she always slept late, they had made a deal a long time ago that if he woke her up for morning sex, she got to pick the position. Naturally, her choices were always physically straining. “I’ll owe you one.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Peninsula Chicago held a hall full of journalists and reporters dressed in their very best. The top stories of the year were rehashed and picked apart, while the people who’d relayed them were already three sheets to the wind.

  Still stuck on her one-drink rule and surrounded by a table of strangers, Remy waited for Knox to jo
in her. She wore a red, body-hugging, sleeveless number with a bejeweled neckline. Filthy sex in a swanky suite had enticed her to attend, but without Knox, the fantasy had evaporated.

  Everyone seemed to know her name but not her face among all of these comrades and friends. She had always shied away from the camera, and by the time one of her pieces ran, she would have already landed at her next destination.

  When her famous table of journalists laughed at the comedian on stage, she picked her vibrating phone up off the table and made her way toward the door.

  “The whole reason why I’m here is because of you,” she hissed without greeting him. “And you’re not here.” Not quite mad yet, Remy’s emotions were edging in that direction.

  “Sorry. It went longer than we thought. I’ve got Hawk with me. Do you mind?”

  “The more the merrier, but he’ll probably be bored. These people are pretty drunk.”

  The Chicago Sun-Times editor bumped into her. Remy barely dodged the woman’s drink. “Sorry, honey.” As a frosted-over glaze muddled her brown eyes, she bobbed left and right on her heels. “Don’t I know you?”

  Smiling, Remy pointed at her phone.

  “Oh yeah, sorry,” the editor mock-whispered. “But you look familiar…”

  She turned away, hoping the woman had taken her not-so-subtle hint.

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Have they given out the awards yet?” Knox asked.

  “You’re that phantom girl. I had to make a million calls, because your uncle wanted to surprise you,” the blonde woman guffawed before she slapped Remy on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me?” Now that had gotten Remy’s attention. My uncle?

  “Congressman Brooks Richard… You’re his niece. That sexy bastard was chomping at the bit to give you this award.”

  Remy scanned the large ballroom. Security details were stationed at all the exits. How the hell did I miss that? With her purse still on the table, she couldn’t even make a decent run for it.

  “Oh, look! He’s arrived,” the woman said.

  As the congressman entered the stage and took the podium, the audience erupted in orgasmic applause. Salt-and-pepper hair covered the distinguished man’s head. He had a perfectly manicured beard that helped him appear cool and youthful, according to an article in Vogue. Remy, on the other hand, knew better.