by Frost, Sosie
“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.
The guys laughed, but I turned lemons into lemon-lime Gatorade and enjoyed the sticky coolness as their drinks splashed over me.
Then she spoke.
And the Gatorade almost boiled off of me.
“Mind if I take a picture, guys? This is some of your best work.”
Elle.
Jesus fuck.
I tried to swing around the post to look at her, but the tape bound me in place. That was probably for the best. Just the sweet sound of her voice was enough to twist my boxers.
Hers was a song I couldn’t get out of my head. Her every word, groan, moan, and whimper had cluttered my thoughts and invaded my dreams.
The guys posed around me. Elle’s camera flashed.
It was a damn crime she held the camera instead of posing for it. Someone that beautiful deserved to be immortalized.
In fact, that was the line that won her over during the scouting combine—the fitness test used to grade the incoming draft choices. Three hundred men in peak physical condition competed for the league scouts as well as the beautiful photographer darting between events with a smirk and a flash.
But I had won. She came back with me from the bar. And she’d stayed in my bed, sunup to sun-down, for three solid days.
The only thing that might have made it better? Remembering most of it.
“Well, if it isn’t Lachlan Reed.” Elle circled the goal posts to size me up. Like she hadn’t already licked every inch of me.
And more.
I figured after the games we’d played, words we’d said, and crimes we might have committed according to statues set by twelve states, she’d have begged for a second chance or sent me some dirty texts.
Returned my fucking phone calls.
Not this girl.
Hell, she had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d teased me, pleased me, kissed and licked and touched and fucked me, drained me, got me hard again, and then raced to see if she could kill me from pleasure, exhaustion, or dehydration, whichever came first.<
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“Don’t move,” she ordered. “Let me get a good picture.”
Oh, she was a tease. A bronzed goddess in black leggings and a loose fitting white, Rivets tunic that just covered her ass. The shirt hung low off of one shoulder, revealing black skin with a honey glow. Waves of ebony hair bounced over her shoulders, but she’d dyed streaks of bright red into the curls. Playful, not punk. Something sexy and bright.
She stalked me on legs so perfect I’d offer to wear her as a fanny pack…as long as it didn’t ruin my sprint speed down the field. I didn’t know if it was her or the tape that didn’t let me breathe, but at least I’d die a happy man after earning her smile.
“Better get my good side,” I said.
“Believe me…” She raised the camera, snapping a picture of my ass. “I am.”
Naughty girl.
Jack angled his finger and thumb as if framing my misery for his own photo. “I don’t know. This looks a little sloppy to me. We might have to do it again tomorrow. Practice makes perfect.”
Fuck me.
Elle came to my rescue. “No, this is candid. If it gets too neat, it’ll look staged.”
“God forbid,” I said.
She laughed, a fairy-tale twinkle of brightness. “Oh, hush now. You’re getting off easy, rookie.”
“I’d get off real easy with you, Elle.”
The guys didn’t laugh.
Mistake.
The offensive line circled Elle, more protective of her than their damn quarterback. I twisted, watching as she leaned against Caleb and wagged a disapproving finger at me.
Orlando crossed his arms. “Na-uh, rookie. This here is our girl.”
Caleb shook his head. “You’re gonna be real respectful-like to her.”
Point taken. I caught her glance—those big, almond eyes stared with glee. Her eyebrow arched, baiting me to protest.
“There’s no one more respectful to a lady than me,” I said. “If my middle name weren’t Generous, it might have been Chivalry.”
Caleb laughed, though it ended short and punctuated with a scowl. “Don’t mess with Elle.”
“Can I mess around with her?”
Elle giggled, but this time it was Jack suiting up in the shining armor. He motioned for the rest of the Gatorade to dunk over my head.
