Touchdowns and Tiaras: The Complete Boxed Set

by Frost, Sosie

  Her toddler squealed first. My agent, Piper, didn’t bother saying hello.

  “You don’t answer my calls. You don’t come to see me.” Piper wagged a finger at me. “You ask Cole what happens when I’m ignored. You won’t win that game, Mr. Reed.” She pointed to her tummy, just barely bumped with a baby. “I’m hungry, cranky, sick, and my newest client can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

  My agent was a lovely woman—beautiful, determined, and a little cube of brown sugar bubbling molten.

  Fortunately, her two-year-old was much more agreeable. I grabbed the meatball and swung her into my arms. Rose was getting bigger, but she was still a bundle of giggles with two puff-ball pigtails.

  “What’s up, Piper?” I asked.

  “You’re married?”

  “Barried!” Rose repeated.

  “You never said I couldn’t get married.” I set the kid on my shoulders. “You specifically said no skydiving, motorcycling, jet-skiing. You said nothing about marriage.”

  “I told you not to make any stupid decisions.”

  “That’s subject to interpretation. Maybe getting married was the best decision of my life?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” She crossed her arms. “And what does Elle think?”

  I bounced Rose to stall for time. “She’s warming up to me.”

  “So I don’t need to worry about her smothering you in the middle of the night?”

  A man could dream. “Nope, she’s okay. I no longer take any athletic protection home with me.”

  “The hallmark of a successful marriage.” Piper sighed. “But I’m not here to talk about your love life.”

  “Just couldn’t resist butting in?”

  Wrong thing to say. Her eyes narrowed.

  “I told you before, Lachlan. Cross me, and I will eat you.”

  Rose mimicked her mom. “Eatz you, Lock-in.”

  “Sorry, sorry.”

  “I’m supposed to meet with Leah Carson so we can coordinate a couple PR events for you, but I just talked to a couple coaches.”

  Not what I wanted to hear. “Can’t we do this later? I got twenty guys expecting me to buy them a round in an hour.”

  “I know adjusting to the pros can be overwhelming—all the interviews and playbooks and new techniques. But if you need to get help with the plays or drills—”

  I stopped her before she suggested anything that ridiculous. “Baby, this offense was made for me. By the end of training camp, Jack Carson will be my little spoon.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll work it out. Just gotta play it cool.”

  Rosie screeched. “Cole!”

  Cole stalked us from the hallway, took one look at me with his kid on my shoulders, and I knew my ass would end up on the ground again. Last thing I needed was a second boot print on my chest to match his mark from earlier. He reached for Rose.

  “Give me my baby, rookie.”

  He took the girl, but she immediately wiggled, fussed, and fought until she was on the ground. She marched down the hall and pointed to Cole.

  “Daddy! Play!” Her little feet stomped.

  Even Cole couldn’t resist. He chased her before the kid ended up tumbling through the weight room. Piper groaned.

  “They’re fun at that age,” I said.

  “You have experience with toddlers?” she asked.

  “Sebastian,” I said. “He was a nuclear warhead in a diaper. Look away for a minute, and he left a crater. Cute though.”

  Piper rubbed her tummy. “Yeah…good thing they’re cute.”

  “Just like me.”

  “I don’t think the coaches are won over by your dimples.”

  “You’d be surprised. I got this under control.”

  “I trust you, Lachlan.”

  “Now if you would just put in the good word for me to Elle…”

  Piper waved a hand. “That’s beyond my three percent commission. You’re on your own.”

  Yeah, I knew that was too good to be true.

  I left the practice facility—carefully crossing the street. I wasn’t risking my ass every time I crossed the lot, especially since the guys had somehow convinced Elle to join us at the bar.

  And I wasn’t leaving without her on my arm.

  McCree’s was a hole-in-the-wall bar on the south side of town—a place where Ironfield’s trendy revitalization skipped. It was blue collar. It was dim. It was small.

  And Wednesday nights were karaoke.

  My kind of show. Especially since I now owed the team the remainder of my dignity, at least, what bits of it I’d scraped off the practice field. I skipped the pleasantries and handed the bartender my credit card.

  The team knew how to haze—through my wallet and up on stage. Good thing I liked to sing.

  And I had the perfect audience.

  The guys filed in, but I found my seat in the corner. Elle teased her straw in a particularly fruity and tropical looking drink. She studied her camera as I leaned over the booth.

  “Any requests, dear?”

  The camera flashed and nearly blinded me. Fair enough.

  “I’m here for the show, Charming.” Elle patted her camera. “Just documenting this embarrassment.”

  “Embarrassment?” I laughed. “This is fun.”

  Elle wove a hand through her hair, framing the tease of her smile and wicked dare of her eyes. “You actually want to sing?”

  “I’ll serenade you all night, Red.”

  “Are you flirting with me…or is that a threat?”

  “Depends…what will get me those dates with you?”

  “Tell you what…” Elle leaned close. “How about you and I get out of here?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ll take a nice ride downtown.”

  “I’m loving this idea.”

  “I’ll wear a pretty little dress.”

  “Awesome.”

  “And we’ll spend a nice night at my lawyer’s office, settling this divorce.”

  I flagged down a waitress. “Can someone get this lady another drink? She agrees to marry me when we’re tipsy.”

  Jack delivered her an unopened beer. “Well, well, well. Here’s the team’s newest lovebirds.”

  Elle groaned. “And, with any luck, I can fly away from him.”

  “Whadda think, rookie?” Jack held up an electric razor. “Want to tweet a nice little song for us…or are you gonna let me manage your hair style for the rest of training camp?” He pointed a couple tables over. A razor poised over our third-round draft choice’s head. “Frankie took the coward’s way out.”

  No dice. “As much as I’d rock a dick and balls shaved into my head, I’m here for the music, baby.”

  Elle stroked her camera. “Thank God this thing doesn’t pick up sound.”

  “You’re gonna change your tune pretty quick, Red,” I said.

  “You better order me another drink. This is going to be a long night.”

  And it wouldn’t have to end if all went to plan. I accepted Jack’s challenge and hopped onto the stage as a chorus of cheers erupted in the bar. The house lights dimmed, and the stage spotlighted my full glory.

  Jack baited the team, standing on a chair and drawing the attention of the entire bar. I counted only a handful of non-Rivets personnel. Less of a chance for this to end up on YouTube.

  Unlike the last time I karaoked at college. But I doubted this one would end with the fire-breathing or the two girls begging for a ride home—and not in my car.

  “For your entertainment tonight…” Jack announced me to great acclaim from the offense. “Our first-round draft pick, Lachlan Charming Reed, has offered his talents for our amusement. What’s he singing tonight, men?”

  Someone foolish entrusted Caleb and Orlando to pick the songs. They cackled over the selection book before cueing a song with a malicious grin. I grabbed a wireless mic and braced myself for their particular brand of torment.

  The poppy twang of Millennial country roared throu
gh the bar, and the guys and I both cheered.

  Taylor Swift.

  Yee-haw.

  This was too damn easy. They thought they’d embarrass me? Hell, I was about to give them the full fucking concert. I even stole a cowboy hat from one of our less-fashionable receivers.

  A kicky little beat started. Elle whistled as I spun, shaking it off like the song commanded. The lyrics scrolled on the screen, but who needed the help? I knew the words, and I dove across the stage in my best interpretation of the current Princess of Pop.

  Elle was the first one to clap, but the team exploded. The linemen leapt out of their seats, shouting and cheering as I sang.

  In fucking key.

  Hitting every note.

  Shaking my ass like Tay-Tay wished she could move.

  I owned the bar, zipping from one side of the stage to the other. I held the mic out for the audience to sing, twerking what my momma gave me and making her proud.

  I’d never met a problem I couldn’t solve with a good hip thrust. This was no different. I gyrated like Shakira and melted a song like Justin Timberlake, and damn if I didn’t collect the panties of five college co-eds giggling like banshees in the corner.

  By the end of the song, I was sweeping away another thong, a pair of bikini panties, and a receiver’s boxer shorts.

  Not bad for my first performance, but the Rivets demanded an encore.

  And I was happy to oblige.

  “God damn, rookie!” Jack hooted with the team. “After that dance, I don’t know if I should be buying you a drink or breakfast.”

  I grinned. “You buying me either?”

  “Fuck no, rookie. Give us another song.”

  “As you wish.” I pointed to Elle. “Gimme a song, Red.”

  Elle snapped a picture, but she didn’t answer.

  I hopped from the stage and sipped her beer. “Not leaving until you give me a song,”

  “Where’d you learn to sing?”

  “Bast had colic as a baby.” I waved for the bar to quiet down. The team teased louder. “I had to sing or none of us would have slept in the house. Come up. Sing a song with me.”

  “Nope.”

  “It’ll be fun!”

  “Noooope.”

  “You’re gonna regret it…” I gave her a wink.

  “What are you doing?” Elle practically dove after me, but I escaped to the stage. “I swear to god, Charming—”

  I waved Caleb and Orlando away from the karaoke machine and chose my own damn song.

  The music keyed up, the lights came down low, and I growled the words to my audience as the first beat trembled my hips into one sharp roll of my butt.

  “This next song goes out to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling my wife.”

  The co-eds groaned in disappointment, but Elle was already on her way under the table. The guys prevented her from bolting out of the bar. Jack and Orlando escorted her to a chair in the dead center of the room, somehow finding lighters. They waved the flame in the air and rocked to the beat.

  This was a rendition of Let’s Get it On that even Marvin Gay would have appreciated.

  Elle hid her eyes as I belted the song, but she was going to miss the best part.

  Each sultry beat rolled through me, and I broke through the buttons on my shirt one at a time, each revealing a bit more skin, a lot more attitude, and earning the approval of everyone in the bar.

  I fell to my knees, hip thrusting. The shirt tossed into the audience, nearly getting incinerated on Jack’s lighter before Elle could catch it.

  “Lachlan!” Elle chastised me. “Don’t you dare!”

  “Ladies and gentleman…” The song dipped, and I got a little too intimate with the stage with one, two, three leisurely thrusts against the wood. I hopped to my feet as the team nearly drowned in their beers. I gestured to Elle, giving another little pop of the goods as the spotlight turned on her. She sat, mortified, cursing at me with every breath. “I just want to ask this beautiful woman one question. Just one.”

  “No, no no. Lachlan!” She wagged a finger. “No!”

  “Oh yes.” I hissed a satisfied yelp. “Gotta ask my team, my friends, and a dozen random, panty-less strangers to help me. I need you to answer me this…”

  “Charming, I am not doing it!”

  “All I’m asking of her is three little dates!”

  The crowd whooped. The extra bump of my hips helped.

  “Go on, hon!” Caleb yelled.

  Jack gave her a shove. “He’s on his knees!”

  I pumped my arms for the bar to applaud. “I just need three nights for us to talk, get to know each other, rekindle the greatest marriage a man could ask for.” I winked. The co-eds screamed. “Three dates for her to fall completely, totally in love with me.” I dropped into the chorus of the song with a spin, pop, and lock. “So Let’s Get It On!”

  “Cut the man a break, Elle!” Jack yelled. “He’s trying so hard.”

  “Yeah, what else is hard though?” Elle hid her eyes.

  Wouldn’t she love to find out? I threaded the mic through my fingers, softly touching my bare chest. The guys liked the nipple tweak. I liked that Elle couldn’t stop staring.

  She shouted as my hand drifted lower, popping the button on my jeans.

  “Stop!” Elle stood. “If I say yes, will you stop stripping?”

  “Sure thing.” I eyed the crowd. “For now. Three dates, Elle. That’s all I’m asking.”

  She didn’t relent until I nearly deflowered the microphone stand. A white napkin waved in the air. She surrendered.

  “Fine! Three dates!” She pointed at me. “But only three!”

  I ended the song as the bar exploded in applause, cheers, and laugher. Better than winning a fucking game.

  Elle arched an eyebrow as I plucked her out of her seat. “What are you doing?”

  “Playing to the crowd.”

  I held her close, spun her around, and dipped her low. The team hooted as I gave her the single greatest kiss she’d ever gotten in her life, the kind that made every fairy tale prince blow his load before he ever bedded his princess.

  But I had a lot more planned than just a simple kiss.

  Fuck the shattering slippers. I didn’t wait for a rose to drop its petals.

  This woman would love me after three dates.

  And she’d fall as hard for me as I’d crashed for her.

  7

  Elle

  Dating my husband was probably a huge mistake. Indulging him was worse.

  But I was nothing if not a woman of my word…especially when that integrity faded by the second.

  I knocked on his door and fully expected him to answer naked.

  I was wrong. Very wrong.

  Lachlan wore a sleek suit, dark pants and a sexy vest tailor cut to his muscular frame. He cleaned up well. Problem was, he knew it. He grinned at me, a playful warning of all the things to come. And, if I wasn’t careful, I’d be the one coming.

  “Welcome home.” Lachlan guided me into his newly purchased house. “Since you own half of this place now, I should give you a tour. Or should we skip ahead to the bedroom?”

  Some players on the team lived in castles. Some built beautiful mansions for themselves. Lachlan bought a modern home, something bright and full of windows. A very northern Californian theme—white and wicker and driftwood. His furniture was white, but someone decorated it with good taste. Splashes of green colored the living room, matching the sea-foam hint of his eyes.

  His home wasn’t a mansion, but it was far larger than my apartment, and much more expensive than the tuna can that was my childhood home.

  “No bedroom yet. You promised me a date.” I spun, showing off a rather revealing black dress that hugged my curves, boosted my breasts, and flared just right to showcase my butt. “You said I’d have the greatest night of my life.”

  “One of three.” Lachlan got excited, and his smile grew. He wiggled like a hyper puppy, but he
bared the sharp teeth of a wolf. “Imagine this. Dinner in the sky.”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “Only if you fall.”

  Oh, he was serious. “What are you planning? If it needs seatbelts—”

  “Not a seatbelt as much as a…harness.”

  “What?”

  “It’s this brand new experience in the city. Really exclusive. I have dinner reservations for us at Table In The Sky. It’s a formal, five course meal, seated around a table that is hoisted into the air by a crane, one hundred and fifty feet above the ground!”

  “Well…” I cleared my throat. “This has been a lovely evening, but I really should get going—”

  “Come on, Elle. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “It resides exclusively at sea-level.”

  “But you can see the city from above. Watch the sunset. Eat fantastic food. It’s supposed to be the greatest adrenaline rush in Ironfield.”

  “Yeah, but adrenaline isn’t good for digestion.”

  Lachlan only laughed. He took my hand and pulled me closer. Like a fool, I let him get near.

  His spicy scent was mouth-watering in itself, no dinner required. He brushed my hair with a casual swipe of his fingers. I shivered as he touched my cheek.

  “Just think of it as a magic carpet ride, Red. Suspended in the air, above the city, in the twilight…”

  “Where all of Ironfield can see up my dress.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “You go up. I’ll stay on the ground.”

  I shouldn’t have looked into his eyes. That damn green could enchant anyone into making a terrible decision.

  “If I plummet to my death…” I arched an eyebrow. “You better make sure my obituary says that I died as a divorcee.”

  “This will be one of the best nights of your life, if only because you’ll be with me.” He charmed me with those dimples. “Time’s ticking, Red.”

  “Yeah, we better move. God only knows if this crane turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  He offered his arm, but a sudden knock pounded hard on his door, the rapid taps of someone very little but very impatient.

  Lachlan opened the door, turning at the last minute to protect his boys as Sebastian ran at him for a hug, arms forward but fists firmly clenched.