Touchdowns and Tiaras: The Complete Boxed Set

by Frost, Sosie

  “Yep. You’re like a helpless little puppy.”

  “But you like puppies.”

  “I like dinner more.”

  “I promised you food, we’re getting food—”

  Lachlan turned away from the stove just long enough for Sebastian to shout. The oil soaked towel rested over the gas-lit burner and immediately singed, blackened, and then pop! Erupted into flame.

  “Whoa!” I nearly dropped the shredded onions and garlic. “Lachlan!”

  Sebastian’s fire safety lessons kicked in. He shouted from the middle of the kitchen. “Get out quick before the smoke gets thick!”

  Lachlan grimaced. “Sit, Bast. I’ve got it.”

  He really didn’t. I backed away as he flipped off the stove and beat at the rag with a second towel—which also promptly licked the flames and singed.

  “Smother it!” I said. “It’s got oil on it!”

  “A fire that is small is soon to be tall!”

  Lachlan grabbed a pair of tongs from the drawer, picked up the burning rags, and rushed around the kitchen searching for an appropriate container. I slammed a second frying pan on the counter just as the smoke detector buzzed, his phone started to ring, and the first-round draft choice of the Ironfield Rivets nearly scorched his multi-million dollar hands.

  “Stay low and go!” Sebastian dropped to the floor and started crawling away.

  Lachlan stuffed the burning rags into the pan, popped the lid on, and pointed to his brother.

  “Not a word of that to Mom.”

  Sebastian’s eyes got big. “Stop, Drop, and Roll!”

  I screeched, batting at an ember on Lachlan’s vest that nearly torched through. He swore, ripped the vest off, and stomped out the lick of flame.

  He turned off the smoke alarm with a code from his phone and breathed deep.

  “Burned to death. Starved to death.” I shook my head. “This kid won’t make it back to his mom.”

  Lachlan gestured to the pot. “Yeah, but it’s ready for the onions and garlic now.”

  Sebastian pouted. “Can’t we just order pizza?”

  “Elle, grab the matches. Someone hasn’t learned to keep his mouth shut.”

  I smacked his arm. Lachlan motioned to the kid.

  “I got my eye on you.”

  “I got two on you.” Sebastian countered with a stuck-out tongue.

  I dropped the veggies into the pot and gave it a stir. That made the kitchen smell a bit better. After a few minutes, without fire or any other imminent danger, we dropped in the tomatoes. A little salt, little pepper, an accidental half-container of oregano courtesy of Lachlan, and we had a respectable dinner nearly prepared.

  Ten minutes later, the noodles were pulled from the water, and we offered Sebastian a plate of spaghetti dressed in a delicious, bright red marinara sauce.

  He stared at the food.

  Silence. I held my breath.

  “It’s chunky,” he finally said.

  Lachlan collapsed on the island. “What?”

  “It’s chunky. It’s got…chunks.”

  “Those are tomatoes. You like tomatoes. That’s what gives it the flavor.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Just try it.”

  “I won’t like it.”

  “Because of the chunks?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lachlan rubbed his temples. “If it were smooth, would you try it?”

  “Maybe.”

  He motioned for Sebastian to stay where he was. I took a bite with a smile. Wasn’t a bad first attempt, and the cheese masked most of the char.

  Lachlan returned with a blender. I smacked his shoulder.

  “You had one of these the whole time?”

  “In the bar.”

  My hands would forever smell like onions. “We could have used it to chop.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Just remember for next time.”

  “Next time?” Lachlan grinned, spooning the remaining sauce into the blender. “So…there will be a next time.”

  “You said three dates. You still get two.”

  “Gimme a do-over for this one.”

  “You think you deserve a do-over?”

  He flipped on the blender without checking the lid.

  A scalding hot spray of Italian shrapnel splattered over the kitchen. Sebastian and Lachlan shouted and dove to the floor.

  The eruption of marinara sauce rained from above, soaking me in thick, hot, pastey tomato juice, seeds, and chunks of molten onion.

  Lachlan leapt over the blender, stopping the spinning and slamming the lid on tight.

  This was the second time I had been covered in a foul, chunky substance in a week.

  I held my arms out, dripping marinara. A glob traced over my cheek. The rest somehow all rolled down my chest into a dress I knew revealed too much cleavage.

  Lachlan didn’t even pretend to hide his grin.

  “Yes, Red. I would love a do-over for tonight.”

  8

  Lachlan

  Elle hadn’t spoken.

  Of course, Sebastian and I laughed our asses off. That didn’t help.

  A blob of marinara sauce plunged from the ceiling onto her arm. Her dress was ruined. Her hair was sticky. And she was still hungry.

  Fucking great start to our first date.

  I piled a heaping spoonful of spaghetti onto a plate for Sebastian, dished him some of the chunkless sauce that remained in the blender, and handed him a fork.

  “Little man, eat.” I turned to Elle. “Red, let me get you out of that dress.”

  She wanted to scold me, but Sebastian was at that blissfully ignorant stage—kinda like a parrot where he’d repeat whatever I didn’t want him to say without understanding any of it. She tiptoed through the hall as the sauce threatened to drip. Nothing a wash cloth and change of clothes couldn’t fix.

  And I knew just what I’d have her wear.

  I handed her a pair of boxers she could use for shorts. At least I’d get to see some leg. But I liked the spare shirt I had more. She smiled as I gave her one of my new jerseys to wear—the black and gold with the number eighty-three embroidered on the back.

  “You know,” I said. “When I’d imagined this evening, I imagined stripping you down for the night.”

  But maybe not wringing dinner out of her skirt.

  Elle’s little pout was a tease. “You’ve imagined far more than just stripping me.”

  “You got me. I also wanted to pin you against the wall, rip your panties away, and ravish you like an animal.”

  She slammed the bathroom door in my face and rinsed her dress in the sink. “Whatever happened to a handshake and a kiss good night?”

  “We are so far beyond a handshake, Red. If you only knew where my hands had been.” I grinned as she returned, drowning in my oversized clothes and looking goddamned adorable. “Well, I guess you have a good idea.”

  “You have got to behave.”

  “Admit it. We’ve done some dirty things.”

  “And you don’t feel the least bit of remorse for it?”

  “Remorse?” I laughed. “Christ, I revisit that weekend anytime I’m in the shower.”

  “For the team’s sake, I hope you aren’t reminiscing at training camp.”

  “I got other memories from that particular shower.” I licked my lips. “Tasty memories.”

  “If you don’t put that tongue back in your mouth and behave, I’ll make you choke on a noodle.”

  “I love it when you take a firm hand with me.”

  The kitchen was a disaster as half of our dinner was sprayed across the walls and ceiling. Sebastian kicked his legs and ate his dinner. He shoved one bite into his mouth, chewed, and pushed the plate away.

  “Done,” he said.

  I loved this kid, but I wasn’t above force-feeding him. “You’re done?”

  “Yep.”

  Only a quarter of his spaghetti was gone. “You’re gonna be hungry later.”
r />   “Will not. Can I play Minecraft?”

  My stomach rumbled. I grabbed his plate and waved him to my X-Box. At least I’d tried. It was close enough to his bedtime that he probably wouldn’t get hungry again. I’d make him breakfast in the morning before taking him to kindergarten. God willing, he still ate eggs without complaint.

  Elle fixed her own plate. She sat across from me, nibbling on a noodle, and nodded her approval.

  What was sexier? A woman dressed up in a cock-maddening dress that hugged her dark curves, or a sexy woman wearing my jersey lounging in my kitchen?

  I could get used to both sides of her.

  “This wasn’t the fun-filled, magical dinner I’d planned.” I opened a bottle of wine and offered her a glass. “This dinner was supposed to be…amazing. Totally suspended in the air on a crane. Just blowing in the breeze. Full-service bar and grill chef.”

  “I don’t mind spaghetti.”

  “I hope not. You’re wearing it.”

  “Soaked through my dress.” Elle hummed over a sip of her wine. “Had to rinse my panties too.”

  There was my punishment. A rock hard cock and no way to swipe the dishes off the counter and fuck the ever-loving hell out of her.

  “I think spaghetti is my new favorite food,” I said.

  “I think I’m just glad we’re eating it at sea-level.”

  “Sea-level is boring.”

  “Even with me as your dinner date?”

  Sassy little thing. “You get my blood pumping in an entirely different way, Red.”

  “I don’t understand you. Why are you always looking for that next adrenaline rush?”

  I shrugged. “I only need two things. A football in my hand and my wife in my bed.”

  “Don’t deny it,” she said. “You’re a total adrenaline junkie.”

  “I don’t deny anything. Might have to plead the fifth if Piper asks you questions about any dates which could violate my contract.”

  She spun the spaghetti around her fork, but she stared at me instead. “So what makes a man want to eat dinner suspended over the city by a crane instead of enjoying a quiet meal in a bistro?”

  “The crane is more exciting.”

  “What about the other adventures? Bungee jumping off the Stratosphere in Vegas? Getting married on a whim?”

  I inhaled the rest of my food and scraped up the sauce with a piece of bread. “My life is one constant adrenaline rush. I spend my days staring down linebackers for a living. Running routes across the middle where a corner could clock me and I’d be out for the season.”

  “And you…like it?”

  “I love it. The fear. It’s fun, intoxicating.” I lowered my voice. “It’s sexy. Like a seduction.”

  She hummed. “And I suppose you like sex to be wild too?”

  “You should know.”

  “What we did in Vegas defied human strength and endurance. I don’t think we could do it again.”

  “Wanna try?”

  “One adventure at a time, Charming.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “Is it?” Her eyebrow arched. “You’re not a man used to hearing no.”

  “And that’s what makes seduction so damn fun.” I lowered my voice. “Even the strongest can’t resist me.”

  “Or maybe you haven’t met your match?”

  “I think I have.”

  “Believe me, Lachlan. You’re no challenge to me.”

  “Then I surrender, Red. You can take me now.”

  “And what if I get off on the thrill of the chase?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” I offered her another glass of wine, filling it to the brim even as she protested. “That thrill is what proves we’re alive. I love that heart-pounding, muscle-rending tension.”

  “Why?”

  “Easy. The suspense. The fear. The uncertainty.” I leaned closer to her. “It’s all about the intensity. Doesn’t matter if you’re jumping off a bridge, lining up across from a linebacker, or carrying a beautiful woman to your bed. No one knows what will happen. But you pant. You sweat. And you take that leap.”

  “And what happens?”

  “You get your release. You land on your feet. Score the touchdown. Come inside an orgasming woman. But, for me, it’s not about that moment of relief—I’m after the split-second just before it happens. When only pure instinct surges through your body, your mind, your reflexes. That’s when you find out what kind of person you are.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Someone who has never feared a challenge in his life.”

  Her lips parted, and she breathed a quick sigh. “What if you get hurt?”

  “Can’t have a reward without any risks.”

  “I…don’t normally take risks.”

  “You could take a chance on me right now.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because I’m not just giving you a moment of pleasure…I’m offering you a lifetime of reward.”

  Elle’s fingers drifted close to mine, just barely stroking my hand. Every touch hardened my cock, and I stared into her caramel eyes, tasted the coconut-tropical tease of her scent, and waited to hear the sultry promise of her voice.

  Instead, a crash echoed from the living room. Sebastian shouted over the noise.

  “I didn’t do it!”

  Elle pulled her hand away.

  God damn it.

  I slid from the counter. “It’s past his bedtime anyway. I should tuck him in.”

  “Aw, a story and everything?”

  “You know it.” I winked. “There’s a laundry room downstairs. You could toss your dress in the dryer if you want.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “I’d rather you not wear the dress…but we should play it cautious tonight.”

  “Cautious? You?” Elle laughed. “This I gotta see.”

  Normally, she’d be right. But when it came to Sebastian, I did what I could to take care of him.

  He was a good kid, even if he wasn’t thrilled with bedtime. I wrestled him into his bedroom and tickled him until he smiled. The space wasn’t quite his yet—nothing fun on the walls and none of his toys around—but it’d get there. First, I had to get him settled in with Mom at their new house, then we’d work on mine.

  I tossed Bast on the bed half a dozen times WWE style, then finally peeled off his marinara sauce stained shirt. I handed him his PJs. Sponge Bob. I could work with that.

  “Get changed, little man. I’ll be back.”

  The kid would get stuck in one pant leg in the time it took me to change, but at least that’d keep him busy. I rooted through my drawers until I found my own Sponge Bob pajama bottoms. I changed into the yellow pants and a t-shirt and returned to get him started on the night-time adventure.

  “Brush your teeth?” I asked. Sebastian nodded. I knew better. “Open your mouth.”

  He did, but the little liar had oregano in his teeth and spaghetti sauce on his neck. I marched him to the bathroom and handed him a spare toothbrush. He groaned as I tackled him with a warm washcloth.

  “Let me break this down for you,” I said. “I’m trying to make a good impression with Elle. How about we make a deal? You brush your teeth, I read you a story, you go to sleep, and I’ll get you a donut in the morning on the way to kindergarten. Deal?”

  Sebastian spoke with a mouth full of toothpaste, spraying the foam everywhere. “Can’t I stay up with you?”

  That wouldn’t help the date go any smoother. “The sooner you sleep, the faster you get a donut.” I mussed his hair. “Besides, the better behaved and cuter you are, the more Elle will like me.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. He pointed at me. “Twenty dollars.”

  “You’re as bad as a mafia shake down, little man. How about doing this as a favor to me? You like me, right?”

  “No.” He faked an attitude. “I love you, Lach.”

  Good thing I never had to face him on the field, or he’d bring me to my knees every
damn snap.

  “Good. Spit out the toothpaste and I’ll read you a story.”

  “Two chapters.” He threatened me with the toothbrush. “And you better make the voices.”

  “Two chapters, funny voices, and my signing bonus if you promise to behave.”

  “Okay.”

  I regretted teaching him to haggle. He held out his hand, coated in peppermint toothpaste, and we shook on it.

  He rinsed what teeth hadn’t fallen out of his head yet and hurried to the bed. I shifted his ass over so I could get in too.

  “Don’t hog the bed, Bast.”

  “Don’t call me Bast.”

  “I’ll call you whatever I want, Bast. Scooch over.” I turned on my Kindle, loaded with a hundred or more kid’s books so I didn’t have to fill my house with Spot and Dog or Harry Potter and the Untimely Blue-Balls. “Where’d we leave off?”

  He thought hard about it. “Harry was in trouble.”

  I shook my head. “Got news for you, little man. Harry’s always in trouble.”

  “But he’s big and tough like you. You’d never get caught by Voldemort.”

  “True. I worry more about linebackers.”

  “Not you!” Sebastian hopped up. “You’re the best football player ever. Everyone should be scared of you.”

  “Oh, they are. Definitely.” I settled him back in bed. “Besides, I can’t let you down, can I?”

  “You promised you’d be the best.”

  “Yeah. That was the plan. Working so well, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  It was actually working better than he realized. A new contract meant a beautiful and safe home for him, the best schools, and a guaranteed college education. It also gave Mom an early retirement, something she deserved after working multiple jobs and sacrificing everything to get me to where I was. I only wished I could give her more after all the shit I put her through.

  I read—two chapters including my squeaky Hermione voice and my spot-on Snape impression. He was out by the end of the second chapter, and I eased from of the bed as carefully as I could.

  Elle waited for me in the kitchen. She’d loaded the dishwasher and now stared, sponge in hand, at the drying marinara sauce sprayed on the walls.

  “You don’t have to clean up,” I said.

  “I needed something to do.” She gave me a sly glance. “Sponge Bob?”