To the Victor It Goes

Calder

 

 

 

SHOCK AT SEEING REGGIE here, in Denver, was quickly replaced by such a surge of pure joy it almost rocked me to my knees.

Joy that multiplied when she stepped straight into my open arms.

I quickly wrapped her against me, no other thought than to keep her with me forever.

She lifted her face, her lips softening, then I drew her up that final inch. Her lips against mine made me groan, and I tasted her from one corner to the other before delving inside. Hot fire flooded me. I cupped the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. Our tongues sought deeper, swirling tasting touching and it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

It was the loud whoops, hollers, and shouts from my teammates that broke us apart.

“Thatta boy!”

“’Bout goddamn time.”

“So sick of him mooning around since Christmas.”

“Hey, Reggie!” That was unmistakably Bunyan. “Promise not to leave lover boy again? He’s been fucking unbearable.”

I flipped everyone off while Reggie giggled at the comments. All remarks at my expense of course.

Assholes.

“Ignore them,” I said.

“I think they’re amusing.”

I growled low in my throat, which only made her laugh again. Then I just stared at her, drinking her in. Tight jeans and high boots and red lips and a red leather jacket. Fluffy snowflakes settled in her hair, startlingly white against the deep brown gloss of her curls.

“God, you look amazing,” I whispered. She was even more beautiful than I remembered. “But . . . what are you doing here?”

“Did you really think I’d be anywhere else?” Her hand rose, and she drew fingertips along the side of my jaw. “Besides, I scored epic seats in the Sky Box.” She pointed toward Peyton, Phil, and our GM Lou.

I narrowed my eyes. “You planned this without telling me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished.” I kissed her again, softer and slower, cold air melting from between us.

When I released her, she let out a shaky breath. “I would’ve come sooner but—”

“But what?”

“I wanted to give you time to come to your senses.”

I barked a laugh. “Is that so? And what did you think about . . . the letters?” I nearly stuttered, asking that question, and I was pretty damn sure I blushed.

She nuzzled her nose against my neck for a moment despite the fact that after hours of rough game play I wasn’t smelling too sweet. “Your letters. I read every single one of them more than once.”

“How many times?”

“I’m not telling.” Her hands curled over my shoulders. “They delighted me. Gave me something to look forward to every day.” Her eyes lifted. “They made me feel wanted. And loved.”

I pulled her hand against my heart. “You are.”

She looked away shyly, and in the middle of the crowded field, in the aftermath of a massive Super Bowl win, I felt like we were completely alone.

“I waited because I wanted you to be able to focus on your game. And I needed to get some things in order.”

“Like what?” That crazy joy began to build inside me again.

She must’ve felt my thundering heartbeat knocking against her palm.

“A place to stay.”

“Where?”

“In the Charleston area.”

Thud thud.

“You have a place to stay,” I said.

A smile started to curve her very red lips. “A job.”

“In the Charleston area?”

“Perhaps.” She continued to toy with me.

Thump thump.

“You left the show?”

“No. I just looked into other opportunities.” She hedged for a moment before admitting, “You’re not exactly a sure bet, Calder.”

“I’m sorry. About Christmas and after going to Chris’s grave and for being a cowa—”

Her fingers pressed against my mouth silenced me. “I told you I don’t ever want you to apologize about that again. I’m here now. You don’t have to prove yourself to me.” Her eyes slanted at me. “But if you did want to keep writing me romantic thoughtful sweet, maybe even sexy letters . . .”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I said earnestly.

“You already have.” Her kiss was a light touch, a little lick at the corner of my mouth while I hungered for more.

My body reacted savagely to her words, her presence, after her absence, but she reared back, a wickedly playful look painting her deep dark brown irises. “Anyway, you know your friend Frankie?”

Wouldn’t exactly call him a friend. He was more like a stone-cold killer who’d done Brooks a solid with Delaney. “What about him?”

“He hooked me up with this boy he knows—”

“Back it up a minute. Hooked you up? With this boy?”

“Arranged so I could meet this guy—”

“Boy or man?” I asked point blank.

“Are you jealous?”

“Damn right I am.”

“Kinkaid Ryder. A young man. Friend of Frankie’s. He owns HardCorps Gym/ Hardcore Strippers in Mt. Pleasant with this other man, Bo Maverick. They’d be able to rent me space to teach lessons.”

“What exactly do this Kinkaid and Bo do?” Narrowed eyes.

Yeah. Jealous.

“Kinkaid’s an ex-stripper.”

My jaw dropped. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

Reggie merely laughed at my reaction, like no big about the male stripper.

“Relax. He teaches the stripping classes, both as workout routines and for other professional dancers, and Bo’s a former Marine who—”

“Leave it to you.” I snorted.

“Who hardcore fitness trains.”

“And you’d be working with these two guys?”

“It’s no different than you all and the cheerleaders. Or the Cougars. Mr. Double Standard.”

“Now that I’ve got you, I don’t wanna share you.” I hooked her closer.

“Who says you’ve got me?” she asked teasingly.

That time I didn’t even bother to growl. I just looked at her with absolute love and wonder. “How the hell did you get so goddamn brave?”

“Well, I mostly wear a G-string and little else in front of a huge crowd four nights a week for Rouge.”

“You just had to remind me of that, didn’t you?” I groaned.

“The jealous streak is kind of cute.”

“I’ll show you cute.” I hitched her up against me for a kiss so powerful our tongues lashed together, our bodies rocking, my cock insistent inside the hard cup.

The celebration in progress interrupted us. More correctly, Brooklyn interrupted.

“Yo, Reggie. Thank fuck you came.”

I pulled back to slug him on the arm.

“This dude . . . and his moping. Not sure I could’ve taken much more.”

“Was he in on it?” I asked Reggie.

“It’s a secret,” she whispered.

“Sorry, though, darlin’, we got photo ops and the trophy and shit we gotta do, so I’m gonna have to steal your man here for a bit.” Brooks apologized.

I shot him a dirty look then said, “Give us a second?”

He stepped away, back into the wild melee.

“Will you wait for me, sweetheart?” I asked, longing etched throughout my body.

Reggie looked around at the total chaos on the field. “I think you’re going to be awhile.”

“How about heading to my hotel room?” Grasping her hands, I held them tightly, unwilling to let go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

“Why, Calder Malone, are you propositioning me?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am. And definitely not just for tonight.”

“In that case, I’ll see you at the hotel.” Her voice came out low and smoky, a promise of sex—yes—but so much more than that.

As she backed away, she called out, “Hey, Calder?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats on winning the Super Bowl.”

“And that wasn’t even the best part of tonight.” Truth.

****

Felt like frigging hours passed. The photo ops. The press conference. The Vince Lombardi Trophy ceremony that sent shivers down my spine and another massive swell of applause from our fans. Posing for pictures. Shaking more hands. The bla bla bla bla when all I wanted to do was get back to Reggie.

Not that it was just any old game day—not at all—but part of me worried she wouldn’t be at the hotel, waiting.

Part of me didn’t believe she was really giving me a second chance.

And the other part of me was biting at the bit to tackle her to a bed and fuck her right through it.

Finally, fucking finally, we hit the locker room.

I was halfway through dressing—just about to knot that fucking throat-choking tie around my neck—when Buckley slid over, buttoning his shirt.

“Hey. You and Reggie, right?” he mentioned what everyone was most likely thinking since I’d never publicly made out with Reggie before.

Everybody in the locker room stilled. Even the air felt hushed with expectation.

Because when Buckley spouted off, someone usually ended up punching him in the mouth.

“What about us?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just . . . at least when you two get married like all these other schmucks around here she won’t have to change her last name.”

Silence reigned while the others awaited my reaction.

“And then there’s that.” I quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

Everyone else still silent.

Buckley started backpedaling. “Didn’t mean anything about your brother though, man. Because I can’t imagine—”

“Buckley?”

“Yeah.” He winced.

“Probably best to shut the fuck up while you’re still ahead.” I chuckled.

Then all the other dudes chimed in:

“It’s a night of firsts! Buckley didn’t get his face shoved in.”

“Yeah, he might be good people after all.”

“Damn good play out there, Young Buck.” Rafe ranged forward. He slapped Buckley on the back. “I’d say I couldn’t have done it better myself, but I probably could’ve.”

“Welcome to the team.” Akoni gave the kid his signature bone-jarring, back-cracking hug while Buckley bleated for oxygen.

When released, he looked a little bit stunned. Could’ve been because Akoni had deprived him of air but, most likely, because he’d finally been fully accepted.

He’d redeemed himself.

“Good to see you landed on your feet at last.” Deacon Cross, the defensive tackle who’d joined Carolina Crush the same time as Buck and me, held out his hand for a shake.

Buckley’s mouth popped open, inevitably to say something.

One of Brooklyn’s eyebrow rose and a wicked grin parted his lips. “Like our man Calder said. Shut up while you’re ahead.”

I laughed with the others until the big bearded Lone Star cowboy pivoted to me. “And you. Put a ring on it already.”

“Ditto. Peyton’s waiting for the one we just won.” Rafe curled his knuckles in anticipation of the Super Bowl ring we’d fought so goddamn hard to make ours.

This would be his second one.

For most of us, it was a first. Not that the impact was any less meaningful.

“Word, Milly and Vanilly.” Marquis tugged the pink shower cap off his dreadlocks. “Charmaine has a glass box picked out already for mine.”

“You mean she’s not auctioning it off on eBay?” Bunyan launched into a new round of jokes.

Most of the hilarity went right over my head, because like they’d said earlier, I was mooning over Reggie.

Coach D banged inside. He’d cleaned up, like the rest of us. Changed out of his soggy wet clothes. No hat or cap on his head this time, just his broad face and cue ball pate. Instead of a head coach, for once he appeared . . . fatherly.

The dudes and I converged around him, a tight circle brought closer by all the hardships during the season, all the happies we’d celebrated, and now a championship trophy.

“Better mark it on your calendars ’cause I don’t have all that much to say tonight. Ain’t gonna bitch you out, that’s for damn sure.” He paused for the stroke of a heartbeat. “We’re not just a team, we’re a”—he stopped, choked up—“we’re a family. And I am so goddamned proud of you men.”

There were foot shuffles and gruff throat clearings and an immense sense of satisfaction we’d done Coach D a solid. Big time. And Akoni probably wasn’t the only one getting his weepies on that time.

Coach’s look ranged around the circle, hitting each and every one of us.

He nodded, smile in place but a shrewd look in his eyes. “Now. Go celebrate. You deserve it. But if you puke on the plane tomorrow you’re cleaning it up, and I’ll take double out of your ass at next practice.”

Bunyan, ever hopeful about meeting his soulmate, asked, “Does that mean fraternization is finally frickin’ allowed?”

“The fuck do I care? Rafe and Brooklyn didn’t listen to the rules on that matter anyway.” Coach D left with a huge grin.

Then Bunyan started doing the . . . was that the Cabbage Patch? Until Marquis knocked him out of the way and got his own groove on.

“And I dub you Manilly 2.0,” Marquis said.

Their dance-off went mostly ignored. Especially when Brooklyn yelled, “Drinks at the hotel bar!”

“Buckley’s paying.”

“Maybe Coach D should pay.”

“I’d like to see the day that happens.”

“What about Rafe and his sugar momma?”

“Phil’s in town. She’s loaded.”

“Yeah, but Dr. Phil is no joke. She’s got the tongue of a viper.”

I knew I wouldn’t be joining them at the bar. I had only one destination.

Reggie.

In my room.