It was the sun’s fault, really. The shiny fucker reflected off Elliott’s sweaty, bare chest as he jogged toward Peggy on the path, shooting a ray into her eye and blinding her, like a sex laser. That was the only reason she stumbled and ate shit, scraping seven layers of skin from her knee. Even in midair, she was already groaning with the humiliation. Bruised vanity made her cheeks bloom with heat. Then, pain.
Still, Peggy tucked and rolled behind a bench, hoping Elliott had missed the whole debacle. Fat chance. They were the only ones out utilizing the jogging path so early in the morning. Why had she chosen a new route, instead of her typical jaunt around the track? This was a disaster. It had been a full week since she’d gone to Elliott in the locker room and he’d made no move to return for seconds. Now she looked like a stalker, creeping on the running trail he probably took every day, at the exact same time. Because that’s how Coach Brooks operated.
Her knee throbbed with pain, but she didn’t look, knowing the sight of blood would make it worse. And Elliott was almost even with where she sat sprawled on the grass. Maybe if she just closed her eyes and remained completely still…
“I can see you, Miss Clarkson.”
Embarrassment speared Peggy in the middle, along with a wiggling finger of lust. His morning voice was scratchy. Throw in those panting breaths and he might as well be railing her against the locker again. Her eyes flew open at the memory, and that single finger of lust became a bunched fist. Shirtless Coach Brooks. Da-hamn. A big, imposing mess of dripping sweat and black hair and rounded muscles. Also a scowl. “I was just watching the sunrise.”
Of course, his skeptical face made him even hotter. “Your knee is bleeding.”
“So it is.” It ached worse for having been acknowledged. “It’s well known around campus this is the best vantage point for watching the sun come up. I had to fight off at least a dozen students trying to claim my spot—”
“I saw you fall.”
Had his mouth twitched? Maybe just a tad? Peggy blew a loose curl out of her eye. “Thanks for playing along,” she muttered. “I’m guessing improv isn’t really your jam, huh?” Bracing a hand against the bench, she started to rise. “While we’re tearing down the fourth wall, I think ‘Miss Clarkson’ is a little formal. Don’t you think?”
Her question ended on a squeak when Elliott scooped her off the ground. “Do you always ramble when you’re bleeding out?” He aimed his frown at her knee. Beneath the thunder, she detected…worry. “That was a hard fall. Half of my players would be crying for the medic by now.”
“Am I being recruited? ’Cause I would look insanely hot in football pants. Boom. Ticket sales through the roof.” Her joke emerged breathless, because hello. She was being carried through the morning mist by a bare-chested legend. And yeah, she was pretty sure he’d nearly smiled again, which was almost better than riding the orgasm train to heaven in her cheerleading skirt last week with him as conductor. “Where are you taking me?”
“There’s a first aid kit in my truck.” A worry crease appeared between his eyes as he regarded her mangled knee again. “You’re tougher than you look. If…”
Pleasure tickled Peggy head to toe. Men complimented her on a regular basis about everything under the sun, but Coach calling her tough was like getting a pink Rolls-Royce for Christmas. “If what?”
Elliott became impatient. “If I’d been going at my normal pace, I would have caught you.” Showing zero exertion, he climbed a knoll, bringing them into the parking lot. “This is why plans and execution are so important.”
She tucked her hands beneath her chin and gave him an exaggerated, starry-eyed look. “Tell me more.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re spellbound.” There was another mysterious jump at the corner of his mouth, but he sobered quickly. “Maybe I’m punished when I deviate from my path. In fact, I’m certain I am.”
“Seeing me hurt is punishment?”
He paused before easing her down onto the bumper of his truck, surprise coloring his chiseled features. “Yes. It is.”
* * *
What the hell am I doing?
Elliott forced himself to break contact with Peggy and retrieve the first aid kit from his glove compartment. Carrying her had been a mistake, but it might have killed him to watch her walk on the injured knee. Lord, she was soft. Curved to fit. Made to be lifted and laid down, wherever he chose to place her.
No, not he. Someone else. Elliott wasn’t her boyfriend. They were nothing to one another and couldn’t be. He shouldn’t have given in to temptation—irresistible as it had been—in the locker room, and they shouldn’t be spending time together now. Their association was dangerous. Could cost him his job and, hell, his self-respect. The dirt was still fresh on his wife’s grave, he had a child to raise, a team to coach. With so many responsibilities on his plate, fraternizing with a student was unacceptable. No matter how gorgeous. No matter how she made him want to laugh. Him. Laugh. He wasn’t even sure what it would sound like.
Clutching the kit so hard, the tin bit into his finger, Elliott reached into his pocket with his free hand and rolled his thumb over the smooth bumps of his rosary beads. A reminder that he needed to remain steadfast in his faith. No more mistakes, like the one they’d made together in the locker room.
Groaning low over the memories that winked in front of his vision, Elliott returned to where Peggy sat. She was clearly refusing to show a hint of pain. So brave. Or stubborn. Maybe both. “Turn sideways and prop your leg on the bumper.”
“Yes, Coach.” Along with her smirk, that title alone coming from Peggy made blood run south to his cock. And it didn’t help his situation when she followed his instructions, stretching out her long leg, tightening the material of her tiny running shorts over her pussy. “Like this?”
If Peggy didn’t seem oblivious to the effect she was having on him, pain finally beginning to make her chin wobble, Elliott might have addressed the elephant in the parking lot. He’d fucked her. A student. Hard. Rough. Nasty. They’d done something against not only the school’s rules, but his own unwritten ones. His focus would not stray, would not change. It needed to be consistent.
If he didn’t commit every ounce of energy to football now, he’d been an absent husband, son, father…for nothing. He’d neglected his family for football, choosing the sport over everything and making his purpose clear. It couldn’t change now.
Elliott knelt with a curse, smacking open the tin box to remove cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, applying the latter to the former. But with the necessary items in hand, he couldn’t seem to lower the soaked cotton to Peggy’s bleeding scrape.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“I’ve never…” Christ, were his hands shaking? “I’ve probably bandaged a thousand injuries, but never one on a woman.”
Peggy didn’t laugh as he expected. “It’s the same procedure. Leg-wise, at least.” He heard her swallow. “If I had a compound boobie fracture, we’d be shit out of luck.”
His chuckle was rusty and unexpected. Neither of them moved afterward and the silence grew wider, deeper. Morning fog drifted past, unaware of the time. “I have a daughter. I had a wife. I should have done this before.” Peggy’s fingers slid into his hair, her nails making light circles on his scalp and he just wanted to sleep, right there with his head in her lap. “I should have done so many things.”
She brushed her thumb down his temple, massaging. “I love my mother more than anything in the world. I tell her constantly. And if she died tomorrow, I would still have a million regrets. It’s natural, Elliott.”
“This is going to sting,” he murmured, touching the wet cotton to her scrape. She hissed in a breath and snagged his hair between her fingers—abusing the strands with a yank. Exactly as she might if his mouth were teasing between her thighs. His dick hardened at the image, tenting the front of his running pants. A growl shook out of his throat without permission and they locked eyes.
Guilt trapped him. In one breath, he talked about his failures, his regrets; in the next he wanted to pound this beautiful, perceptive girl against his bumper. Wanted to get lost in her acceptance and feel the squeeze of her pussy. To think of nothing but getting her off. His mind had been a hazard zone since the last time he was inside of her. God, to feel that mental peace again…That level of need-drunk lust he’d never achieved elsewhere.
More guilt. His hands started to work fast, swabbing Peggy’s injury, but she slowed him with a touch, capturing his attention. “Tell me something good you’ve done.”
Elliott thinned his lips.
“You’re right. That’s the last thing you would ever do.” She leaned over and snagged a bandage between her fingers, ripping it open with her teeth. “I’ll do it for you, then. Last week, after the game, you went out of your way to shake the other teams’ kicker’s hand, after he blew that field goal. What did you say to him?”
“That he would redeem himself if he practiced hard enough. That there would be chances to make everyone forget the one he missed.”
Her smile caused his heart to make a racket. She’d never given him one so bright, not during any of their encounters on campus. This one was pure approval and it hit his bloodstream like a drug. People gave him reverential smiles often, but they came from…the other side of the glass, while Peggy was right there, close, on his side. “I see you. You make positive differences every day, you just don’t let yourself have them.” She ducked her head to apply the bandage. “Let yourself have them, Elliott.”
“I can’t be with you again,” he rasped. “It makes me forget everything and I don’t deserve that.”
“I say you do.” With barely a wince, Peggy swung her legs off the bumper and stood. Elliott closed his eyes against the urge to wrap both arms around her waist, force her to stay, and make him feel human a little longer. “Come find me when you’re ready to be convinced.”
* * *
Peggy rolled her forehead against the metal wall of the elevator as it took her to the third floor of the Embassy Suites, where she shared a room with Sage, Belmont right across the hall. She needed to get herself under control before she saw either of them, but the ride over—with windows rolled down to bring cold air streaming onto her face—hadn’t helped in the slightest. Even in the metal reflection, she could see puffy eyes and strain around her mouth. Good thing the turmoil taking place on the inside wasn’t visible to the other hotel guests or there’d be a mass exodus to the Holiday Inn.
Dammit. Dammit. Round two to Elliott. If it weren’t for his clear interest in her physically, she might have already been forced to accept her greatest fear: Time had made him indifferent to her. Had she been an idiot to come back to Cincinnati? Seeing him face-to-face after years and distance—and working toward closure—had seemed doable in theory. But she hadn’t counted on the effect he’d had on her as a college senior to be going strong at twenty-five. Tying him up in knots and leaving him reeling in her wake was only possible if she walked away intact.
The elevator doors rolled open and Peggy took a deep breath and stepped off, but instead of heading for the room, she plopped down on the bench, just to the left of the elevator bank.
He’d known. He’d known she was getting married and hadn’t tried to stop it.
Fucker hadn’t even sent a blender.
She muffled her somewhat hysterical laugh with both hands. Four kind, decent men, with dreams for the future, and she’d run roughshod through their lives. She’d tried to convince herself accepting the proposals was a way to force herself into Elliott-recovery, like some kind of penis immersion therapy that would finally blur the past and repair her heart. But until now, she’d never actually wanted to get over Elliott, had she? No. No, getting over him would mean shutting off her center of gravity. Pretending she’d never felt the organ race out of control in her chest, just hearing another person’s name. Who would want to forget that kind of insanity?
Now, she had no choice but to move on. It was a matter of survival at this advanced stage of her imprisonment.
Something far more troubling than heartache had blipped on the radar of her psyche today, though. She hadn’t corrected Elliott’s belief that she was married, and there was something hot and dangerous in her belly, simply thinking about his disapproval. His censure when she came on to him, even though she was “attached.” A part of her she’d been unaware of grew…excited, over the way he might punish her with his words and hands. All those times he’d referred to her as his downfall were mixed up with images of his body moving above her, sensations of pleasure. Her libido was just confused. That had to be all.
If nothing else, that confusion was another reminder that she’d come to Cincinnati to steal back the love she’d given Elliott. To bury the past and move on with a clear mind and heart.
Resolve firming up her shoulders, Peggy shoved to her feet, already digging the hotel key card from her purse. When she walked inside the room, she expected to find Sage reading or sneaking an episode of their shared Golden Girls marathon. But she skidded to a stop on the carpet when she found Belmont and Sage moments from a kiss.
Oh yeah, if she’d lingered near the elevators a minute longer, she would have walked in on a much different scene, because Belmont looked prepared to devour their darling Sage. And while they weren’t touching, Sage was clearly prepared to allow said devouring, if her shuddering breaths were any indication. Belmont didn’t even glance toward the door when Peggy barged in, merely continuing in his attempts to draw Sage’s essence from her body with the force of his will. Or that’s how it looked anyway.
Whoa. Just whoa.
Sage snapped out of her trance, bounding backward so fast, she disrupted everything sitting on their shared nightstand, mumbling apologies to no one in particular. “She doesn’t feel well,” Belmont shouted, still not looking at Peggy.
Peggy set down her purse on the closest bed and approached the situation with the caution of a hostage negotiator. “Okay, big guy.” She ran a quick look over her friend and deduced that, no, she didn’t look as healthful as usual. Her usual glow was subdued, her skin slightly ashen. It occurred to her that Belmont had been planning to heal Sage with a kiss, which was a little too heartbreaking to explore just yet. Maybe ever. “I’m sure she’s going to be fine, Bel. Right, Sage?”
“Yes,” Sage whispered, giving her that look best friends give each other. The one that said think about it. “It’s just a stomachache.”
Peggy did some quick math and remembered about this time last month, Sage had opted out of going into the gym Jacuzzi because of her period. Knowing modest Sage, however, she would rather die than have this information bandied about in front of Belmont. Or anyone with a pulse. “Uh, hey. Big bro? I’m going to fix her up. She’ll be back to herself in an hour tops.”
“What is it?” He stepped closer to Sage and she visibly braced herself. Not in fear, but out of necessity, it seemed. “I need to help.”
Sage sent Peggy a pleading look. “Some Tylenol, Bel. That would help. Maybe a bottle of ginger ale from the vending machine.”
“When I don’t feel like myself,” he murmured for Sage’s ears alone, but Peggy heard anyway, “it helps when I hold you. It could work for you, too, maybe.”
A wrench turned in Peggy’s gut and she honest-to-God wanted to sob her heart out. Just ached to drop into a fetal position and weep for mankind. It was how she felt ninety percent of the time when in Belmont’s company because the storm of emotions building inside of him wasn’t hidden anymore. Ever since this trip began and he’d revealed the search for his birth father, she could feel his turmoil every time she came within two feet of his gigantic presence.
Peggy eased closer to the pair, intending to intercept the laser-like intensity Belmont was laying on her best friend, but Sage moved faster, sliding her arms around Belmont’s waist, laying her head on his chest and holding. Tight. Belmont rocked back on his heels, eyelids falling like metal garages to conceal his blue eyes, so different from the rest of the Clarkson siblings. He made a sound that could only be described as utter, broken bliss, before wrapping his brawny arms around Sage.
“Please feel better,” Belmont said quietly. “Please stop hurting.”
“I will. This is already helping,” Sage whispered back, her breath hitching when Belmont lifted her off the ground, burying his face in her neck, his back expanding with deep inhales.
Too much. It was all too much. Purse in hand, Peggy backed from the room before she’d even made the conscious decision to leave. As she jogged down the hallway toward the elevator, tripping a little on the plush rug, she’d never felt so alone in her entire life.
No, that wasn’t true. Flying home from Cincinnati to California with a shattered heart had been her lowest point. And she hated herself for craving the same coping mechanism as that disillusioned twenty-two-year-old girl. Men. But bad habits couldn’t be broken overnight, could they?
The opposite sex was like a drug, even if she rarely partook of them fully. Just a fully clothed taste usually did the trick. Just a flirtation. Enough to make her forget that the one time she’d laid it all on the line, she’d been found lacking. Before the night was over, though, she would feel anything but. Come tomorrow, the game would be back on.