Not Playing the Field

Calder

 

 

 

I’D NOTICED JUST THIS morning Reggie had moved her wedding rings to her right hand. Denoting her status as a widow. No longer married. The fact she’d switched her rings between the time I’d seen her in Vegas and her visit here made me wonder. That symbolic gesture—combined with her words spoken earlier that still had me reeling—seemed significant.

Life is meant to be lived.

But maybe I was just reading into shit.

I couldn’t believe Reggie might want to be with me. She was too good to be with me after I’d been so bad.

Too unattainable. She represented redemption I didn’t deserve, a love I shouldn’t want.

And we had way too fucking much history standing between us.

But I was immediately aware of her presence when she turned up on the field. It was like a lightning zap to my body.

The hair on my forearms rose.

Chills shivered down my back even though I’d worked up a good sweat all practice long, drill after drill.

I knew her gaze remained riveted on me. Her careful attention was a shock to the system. I only glanced at her once—the long dark waves of hair, the soft plump curves of her lips, the still calm of her body, a body I wanted all over me so much it goddamn hurt.

Not only was she here, but she’d been instantly herded up by Peyton . . . and Phil. Coach D’s forthright daughter. The doctor of the family who had no qualms about taking just about anyone down a notch or two or three. And she certainly didn’t miss a single freakin’ opportunity to hit on anybody she deemed worthy of her attention—man or woman.

Those two women better be attesting to the fact I hadn’t done anything corrupt, committed any crimes, or accepted any come-ons since joining the Crush in South Carolina.

Miraculously, my broken concentration snapped back online, and I became completely focused when Coach Frank started shouting out the next round of leg-burning, muscle-bruising, hard-driving maneuvers. He didn’t even seem to give a shit about my bruised ribs. Angela the physio must’ve signed off on me.

None of that mattered during the next half hour of complete sweat-inducing physical exertion. With Reggie watching, I was immediately grounded.

Coach D blew his whistle at about the time I felt like I might need to have an oxygen tank delivered on the field to reinflate my lungs. “Ten minutes. Then reconvene in the conference center. Big game tomorrow, and if you fuck it up, consider all y’all’s contracts null and void.”

“Aw, Coach. Why you gotta be so mean?” That was Akoni, the huge softie.

“’Cause if I’m not that means you have to face Peyton.” He tweaked the bill of his baseball cap. “And trust. That’s one boss you don’t wanna disappoint when she’s pregnant.”

“Word,” Marquis muttered. Father of two, he knew all about the demands of a knocked-up wife.

Moments later, while I mopped my face and drew in deep breaths between swigs of water, Reggie appeared by my side.

“You work this hard every day?” She slid an arm around my waist for a quick hug.

I probably stank to high heaven, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I know you practice just as much for Rouge.” I winked at her before turning her to the group. “Hey guys, remember Reggie? She’s staying with me for a bit.”

Son of a bitch, as soon as Bunyan’s eyes lit up and Buckley licked his lips and Deacon Cross gave his own approving look, I knew all those men definitely remembered Reggie. Up on stage. Beneath the hot lights. Flexible. Gyrating. Dancing. Singing in a blues-inspired voice. In the barely there costumes.

Immediately possessive, completely obsessed, I snagged Reggie’s free hand while she shook those of the other dudes.

At least I didn’t have to worry about Brooklyn. The man was set to marry Delaney and knew all about the possessive-jealous thing.

Deacon Cross let her hand go, then Delaney appeared—fresh from her Cougars work-out.

The golden-eyed woman assessed Reggie with a smile on her lips. “So glad to meet you finally.” She took Reggie’s hand. “Calder came to Thanksgiving at Brooklyn’s, but I could tell he missed family.”

I groaned.

Delaney winked at me.

Reggie blushed, her cheeks almost apple-bright. “I missed him too.” Then she turned a scathing look on me, one tempered by the bright sparks in her depthless eyes. “But he’s still in trouble for not returning my phone calls.”

“Dude, if I had a broad like that—” Buckley didn’t even get to finish that thought because Deacon dragged him away, one huge hand muffled over Luke Buckley’s infamous Big Mouth.

“That was Buckley,” Delaney whispered. “We’re still trying to housetrain him.”

Reggie laughed, one of those sultry sounds that made the hair on my forearms stand on end.

“Believe me, in my line of work I’ve known a few of those from time to time, too,” she admitted.

Raquel glided over for another fuck-my-life moment. Before she could open her mouth with one more very clear invitation to hook up, Delaney shot her close friend a look.

Reggie slipped her hand free of mine and met Raquel head on.

All the gathered men stilled, because they all knew Raquel had been after my jock since Day One. The team watched the showdown like they were about to get some free girl-on-girl porn action.

“Raquel, right?” Reggie’s naturally red lips parting with an easy smile. “I have to say, I’ve been watching Delaney and you and the Cougars. My Lord, you are talented as hell.”

Raquel blinked.

Shit, we all blinked.

Then she extended her hand, which was met just as easily by Reggie. “Girl. Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I caught the Rouge show in Vegas, and I didn’t even know a woman could move like that.”

And suddenly it was like they were BFFs. The Cougar who’d been lightly chasing my ass for months and the woman I’d been dreaming about for years.

I tuned back in to the guys, who weren’t nearly as thrilled as I was:

“Awww, man. They didn’t even show their claws.”

“I thought we were gonna get a catfight.”

“At least some hair-pulling.”

“I was waiting for the mud wrestling.”

“They didn’t even hiss.”

Raquel laughed. Reggie chuckled, shaking her head.

I drew her back to my side, saying, “Show’s over, fuckers. Get lost.”

Left alone on the sidelines of the practice field, Reggie nudged me in the ribs—thankfully not the bruised ones. “Are they always like this?”

“Sweetheart, that was them being tame.” My eyes left her beguiling face only long enough to trace down her body—curvy in all the right places—before returning to her gleaming gaze.

“They remind me of Chris and his squadron a bit.” Her head tilted. “You were never that different. Needing a team. But both leaders in your own ways.”

I caressed her cheek, the thud of my heart slowing a little. “You think?”

A wistful look crossed Reggie’s face. “Sometimes I think he felt more at home with them. In the combat zone.”

“I don’t know how anyone could not feel at home with you.”

“Different times.” She shrugged. Looked across to the other players fucking around, roughhousing near the coolers. “Chris held a lot inside himself. He had to.” Touching my chest, she clutched her fingers before releasing my jersey. “It’s different here. With your crew. They’re welcoming.”

“It’s not just because of them,” I said in a rough tone.

She looked at me, bemused.

“It’s you.” I cleared my throat. Removed my hand from her cheek. Dropped back a step. “You make it easy.”

Her eyes brightened. Her face flushed. Her breasts lifted as her lips parted. She didn’t touch me again, but it sure as hell felt like her stroking fingers traced all over my body.

She swallowed. She backed up, too. “I should go. I’m assuming you still have a full afternoon of getting your ass reamed by your coaches?”

“You know it. Same way your choreographer drives you to exhaustion.” Reaching out, I skimmed a light knuckle beneath her eye where the sleepless nights showed.

She grasped my wrist. “That’s not because of the stress of my job, Calder.”

“I know.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “And you’re right. I’ve still got a workout and an O-line meeting.”

“See you at home later?” She paced backward.

Oh damn. That sounded so good . . . It’d been so long since anything, anyplace, felt like home, and Reggie cemented it somehow.

“Yeah. At home.”

****

Hours later, with tomorrow’s plays drilled into my brain and the St. Louis Legends MO practically tattooed on my eyelids, I opened the door to my house. Stepping inside, I dropped my bag, and listened to the strains of music coming from my kitchen.

Reggie.

And suddenly I felt rejuvenated. Possibly redeemed.

But seriously? The pop music had to go.

Until I walked into the kitchen. She looked so natural there, dancing from counter to stove to fridge while I leaned against the doorframe. Hip-shaking hotness and she certainly didn’t need the revealing costumes to make a man—me—completely overcome and throbbing hard in an instant.

“Your taste in music sucks.” My voice had dropped several levels.

Reggie spun. “Calder! You scared me.”

“Not as much as Lady Gaga scares me.”

“That is not Lady Gaga.” She shoved tresses of hair behind her ears. “And I thought I was alone.”

“Well, you weren’t.” I advanced slowly, captivated by the way her eyes snapped down to my groin.

“I’ve got dinner ready.” Reggie turned back to the stove.

She’d changed. Cut-off sweats hung down to her ankles, lay low on her hips, hair bouncing down her back, and—if I had to chance it—tits bouncing freely beneath the T-shirt.

Absolutely nothing contrived, and nothing that could hide her curvaceous pin-up body.

“You turned up the thermostat again.” My heated breath landed on her neck, and she shivered.

“I’m not an Eskimo.”

“No. You’re not.” I snuck a kiss to her cheek, tempted to swat her full ass, too. “I could get used to this.” Lifting a lid, I saw stir-fry with bright veggies.

“Sexist.”

“Honest.”

“Back up, big boy.” She hip-checked me. “Get out the plates and silverware.”

I stepped off. “Yes, ma’am.”

But as soon as the table was set and she sat down after I held her chair for her, I brushed a knuckle against her bottom lip. “Snow White.”

“What?” Reggie’s shudder barely concealed, she wet her mouth with the tip of her tongue.

“Your lips are berry red.”

“Snow White and berry red that doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re innocence and sex, Reggie.”

Her breath hitched for a heartbeat. “So you’re the Huntsman?”

“Oh no. I don’t have to hunt. When I want something, I go after it with my whole heart until I get it.”

She met my serious look, but played it lightly. “Good thing you don’t own a crossbow. Looks like Cupid has some competition. Although I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the wings and nothing else.”

“I’d probably score a Nike deal.”

We laughed, and it was there between us. The friendship from forever ago.

Home.

Later we cuddled on the sofa, my feet resting on the coffee table, Reggie curled beside me. We had a debate about what to watch.

I made popcorn, she jawed on about some funny hockey movie on Netflix.

Hockey?

Gimme a break.

Football is the only true sport.

I said as much, but Reggie won. No brainer. Sprawling together on the couch, sharing the bowl of popcorn, my laughs bounced her head, and every time she giggled her fingers dug into my side.

Something heated between us. The embers that had always been present, at least for me.

A chance I shouldn’t/couldn’t take.

As soon as the movie ended, I yawned, stretched. “I think I need to hit the sack.”

“Big game tomorrow, right?”

“Got you a ticket, of course.”

She cupped my jaw with her hand. “So sweet.” Her gaze roamed to my mouth.

“Not really.” Rough. Gruff. I planted a kiss on the top of her head. “See you in the morning, sweetheart.”

Hours later, after tossing and turning, I hadn’t slept at all. Reggie was just downstairs. A short walk through an abnormally warm house away.

The stairs creaked, and I jerked up to my elbows in bed.

Reggie appeared in the open doorway, the hall light illuminating her like an angel. She wore that same ’Bama shirt and crossed one bare foot over the other.

“I can’t . . .” She hugged herself as if she was cold.

Her arms pushed her tits up.

My cock hardened. My pulse pounded. The sheets pooled at my naked waist.

“I can’t sleep without you, Calder.”

Fuck.

I inhaled. Exhaled. Made sure the blankets covered my thick dick that wanted to invite her right into my bed.

“I think this—” I waved a hand around, and the blankets slipped.

Reggie’s dark eyes darted to the tight grooves at my hips before I yanked the sheet back up.

“This is moving too fast. Whatever it is. Or I’m thinking too much. But I’m not in the right headspace, Reggie.”

“I’m the girl.” Her lips flirted with a sudden smile as she crossed the threshold. “Aren’t I supposed to say that?”

“Tease.” Jumping up, I wrestled her to the bed before she had a chance to see me naked.

I toppled her down, my chest against her breasts, and our mouths an inch away.

One. Hot. Inch.

Her fingers cinched in mine.

“I just . . . I finally slept peacefully last night for the first time since . . .”

It took a lot of maneuvering to keep my cock from waving like a flag in the air, but I managed to cover both Reggie and me. Inviting her into my heart where I’d never be free of her whether she truly wanted me or not.

A silent beat of air held us just an inch apart as anticipation spread its hot fingers. Seconds later, I clasped her to me, levered my mouth to hers. Berry red lips. She tasted like heaven, warm and spicy, and actively seeking the reach of my tongue as her fingers tugged at my shoulders, hauling me closer.

Through the groaning wet heat of kiss after kiss, I managed to keep my hard-on from making contact with what I now knew was the softest skin imaginable. Reggie clasped me to her, though, and a thrilling throbbing sensation spilled between us, echoed in my grunts and her moans while the twisting, twirling kisses went on.

I pulled back at the breaking point, a growl clawing from my throat when she kept searching for my lips.

“God. You’re killing me here, honey.” My cock was so rigid it hitched up to my stomach.

Her eyes flickered to mine, her lips red and soft and swollen. “In a bad way?”

“A good way.” I disentangled from her gently, kissing her eyelids that fluttered, her cheeks that lifted in a smile, the small scar from a bicycle fall when she was fifteen. A tiny white crescent near her chin—almost invisible—that no one knew about but me.

I kissed her lips and brushed the thick coiling hair off her forehead. Then I toppled her to her side and snuggled right in behind her, keeping the sheets crumpled between my groin and her ass.

“Big spoon, huh?” she asked.

“Obviously.”

“I could do that to you, you know?”

“I don’t think you have the right equipment.” For all of a second, I shifted and my about-to-burst cock eased against her ass. “Plus, I’m way bigger than you,” I growled at her ear.

“This is not helping me go to sleep.”

I banded an arm across her belly, warmed her back with my chest, her neck with my low words. “You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. A real pain in my ass—”

“Hey now.” She bumped an elbow into my side.

“And you need some sleep.” I smoothed her hair with my palm. “I’ve got you now, Reggie.”

No nightmares. Not that night. For either of us.

Reggie snuggled deeper, closer. Always seeking warmth, touch, feeling.

Her heart ran so deep I wondered if I could ever tap it.

I fell asleep, curled around her. A bulwark. Protecting. Holding. Wanting. Always wanting.

But the biggest case of blue balls in history?

Yeah. That.