Chapter One
Kelsey Brown needed some mental mojo. Any time now! She’d read that exercise boosted brain power, but so far she’d just gotten sweaty, hot, and tired.
Damn, she hated running.
But pacing only wound her tighter. She had a big decision to make and a week to give her answer. She pushed her damp bangs off her forehead as she turned onto Main Street in the early morning quiet of her old stomping grounds, Sapphire Falls, Nebraska. It was already humid in what promised to be a hot June day. She took in the grassy green square with the familiar white gazebo in the center, pure joy coursing through her at the sight of workers setting up for the annual weeklong summer festival. The Ferris wheel was already in place, and a crew of men were working on the Tilt-a-Whirl.
She jogged over for a closer look and slowed as her gaze caught on a tall man with rumpled caramel brown hair that curled at the nape of his neck. She lingered on wide shoulders that strained the fabric of his blue T-shirt and on down to a low-slung tool belt over faded blue jeans with scuffed leather boots. Holy popcorn balls! She loved a man who was good with his hands. It appealed to her artsy side. Mmm-hmm, let’s go with that.
He turned, hollered something to a short bald man with a huge neck tattoo that read Odd Todd, shook his head, and crossed directly in her path. She froze.
Nick Hansen.
Star wide receiver of the Huskers.
Her longtime crush from the long distance of stadium bleachers to the football field.
His gaze passed over her briefly, and he gave her a friendly nod like anyone would in passing someone they didn’t know. Except she knew him, knew all of his stats (six foot, 180 pounds, single last she’d heard). He was her age, twenty-three, but he’d been red-shirted, which put him at the top of his class’s age bracket and gave him an extra year at school. She hadn’t missed a single game the last four years at her alma mater University of Nebraska—all for him. She’d been one of thousands in the stadium calling his name. As she did now.
“Handsy!”
His nickname—a play on his last name and his extraordinary ability to catch and hold onto the ball—was also, she was sure, a reference to his mad skills with the ladies. She shivered deliciously at the thought.
He halted and slowly turned. “Nick,” he corrected. “I don’t go by Handsy anymore.”
She opened her mouth to ask what the heck he was doing in Sapphire Falls after graduation when he should be wherever the heck future NFL players went to train, but then he was gone. His long legs ate up the distance to a white trailer with a faded star logo that read Star Carnival Productions. The metal door shut behind him.
Operating on pure instinct, an impulsiveness that had never worked in her favor, and a heady dose of lust, she jogged over to the trailer and knocked.
The door swung open to a scowling Nick. “I told you I’d get it. Oh.” He scanned her features with his chocolate brown eyes, probably wondering if he knew her. He didn’t. His gaze trailed to her silver stud belly-button piercing peeking out from under her cropped purple T-shirt, and then she got the full once-over, to her black shorts, tanned legs, and pink glitter Keds sneakers with pink satin laces. He blinked and met her eyes. “Hi.” His voice was husky, which spurred her on.
“I’m Kelsey. We went to college together. Well, not together, you don’t know me from a corncob in a field of corn. Anyway, big fan. I’m super…” She trailed off with her super-happy-to-meet-you enthusiasm when she caught the flicker of pain that crossed his expression before he quickly covered with a tight smile.
“Thank you, Kelsey. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand, and she took it for a hearty handshake that she prolonged to soak in the heat and roughness of his large capable hand. A tingly warmth rushed through her. She kinda had a thing for guys with large capable hands because of her, um, artsy side.
“Would you like me to sign something or get a picture?” he asked. Yup, he was that big of a star around campus, in the press, in the entire state of Nebraska. He dropped her hand and felt around his pockets. “I don’t have a pen.”
“That’s okay.” She climbed the metal step leading to the doorway where he was standing. Heat radiated off him. Or maybe that was just her, producing a furnace level of heat from standing closer than she’d ever been to the glory of Nick “Handsy” Hansen. His skin was sun-kissed, his jaw deliciously scruffy with dark brown stubble she wanted to feel scraping against her as he—focus! “What are you doing here?”
He turned and went inside the trailer. She followed, slipping through the rapidly closing door, and watched him dig through a massive toolbox with lots of interesting levels and compartments. “I’m looking for a screw.”
Me too! She bit back her impulsive response and went with the classier, “Maybe I could help.” ’Cuz her mom raised her right. Snort.
“You don’t even know what kind of screw.” He waved in the general direction of the door. “It must’ve fallen out when we hauled in the Tilt-a-Whirl.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “You have a screw loose?”
He narrowed his dark brown eyes. “Is there something I can help you with?” Which was Midwestern for get the hell out.
“Why aren’t you training with all the other players? Isn’t there some kind of summer prep time?”
He clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t picked up for the draft. I’m sort of…between gigs.”
“Are you still recovering from the broken rib?” He’d missed the end of last season because of his injury. But, right now, he looked in great shape. Muscles galore.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth.
Huh. That must’ve been a shock not to be picked up by any team. She hadn’t followed the postseason news on him because her job was nonstop deadline, deadline, deadline. So Nick “Handsy” Hansen had just graduated college with no NFL in his future. And he was here, of all places, her hometown of Sapphire Falls, where the most romantic festival ever was about to take place. Kissing at the top of the Ferris wheel, groping in the Haunted Mansion (yes, even in summer they made good use of the old Herschfield House), screwing during the fireworks on Klein’s Hill.
Or so she’d heard.
As an artsy, creative type even back in high school—purple streaks in her brown hair, a row of small hoop earrings all the way up her earlobe, dressed all in black—she’d been a little out of step with the farmers’ kids she’d grown up with. Of course, her dad was also a farmer, but her mom was an artist. Kelsey had toned things down for the corporate advertising job she’d taken in Omaha. The soul-sucking, cubicle-dwelling, excruciatingly-pointless-meetings job. The company was closing the branch and moving to Chicago. She was back home for the week, debating if she wanted to go with them. But now all of her worries about her future and whether she was really meant for the corporate world faded in light of the fantastic opportunity presented in front of her. Maybe Handsy could give her the full romantic festival experience she’d always wanted.
Because wasn’t a week of handsy fun both a stress reliever and an infinitely better way to boost her mental mojo? Sure beat running. Her pulse had already picked up speed just standing next to him. Imagine if he touched her. Best cardio ever! He had given her a once-over followed by a husky “hi.” She could work with that. Her mind flashed to glistening golden skin sliding against hers, drenched in desire—
“Found it!” Nick held up a large screw in triumph. “I knew we had one in here.”
She went to take out her hair band and realized that running had made her ponytail oddly lopsided. Oh well. She pulled off the band and shook out her now au naturel dark brown hair. Not that he noticed. He was already heading for the door, brushing past her. She breathed in soap and sexy male. Her favorites.
She cleared her throat to get his attention. “So are you going to coach or…” She waited for him to fill in the Mad Libs sentence with an appropriate verb. (Or a hilariously inappropriate one.)
He stopped, one large capable hand on the doorknob. “What I’m going to do is fix the Tilt-a-Whirl. I’m a carnie now.”
He so did not look like a carnie. He looked like a tall, broad-shouldered, super sexy athlete or super sexy country guy or just plain super sexy.
Fascinated, she followed him out, appreciating his tight butt as he strode to the ride that needed a screw maybe more than she did. Safety of the local townsfolk, lawsuits and all that. “Why did you take this job? You have a degree.”
He turned and grinned, a move that lit up his face. All of her favorite girl parts lit up too. “Just helping out my uncle for the summer. We travel with the rides, setting up carnivals all over the Midwest.”
“Sign me up!” ’Cuz that sounded kind of fun.
“We’re all set but thanks.” He winked and before she could wink back or do anything mildly flirty, he continued on his way.
“Bye, carnie!” she hollered.
He barked out a laugh. “Bye, super!”
Super?
“Super what?” she asked.
He turned, walking backwards as he spoke. “Before, when you were introducing yourself, you said I’m super…” He gestured in a rolling motion. “You’ll have to fill in the blank.”
“Duck!” she hollered.
His brows shot up. “Super duck?” he asked right before he stumbled backwards over a duck.
She winced. A line of ducks, actually, loose from the petting zoo that was still getting set up in a corner of the square. He landed on his butt in the grass. The mommy duck squawked at him, flapping her wings before herding the younger ducks away. The tips of Nick’s ears turned red.
Something about seeing the superstar wide receiver land on his ass while getting yelled at by a duck made her heart squeeze. She crossed over to him and held out a hand to help him up.
“I’ve got it,” he grumbled, getting to his feet.
“What are you doing later?” she asked, by which she meant who are you doing later?
His lips curled up in a sexy smile. Like he could hear the second version of her question. “Meet me at noon at the trailer.”
He turned and walked away.
Alrighty, then. Time to get handsy. She fought the impulse to do her happy dance (in case he witnessed it) and jogged back in the direction of home.
~ ~ ~
“Who’s the girl, Nicky?” Uncle Todd asked, appearing at Nick’s side where he was screwing in reinforcement for the hinge that held an arm of the Tilt-a-Whirl together.
Nick jerked his chin. “Just someone from school.” He didn’t know why he’d agreed to meet her. She was a fan. The last thing he needed was a reminder of how he’d let down the fans when he screwed up the wide receiver combine last February in Indianapolis. (The combine was the big tryout before the NFL draft.) His girlfriend at the time, Tara, the first woman he’d ever loved, had recently dumped him for the quarterback. That combined with the recovery time for his broken rib had set him back in a big way. He’d stopped weight training, stopped running, just stopped. And despite a last minute rally, his performance had placed him dead last. Worse, he came across halfhearted in his interviews. Because he was—his heart was dead. Despite his college performance, he wasn’t even a last round NFL draft pick. They thought he couldn’t perform under pressure. Hell, maybe they were right. He should’ve been more focused. He never should’ve let the emotional stuff with Tara mess with his head. He should’ve gotten right back to training as soon as the doctor cleared him.
He’d let everyone down. Everyone who’d believed in him and cheered him on for years. He’d let himself down.
Hard lesson learned. If he had a do-over, he’d focus one hundred percent on football. He’d never let a woman close enough to ruin him. But life didn’t give do-overs, so live and fucking learn.
His dark thoughts faded at Uncle Todd’s grin that showed off his gold-capped front tooth with a diamond T. His uncle was his dad’s younger brother, nearly the opposite of his dad’s tall, athletic, farmer self. Uncle Todd, or Odd Todd, as his friends and neck tattoo called him, was a short, out-of-shape nomad. There were rumors that Todd’s dad was actually a magician who passed through town with a traveling carnival. Todd had run with the idea and joined the carnival that he now owned. It suited him perfectly. Nick didn’t care if the rumor was true or not, Uncle Todd was a helluva lot of fun. More importantly, football meant nothing to his uncle, who treated him just the same as always despite Nick’s spectacular fail.
“She looked like a breath of fresh bubble gum,” Uncle Todd pronounced. “Did you see her funky shoes?”
“Yup.” Pink glitter sneakers with girly satin laces. Nothing a real athlete would wear yet, somehow, so damn sexy. As was her lopsided ponytail, for some strange reason, and the tiny silver belly-button piercing that he wanted to lick. Down, boy. He headed to the pile of supplies a short distance away to fetch some grease for the hinges, hoping to hold off waking up the sleeping giant in his pants. He’d already had to imagine a bucket of ice down his jeans once Glitter Girl stepped close enough for him to get a big whiff of her vanilla scent. He had a real taste for vanilla.
When he returned, his uncle elbowed him in the gut. “What?” Nick asked with a smile. This oughta be good.
His uncle took his time answering, wiping the sweat off his face with the bottom of his white tank top. Nick’s gaze caught on the mermaid tattoo on his uncle’s potbelly that he liked to make swim. It used to make Nick and his younger sister crack up when they were little. His uncle dropped his shirt, met Nick’s eyes, and leveled him with a direct hit. “Wouldn’t hurt you to have a little fun with someone so different from Scarlett.”
“Tara,” Nick said through gritted teeth.
Uncle Todd waved in an airy feminine gesture at odds with his short, stocky middle-aged manly self. “I knew it was some Gone with the Wind thing.”
“Whatever,” Nick mumbled. His uncle was always making some odd reference to an old movie. Truth was, Nick had seen a bunch of those movies as a kid just to keep up, and Tara was a little like Scarlett—beautiful glossy sophistication with a tough-as-nails inner strength. He’d fallen head over ass in love. Never again.
His uncle started whistling “Let It Go” from the movie Frozen. He was about as subtle as a two-hundred-fifty-pound linebacker. Bam! Hard tackle at the five-yard line.
“Yeah, yeah,” Nick said, getting back to work.
Nick endured endless musical soundtracks on the long drives with his uncle to the next small town in need of a carnival, but it was a small price to pay to keep his mind off football and his own uncertain future. He had a degree in agronomy with a special focus on sustainable farming, he had a family farm not far from here that would pass to him when his parents retired, and he could easily move back home to his rightful place. It was a good life—hard work, fresh air, producing food for his country—but…he’d had such big dreams. He wasn’t ready to settle in one place for the rest of his life. But if he didn’t do farming or football, what the hell was he going to do?
His mind drifted to Glitter Girl. She was all sparkle and bouncy energy. Fun written all over her. If he could just get the football-fan thing out of the way, she might be just the distraction he needed. They could hang out for the week. As friends. He didn’t do empty hookups anymore. A lot of women in college made it a game to collect as many jerseys as possible from the football team after a hookup—one athlete at a time, usually. By his senior year, he’d put a halt on groupies, and that was when he fell hard for Tara. He’d thought they were on the same page. Turned out she was even worse than the others, looking for the best prospect to marry into big-league money. When the Giants took an interest in their quarterback, so had Tara.
So no more empty hookups and definitely no relationships. He had to stay focused on figuring out his future without football.