CHAPTER TEN
LEVI
––––––––
Talk about wishes coming true. But I can think of better ways to get Kaylee’s sexy little hands on me, and this isn’t it.
I drop down onto the bench, my left shoulder hunched as pain slices through me.
“Can you move it?” she asks, kneeling before me.
Natalie walks over with Bill Waterman.
“Can you go back on?”
Shit.
“Eight and a half minutes on the clock,” someone says.
I push back my shoulders and, clenching my eyes, let out a “fuck!”
“He’s off. Get Carson out there,” the coach says, giving me a nod.
“Let’s get him out back and on the table.” Natalie tells Kaylee, who says got it and does this cute attempt at helping me stand, keeping her hand on the side of my back as we walk down to the club rooms.
“Have I dislocated it?” I moan loudly as I sit on the table.
“Cut his shirt off.” Natalie says and Kaylee grabs the scissors. “I need these shoulder pads out of the way so we can see what we’re dealing with.”
All the possibilities run through my head.
If I’ve torn a rotator cuff, I’ll be out the rest of the season. A clavicle fracture, which is very possible given the way Donovan from the Tigers drove me into the field.
Two minutes and a ton of pain later, Natalie takes a step back, reaches for some pain medicine, and props her hands on her hips.
“AC joint. You’re lucky, Montgomery.”
“Thank god,” Kaylee says, knowing as we all do that it should heal in a couple of weeks.
As in, not a serious injury.
If it had been dislocated, I’d be out for the rest of the season.
“Get him an ice pack and back out on the benches so the media doesn’t lose their mind,” Nat says, then adds. “After the game, I want a sling on that arm.”
I climb off the bench and my ankle tweaks.
“Jesus, I’m falling apart.” I toss down the drugs.
Kaylee laughs. “Come on. I’ll work your ankle while you watch the rest of the game.”
She hands me the ice pack, then we head back out to bench. I get comfortable as a few of the team check on how I am.
By the time the coach glances over, with just five minutes left on the clock, Kaylee is crouched in front of me, my boot off, and rubbing some muscle cream into the ankle.
Goddamn, the images running through my head right now. I drown out the crowd and go back to that moment in the shower as her surprisingly powerful little fingers glide over my muscles.
Shit.
I open my eyes. Christ, I do not want a boner while all these cameras are on me.
Kaylee glances up at me and I groan. “Sore?”
“Something like that.” I smirk and grimace at the same time, adjusting the ice.
“You good, Montgomery?” Coach asks.
“AC joint,” I reply. “I’ll be back in action in a couple of games if not next week.”
With a nod, he turns back to the game. Around fifty percent of professional quarterbacks suffer from these during their career, so no one is surprised, I guess.
We’re two points behind. The tension is thick as I lean forward, watching Carson catch and pass the ball. There are ten seconds on the clock.
Kaylee’s hand tightens around my ankle. Her head turns to the game.
“Touchdown! For the Philadelphia Hawkes and they take the game,” the announcer cries.
Both Kaylee and I leap up at the same time and bounce off each other. I grab her, as she grabs me, and my shoulder hurts like a motherfucker. But her hands are up against my chest and the joy in her eyes as she giggles up at me is like the best pain relief known to man.
Almost.
It does still hurt like fuck.
If a million eyes weren’t on us right now, I think I would probably kiss her. The urge to tug her against me, drop my mouth to hers is so damn powerful I am not sure how I’m not doing it.
“We won,” she says, not looking away.
“We did,” I reply roughly, though no one will hear with all the cheering.
Our players return from the field and Kaylee spins and holds her arms up to protect me when someone tries to slap me on the back.
“Injured!” she calls out.
I snort.
She’s so damn little it’s hilarious she’s standing in front of me right now.
Billows runs off the field and glances at the two of us. He picks her up, drops her back on the ground a few feet away, then embraces me.
I’ve never felt more pain in my life.
“You played well, brother. Those touchdowns in the beginning, man, they got us to the finish.” He slaps me one more time on my injured shoulder.
“Jackson.” Kaylee nudges at him. “You’re hurting him.”
He pants, still catching his breath as he stares down at her. “Nah, you did that already. Don’t do it again, okay?”
Woah.
He’s never said a word to me.
Her mouth falls open as Billows walks away, and then her eyes land on me. I see the hurt immediately.
“Kaylee.”
“Don’t. I get it.”
I take her hand, discretely, and tug her to me as she turns to move away.
“I didn’t say anything. You came with me to the party.”
She nods, glancing down.
I tip her head up with my finger. “He just assumed something that isn’t there. I’ll clear it up with him.”
We aren’t together.
I watch as she shakes it off and gives me a fake smile. “Yeah, of course. Let me get your boot back on and then we can head inside to put the sling on you.”
This is how it should be. Just friends. Colleagues.
So why does my heart ache so much?
I want to see that smile on her face again. The sparkle in her eyes. The feel of her touch on my body, and so fucking much more, I don’t let myself think about it.
Which is a lie, because when I get back to my hotel room ninety minutes later and stand under the spray of water, I somehow manage to jerk off with my uninjured arm.
It’s Kaylee’s naked lean body lain out on my bed, I imagine.
––––––––
I MANAGE TO pull on a Tom Ford shirt and get it buttoned up, then slide the sling back on my arm. It’s hurting much less than it was, so I figure it’ll heal fast.
Or the drugs are good.
I make my way down in the elevator to the floor where most of the players are staying.
I pay for my own room—the penthouse—because I like space, and we happen to be staying at one of the Dufort Hotels. Given they are technically family, by marriage, I reached out to Hunter Dufort.
“I’ll make sure it's available for you,” he said. “Shame I’m not in town, otherwise I’d come to the game.”
“Let me know when you do, and I’ll get you into a box,” I reply, despite the fact they probably own one in every state, for all I know.
Like my father, Hunter’s—Jonathan Dufort— started the billion-dollar hotel empire decades ago. Now the Dufort Hotel group is a household name here and around the world.
Daniel, the eldest, is the CEO while Hunter and Fletcher hold senior positions in the company.
It’s their cousin Blake, who married my sister Bella, and...man, this is complicated, but his brother Jacob is my half brother. That’s right. Jacob and Blake’s mom shagged Ward. We only found out this year because she kept it a secret from everyone.
So we’re all this huge strangely connected family with a fuck ton of money, basically.
Many of our vacations are spent in the Hamptons at either Fletcher’s or Jacob’s house.
“Will do. I’ll see who’s available for the Super Bowl,” he said to me totally deadpan.
I coughed.
“Okay, you all need to lower your expectations. It’s my first year.” I laughed. “Seriously though. Just let me know. It would be great to have you all at a game.”
“I know Daniel would be keen. I’ll come back to you,” Hunter said. “Enjoy the room. I’ll send you the details over email.”
I am.
The room is amazing. The view outstanding. The service world class.
As are all the Dufort Hotels.
The doors ping open, and I wonder which room Kaylee is sleeping in tonight. Does she have to share? Or does she have her own space.
I berate myself as the thought of paying for her to have a nicer room enters my mind. Let’s be honest, I want her in my bed.
Nothing has changed in all these months. Seeing her every day and being in close proximity just emphasizes my desire and feelings for her that much more.
I still love her.
I think I always will.
The question is, can I forgive her?
Actually, there are a ton more questions than that.
Why did she do it?
Did she ever care for me?
Was I just the popular college quarterback that made her laugh...and scream?
Are my brothers right?
Did she just like me because I came from a wealthy family and was pegged to be drafted. The all-American boy who has it all compared to the grass-roots family she grew up in?
I hate thinking like that, but I have to keep my eyes open. She makes me blind to logic and sense.
It’s taken a whole lot of work to stay focused on my training and the game this year. If I mess up, I don’t just get a slap on the hand, I can be off the team.
I am at pro level now.
When I step into the room, the party is well underway. Rap music plays loudly, bottles are being passed around. Players lounge on beds, sofas, and out on a balcony.
I spot Kaylee sitting on top of a table, her legs swinging back and forth. She wears a short dress with long sleeves, and it fits her like a glove. Every curve on her lithe, petite body is visible and mine reacts.
My cock thickens and my fingers itch to lift her from the table and carry her back to my room. Then shove her against the door as she clenches my pecs, and lift that fucking skirt off her and slide my shaft inside her.
One hard thrust.
That’s all it would take.
I’ve never fucked her as hard as I wanted to. I was being a good college boyfriend.
Well, something has shifted in me now. I am sick of standing back and watching her. There’s a need to claim her completely. Tell her she won’t leave me again. That she is mine.
And show her with every thrust of my cock inside her hot, wet, needy cunt.
Her eyes lift and meet mine and I see her cheeks pinken from across the room.
A beer is thrust into my hand.
“Get into it, bro!”
I mutter thanks and then end up in conversation after conversation about my injury and the game.
All the while I watch Kaylee and those swinging naked legs.