Tight End (Nashville Aces #1)

1. June

ONE

June

“Can you sign my tits?”

I tighten my grip on Oliver’s hand and turn us in a different direction before the woman asking for the autograph—never mind.

Her breasts are already out of her shirt. I can see one nipple. One very hard nipple.

Did I mention there’s a cool breeze?

The football player in front of her tugs at his collar as his face turns a bright shade of red. He’s polite, trying to look anywhere but directly at the aforementioned nipple, which I imagine is quite the task. He even turns her away from the crowd, taking the Sharpie from her hand and bending down over her chest, doing his best to shield her.

It’s a bummer for the handful of men who are now scowling in his direction, but a win for the rest of us.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m no prude, but I’m not sure this is something my three-year-old should witness ... or really any of the many kids here.

Good for her, though.

She wanted something and she went for it. And she got his phone number, so I’d say it worked in her favor. I envy girls like that, I really do. Assertive. Dominant. Not afraid to go after what they want.

Not that I would want a random football player anywhere near my breasts.

Honestly, at this point in my life I’m not sure I have a type—except maybe all wrong for me—but I don’t see the appeal. Sure they’re hulking giants with muscles in all the right places, jawlines that could cut glass, and stamina that would put most men to shame. Wait ... what was I saying?

Oh, right.

They’re not for me. I usually go for the boring, dependable guy who cheats on me with his best friend. And if that kind of guy is going to turn out to be a dirty lying cheater, then I’d hate to see the damage a man like this could do.

You know, if I were in the market and wanted to date.

Which I don’t.

These guys wouldn’t be interested in a woman like me anyway. I’m a hot-mess single mom with no free time and a sex drive that dried up right around the time I found out I was pregnant. I work two jobs—one I love and one I hate.

Plus, I don’t know a lick about football.

These people sure do, though, and by the looks of things, they take this sport pretty seriously. We’re surrounded by grown men in jerseys and Nashville Aces apparel. I’m not sure if it’s my charcoal pantsuit that’s offensive and drawing glares or the fact that I’m weaving through small groups of people, trying to get to the security guard at the end of the crowd. My money is on the pantsuit. It offends me too.

I’m barely halfway there when Oliver tugs on my hand and I stop, blocking the now-stalled line. Sending an apologetic look to a dad and his teenage son, I shove the stack of papers under one arm, hike my purse high on my shoulder, and quickly pick up my son so we can get out of the way.

From his new vantage point Oliver looks around, eyes wide as I shift him on my hip, careful not to crumple the divorce papers—don’t worry, not mine.

“Go home?” He glances at me quickly before his gaze goes back to the football players.

“Not yet.” I press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “I’ve got to deliver these papers and then we can go. You must be hungry.”

He doesn’t turn to face me or reply, and for a second I’m not sure he heard me over the noise of the crowd, but then he nods. His entire focus is on the football players standing behind a makeshift partition and a few long tables.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon and get you some dinner. I have a new book picked out for us to read tonight.”

It seems like it takes forever, but I finally reach the security guard. Only he doesn’t seem too friendly, looking me up and down with his lips curled in a snarl, his eyes narrowing as soon as he takes in my pantsuit.

Dang it.

“You can’t come back here.” He crosses his arms, pulling his black T-shirt tight across his chest. “Players only and you don’t look like a linebacker to me.”

“I’m looking for Silas Brooks. Is he out here?” His frown deepens and I ignore it, pointing toward the guys. “Do you know which one he is?”

Before I can tell him who I am or what exactly I’m doing at a football player meet and greet, he scoffs. “I know he’s newly single, but I don’t exactly think you’re his type. He’s looking for women with a little less ...” His hard eyes flick to Oliver, who is now intently watching this exchange. “Baggage. You’re climbing up the wrong tree, sweetheart.”

I bristle, holding Oliver a little tighter against me. Baggage? Sweetheart? He must have me mistaken for a sweet southern girl, and he’s about to get a rude awakening. “I’m not here to entice Mr. Brooks.”

“I know exactly what you’re here for, and you’re not getting through.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a lawyer.” Not entirely true, but I am here on a lawyer’s behalf, and that’s got to count for something. Although the look he’s giving me tells me it doesn’t.

“And you look it.” He sighs, glancing at his buddy, another security guard a few feet down. “Listen, lady, I have a job to do, and it’s to keep jersey chasers like you on the other side of this divider.”

“Jersey chasers?”

I’m not sure I know what a jersey chaser is, but I know I’m not one. My visit here is entirely professional. I’m here to deliver Mr. Brooks’s divorce papers because apparently he insisted on getting them today instead of waiting for tomorrow, or Friday, when literally anyone else could have done this. And should have.

I have no interest in slipping any of these guys my phone number, having them sign parts of my body, or whatever else happens at these events. Just like I have no interest in knowing who these players are, what position they play, or their favorite color.

My only regret is not knowing what Silas looked like when I pulled into the parking lot. Then maybe I could have avoided this entire lovely conversation with the security guard .

Shoot.

When my mom insisted I come straight here after picking Oliver up from day care to get these papers delivered, I thought it was a joke. I spent the entire drive here going over all the things I wish I’d said to her instead of taking the papers like the obedient daughter I am and letting her go to her partner meeting. She thinks because she got me the job at her firm and allows me to work part-time, she gets to boss me around.

Well, during work hours she does. Technically she is my boss. And a managing partner. But once I walk out those doors, my time is mine.

Or at least it would be if I weren’t such a pushover.

If this football player was such an important client, she should be dropping the papers off herself. Most of the time, nothing important happens at these Wednesday night partner meetings.

“You don’t know who Silas Brooks is?” The petite blonde to my left gawks at me like I have grown a second head.

Yep. Definitely should have taken the time to look him up in the car.

Double shoot.

“I’m sorry, I’m not much of a sports fan. Do you think you could help?” I try to look as unassuming as possible, especially when her eyes narrow and she assesses me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m competition.

She hums to herself, flipping a lock of blond wavy hair over a shoulder. “He’s right. You definitely look like a lawyer, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. Silas is the one right there. Light-brown hair. The perfect amount of scruff. Blue-green eyes you can’t help but get lost in. He’s only the hottest man in Nashville. ”

At her dreamy sigh I follow along her pointed finger and ... yep. Light-brown hair with some scruff along his chin. Not sure about losing myself in his eyes, though. They seem pretty average to me.

“Thanks.” I give her a small smile. “Good luck with ... good luck.”

She puts her hand up for a high five, looking at Oliver expectantly. It takes him a minute, likely debating on how friendly he’s going to be before he slaps her open palm and grins up at me.

“Good job, Oli.” With a quick kiss to the cheek, which he promptly wipes off with the back of his hand, I head to the center table and wait for Silas.

For the first time today luck is on my side—the crowd has thinned and we’re next. Thank God. I’m ready to not be here.

“Hey there.” Silas greets me with a wide smile, charm oozing from every one of his pores. He’s exactly the kind of guy I’d imagine a football player would be. An overconfident ladies’ man who probably doesn’t hear the word no very often. And those blue-green eyes I’m supposed to get lost in? They shift down my body before landing on Oliver. “Hi, little man. Are you a football fan?”

“Sorry.” I have a feeling my smile is more of a grimace, but it’s been a long day. And I think we all know I have no intention of sleeping with this man. His charm is wasted on me. “We’re not big sports people. Mrs. Morgan said it was imperative you get this paperwork.”

I didn’t think it possible, but his smile gets even bigger. Of course it’s perfect like the rest of him. Still doesn’t do anything for me, though. Pretty sure my vagina died a slow and painful death years ago .

“Everything is final?” He leans in closer, his voice lowering several decibels. “I’m finally a free man?”

“Yep. She said everything is finalized. Congratulations, Mr. Brooks.” I hand over the large manila envelope, and he clutches it for dear life. Did he ... did he just sniff it? Either his ex-wife was horrible or he really wants to be single. I’m pretty sure I can guess which one it is.

“You’ll have to thank Mrs. Morgan for all her hard work. Oh—” He quickly bends down and pops back up, thrusting a small signed football into Oliver’s hands. “Never too early to start watching the game.” And then he gives me a smirk, one I imagine melts panties off most women. “Never too late to start either. What did you say your name was?”

Oliver looks up at me, holding the football in front of him like it’s a snake or a rabid animal. “Um. Fank you?”

“You’re welcome, little man.” He reaches out and ruffles Oliver’s light-brown hair before giving me an expectant look.

I know he asked what my name was, but I have zero intention of telling him. Instead, I gesture to the football and try to look apologetic. Pretty sure that also comes out looking like a grimace. “Sorry, but we’ve got to run. Congratulations on your divorce.”

His poor dazzling smile, the one that’s wasted on me, tilts into a frown, and he looks stricken. I’m sure no one has ever turned him down before, and I get the impression his marriage didn’t stop him from meeting new friends .

“That’s a shame. Are you sure?”

I don’t answer him or turn around, just put both arms around Oliver and hustle my butt to the parking lot. Or at least I wanted to, but then I hear a voice behind me. A voice I haven’t heard in years.

“Princess? ”

Apparently I should’ve looked up the entire team roster, because as I turn around, I see him standing at the edge of the crowd. The man I spent almost four years searching for. The man who never went back to the stupid bar with that stupid name.

Never in a million years did I think I’d find him standing in front of me in a football uniform.

It clings to him like a second skin, highlighting every single one of his muscles—muscles I once knew intimately. His dark-brown hair is a little shorter, but his aqua eyes still cut right through me as they roam over my body.

Now I understand wanting one of these guys to sign your breasts.

Except shit —I mean, shoot.

His gaze cuts to Oliver, and the speech I had planned all those years ago flies out of my brain as it short-circuits.

What am I supposed to say here?

Nice weather we’re having. What have you been up to for the past four years? Oh, by the way, this is your son.