Chapter 4
four
. . .
Lincoln
She’d just slammed me in the chest with a bag of ribs and called over some teenage kid, who was a scrawny little thing. The dude couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.
“Uh, yes, Miss Brinkley, did you need something?” the small dude said, turning his gaze to me before his eyes bulged. “You’re, oh my gosh, you’re Lincoln Hendrix.” He proceeded to bend over to grab his knees as he started hyperventilating and wheezing.
“Lionel!” Brinkley snapped, shooting him a look that basically said she’d harm him if he didn’t do what she said. “Escort this man out of here, please.”
“Really?” I said with a chuckle. “I’m standing next to the door, and I’m on my way out. You’re going to make this poor kid have a panic attack just to prove a point?”
“Damn straight. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, Captain.”
I barked out a laugh now because she was absolutely out of her mind.
And hot as hell.
“Don’t worry about it, Lionel. I was just leaving. Thanks for the food, sweetheart.”
Once again, she held her hand up and flipped me the bird. Her pretty, pink lips pursed together, and she raised a brow, waiting for me to leave.
Lionel sheepishly moved toward me and pushed the door open before whispering, “Is there any way that I could get your autograph?”
“Lionel!” she shouted from a few feet away again. “No fraternizing with the enemy.”
I quickly took the pen and the pad he was holding in his trembling hand and signed it for him. “You better get back in there. She’s a bit terrifying.”
He chuckled. “Thanks. She doesn’t work here, though. She’s just helping out her brother. Come back real soon.”
I’d just been escorted out, and he was already inviting me back?
I almost laughed as I held up my hand and waved as I walked down the street.
I’d enjoyed my first few days here.
Life was slower.
I’d had time to think.
Drew and Deb’s house was right on the water, and it had its own dock with a boat and all sorts of water toys.
I’d be training hard here in the off-season, and the fact that Drew had a state-of-the-art home gym made it very convenient.
I’d been out for runs every morning, and I’d even gone for a swim this morning.
This was exactly what I needed to clear my head.
Figure out my shit.
I had a bunch of offers and needed to decide if I’d be moving and playing for a new team next year.
My gut told me it was time to go, but I’d always been a loyal guy, and it was hard for me to walk away from my team, even if my coach was a complete asshole.
Sure, he was kissing my ass now that we’d shocked the shit out of everyone and made it to the Super Bowl and then somehow pulled off a win.
But he wasn’t a team player. He didn’t build that relationship with our guys.
He’d cut too many of my brothers with no warning.
He’d made comments to me that he’d cut a bunch of the new guys if they didn’t step up.
They were young, and they needed time. We needed time as a team to rebuild and find our chemistry.
But he was not willing to put in the time or the work for us to do that.
I couldn’t keep starting over with new guys every time he went on a cutting spree.
And Coach Balboa was coaching out in New York now, and he wanted me to come out there and rebuild that team with him.
I’d started my professional career with the man, and he was more like a father to me at this point.
When he’d been let go from the team, I’d struggled to stay where I was, but he’d been the one to advise me to do so.
He’d brought over two of my best friends, Brett Jacobs and Lenny Waters.
Brett was one of the best receivers in the league, and Coach Anders had cut him because he’d had a tough season two years ago when we’d suddenly found ourselves playing for a new coach.
But he’d been playing phenomenally this last season, and he was pushing for me to move out there and get our game going again.
Lenny was a running back who’d sustained a tough Achilles injury and been cut from our team.
Coach Balboa had brought him on, as well, and he was rehabbing that injury and would be playing this coming season for the New York Thunderbirds.
When I got home, I sat outside and looked at the ocean as the waves crashed against the dock.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
My phone buzzed with a text from Drew.
Drew
She turned down the job.
Yeah. I just ran into her when I was picking up food. She told me she wasn’t taking the job and to stay out of her business unless I wanted to let her interview me.
Drew
So, give her your story. You’re going to have to give it to someone. It’ll clear your conscience.
My conscience is fine. I got her the job back, didn’t I?
Drew
You did. Did she say why she wasn’t taking the job?
Who the fuck knows. Something about finding a story and landing herself a new job. At least, that’s what she said before having me escorted out of the restaurant by a teenager who was less than half my size.
Drew
Damn. I like this girl. She doesn’t take your shit.
Whatever. She’s being stubborn. If she wants the job, it’s hers to take. I’ve done my part. I need to focus on my training and my future. End of story.
Drew
Agreed. I’m just wondering… is she hot?
Who?
Drew
Brinkley Reynolds. Deb said she’s gorgeous. I’m wondering if she’s just being kind or if it’s true.
She’s hot. Not that I was looking.
She was fucking hot. Probably the best-looking woman I’d ever laid eyes on. But I wasn’t going to admit that. Because she was also being childish and petty about the job and insisting I leave the restaurant.
Drew
Of course, you weren’t. It’s been a while since you’ve dated anyone seriously. It’s got to get old just banging supermodels and fangirls. Is that why you’re being a moody asshole lately?
What are you? My dating therapist? We aren’t girlfriends.
Fuck off. I’m fine. And if you’ve forgotten, the last woman I dated sold a bullshit story about my family for a couple of thousand bucks and fucked that douchebag hockey player while we were together.
I’m not in a hurry to go there again. It’s best to keep things casual while I’m trying to figure out my life.
Drew
Dude, you dated an unknown actress who was a bad breaker-upper. Once you ended things, it was bound to go sour. Perhaps you should try dating a non-famous person who isn’t thirsty for their ten minutes of fame.
You set me up with her.
Drew
Don’t shoot the messenger. She was a friend of Deb’s Pilates instructor. How the hell were we supposed to know she was a stage-five clinger?
I rolled my eyes and leaned back on the couch. I enjoyed sex as much as the next guy, but I hadn’t had great experiences with relationships. So, I preferred to keep things casual most of the time. My life was complicated enough at the moment anyway.
I’m done talking about my dating life, or lack thereof. I do just fine with the ladies. Don’t you worry about it. Talk to you tomorrow.
Drew
Deb just said that her manicurist is single and that her short stint in prison was just because her ex-boyfriend made her sit in the car when he robbed a gas station. I can’t make this shit up, brother.
I laughed and dropped my phone on the couch as I stared out at the water.
For whatever reason, those dark brown eyes flooded my thoughts. The way her chest rose and fell when she hissed at me. The way her long waves fell around her shoulders. And don’t even get me started about her plump, pink lips.
Hell, I probably did need to get laid. I had a few hookups I could reach out to, but that would mean inviting them here.
Since everything went down with Jaqueline, I was cautious about that. I preferred to go to hotels and keep things surface-level.
I enjoyed being in control of every situation in my life, and sex was no different.
My mind wandered back to the woman who’d just kicked me out of the restaurant.
I didn’t give a shit if Brinkley Reynolds took the job or not.
I’d done my part.
I could rest guilt-free now. She’d turned it down, and that was her choice.
I’d gone for a run every day this week, and I loved how quiet it was in the mornings here.
I wasn’t swamped by reporters, and nobody bothered me in Cottonwood Cove.
I’d been to a few restaurants since I’d arrived here, the grocery store and the coffee shop, and people waved and said hello.
A few asked for my autograph. But they were respectful.
They weren’t asking where I was going to play or what my plans were.
It reminded me of the early days of my career when attention from the fans felt like an honor and not an obligation.
I missed those days. Maybe I’d become too jaded.
Built up too many walls to protect myself.
I was heading down the main road just as the sun was starting to come up, and a woman was running toward me.
She was pumping her arms, running a similar pace to mine, from what I could tell.
Her long strides hit the pavement as she hauled ass in my direction.
She wore a black sports bra, black leggings, and a white baseball cap.
As we closed the distance, running toward one another from opposite directions, I realized who it was.
Brinkley Reynolds.
Her dark gaze locked with mine as she moved past me, and for reasons I can’t explain, I turned around.
Ran after her.
When I pulled up beside her, she startled for a second and tore the earbuds out of her ears.
“Do I need to get a restraining order now?” she huffed as she continued striding at a good pace.
“I didn’t know you’d be out here, so that would be a bit ridiculous, yeah?”
“What do you want?”
I continued running alongside her and glanced at her profile. Her skin was golden, her exposed abs were feminine yet defined, and her long ponytail swayed from side to side.
I silently warned my dick not to respond to the fact that I couldn’t stop looking at the way her tits bounced just the slightest bit with her movements. They weren’t big, but they were perky, and my mouth watered at the thought of seeing them beneath the black fabric.
Of wrapping my mouth around them and tugging her long ponytail as I kissed my way up the column of her neck.
Jesus, dude. Pull your shit together.
“I want to know why you aren’t taking that job.”
We continued running in silence for another two blocks before she came to an abrupt stop in front of a house.
“Why do you care?” she said over her labored breaths as she leaned over her knees and calmed her breathing.
“You’re being stubborn. Take the fucking job.” I rubbed a hand down the back of my neck as my labored breaths slowed.
“Ah… you feel guilty?”
“I don’t feel guilty,” I lied. “It’s your actions that led to the events that followed. You did follow me into the john. I was pissed. But I’m not the devil. I wouldn’t want to take your livelihood from you. I wanted you escorted out of that press conference. End of story.” I shrugged.
“As if that wasn’t humiliating enough.” She glared at me, wiping the sweat from her forehead. The sun had just come out, and it was shining down on her. Pops of amber and gold danced in her dark gaze.
“Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like to be hounded by the media? To not have a second to breathe without someone shouting questions at you? To be loved one minute when you play well and hated in the brief moments that you fuck up?” I said, surprising myself with how much I’d just shared.
“Cry me a river. You’re the best quarterback in the league.
People want to know where you’re going to play.
They want to know your story, which, by the way, you’re the most closed-off athlete that I know.
You make millions of dollars doing what you love.
You just won a goddamn Super Bowl. You don’t get to play the sympathy card.
There are bigger issues in the world than you being hounded by reporters.
You’re a public figure; you signed up for this. ”
She had some fucking nerve.
“And you signed up to be a bloodsucking hound who has no respect for the privacy of others. So, I guess we reap what we sow, yeah?” I hissed.
She held a hand up just above her eyes as if she were looking past me, into the distance. “Oh, hey… is that your pirate ship out there, Captain? Why don’t you get on it and ship the hell out of town? I can’t stand the sight of you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to derail your run and make you stop, but obviously, you can’t help yourself when you’re around me.”
“You really are a narcissistic bastard, aren’t you?” She raised a brow. “I live here, genius. You do not affect me in any way, shape, or form. You’re the one who chased after me. But I’m not going to give you what you want, so you can stop bothering me.”
“And what is it that you think I want?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“You want me to take that job so that you don’t have to live with the fact that you got me fired.”
“You got yourself fired. You crossed a line barging into that bathroom.”
“What were you so nervous about anyway? Did you think I’d see your tiny peen and report to the world that the big, bad quarterback isn’t packing?” she asked with a wicked smirk.
I laughed. It was impossible not to. I’d been called a lot of things over the years by the media.
Moody. Arrogant. Closed off.
But being accused of having a tiny dick was not one of them.
I intentionally raised my large hand in front of my face and ran it along my scruff.
“Ah… so that’s why you followed me into the bathroom. You appear to be obsessed with my cock, and I assure you… no one has ever called it small.” I watched as her eyes zeroed in on my hand. “Big hands. Big feet. You know how the saying goes.”
“You want to speak on the record?” She raised a brow.
“You want to ask me about the size of my dick and write about it?”
“You sure are full of yourself. For the record, I take my job seriously. So, unless you want to sit down and let me interview you for real, this conversation is over.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time. See you around, sweetheart.”
“Bite me, jackass.” She whipped around and marched toward her house, and I wanted to walk away. Told myself to move. But my eyes were glued to her perfect ass.
When she got to her front door and opened it, she turned around. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
And then she slammed the door hard.
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
She was the most aggravating woman I’d ever met, yet I enjoyed bickering with her more than I enjoyed talking to anyone else.
And I couldn’t wait to do it again.