Chapter 9
9
A couple of hours later, at The Touchdown, Jake joined Rosie, Simon and Ella at their booth. He’d been caught up at the bar, helping Pete out with a rush, but had kept up a steady supply of drinks to their table.
Bringing another round with him, he handed the Pi?a Coladas to the women and passed over a beer to Simon. He claimed the last beer for himself as Ella scooched over for him to slide in beside her.
“You guys look deep in conversation over here,” he said as he took a swallow of his Corona, trying to ignore the surge in his pulse and the hum in his veins as his thigh skimmed Ella’s in the close confines. “What are we all talking about?”
“The game,” Ella said, very matter of fact.
He chuckled. “And the walls are still standing?” he teased. “Who’d have thought: Ella Lucas voluntarily talking football.”
Ella shrugged. “I’m pretty tipsy.”
Jake laughed this time. She did look a little buzzed, her eyes bright, her cheeks pink. But, more than that, she looked… carefree. Not a state he’d ever associated with her.
“I suspect you’re probably going to be getting a lot more Monday morning quarterbacking from me in your future.”
As if finding that inordinately funny, Ella laughed, before plucking the bright red cherry off the rim of her glass and licking the creamy froth from its glazed skin.
“Where’d that term come from anyway?” she asked as she sucked the de-creamed cherry into her mouth with a moist, wet-sounding ffft , her lips glistening with sticky glaze.
Jake completely lost his ability to communicate as every ounce of blood he possessed rushed to his dick. Even when she looked at him, blinking cluelessly, waiting for him to respond and then frowning at him in that impatient schoolteacher way she’d perfected, the blood refused to shift.
“Jake?”
He nodded, willing himself to speak. Nope. Blood still in pants. Not in brain.
“Jake!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, which yanked him out of his glitch even if it did nothing for the blood situation.
“Right.”
He flicked a glance at Rosie who’d been watching him watch Ella with a smile on her face before he returned his attention to the cherry sucker extraordinaire. “I’m not sure of the origins, I’m afraid. It goes back a ways though, I think.”
She frowned. “What’s the use of having a football legend in your camp if they don’t know important stuff like this?”
Jake shook his head as her use of legend contributed to the major swelling action in his jeans. Even though he knew it hadn’t been her intention to stroke his ego, his dick gave zero fucks. “The only thing that’s important is winning.”
She swished the creamy content of her drink around the glass with her straw. “You’re such a jock.”
“Lucky for you I’m a jock who knows how to win.”
She rolled her eyes at Rosie. “There’s that ego again.”
Rosie shrugged. “It’s kind of cute, doncha think?”
“No.” Ella shook her head. “Puppies are cute. Fluffy yellow ducklings are cute. Little naked babies in pot plants are cute. Men with egos the size of Texas are not cute.”
“Sure we are.” Jake chuckled. “Maybe you just need another drink.” He turned and gestured to Pete, holding up four fingers.
“Let me just” – Ella waved in the general direction of the restrooms – “go and relieve myself of the first few.”
Jake scooted out of the booth, holding his breath as she brushed past him. She smelled like pineapple and was wearing one of those flowing skirts that moved with her body and almost brushed her ankles, elongating her shape.
The kind that made a man want to know what was underneath.
He sat as he tracked her progress and was relieved when she finally disappeared through the bathroom door. Hopefully, with the temptation of her well out of reach, he’d be able to coax some blood flow back to his brain.
Facing the table, he found Rosie and Simon watching him. “What?” he asked warily.
“Nothing,” Rosie dismissed, waving her fingers in the air.
Jake wasn’t falling for that. “What?” he demanded again.
She glanced at Simon who gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. Ignoring him, she asked, “Are you two going to step this up? Or are we going to have to keep watching it in slow motion?”
Jake grinned. He had to admit that, despite Ella’s assertion that he was backward, there was an inevitability he felt whenever he was around Ella. Right now, his groin was hoping for the fast forward version but there wasn’t enough beer in Mexico to make him think, even for a second, that Ella wouldn’t take her own damn sweet time.
He regarded Rosie for a long moment, so different from Ella and yet somehow so right for her too. “Why don’t you tell me? You know her better than I do. You met in twelfth grade, right?”
Yeah, he was changing the subject.
Rosie looked as if she wasn’t going to roll with it for a beat before she acquiesced. “That’s right. She was a conundrum. She looked perfectly normal and yet she was excluded from all of the cliques. I mean, I was used to it, but she took the prize.”
Jake nodded. All the girls in Trently had hung around in groups or pairs. But Ella had always been alone.
“So you became friends?”
“Hell, yeah. If there’s a bigger misfit around than me, I’m in. And besides, she didn’t judge me, you know?”
“Yeah.” He knew.
“Jake? Jake Prince? Is that you?”
Dragging his attention from Rosie, Jake saw a vaguely familiar guy greeting him like a long-lost brother.
“Roger Hillman.” He stuck out a hand. “From Trently High. We were in the same year.”
Jake smiled as he allowed his hand to be pumped, searching back through his memory banks.
“My sister Deidre had a major crush on you.”
Ah. Bingo!
Roger Hillman, or Rog as he’d been called, had been a prize asshole, always keen to rub Jake’s lack of social standing in his face. Deidre, on the other hand, hadn’t been so fussy. In fact, she’d been downright accommodating that day she’d stripped off her top and let him touch her breasts.
It had been the first time he’d ever been allowed that far by a girl and he could still remember the total awe of the moment. He’d been a boob man ever since.
“Oh right, yes, great to see you again,” Jake lied.
“I’ve followed your career. Man, you were dynamite.” He looked pointedly at Jake’s hands. “You don’t wear your ring?”
“Well, it’s…” Ostentatious. “Kinda heavy.”
“Suppose it’s in a safe somewhere, right?”
Jake nodded non-committally. His two were in his sock drawer.
“Man, you’d never get that bit of bling off my finger.” He guffawed and Jake gritted his teeth. “Pity that piece of skirt ruined it there for you at the end.” Roger gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “You had another couple of seasons in you, I reckon.”
Jake’s fake smile slipped as the ugliness of that time revisited and he pulled his hand out of the other man’s grasp. Rog was too stupid to notice the cool change.
“Why don’t you go up to the bar and tell Pete your next one’s on me?”
“Yeah? Cool man. I heard you’d bought a bar. Like father, like son, hey?” Rog gave a belly laugh, clutching his chest with one hand and patting Jake on the shoulder with the other before ambling off toward the bar.
Twenty years later, two Super Bowl rings and a kickass NFL career behind him, he was still Mick Prince’s son. Jake turned bleak eyes back to his booth companions.
“That guy’s a loser,” Simon said.
“Complete fuckwit,” Rosie agreed, shooting daggers at the retreating form of Roger Hillman.
Oblivious to what had just occurred, Ella arrived back and slipped in beside him. Drumming her hands on the table she announced, “I think I have room for that drink now.”
“I like the way you think.” Jake forced a grin as he yanked himself back from the quagmire of Roger Hillman’s ugly words.
Pete appeared miraculously with a tray of drinks and Jake could have kissed him. Annoyingly, Ella did, landing a peck on his cheek. “You’re the best, Pete.”
“I know.”
“Where on earth did Jake find you? Did he free you from a lamp or something?”
Pete laughed. “Something like that.”
“Weren’t our boys dynamite today?” she said to Pete as she took a sip of her cocktail.
Pete glanced at Jake. “It was great to see them get up.”
Narrowing her eyes, Ella side-eyed Jake before turning her attention back to Pete. “What? Am I missing something?”
Pete shook his head. “No.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know when someone is obfu… obfusca…” She blinked. “That’s a hard word to say when you’re tipsy. Being evasive,” she substituted.
Jake traded anther look with Pete and Ella waved a finger between them. She looked at Rosie. “They just did a thing, didn’t they?”
Rosie nodded. “Yep. There was a definite thing happening.”
“What’s going on?” Ella demanded.
Clearly, Ella wasn’t going to let it rest so Jake nodded at Pete to spill the beans. Reluctantly, he obliged.
“We had a good result today but that’s because we were lucky and the other team thought we’d be a walk over. They didn’t try in the last half. They thought they had it in the bag. They were sloppy. We won on the back of their mistakes.”
“Oh.” Ella pulled her drink closer and took another hit.
Rosie shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Yes,” Jake said. “It matters. It’s alright for now, for the first game, but it’s going to get tougher and if we want to get anywhere near playoffs we have to be better. Counting on the other team being lazy or choking is not a strategy. We didn’t win today. The other team lost.”
“But… you were so good with them after,” Ella said. “So full of praise.”
Jake shrugged. “They deserved their moment in the sun. To feel ten feet tall and bulletproof for a couple of days. But Monday afternoon they’ll be coming right back down to earth.”
“Don’t be too hard on them,” she said, worrying her bottom lip. “You don’t want to crush their spirit.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured, “I’ll tread carefully. We’ll mainly be reviewing the tape with them so they can see their mistakes. It’s often easier to show than tell, isn’t it, Pete?”
“Absolutely. It’s an invaluable tool.”
“Or…” Ella smiled at Pete. “Maybe we can just rub our genie and make a wish?”
She gave Pete’s arm a rub and he gave a wicked grin and said, “Lower.”
Ella laughed which irritated the crap out of Jake. “I think you’re needed at the bar,” he growled.
Pete winked at Ella. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Jake watched him go. “I should sack him,” he muttered. The kid always had shown a distinct lack of respect.
“We can take him home with us,” Rosie suggested.
“Just what your place needs,” Simon remarked drily. “Another stray.”
Ignoring Simon’s keen observation, Rosie raised an eyebrow. “What’s Pete’s story anyway?”
Jake took a long pull of his beer, wondering where to start.
“Pete used to come and watch Founders practice sessions and he attended every home game religiously. He was this skinny fourteen-year-old with a quick wit and smart mouth who lived and breathed football. A super fan. He disappeared for a while then I saw him in his car one day in the stadium parking lot – he was seventeen at the time – and I realized he was living in it.”
Even then Pete hadn’t been downtrodden, confident that it was only temporary, but Jake had been appalled.
“His mom had passed and there was no one else and no money. Just her car. So, I…” He shrugged. “I hooked him up with a bunch of services. Got him a job.” He took a sip of beer. “Haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”
“So,” Rosie beamed at him, “you collect strays too, huh?”
“Nah. Just Pete.”
“And dogs,” Ella reminded him.
“And the Demons,” Simon added.
“No wonder Daisy and Iris like you so much,” Rosie said with a grin.
A prickle of unease at their unsolicited praise needled at the base of Jake’s skull. It seemed, suddenly, he was a regular caped crusader. A tag he really didn’t want. Or deserve.
Mother Theresa he wasn’t.
Roger Hillman’s piece of skirt crack earlier had focused his thoughts squarely on Trish. She knew better than anyone that his feet were most definitely made of clay. The night was turning into a real downer – first Rog and now this.
“You’re actually a pretty decent guy, Jake,” Ella said. “You know that, right? Very gallant.”
Another time Jake might have laughed at the surprise in her voice. Stop the press – Jake Prince is a good guy . But his past sucked at him as a surge of anger and regret filled his chest.
Would she think the same if she knew the truth? And what kind of rock had she been buried under to be apparently clueless about this stuff?
“Don’t go putting me on any pedestals,” he muttered. “I’m here to help Deluca High. I’m not looking to be canonized.”
“You shouldn’t downplay this,” she chided. “You’ve really gone to bat for us. For Pete. For Cerberus.” She poked him in the chest. “It’s a good thing you’re doing.”
Jake gave her a tight smile and drained his beer. She was looking at him like he was a god and he suddenly couldn’t stand her praise. Ella had always been good – a good girl, a decent woman, a compassionate teacher – and he felt totally unworthy.
Standing abruptly, he said, “I think I better get back to the bar. Pete’s looking snowed under again. I’ll send over another round of drinks.”
She let him out and Jake headed straight for the bar and the oblivion of hard work. Pulling beers and pouring shots – anything to distance himself from Ella’s big trusting eyes. The aroma of hops filled his head as the floor grew tackier beneath his feet. People laughed, asked for autographs, women flirted, men shook his hand, a metallic beat played in the background. It was just what he needed to keep his mind off the black mood that had settled on his shoulders. The overwhelming desire to smash things itched under his skin, a feeling Jake from Trently knew too well and he struggled to push it back. It had been a long time since he’d used his fists and he was damned if he was going to regress on tonight of all nights.
Although Roger Hillman and his mates getting steadily trashed in front of him didn’t help. Neither did the multiple TV screens plastered with Jake’s arch nemesis turned sports caster – Tony Winchester. How he could even hold his head up in public, let alone score a TV gig, was beyond Jake.
He and Tony had started and ended their careers together and had spent the intervening years butting heads on and off the field. Tony Winchester was an asshole and having to look at him now on top of everything else was really grinding Jake’s gears.
He glanced over to see Ella and Simon laughing at something Rosie had said and his gut twisted tighter. What had she said to him a few weeks ago in her office? He was backward . He was Trently and she’d come too far to go back.
Maybe she was right? A few weeks in her company, a couple of hours with good old Rog buzzing around and Tony fucking Winchester on the TV and he was spoiling for a fight.
Just like the bad old days.
An hour later, the group sitting at the booth were all feeling the hum from one too many cocktails.
“Jesus! This music is giving me a facial tic,” Rosie complained. “I’m gonna put something decent on, then” – she walked her fingers up Simon’s chest and smiled – “we should dance.”
“Dance?”
Rosie rolled her eyes. “Yes, you know… moving your arms and legs to music.”
“Decent music,” Ella added.
“Not something I excel at,” Simon admitted.
Rosie stared at him and shook her head. “What do I see in you again?”
“I… don’t know exactly.”
She grinned. “Well, lucky you excel at other things.”
Simon smiled and Ella felt like the proverbial third wheel. Simon may not be Rosie’s usual type but they were very good together. “I’ll get the music,” she announced.
Ella loaded the jukebox up with a selection of her favorites, effectively clearing the dance floor of all the bass junkies – which was pretty much everyone. Unperturbed, she and Rosie boogied until midnight, pulling out all the dance moves they’d perfected through their college years and TGIF drinking sessions at this very establishment in its previous incarnation.
Simon couldn’t be coaxed out, watching them from the booth, laughing and shaking his head at their antics. Jake was watching them too. She should feel it. Ordinarily, that would have put her in a tailspin – Rosie was the mover – but her skin prickled with awareness and she was just lubed enough to not care.
When the oh-so-familiar opening chords of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ oozed from the jukebox, the dance floor filled quickly.
Apparently even the duff-duff crowd had taste.
“This one always gets them up,” Rosie said, undulating her hips and stomach.
“It’s a classic,” Ella agreed, doing a less successful version of Rosie’s effortless shimmy.
“I’m getting Simon.” Rosie strode to the booth, tugging on Simon’s very reluctant hand.
Ella laughed as she dragged him onto the floor. For someone who claimed he couldn’t dance, Simon got into the groove quite quickly. But then dancing with Rosie plastered to him didn’t actually require a lot of movement.
“Thought you said you couldn’t do this,” Rosie shouted.
Simon pulled her hips in tighter. “This isn’t dancing. This is fornication to music.”
Rosie laughed. “I love how proper you make fornication sound.”
“ Forn. A. Cation .” Simon rolled the syllables off his tongue in a way that left Ella in no doubt that fornication was on his mind.
“See,” Rosie said, “you can say an F word.”
The song came to an end and the dance floor started to empty. Ella decided to give the love birds some alone time when a hard elbow jabbed her in the back. She swung around just as the man connected to the elbow stumbled and upended his frosty beer all down her front.
She gasped as cold, wet liquid soaked her bra and T-shirt. It was obviously loud enough to penetrate the love bubble as Rosie yelled, “Jesus, dude, watch where you’re going.”
“Oh shit, sorry, lady,” he slurred. “Sorry.”
“Simon,” Rosie ordered as she continued to glare at the guy. “Go and see if Jake’s got a towel or something.”
The man reached out. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated.
Ella dodged the hands. What did he think he was going to be able to do? Rub her dry ?
“Hey, wait.” The guy inspected her closely. “I know you.”
Looking up from the state of her clothes, Ella focused on the beer spiller. Oh crap! Roger freaking Hillman.
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.
“No, no. I do.” He grabbed her arm. “You’re Ella Lucas. Little Ella Lucas. From Trently.”
She tried to pull out of his grasp. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Roger leered at her. “I don’t think so.” He ran the back of his forefinger down her arm. “Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?”
Ella’s skin crawled as his hand encircled her wrist. Her stomach turned over. She’d seen that leer before. Occasionally she’d come face to face with one of Rachel’s men and they’d get that look.
Like it wouldn’t be long before she was on the menu.
She stared at Roger’s hand on her arm, not really seeing it for the hundreds of memories that clawed at her gut. His touch was like the brush of a tarantula’s legs against her skin and she could smell the rum on his breath but she couldn’t move, a strange sense of paralysis rendering her incapable.
Rosie however, was not.
Keenly attuned to Ella’s state of mind as always, she prodded Roger in the chest. “Hey pin-dick,” she growled. “Take your hands off her.”
Roger, very stupidly, laughed. That was when another voice joined the fray. “If you want to leave here with both your balls intact, Rog , I suggest you let her go.”
Ella started as Jake’s voice, right near her ear, sliced through her paralysis. She glanced at him briefly, noting that Pete and Simon were there too before Jake’s grimness took up all the space. His green eyes were cold – reptilian almost.
She’d seen that face before. Once. At Trently High School, during recess, just before he’d taken a swing at some kid three years older than him who’d called Jake’s father a stupid drunk.
Coming to her senses, Ella took advantage of Roger’s distraction and wrenched her arm free, her heart rate kicking in to overdrive.
“Heyyyy, it’s The Prince .” Roger clapped Jake on the back, not reading the situation well at all. “Look who it is. It’s little Ella Lucas. You know, Rachel’s daughter. Come on, Jake, you remember Rachel, right?”
“Okay.” Jake grabbed Roger by his lapels and hauled him closer until they were nose to nose. “Get out of my bar.”
“Hey,” Roger protested, his feet barely touching the ground. “It’s okay. You want her, you can have her.”
Ella felt as if she’d left her body as Roger’s sickening implication sunk in. She could see Jake’s fists tighten in Roger’s shirt, the murderous look on Rosie’s face. Could feel the steely band of Rosie’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.
Yet, somehow, she wasn’t in her body.
“Shut. Your. Face.”
The unspoken threat in Jake’s ground-out words had Pete leaping into action. “Help me,” he barked at Simon before inserting himself between the two men.
Grabbing Roger by one arm, he indicated to Simon to grab the other. “Out!” he snapped.
“I’m fine, Pete,” Jake growled.
“Sure, boss. But Ella’s not.” He indicated with his head. “Leave him to us and go take care of her.”
“Don’t ever show your face in here again,” Jake spat before shoving Roger at Pete.
Still pulled tight to Rosie, Ella absently watched Pete and Simon hustle a loudly complaining Roger to the door. When they disappeared from view, she turned her attention to Jake who was looking at her like he wanted to burn the whole world down.
Instead, he said, “I’ve got some dry clothes in my office.”
It was quiet and gentle and Ella nodded. “Thanks.”
He turned to Rosie. “You guys go home, I’ll take care of her.”
It was a testament to just how outside her body Ella still was that she didn’t protest Jake’s decree or Rosie’s easy acquiescence.
“Make sure you do,” she said, her voice flinty. “Or you’ll have to answer to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”