Turkey & Touchlines #2
Justice smirks, but beneath it, I catch the stubborn pride set deep in his jaw. “I just can’t see myself walking away from the Strikers. Not yet. Doesn’t matter if retirement’s staring me in the face—I’ve only been with this team a short time compared to others, but it’s mine. Always will be.”
Autika nudges him. “Especially since Luca doesn’t seem to be stepping into your role the way everyone thought. After that fight with Croix.”
Justice shakes his head. “He’s throwing away an opportunity to play on the world stage for a woman. Shame.”
Autika rests her hand on his. “Well, babe, you know love will make a man burn the whole world for the woman he loves.”
Justice slips Autika a side-eye. “Or make a woman kidnap the man she loves?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
Autika gasps, swatting his shoulder with a sharp slap. “Justice Trager! Really? You just had to go there?” She groans, turning to me with an apologetic smile. “Ignore him. He loves bringing up old stuff. I said I was sorry a long time ago!”
I blink, caught between laughter and confusion, my mouth opening and closing before I decide to stay quiet.
I’d heard whispers—some wild story about Autika kidnapping this man and practically forcing him to propose—but I always brushed it off as locker-room gossip that got twisted over time.
But now, seeing the way they’re both grinning through it… maybe it wasn’t just a rumor after all.
I school my face into something neutral, willing the conversation to shift away from Luca and Croix.
Anything I could add here would be breaking privilege, and that line isn’t mine to cross.
I’ve already told Luca in private what I believe to be true—that any woman worth her salt wouldn’t let him torch his career or his friendship with Croix.
Justice seems to share the same conviction, and I cling to the hope that with his steady hand and leadership, the boys will eventually come to their senses.
Before the silence can stretch too long, Max appears in a whirl, tugging Rocky by the leash. “Hey, Eslin! Can you please help with this dog? He keeps eyeing the ham and I’m not sure I can hold him back!”
Rocky, the menace. Weeks of obedience training, and he’s still the same rambunctious tornado. No wonder the Navy couldn’t keep him.
“Let me see if Grant can get him,” I mutter, scanning the room. But Grant is nowhere in sight.
“Coach Jones!” I call instead, spotting him across the way. Maybe he can distract Rocky before the dog wipes out the buffet.
Max mutters under her breath, “One day that man is going to get tired of being Grant’s replacement.”
I snap my eyes to her. “Would you stop it! That is not what he is or was—it was just bad timing.”
“I’ll say.” She smirks.
Coach Jones approaches, smiling, utterly clueless as I try to hold Rocky back from lunging toward the food.
Max leans in with another whisper. “Maybe just let him down sooner rather than later? He doesn’t seem to know your heart is already entangled with someone else.”
I ignore her jab, paste on a polite smile. “Coach Jones, this is Max. Max, this is Coach Jones.”
He nods, easy, greeting Max with a friendly handshake. “Good seeing you today, Coach Saunders.”
“And you, Coach Jones.”
Max mutters under her breath again, “How does this man not know you’re not into him? You sound like you’re buttering toast.”
He looks at me. “Got any plans for tomorrow? I hear Black Friday’s something I shouldn’t miss around here.”
I shake my head. “Actually, I plan to spend the day in bed watching reruns of old Christmas movies. Personal holiday tradition.”
He grins. “Care for some company?”
I sigh. “Um… let me think about it?”
Max fake-coughs. “Chicken!”
Before I can roll my eyes, some kids toss a ball across the banquet hall, and Rocky takes off like a rocket, dragging his leash.
“Rocky!” I yell, but it’s useless. He’s already bowling kids over in his quest to play.
Coach Jones laughs. “Well, let me know what you think. I’ve got some movie favorites I’d love to share.” He jogs after Rocky.
I nod. “Sure thing.”
When he’s gone, I turn to Max. “It’s complicated, okay?”
She smirks, wicked. “And complicated is headed your way right now.”
I follow her gaze and see Grant. My chest warms before he even opens his mouth.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Es. You sure are pretty.”
The grin I give him is so wide, even Justice and Autika notice. “Happy Thanksgiving yourself, Mister.”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asks.
Relief floods me—anything to get away from this tangle of conversations.
I glance at Max. “Why don’t you go climb that lumberjack over there?”
She winks. “Oh, don’t worry, I will.”
Grant leads me down the hallway toward the bathrooms, pressing his forehead against mine once we’re out of sight. His voice is rough. “I can’t stand not being able to touch you.”
“I know,” I whisper back. “But you should really back up before someone sees you.”
“I know. But I tend to get reckless when I’m forced to pretend I’m not into a beautiful woman.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
His smile is boyish, unguarded. “You know you’re gorgeous. Fine, fine, as I’ve heard Luca say about his mysterious woman.”
Before I can scold him, his hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me into a deep, lingering kiss. I melt against him.
Then, with that familiar mischievous glint, he tugs me into the men’s room.
“Ah!” I yelp, half-laughing, half-scandalized.
And while Grant swears it’ll only be a few minutes, the “few” turns into fifteen—fifteen long, breathless minutes where he wrings me out against the wall and promises he’ll finish what he started later.
When we finally step back into the hallway, cheeks flushed, hearts still racing, Grant can’t resist grabbing a full handful of my ass. I yelp again, spinning to smack his chest before stealing another quick kiss.
But that was reckless.
Because the second I turn around, Darren Jones is there. A few feet away. Frozen. His eyes bounce from my lips to Grant’s hand still hovering near me, to my flushed face. Stunned.
“Coach. Darren,” I start, voice trembling, but the words fall apart. What could I even say?
“Jesus, Eslin.” His voice is sharp, wounded. “I knew you were holding back from me, but I thought it was something from your fucked-up childhood—”
Grant’s voice cuts in with a growl, dangerous. “I’d be very careful about the next words out of your mouth, Jones.”
Darren’s gaze flicks to Grant, and then back to me. His jaw tightens before he huffs out a humorless laugh and shakes his head.
“Yeah,” he mutters, bitter. “Sure thing. Boss.” Then he turns and walks away.
I whip back to Grant, panic flooding through me. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
He looks at me, just as rattled, though his expression hardens with resolve.
“We have to tell Marlow.”