Chapter 2
PACE – SEPTEMBER
Horchata Never Tasted So Sweet
Our pre-season training camp is in full swing.
I’m going long for Lamar Taylor’s pass, running as flat out as a man of thirty-four years can to catch it.
It’s a bad pass from our new starting quarterback and I could, should, let it go, but I’m trying to make the kid feel less intimidated by the enormous boots he’s got to fill this season.
I sprint hard, loosely aware that I’m reaching the edge of the training field, focused on the spinning pig leather. Until the afternoon sun replaces the ball and blinds me.
Holding my arm up to shield my eyes does just enough to allow me to make the catch but as I connect with the ball, I clatter backward over the guardrail.
There’s a high-pitched scream as I hurtle into a watching fan. But I have too much momentum to stop the imminent collision.
I curl up as best I can to protect myself and whoever I’m careering toward, and I land backside first in the grass. Unfortunately, the sheer mass of me knocks said fan off her feet and my head lands squarely between…
A pair of damn fine legs. Smooth golden thighs frame my face, a pair of cowgirl boots dangling around my torso. Something white and sweet with a tinge of cinnamon splashes across my lips, dripping onto my tongue, and a whole lot more liquid covers my chest.
As I lick my lips, a groan escapes me, not because that fall hurt but because I think I’ve landed on the other side of heaven.
The drink that’s spilled all over me is sweet as pie and when the woman whose legs are entangled with my upper body leans forward across me I notice that, damn, she’s pretty.
Long waves of dark hair fall across her shoulders and her checked pearl snap shirt – not to objectify or anything, but I respectfully note – frames an absolutely perfectly rounded rack.
Her lips are full and glossed, sparkling under the day’s light, and when she lowers her shades from her eyes, they’re big and brown and…
Familiar.
Shit.
Wincing, I come up to sit, blinking as I take in the fact I can’t possibly be in heaven. I know because God would not be so cruel as to land me between the mighty fine legs of my wide receiver’s kid sister.
Panicking, I hold up my hand which is still grasping a training ball, thankful that I didn’t make an auto-playboy move on Colton Quinn’s sibling.
“Caught it,” I say, accidentally winking. In the event of an emergency, default to instinct. My instinct – which is to ask this woman if I could spend a night tasting more of whatever she spilled all over me – is precisely what I need to suppress.
“Tanner Pace! Take your head out from between my thighs before my brother breaks whatever limbs you haven’t already.”
Dang, she’s feisty. I fight against what I know is my signature smirk playing on my lips as I unravel myself from her and offer a hand to help her stand.
She stares at my big bear paw, then dusts off her denim skirt and rises without my aid. Fair, I did knock her off her feet.
“Quinn,” I say in greeting.
“Jackpot,” she confirms.
“Annie Quinn.” Not a random hot girl I can flirt with.
I’ve seen Annie a few times over the four years Colton has been with the Bears, after games, dinners occasionally, that sort of thing.
The last time I saw her was spring. The guys and I were helping on the Quinns’ ranch, where they run a non-profit respite offering for kids and families.
Annie had a six-month-old baby strapped to her most of those days and today…
“You look… different.”
Different? Urgh. But I’m not trying to charm the pants off Annie Quinn, so I decide to let the word hang in the suddenly very hot air between us. Is it me or is the sun getting stronger?
Annie rolls her eyes in response and I smile. I’ve seen her roll her eyes this way at her brother several times.
Annie Quinn the student, the baby mama, the girl who recently lost her own mama. Finally, my brain catches up with normality, respectability, ordinary greeting protocols. “How’re you doin’, girly?”
“Better than you’ll be doing if you tackle me to the ground like that again.”
I chuckle, mostly at her fierce pout.
“Sorry about that, the sun got in my eyes. I thought I was seeing stars but it turns out it was just the brightest girl at training.”
She looks around us. “I’m the only girl at training.”
“Still the brightest, though.” I wink again – gotta stop that.
“Well, not that it’s my fault but I apologize for spilling my entire horchata that I was enjoying immensely all over your too-tight shirt.”
I look down at my uniform, trying not to give her my trademark Danny Zuko laugh because I know it’s a secret flirt weapon.
“What’s horchata?” I draw a finger across my lips and lick it. She watches me taste the sweet, creamy drink.
“In a nutshell, rice milk with cinnamon over ice. It’s Mexican. Or Spanish.”
“Tastes good.” For a very inappropriate split-second, I glance to those pursed lips and wonder how horchata tastes on them. Then I have to remind myself this is Colton Quinn’s little sister. I must be twelve years older than her.
I cough, tucking the football I caught under my arm like a safety blanket: a reminder of guy code, teammate code, the fact I don’t date in season and I cannot ever taste horchata from the lips of Quinn’s sister.
“I hear you restarted college today,” I say, appropriately.
She nods, blushing, for some reason. Is she embarrassed? Even that looks good on her.
I throw the football back to the offensive coach – confident that my knock to the head has worn off.
“So Sister Quinn, to what do we Bears owe the honor?” I ask, ruffling the sweaty hair on my head.
“I’m waiting for a ride back to the ranch.”
“With Colton?” Well, duh.
“Unless Coach Roy is gonna start chauffeuring me around the state.”
“Alright, sassy pants.” Her lips curve up and she quickly looks down, pretending I’m not entertaining.
I know I am, though, because I’ve collected the players’ award for funniest guy on the team in five of my thirteen years with the Bears.
I rub my thick beard – freshly groomed for pre-season. “I meant—”
“Why don’t I drive myself?” she asks. “I can’t drive. I took the bus here because I don’t have a license.”
“The bus? Come on now. I’ve seen you riding bareback on your mare. Don’t tell me you can control a horse but you can’t control a vehicle that can basically drive itself.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I mean, I can drive my daddy’s truck and all but not off our land.”
“A technicality,” I say, making her laugh. It’s a gentle sound, unlike her quick quips. It softens her face, makes her look her age. It suits her and something tells me she hasn’t been laughing much lately. Perhaps it’s the way she cuts it short.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to speak to the sheriff about a technicality now, do I? I’m the talk of the town enough as it is these days.” She shrugs. “And I never could seem to get through the driving test. I failed three times, then gave up.”
The talk of the town. She says it quickly and moves on like it doesn’t bother her. I never had the best GPA but I do know how to read people and Annie Quinn is not so easy-breezy about being the subject of gossip as she’d have me believe.
I watch her, the way her expressions change a million times a minute. She’s in her head. I know because I’ve spent years in my head, as a kid, as a baller. It’s an exhausting place to be. “Where’s Nelson?” I ask.
“Home. With the new nanny.” It’s subtle but her words break as she says them, and something in my chest twinges in response. This girl has had a long day and wants to get home to her baby, give him a hug and put her feet up.
From nowhere, I think of my own mom, how she raised my sister and me alone, working hard to make ends meet. She always put us first, no matter how exhausted she was.
My narrowed eyes fix on Annie and the way hers are processing the digital watch on her wrist.
“Listen, Colton might be a while,” I tell her.
“We’re trying to break in Lamar. The kid’s been dropped in at the deep end, with Tommy out for the foreseeable.
” Our starting quarterback broke his back last year, so we’ll be starting this season with Lamar Taylor, who’s one year into his rookie contract. “Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
She gawps at me. Mouth and eyes wide as she considers me over the rim of her shades. “It’s at least an hour’s trip each way,” she says, but she doesn’t refuse, which I guess is why I tell her…
“Yeah, well, I don’t have anything better to do.”
She drops a hand to her hip, head to one side. “Don’t you have to break in the reserve quarterback, too? You are the offensive captain.”
“I’m also an old man. If they work me too hard, I’ll break. Let me clear it with Coach and the guard dog, then I’ll meet you in the parking lot. I’m in my Lexus.”
“In an ordinary setting, that might make your vehicle stand out but in a parking lot full of professional footballers’ cars…”
She’s funny. I make a mental note to tell Quinn I like his sister better than him. “The yellow one.”
Finally, she nods, and I see the twitch of happiness at the corners of her lips, where half-moons crease her skin. “If you’re sure, I won’t say no. Thank you.”
I pat the guard rail, satisfied that I’m doing a good turn, returning mom to baby. “Settled.”
I’m buzzed as I head back to the field.
“Hey, Tanner,” she calls after me, making me turn and walk backwards. “Who’s the guard dog?”
“Your brother,” I call back, before barking like a rabid dog and drawing the attention of the small crowd, ever the showman.
Her brother is the first player I get to. We’re having a light practice but his hair, like mine, is saturated.
“Is Annie okay?” he gripes.
“She’s good. Great, in fact. Says she wants me to take her for a ride in my car.” I wiggle my brows purely because I know the insinuation will piss him off.
He fronts up to me. “The day you take my sister for a ride in your car will be your last, Pace.”
I pat his chest. “Relax, Quinn-Kong, I fell for her but she didn’t fall back. Did cover me in some sweet milk drink, though.”
“Horchata. It’s her biggest vice.”
I suck remnants from my fingers. “Delicious. Anyway, jokes aside, I offered her a ride back to the ranch, if it’s cool with you.”
“The ranch is over an hour away.”
“Yeah, but I’m done here for today,” I tell him, then I holler over to the offensive coach. “Gotta keep these joints limber for four months, right, Coach?”
Coach waves a hand, dismissing me – my experience gives me some leniency when it comes to the number of hours I have to spend training.
“Plus, you need to work with Lamar,” I say, my focus back on Quinn. “Any quarterback can throw a tight end a bullet pass or hand off to a running back but we need Lamar to replace Tommy in the pocket. That’s on you and Omar, buddy.” Omar, our other starting wide receiver.
Quinn looks up to the giant clock on the wall. “You sure?”
“One hundred.” I start walking to the facility for a quick change and to grab my bag.
“Hey, Pace?”
“Yeah?”
“You know I mean it, right? If you ever so much as flirt with my sister—”
“You’ll tackle me into next season?”
“I’ll rip your fucking head off.”
I laugh all the way into the building but I know Quinn means it. I also know that messing with a teammate’s family, friends or exes are moral lines I won’t cross, and that’s not even taking into account Annie is almost young enough to be my daughter.