Chapter One
Flynn
Four Months Later
I don’t know why I come here.
The ground is sticky. The music is loud.
The food is so greasy, I’ll have to do an extra lap or two during my morning run to work it off.
The leather seat of the booth I’ve tucked myself away in is at least minimally comfortable, and the table is wiped clean.
There is no round green lamp hanging low from the ceiling over my table, like most of the others, so I’m shrouded in darkness. It could be worse.
I could be sitting at the bar, practically front row to the douche parade going on.
A group of men on the other side of the bar starts yelling out a countdown.
I look up in time to see the one in the center of them slamming a shot glass down onto the bartop.
He opens his mouth, showing that he’s swallowed all the liquid, and his friends cheer.
I roll my eyes and shift in my seat, settling back into the booth.
Before I look back down at my screen, where I have the tape from last year’s game against New York up, I see a flash of blonde hair.
That’s all it takes. A single flash completely distracts me.
Katie Murphy stands in front of the group of men, hands on her hips, and hair falling down her back in delicious waves.
My fingers twitch as I remember what it felt like to run my fingers through those strands.
Adrenaline rushes through me, and I take a deep breath, leaning further back into my chair to try and see more of her.
The bar is in the center of the room. As a patron, you can be served from three sides.
The fourth has a small gap that the staff use to go in and out, and a glass washing area.
The middle is an island, fridges packed with beer under the countertop on all sides and shelves stacked high with liquor bottles.
I can see her blonde hair through the gaps between the bottles. I shift to the left and catch a glimpse of her profile. Long lashes, soft skin, perfect lips.
She’s smiling at the men, laughing at their jokes. Damn, if that doesn’t make me a little envious.
I continue watching her through the gaps as she moves.
Her hands stay on her hips as she speaks to the group in front of her.
There are at least five of them. They all lean over the bar as if they’re itching to jump over it and get closer to her.
The one in the middle, the shot-taker, laughs loudly, and I see Katie take a step back and away from them.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Justin,” I call out to the glass washer as he passes me, a stack of glasses higher than his head balancing in his hand. He stops at my call, spinning on a heel.
“Flynn. Hey, man. Didn’t see you there.” He picks up the empty glass in front of me and gives me a grin. He’s only a kid, but he’s a good one. Ivy told me he plays for his community college team. Whenever I come in and he’s here, you can tell he’s dying to ask about football, but he hasn’t yet.
“All good, man. Hey, can you get Katie for me? I need to pass on a message from Ivy.” Another loud cheer comes from the group Katie is still serving, and my stomach clenches. I add, “It’s important.”
“Sure. One sec,” Justin says, walking toward the bar.
He places the glasses in the dish area before heading over to Katie, tapping her on the shoulder. Another swish of blonde hair, and the collective moan coming from the group lets me know she’s walking away from them. Pressure releases in my chest, and I breathe out slowly to calm my nerves.
I run my fingers through my hair, messing up the strands in an attempt to bring life back to it. After being trapped under my cap during my workout, it’s giving me definite hat hair.
“What do you want?” Her sharp tone sends a jolt of excitement through me, and I can’t help the smile that tugs on my lips.
“Just wanted to compliment the chef. Food’s been great tonight,” I say as I sit back in the booth and let my eyes wander down her body.
I know what lies under those tight black jeans and that long-sleeved top.
I know what noises she makes when I kiss a particular spot on her neck. I know her. I think about her.
Yet, after that night, she can’t stand me.
It’s killing me that I don’t know why.
Months ago, on a flight over the Atlantic, I sat next to Katie Murphy, and she kept my attention for longer than the eight-hour flying time.
We spent three weeks in an Italian villa with our loved-up best friends, smiling and flirting with one another.
One night, after a few too many wines, we fell into bed.
I think that night changed my brain chemistry.
Katie Murphy, with her golden hair, her long legs, and her infectious, witty smile, has been on my mind since.
Forget the girls I used to take home after a game to burn off extra adrenaline.
Forget the failed dates I tried when I got it into my head that traditional dating might be a good idea again.
This woman infiltrated every inch of my damn brain.
“You’re full of shit, Reed. Go away.” She tuts, picking up the plate in front of me.
“How was your day?” I say as I slide out of the booth, swiping my phone from the table and following Katie toward the kitchen. I’m not so bold as to follow her into the kitchen, but I watch through the service window as she places the plate into the dish pit.
She glances over her shoulder, rolling her eyes when she realizes I’ve followed her. I grin, calling out through the window. “You didn’t answer me.”
“It was better before you came in here. Go home, Reed. I don’t have time for this today.
” When she comes out of the kitchen, she shoves me out of the way so she can pile the plates of food that just got put up into her arms. She carries them over to a table, and I stay a few steps behind.
Her smile falls, quickly replaced with a scowl when she turns around to see me still hovering.
“Come on, Katie. Give me something.” I place my hand on my heart. “Then, I promise I will leave you in peace.”
“You promise?” The words drip with sarcasm, and Katie doesn’t look up at me as she moves past. I don’t step back, so her shoulder brushes my chest as she does.
She tries to hide it, but I don’t miss the shiver that runs down her spine.
The image of her, bare and willing, and under me as I run my hands down the contour of her back and over the curve of her hips, floods my mind.
My dick twitches, and I silently scold him.
“I saw Scott at practice today.” I follow her back to the bar. She reaches around the bartop and picks up a pile of coasters, playing with them. Finally, she looks up at me.
Crystal clear, white sand, and clear skies kind of eyes stare back at me. Bright, gleaming, and blue. So, so blue. Blood rushes in my ears, and I can feel my pulse start to race.
“I would hope so. You play for the same team,” she replies.
“He said Ivy wants to have family dinner this Sunday. After the game.”
“You’re not part of her family. Why are you going?”
“Oh, come on, Rockstar. Don’t be like that.” I step forward, closing the distance between us.
“Don’t call me that.” I watch her throat closely as she swallows hard.
I step even closer, bending my mouth to her ear. “Why? You like it?”
She scowls. The force of her eye roll looks like it hurt, and I laugh, pulling away from her and giving her space. She steps back into the bar and closes the swinging door that blocks off the entrance. It’s normally kept open, so the staff can move in and out with ease.
“I’ll see you Sunday,” I say, leaning over the bartop a little and tapping out a gentle rhythm with my fist. “See ya later, Rockstar.”
I walk away and urge myself not to glance back, not to get lost in the blue of Katie Murphy’s stunning eyes. Just as I reach the door, pausing as I wait for the large group of guys that were crowding the bar before to filter out, Katie calls out.
“Stop calling me that!”
The smile that curls over my lips is unmatched. She may hate me after our night together in Italy, and she may not want to tell me why, but I get under her skin. Boy, do I love it.
The group of shot-takers lingers on the sidewalk outside the bar.
“Where do they find the staff for this place? It’s like a walking runway show in there,” one of them slurs. My shoulders tense. I pull my cap from my back pocket and shove it down over my head.
“The blonde one is a smokeshow,” another says.
My shoulders tense, and I flick my gaze up.
The only blonde in there tonight is Katie.
The guy who took the shots, the one practically trying to jump the bar to get her attention, stands in the middle of his friends.
He wears a polo shirt that he’s tucked into his chino pants.
The same chinos are cuffed at the ankle.
My gaze drops, and I internally gag as I take in the boat shoes he’s wearing. What a douche.
I shake my head and shove a hand into my pocket in search of my keys. Sadly, the douche keeps talking.
“She looks like she’d take it hard, however you wanted to give it to her, and she’d say thank you at the end.” My blood begins to boil. The edge of my vision tints red. “I bet I could have her over the hood of my car after a glass of wine or two. Easy.”
My resolve snaps.
Before I know what I’m doing, my fist is flying through the air and connecting with the douche’s nose.
A sickening crunch echoes. There’s a beat where he looks at me like I’m insane before he pulls an arm back, and his fist heads straight for my face.
I dodge it, grab him around the waist, and take him to the ground.
The next thing I know, my knuckles are split open, I’m being pulled off the douche bag by his equally douchey friends, and I’ve done enough damage to the guy’s face that he’s most definitely going to have a black eye.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demands.
“Your worst nightmare if I catch you drinking here again,” I growl.