Chapter 2 – RHETT
RHETT
It’s been a whirlwind of a day. I’m more than a little exhausted despite the time change for me.
I flew in from Denver on a redeye last night and landed in Boston this morning.
I spent all day at Rebels Stadium meeting with the coach, Asher Reyes; the owner, Randolph; and the general manager, Mike Rogers, for more than three hours.
It was a secret meeting. Big shakeups are coming for the Boston Rebels NFL team. No one is to know I’m in town, but the meeting went well. It went so well that they offered me the job as the new head coach starting this season. Mike is retiring as GM, and Asher is taking over.
It’s my first shot at being an NFL head coach. It’s the dream. The brass ring.
The thing I’ve been wanting and building toward my entire career.
The Rebels are a good team, and I’m excited to lead them.
I didn’t mention this, but I’m also hoping that as the head coach, if I could make the deal work, I could eventually trade for my son and bring him back to the team.
He played here in Boston for a few seasons before he went to Dallas.
I tried to get him drafted to Denver, but it didn’t work out, and I had no real clout on the team at the time since I was only a tight ends coach.
They had a superstar tight end who didn’t want the competition on the field, but I’d give anything to be able to coach my son.
To rebuild our relationship that’s always been tenuous and strained.
I left the meeting with a handshake and a promise of a contract to my agent. I’m still in a bit of a daze and ended up going to the restaurant in the hotel I’m staying in. It’s dark and has large TVs and good drinks, and so far, no one has recognized me.
Then this redhead walked in wearing a tight black dress with legs for miles and green eyes that sparkled like summer grass.
She’s young. Probably too young for me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
The entire time she was with that guy, I kept throwing glances over my shoulder at her.
She looked bored and annoyed with him. It amused and intrigued me.
She stood up, and I could tell she was ditching him, and for some reason, I got to my feet. When she headed for the restroom off the bar, I decided in that moment that I was going to make my move. Quinn. It’s a pretty name. It fits her nicely.
“Here.” I pull out the chair beside mine for her.
“More of your manners?”
My lips twitch. “Something like that.”
She slides into the seat and crosses her legs before she drops her elbows on the counter. I take the seat beside her and move my chair in so we’re closer but not too close that I make her uncomfortable.
She points a finger up at the TV over the bar that’s facing us. “You know there’s an NHL game on, right?” she says to the bartender. “This will decide the playoffs. The World Series won’t be decided in the preseason. Do you think we can put on the Bruins?”
Is it weird that her knowing that and asking him to change the channel makes me hard?
I’ve met plenty of women who are into sports.
Most love to tell me just how much they know about football, but this girl seems to simply know all about sports without bragging.
She’s a true sports fan, and it’s such a crazy turn-on for me.
The bartender changes the channel for her before asking what he can get her.
“I’ll have a…” She hesitates and tilts her head as if she’s giving it some consideration. “A glass of pinot noir and a cheeseburger with fries, please.”
“Any objections to getting a bottle and sharing it with me?” I ask.
She spins on her seat and bumps my leg with her knee.
She goes to pull back, but I reach down and grasp it so I can hold it against mine.
I leave my hand there, right on her kneecap.
Her skin is soft and smooth. She shaved, and I wonder if she did it for her date or if she’s the type of woman who shaves regularly.
Her gaze flickers down to my hand before instantly popping back up to mine. “All right. But I won’t share my burger with you.”
I laugh. “Understood. I won’t share my chicken sandwich with you.”
She squints at me. “Nashville or regular?”
“Nashville. Obviously.”
Her lips purse to the side. “I’ll go halfsies with you.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
I drag my thumb along the inside of her knee before I release her.
I swear I catch a hint of goose bumps before I let go.
The bartender goes to get our order, and I drop an elbow on the wood and prop my head with my thumb and forefinger so I can see her.
She matches my position, and it makes me smile.
This girl is definitely different. She likes pushing back.
And because of that, I don’t want to be typical or ordinary.
I don’t want to ask her what she does for work—especially when I can’t answer her question in return.
The contract hasn’t been inked yet. It was a handshake offer that I accepted, but until pen goes to paper, it doesn’t matter.
Plus, there are still some things that have to be worked out with Denver.
“Greatest hockey player of all time?” I ask her.
“Are you asking if I’d pick Gretzky? Because I’m a Boston girl, born and raised, so that’s a serious question.”
I cough out a laugh. Shit. “Let me guess. Bobby Orr.”
She nods. “He did win eight consecutive Norris Trophies. Even if Gretzky is considered the GOAT.”
“Fine. Hockey may be too easy. Basketball.”
“I mean, I’m going to say Jordan.” She picks up her wineglass, swirls it around at lightspeed before she brings it to her lips and takes the daintiest of sips. “Oh. That’s good. I absolutely taste cherries in that.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Take a taste if you don’t believe me.”
It could taste like battery acid, and I likely wouldn’t know the difference. I rarely drink wine. I only wanted to split the bottle because it sounded sexy.
I take a sip, and yeah, it tastes like wine.
“Fine. Cherries. Get back to my question.”
She gives him a nod before she returns to me. “LeBron is the NBA’s all-time leading scorer. Bill Russell is an eleven-time NBA champion. Larry Bird is iconic, especially in this city, and Kobe was freaking Kobe.”
“You’re way too good at this.”
She smirks at me, and I can tell she’s about to call me out. “You’re telling me you’re asking without your own already formed opinions?”
I chuckle lightly. “You never asked.”
She pans a hand toward me. “Fine. Now I’m asking. You brought up football. Your turn.”
Shit. Walked right into that one, didn’t I? “Jerry Rice, Lawrence Taylor, Joe Montana, but the GOAT is clearly Asher Reyes, and as a Boston girl, I doubt you’d disagree.”
Something extra reflects in her eyes. A secret sort of smile on her lips, yet there’s a cautious note to her as she says, “I don’t disagree at all. Six Super Bowl titles speak for themselves even without all of his records.”
“His sons are up and coming. It will be interesting to see what they can accomplish in their careers, especially now that they’re both on the same team.” And here I am, talking like an excited coach.
She huffs out a hearty laugh and takes a long pull of her drink. “I have no doubt. Mason and Crew Reyes are incredible athletes.”
“But you don’t like football. Is that what that tone is?”
She studies me for a very long moment. When she’s satisfied with whatever it is she was searching for, she hitches up a shoulder. Our food is delivered, and both look incredible. My stomach grumbles.
“I don’t dislike football,” she answers.
“It’s just not my favorite sport. There are a lot of things I love about it, but I don’t follow it outside of the Rebels, and I don’t keep track of players.
” With her knife, she slices her burger in half.
I do the same with my chicken sandwich before I suck off the spicy sauce from the pad of my thumb.
“There’s something in your answer that makes me think that’s personal.”
She tilts her head, a little surprised. “That’s pretty perceptive.”
“I’m a perceptive guy. Tell me about it.”
“This is probably TMI since I don’t know you, but I had an ex who was a player.
” She picks up half her burger and puts it on my plate.
“We dated while I was in medical school, and it was great. We were great. Then he got himself traded to another team and didn’t think to mention it to me until the deal was done.
A friend told me about it. It was all over the news and flashing across her feeds.
I went to my phone to call him when I saw a text from him.
He was already on the plane and said his ambition for the sport and his career outweighed anything else, and he had to do what was best for him and his future. The future I was no longer a part of.”
I stare at her with round, unblinking eyes. “I’m sorry. You said he did this via text?”
She nods.
I’m more than a little incredulous. “After the deal was already on the news?”
Another nod.
“How long were you together?”
“Almost three years.”
“Shit.” I whistle through my teeth. “What kind of asshole does that?”
“A selfish one,” she deadpans.
What a jerk. I mean, I get the ambition, especially with the sport, but who leaves someone that way? And while I’m looking at her, who leaves a woman like her? At all.
“I have a shitty ex too.” I don’t typically talk about Poppy.
Hardly ever. But she brought up her ex, and with all the thinking of my son today, it’s sitting on me.
“We have a son together, and for his entire life, she’s used him against me to get whatever she was after from me, which typically consisted of more money.
She’s a masterclass manipulator and loves to make herself come off as the victim.
Thankfully, she’s no longer part of my life now that our son is grown.
I was young when we had him. But I always took care of him despite the lies she made him believe. People suck.”
She holds up her glass to me. “People suck.”
We clink our glasses, and each takes a sip before we dive into our food and chat about nothing that’s all that important.
The Bruins score a goal, and she cheers. “Finally. They’ve been flirting with that corner of the goal all period.” She wipes her mouth with her napkin and tosses it on her mostly empty plate, but the reality is, I haven’t looked away from her. Not once.
I’ve barely seen the game, and I didn’t catch the goal.
I’m all about the job. That’s how being an NFL coach is, and it’ll be worse now that I’m a head coach instead of an assistant.
It’s a billion hours a day with very little downtime, even in the offseason.
Plus, I’ll be a new coach following a very beloved and successful one. I’ll need to prove myself.
So I won’t have time for a woman.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want this one, even if only for tonight.
I want to kiss those plump lips and watch those eyes when I slip inside her.
I’d like to see all that dark red hair rumpled from my hands and pillows first thing in the morning.
I wonder how pretty that smart mouth would look wrapped around my cock.
I wasn’t lying when I told her that a woman hasn’t caught my attention in a long time.
I don’t make women a priority. They’re a fun night or two and nothing else.
My son’s mother did a fantastic number on me, and after that, it was playing ball, then coaching, while being with my son as much as I could, trying to undo the bullshit lies his mother fed him about me.
So this woman won’t be anything either.
She’s too young for me anyway. Probably in her twenties.
But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like all night with her. And it doesn’t mean I won’t think about her again after it.
I pull out my wallet and drop some cash that’s more than enough to cover our meals plus a generous tip on the bar. The bartender recognized me and kept his mouth shut, so he deserves it.
I shift on my stool until I’m facing Quinn.
I haven’t touched her since I initially grabbed her knee.
Not really. I haven’t done a great job of flirting either.
It’s been eating, and sports talk with no sexy stuff or innuendos.
It was also one of the easiest and most relaxed meals I remember having with a woman.
I’m out of practice. Most women know who I am and make their move without me having to put in an effort.
I graze my fingers beneath her hair at the nape of her neck. She shivers and twists until our knees brush and we’re facing each other. I stare into her eyes, so soft and pretty like the rest of her face. The color of her hair is something extra too.
Without thinking it through or even worrying about being photographed—which I should be—I pull her in, dip my head, and press my lips to hers. I’m hesitant at first. Nervous she’ll push me away or say no. To my surprise, her hands grasp my forearms, and she tilts her head to kiss me back.
And just like that, my hesitation is gone.
I split her lips and slip my tongue inside her mouth. She tastes spicy from the sauce and sweet from the wine, and I groan as my cock surges with blood.
“Come upstairs with me, Quinn.”