Chapter 2
Chapter Two
L andon
It’s been a long three weeks of camp, but we’re ready.
Both rookies and veterans are on point, and I can feel it.
This is going to be another great season.
The final whistle blows, and a collective cheer goes up among us.
Mostly because we’re ready to get to our own beds, and for those who are married and have kids, home to their families.
Me? I’m looking forward to my bed. It’s pillow-soft and exactly what I would imagine it feels like to sleep on clouds, and it’s calling my name.
But first… “Baldwin, wait up,” I call to our new kicking coach, Jeremy Baldwin.
He stops and turns to look for whoever happens to be calling his name.
I jog up to him and grin. “Can I ask for a favor?” I’ve been thinking nonstop about Tessa, and it kind of pisses me off.
No other woman has managed to keep me on the hook this long.
Then again, I’ve been tied up at training camp.
It might also have a little something to do with the fact that she turned me down.
Cold. That’s never happened to me. Not that I can remember.
It’s also a little her. She’s a fucking knockout.
Long, dark curly locks and green eyes I could get lost in.
That’s if I let myself. I can imagine the way they would heat as I pushed inside her.
I shift my stance, my cock already on board with my imagination.
“Depends,” he says with a laugh.
“Tessa,” I say, throwing her name out there.
“What about her?” he asks, standing taller and squaring his shoulders.
“Can I get her number?”
“Did you ask her for it?”
“Yeah, she shot me down.”
A slow grin tilts his lips. “Did she now?”
“Laugh it up,” I say with a grin of my own. “Come on, Coach,” I urge him.
“Look, Landon, you seem like a good guy. Tessa is my wife’s best friend and a close friend of mine, as well. I’m not just going to hand her number over. You want her, you have to work for her.” He stares me down, begging me to argue with him.
“How do you expect me to do that? I don’t even know her last name. The only connection I have to her is you.” I’m well aware I’m starting to sound desperate and, in a way, I am. I can’t break my perfect record. She can’t be the first woman to ever turn me down. That just won’t do.
“Fine, I’ll throw you a bone. Her name is Tessa Deaton.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and the bastard full-on grins at me. He’s enjoying this way too much.
“Guy code and all that. Come on, man. You have to give me more than that.”
“I don’t have to do anything but love my wife and son.
Well, and pay taxes.” I give him a pleading look, and he sighs.
“Fine, she works with my wife at the Safe Haven Animal Shelter. That’s all you’re getting, so don’t ask for more from me.
And”—he points his index finger at me—“don’t make me regret telling you. ”
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers.
“Right. Like I believe you were ever a Scout,” he scoffs.
“Okay, so maybe I was never a Boy Scout, but I can promise you I’m not some kind of crazy stalker.”
“Yeah, yeah. Like I said, don’t make me regret it, and we’re good.”
It’s not like he’s my actual coach; he’s the kicking coach. He can’t torture me on the field. “Done.” I jog off to the locker room to shower and head to the hotel to get my shit and go home.
“Where’s the fire?” Case Riley, our center, asks as I’m tossing my shit in my bag.
“No fire. Just ready to get home.”
“We hitting up Henry’s tonight?”
Henry’s is a small bar close to the stadium.
I’m not sure when or how it got started, but he has a side entrance with a key code.
The players enter there into a private room.
We have our own bartender, music, big-screen TVs, the whole nine yards.
If we want to just slip away out of the limelight but still feel normal, Henry’s is the place to go.
The place stays packed, both for its location to the stadium and for the players who decide to venture out into the public area of the bar.
Cleat chasers make it their stomping grounds.
“Maybe.” I’m not committing until I talk to her. I might have better options. And if not, tonight, I’m going to stay hidden, no matter how hard Case tries to convince me otherwise. A couple of beers and then my big, comfy bed. That is the exciting life of a professional quarterback.
“Eight,” he calls after me. I’ve already got my bag thrown over my shoulder and am heading toward the door. I have a phone call to make.
Walking into my condo, I drop my bags by the door.
Three long weeks away, but we’re ready. The team is meshing, and I see good things in our future.
I also see my ass sleeping in my ultra-soft bed for the next twenty-four hours.
Walking down the hall to my room, I flop back onto the bed. Damn, it’s good to be home.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I hold it in the air over my face and pull up my search engine.
I type in Safe Haven Animal Shelter and wait for the results.
Clicking on their website, I see Jeremy’s wife, Autumn, and Tessa smiling back at me.
I skim through the main page until I get to the bottom and find Contact Us .
Clicking that, the number pops up, and my phone asks me if I want to call.
Hell yes, I do.
“Safe Haven Animal Shelter, this is Tessa.” Her sweet voice greets me.
“Hey, Tessa, it’s Landon.”
“I’m sorry, who?” I can hear the confusion in her voice, which is like a kick in the balls.
“Landon Barker.” I wait, letting my name sink in.
“Number eighteen?” she questions.
“Yeah. How have you been?”
“I’m sorry, were you calling in regard to the shelter?”
“No. I called for you. To talk to you.”
“I’m afraid I’m on company time. Thanks for calling,” she says, and the line goes dead.
I stare at the screen of my phone with the alert telling me the call was ended. What the actual fuck was that? She hung up on me. Hitting the green Call Back button, the line rings twice before she picks up.
“Safe Haven Animal Shelter, this is Tessa.”
“Did you really just hang up on me?” I ask.
“Landon.” She sighs, and the sound, although not meant to be sexual, goes straight to my dick.
“Give me two minutes.”
“Fine. What can I do for you, Number Eighteen?”
Normally, a woman calling me by my number is a turnoff.
That’s what cleat chasers do. They just want to bag a player and hopefully be the one who gets to ride along on their coattails.
However, I don’t get that vibe from Tessa.
In fact, she’s irritated as hell right now.
“Have dinner with me.” It’s more of a demand than a question.
“No.”
No hesitation in her voice. “One dinner. We can get to know each other.” That’s what women like her want, right?
The good girls who you would take home to your mother.
They want to be wined and dined. That’s not my MO, but there’s a first time for everything.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had dinner with women, but it’s usually at a charity event or is team sponsored.
I’ve not been keen on the actual act of dating.
Or the calling and asking thing. I think the last time that happened, it was senior prom.
Great, now I’m my seventeen-year-old self.
“Look, Landon, I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I’m just not interested.”
“Tessa—” I start, and she cuts me off.
“I really need to go.” With that, the line goes dead.
“Well, shit.” I huff, letting the phone drop to the bed next to me.
What’s it going to take to get to this girl?
I’m tempted to call her back, but I already know what the outcome is going to be.
She’s going to hang up on me for the third time today.
No thanks. I need to regroup and decide what my next step is going to be.
My phone rings, and I sit up, slapping the bed looking for it, a strange feeling filling my chest. The feeling that maybe it’s her. I frown when I see Case’s name on the screen.
“What’s up, Riley?”
“Henry’s at eight.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. See you.” He ends the call. Short and to the point, but really, what else is there to say? We just spent three solid weeks together.
Looking at the clock, I have three hours before I have to meet Case.
A nap is in order. Kicking off my shoes, I swing around on the bed, resting my head on the pillow, and close my eyes.
As soon as I do, she’s who I see. The fire in those green eyes as she shot me down.
I can only imagine that same fire is in her eyes right now.
I smile at that. She’s not going to know what hit her.
Game on, sweetheart.
Game on.
At ten minutes till eight, I’m typing in the code to the back entrance of Henry’s bar. The room is quiet, except for old man Henry himself wiping down the bar.
“Landon,” he greets.
“Hey, Henry, how’s it going?” Henry is in his late sixties. He opened this bar over thirty years ago and has gained the trust and respect of the Cougars during that time.
“I’m this side of the sod, so I can’t complain.” He chuckles. “How was training camp?”
“Team’s looking good this year.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Henry knows me well. “Yeah, Case talked me into a drink.”
“How are your folks?” he asks, wiping down the bar that I’m sure doesn’t need to be wiped down at all. A habit he’s picked up over the years.
“Good. Loving retired life.”
“You’re a good son,” he tells me. “I’m sure they appreciate all you’ve done for them.”
“They sacrificed a lot for me growing up. It’s the least I could do. And keep that on the DL. You’re going to ruin my street cred.” I grin at him.
He throws his head back in laughter. His deep, husky voice from one too many cigarettes is comforting. Familiar. “Like you’ve got street cred,” he counters.
“Damn, cuts like a knife,” I say, holding my hand to my chest as we both laugh.