Chapter 11
Knox
Ican’t stop thinking about her.
I’m standing in front of my locker before we head out to face the Dolphins, and what happened after my last game flashes through my mind.
It was humid, sweaty, lightning dancing in the black clouds, her ivory skin soft against mine. I held her beneath me, driving deep into her warm, slippery core as she moaned my name.
Not nice. Never nice. I won’t object, but I am curious.
My hands slid up her waist, removing her shirt, holding her breasts in two perfect handfuls. I devoured her. After doggy, she rode my lap, rotating her hips, her golden hair swishing around her shoulders. I devoured her body, scented with warm vanilla, caramel, and sex…
Shit, I’ve got to stop before I get a boner in front of my teammates. It’s time for the huddle, and I’ve got to focus. They’re counting on me to be a leader, not an addict, sleeping with the enemy. Only, she’s not my enemy. She’s a fan.
“Hey, we got this.” Etienne slaps the top of my shoulder pads, misreading my consternation. “They’re still rebuilding.”
“He’s right!” Fonz grabs my upper arm, giving me a shake. “Their new QB makes more mistakes than you do.”
“Thanks.” I cut him a look.
Still, it’s the wakeup I need to get my head out of my ass. Since when have I been the guy who obsesses over a woman? I’m not. It was a good lay, that’s all. A really good lay…
So good I wanted to spend the night, but as soon as we’d recovered (after three more rounds), she practically threw me out.
My chin drops, and I exhale a chuckle, remembering how panicked she was gathering up all my clothes and shoving them at me.
She was wrapped in a fluffy white robe, her sex-hair messy and sticking to her neck.
Her cheeks were brushed pink from my beard, and I detected the start of a hickey on the swell of her breast. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, telling me to get dressed and go before her roommate got home.
I guess she’s right. It will strain believability if people find out we’re fucking. Or fucked. No, fucking. It’s totally happening again.
“Bradford, you got anything to say?” Coach breaks me out of my musing.
My eyes snap to the guys standing in front of me, expecting me to say something motivating.
“We play like winners.” I stand in front of the group, calm infusing my veins. “We’re better than they are, and we’ve been showing up week after week. They’re rebuilding, figuring out who they are, but we know. This game is ours to win. Who’s with me?”
Smiles spread across their faces, and I get nods and yeahs. Even Brady gives me the begrudging nod, indicating the O-line has measured up to his expectations.
I put my hand in, and they all pile on, doing a dip as we say our usual March in!
We’re in Miami, which means the fans aren’t behind us like in the Dome. Jogging out onto the field, I miss that lift, the cheers of encouragement, the excitement of the home crowd, the music.
It’s an extra surge of adrenaline, but we don’t need it. Our defense is solid. I’ve made the mental adjustments, taken the lessons, practiced my ass off. We’re winning this.
You’re the next generation of your family’s legends. Her words are burned into my mind, echoing in my ears. Get out of your way and own it.
It’s a feeling pressing against my sternum, driving my heart. I want to believe her. So I do.
She still doesn’t text me before the games, but she’s watching. Hesitating before I take the field, I rub my fingers over the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes so I can see her face. She’s holding out her hands to me and telling me I can do it.
* * *
The Dolphins play hard, and it’s clear their new quarterback is finding his feet. He isn’t green any more than I am, and he makes several discussion-worthy plays.
Fortunately, our D-line is on point. Nothing’s getting through our guys, which leaves it on me to make the touchdown plays.
Their defense is equally determined. I’m forced to throw the ball more than once, and I can feel the fans chanting Take the Checkdown as sure as if I’m on social media reading it.
My chest is tight, and they’re putting more pressure after the snap than I like. Falling back, I scan from Kyler to Baker to Gill to Fonz. The only thing I see is the Dolphins linebacker heading straight up the middle to sack me. Where the fuck is my coverage?
Taking a chance, I toss it… right into the arms of a waiting cornerback. Gill should’ve fucking been there. The Dolphins get the easy score, and we have to grind to hold them through the fourth quarter.
We don’t score another touchdown, but we do win the game. My jaw is tight as I shake hands on the field and meet up with Chet, who’s wearing a smug grin.
I don’t like this guy. I never thought about him much before, but I’ve been thinking about him ever since Melody said she knew him. I want to punch him in the nose.
“Tough game tonight, KB.” He gives that game-show-host grin, and puts his hand on my shoulder. “What’s your response to the Quarterback Princess?”
My lips tighten, and I’m sure she had things to say about this game. Of course, she did. It’s her job, but will her notes be as biting now, after our night of really hot sex?
“You’ll have to fill me in, Chet.” I force a smile, force my tone to be playful.
In reality, I’m pissed this game was as tight as it was. I know we’re all pros. We’re all at the top of our game, but I’m ready to be sweeping.
“Here’s one.” Chet turns his phone so I can see it. “Posted after that toss interception.”
That wasn’t a read. That was a donation.
A wince forces its way to my eyes, but I fight to hold my smile in place. “It’s hard to argue a mistake, Chet. The Dolphins played a good game. I had to make some last minute decisions that didn’t always work.”
“I’ll say.” His teeth are too white, his fucking smile too giddy. "What’s your strategy going up against Texas?”
I don’t like the light in his eyes.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” I pat his shoulder and jog to the locker room.
Leaning back in my seat on the bus, freshly washed and wearing my dark jeans, a maroon tee, and a gray blazer, I don’t check my phone. I’m not ready to see what she said. The quote Chet showed me was irritating enough.
“The guys are going out tonight.” Fonz grips my arm, pulling my gaze from the window back to him. “You should come with us, get your mind off things.”
I have a lot of thoughts about things, some specifically related to my coverage, but I’ll save them for practice. I’m restless and hyped, and the direct flight only takes two hours. Not long enough to come down.
It’s only ten when our plane touches down, and the car service takes me directly to my apartment on Nicholls Street.
“Meet me at Lafitte’s in twenty.” Fonz catches my arm as I grab my bag.
I look up at my empty place, the sky overhead littered with stars, and nod. “I’ll be there.”
Twenty minutes later, I stroll up Bourbon to the shadowy, exposed-brick building. The French doorways are dark, because the place doesn’t have electric lights.
Music pours from the speakers, and the crowd either hangs around the bar area or sits at low tables throughout the dim space, or they’re clustered in the corners.
It feels covert and mysterious, and I still haven’t looked at my phone.
“Purple drink,” I order at the bar.
Mom makes this recipe at home in Newhope for parties or pretty much any time we’re feeling festive. It’s basically a frozen daiquiri made of purple Kool-Aid and Everclear.
Kimmie has modified the recipe to replace the Everclear with vodka.
“Trying to get fucked up?” Fonz waltzes into the ancient establishment with Baker at his side.
They order bottles of Abita Amber, and I take another long pull of frozen nostalgia as we make our way to the small tables near the open doors.
Hurricane lanterns are scattered around with battery-powered “candles” in them, and the vibe is not exactly what I’m after. But the night’s young.
“Who cares what she says, right?” Baker pushes my arm. “We made some killer plays this afternoon. I caught that forty-yarder. Most of all, we won the game.”
It’s irritating my mind, so I finally ask. “What did she say?”
Fonz shifts, clearing his throat. “Nothing interesting. Something about GPS, but I don’t know. She’s losing her edge if you ask me.”
My brows quirk, and my curiosity spikes. Is this lack of edge because of me? Would I be able to tell?
“Show me.” His eyes flicker to our friend, and they exchange a worried look. “Ah, fuck it.”
I pull out my phone and type in the URL for the TMI website. There it is, in their signature style “K-brAD ADRIFT IN MIAMI!!!!”
The pull quote from Melody’s pod hits me right in the stomach. Ever miss your exit because your GPS froze? That’s K-Brad in the red zone today—late read, late throw, and suddenly you’re ten yards back wondering what just happened.
“She must be reading from her personal diary now,” I grumble. “She doesn’t even know how to get to the airport.”
“What?” Baker leans forward, speaking over the music. “What’d I miss?”
I’m not getting into it.
I bump his arm, nodding at the open doors. “Let’s get out of here.”
We all stand, stepping out to the flagstone sidewalk and walking up the street in the direction of the rowdier bars. Devin said he found her at Tropical Isle last time. Too bad there’s only five Tropical Isles on Bourbon Street.
Music and neon lights spill out of Oz, along with oiled men dressed in black leather speedos. I squint into the club, but all I see is a packed crowd of guys. I don’t think she’d be in there tonight, although a lot of chicks go to Oz to dance.
We keep walking. A lime-green Tropical Isle comes up next, but it’s small enough to give the place a sweep. It’s pretty empty, and the band is playing Creedence.
“Razoo’s!” Fonz yells, pulling my arm and jogging across the street.
He disappears into the crowded dance hall where a live band is playing, complete with brass and drums. The voodoo daiquiri I’m drinking fast is hitting me, cooling the burn in my chest a bit.