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“The USB ports at the tables was inspired,” Charlie whispers in my ear when I come around behind the bar to grab an empty tub. “And everyone is loving the pulled pork sandwiches.
I glow under the praise. “Thanks.”
After a couple hours, the players move on and the bar empties out except for a couple of stragglers. Nick still hasn’t appeared.
“You keep rubbing the counter and the polish is going to disappear,” Charlie whispers in my ear as she passes by.
I slap the rag down and rub my sore knuckles against my apron.
“I’m going to go look at the supplies.”
“You do that,” Charlie smirks.
I stomp away, afraid if I stick around, I’ll say something I’ll regret. I’m not angry with Charlie. I’m mad at myself, but I don’t know what bothers me the most—that Nick never appeared or that I can’t stop wishing he would.
Chapter Nine
Nick
I hesitate at the door of Stacks. Inside is Elaina Valdez, five and a half feet of delicious curves and fierce sweetness. I haven’t seen her in almost two years, but I’ve never forgotten her. I had a fat crush on her when I first joined the Mustangs, but Charlie warned me to stay away. Lainey was a single mom and I shouldn’t fuck around with single moms. There were plenty of other single, available girls for me to play with, plus, I needed to focus on the game. Lainey made it easy for me to do that by disappearing—completely.
I was sick with worry. Charlie and I looked all over for her, but we couldn’t find even a trace. I gave up and threw myself into a pit of women and the game of football. I won easily at both, but the day after I won the Super Bowl, I found myself in the condo staring at an unlit fireplace wondering where Lainey and Cass where. Whether they’d watched the game. Whether they’d cheered for me. Whether they’d be at the city parade honoring our win.
I guess I knew the answer to all of those would be no and that made me even madder. I hired a private investigator, but before he could turn up anything, Charlie ran into Lainey in San Antonio. All these years and Lainey was sitting just a couple hundred miles south.
When I first met Lainey, I was a wet-behind-the-ears rookie without a sure understanding of where my future lay. But this year the Mustangs are my team. I’m not Chip Peters’s replacement. I’m not the third-round draft pick from two years ago. I’m the returning quarterback of a Super Bowl-winning team, and this time I’m not letting anything get in the way of what I want.
I pull open the door and run straight into my prey.
“Elaina Valdez,” I say, holding her tiny waist between my hands. “I thought you were a ghost.”
The curvy brunette narrows her eyes at me and wriggles free. “If you’re here to see Charlotte, she’s in the back. I’ll get her for you.”
The frost in her tone surprises me. I haven’t seen her in two years and she’s pissed at me? I’m the one who should be pissed.
“How come you left without an explanation?” I demand.
“I didn’t know I owed you one,” she retorts.
“Uh, can you take your flirting away from the doorway?” Diane Mott, one of the Mustang trainers, taps me on the shoulder. “You’re blocking the entrance.”
“We’re not flirting.” Cass tries to push me aside—try being the operative word since I outweigh the woman by at least a hundred pounds. “Come in. It’s Diane, right? Charlie says that they have a woman trainer now. That’s awesome.”
Cass escorts Mott over to the bar and proceeds to give the trainer a five-star treatment while I stand just to the side of the entrance, like a forgotten piece of tissue.
Two years and I don’t even warrant a hey, I missed you? This is bullshit. I stomp over to the bar and am gearing up to demand a beer when Charlotte suddenly pops up in front of me.
“There you are!” she cries. “How was practice?”
“Good.”
“Good? Is that all you can say?” She starts to pat my arm and chest, looking for injuries. “Did you get hurt?”
I gently pull her hands away. “I wear the red pinnie. No one is allowed to touch me.”
If someone even breathes on me wrong, Coach is benching them. He wants me to succeed, he said, which is why, I guess, they brought back Chip Peters. He coached me through the Super Bowl win last year and then retired, but I guess they lured him back into active duty.
“Good. That’s how it should be.” Charlie squeezes me again before straightening. “It’s hard enough watching you get beat up during regular season games, let alone having you walk in here injured after practice. What do you want?”
