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Motherfucker.
I’ve made the biggest defensive tackles in the league piss their pants, and this little supermodel just called me a pussy... I look at her a little closer and notice her glassy eyes. Juliette’s drunk.
“But don’t you worry. My girl might not have dated in the past decade, but now she has Lenny and me to help her with that.” She pats my chest. “I’m positive we can find someone to help her with that little problem you just overheard.”
She hiccups like she definitely dranktoomuchtoofast, then takes a step back and does something weird with her fingers. “Peace out.”
I watch the former supermodel bump into Hudson as he steps through the French doors. She’s muttering something I can’t hear before she moves around him out of the kitchen, grabs a cake pop off the tray of a passing server, bops the dude on the nose with the pop, and walks away.
Hudson opens the fridge, grabs a beer, and offers me one.
“No thanks, man. One and done. I’ve got a game tomorrow.”
He tosses me a bottle of water instead, then looks at me funny. “Did I just hear drunk Jules mumbling about you banging Ashlyn?”
I shake my head but don’t say anything. I don’t need this shit to make its way to the Kingston family’s crazy fucking gossip mill.
“I swear when she bumped into me, she was saying something about you, and I quote,banging the shit out of Ashlyn.”
“I think she had too many margaritas, brother.” I clap him on the back, ready to make my exit from this crazy train. “Do you guys need help cleaning up after this thing?”
“Nah. We’ve got it covered. We’ll see you tomorrow after the game.” Hudson lifts his hand for a fist bump.
“Do me a favor and tell Maddie I said bye. I don’t want to get caught out there by somebody else excited for the season.”
Hud nods. “I got ya covered.”
I make my escape through the front door, then stop and look at the house next door. Sandwiched between Hudson and Maddie’s home and his brother Sawyer’s home is a slightly smaller house. Boxes full of brightly colored blooms stand out against gray cedar-shake siding and sit along each white-framed window. A windchime of butterflies hangs from the corner of a wraparound porch, next to a white bench swing with a pink throw blanket draped over the edge. It’s warm and inviting and not at all where I’d have expected Ashlyn and Lindy to move when they eventually left Kingston Manor, the sprawling estate where Ashlyn lived with her late husband.
The last man she had sex with.
Better yet,the onlyman she’s had sex with.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
I’m not sure what it says about me that my dick’s hard as steel, just thinking about that.
Probably that it’s been a little too long since I’ve had sex too. Not fifteen years too long. But definitely a few months too long. I grab my keys from my pocket as I walk over to my truck but pull up short when I hear arguing.
When I turn, I find Lindy walking toward her front door with some little shitstain following behind her. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but she looks pissed, and he looks like a douche. Something tells me she needs help, so I take a few steps toward them.
Then he grabs her wrist and pulls.
She rips it from his hand, and her momentum has her stumbling backward.
That’s all I need to see.
I sprint over and get between them, then reach out to steady her. “You okay, shortcake?”
“Yeah.” She nods and looks around me at Shitstain. “Go home, Billy.”
That’s when I turn, and I’m pretty sure Billy pisses himself.
I’m a big guy. Six foot four, two hundred and eighty-two pounds. And unlike some centers for other teams, I’m solid muscle. Very little body fat. I was called a freak of nature during the combine the year I was drafted to the Kings. And judging by the look on his face, this little fucker knows it.
“Who told you it was okay to grab a woman against her will?” I get in his face but make sure I don’t touch him. When he doesn’t answer, I take a step closer. “That’s what I thought. Listen very closely,Billy... If you ever lay a finger on Madeline or any other woman who doesn’t want to be touched again, I will hunt you down like a rabid dog.” Then I lower my voice and get in his face. “You know what they do to rabid dogs, Billy?”
His face turns ghostly white as he swallows, and I vaguely register the door opening behind me.
