Huddle With Me Tonight
Read Huddle With Me Tonight Online
Authors: Farrah Rochon
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #General
“I’ve got to watch myself around you,” Paige teased. “You make it too easy for me to let my guard down.”
Her softly spoken words made the decision for him.
Torrian strolled to where Paige was perched on the counter. He put his hands on either side of her, and seeing permission in her eyes, leaned in close and captured her lips in a slow, gentle kiss.
Nothing had ever tasted this good.
She was soft and sweet and more delicious than the most decadent dessert. Torrian tested his tongue against her lips, begging them to open, aching inside when they didn’t. He crept along the invisible line of propriety, cautious of going too far too soon. He wouldn’t take more than she was willing to give.
His arousal strained against his fly. He was dying to push Paige’s tight skirt up to her waist so her legs could open for him. He was desperate to touch her. He wanted to experience the moist, hot feel of her core against his fingers.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked. “Otherwise, how am I supposed to know if I’m allowed to do it again?”
“You’re allowed,” she answered immediately.
Books by Farrah Rochon
Kimani Romance
Huddle with Me Tonight
FARRAH ROCHON
had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code.
Farrah is an avid sports fan—when she is not penning stories, she feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.
Huddle with Me Tonight
FARRAH ROCHON
Dedicated to the memory of Andrea Taromina Pool.
My life is richer because you were a part of it.
I thank my God every time I remember you.
—
Philippians
1:3
Dear Reader,
I was taught at an early age that football is more than just casual entertainment on a Sunday afternoon—it’s a way of life. And when it comes to football, I’m a bona fide fanatic. This game has everything—competition and drama, and let’s not forget the fine men in skintight pants. What’s not to love?
It gives me great pleasure to make my Kimani Romance debut by introducing you to the yummiest men in football, the New York Sabers. This cast of hotties is as good off the field as they are on it, and are sure to please both fanatics and non-sports fans alike.
I had such fun writing
Huddle with Me Tonight.
From the action on the football field to the Iron Chef–style cooking competition, this book contains something for everyone. I hope you enjoy reading Torrian and Paige’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Stay tuned for upcoming stories featuring other members of the New York Sabers. I have a feeling that once you get a taste, you’ll be hooked!
I love hearing from readers. E-mail me at [email protected], drop by my Web site, www.farrahrochon.com, or look me up on Facebook!
Many blessings,
Farrah Rochon
Contents
Chapter 1
“D
ang, Uncle T, this place is the bomb!”
Torrian looked up from the forms and grinned at the awed look on his nephew’s face as Dante and Torrian’s older sister, Deirdre, walked through the front doors.
Shoving aside the florist’s estimate, Torrian headed to the front of the restaurant. He greeted Deirdre with a kiss and clasped his sixteen-year-old nephew on the back.
Dante’s cell phone rang. “I gotta get this,” he said and left through the doors they’d just entered.
“Look at the progress they’ve made,” Deirdre marveled.
The former warehouse had undergone major changes. Torrian had spent most of his time in the off-season shuttling between the Sabers training facility in Jersey, and overseeing the renovations of the restaurant.
They’d maintained the warehouse style and infused it with rich, warm colors. Exposed brick walls had been distressed to resemble those found in the prewar buildings that littered Manhattan, and seventeen-foot-high ceilings were crisscrossed with dull gray air-conditioning ducts. Despite the carefully crafted rough edges, the restaurant maintained an air of elegance.
Deirdre had handpicked the kitchen equipment but had insisted Torrian have input on other aspects of the restaurant because it was his namesake and his money paying for it. He might be the venture’s sole financier, but this restaurant was all for Deirdre—small repayment for everything she’d given up in her life to raise him.
The smile that now lit up Deirdre’s face made every check he’d written worth it.
“I tried to imagine what it would look like, but I never could have imagined this.” Deirdre shook her head as she did another slow turn. “I can’t believe it’s really happening.”
“I told you I would do this for you, didn’t I?”
Making Deirdre’s dream a reality was the least he could do. Following the death of their parents, Deirdre had stepped up big time. Instead of accepting the college scholarship she’d earned, Deirdre had taken a job as a cook in a local restaurant so that Torrian—fifteen-years-old and an inch away from a life of trouble—wouldn’t have to move to Atlanta with their aging great-aunt and great-uncle. The older couple would not have been able to contain the boy he’d been back then.
The day she’d asked the coach to find a spot for Torrian on the high school football team was the most pivotal day of Torrian’s life. No one had known that Torrian possessed a natural athleticism that would blossom under Coach Johnson’s tutelage, and lead to a scholarship and stellar football career at the University of South Carolina.
Deirdre had busted her butt, taking on a second job to pay the expenses Torrian’s scholarship had not covered. She’d put her own dreams on hold. For him.
It was payback time.
While Deirdre examined the kitchen to make sure it had been arranged as she’d instructed, Torrian returned to the heap of paperwork he’d had no idea would accompany getting a restaurant off the ground. Ten minutes later, Deirdre sidled up to the table and patted him on the arm.
Torrian sent a smile over his shoulder. “Kitchen up to snuff?”
“Perfect, as is everything else.” She sat across from him. “Did you meet with your publisher today?”
He nodded. “This book release is going to be awesome. The publisher is planning a mega-media blitz. They sent out advance copies to reviewers around the country, and they’re putting life-sized cutouts of me in major bookstores.”
“It was genius to have your memoir come out on the restaurant’s opening night,” Deirdre said.
“The reservation service said we’re getting a hundred calls a day from people wanting to be put on the waiting list,” Torrian said.
“God, I hope I can handle all of this,” Deirdre sighed, nervous excitement shining in her eyes.
“It’ll be a piece of cake, Dee. I know you can do this.”
Dante slammed through the restaurant’s doors and bounded down the steps. “Hey, Uncle T, were you able to get all ten tickets for the game?”
Torrian pulled the keys to his BMW 580i from his pocket and tossed them to his nephew. “Glove compartment.”
“Now why does he need ten tickets for the game?” Deirdre asked after Dante left.
Torrian shrugged. “I guess he’s bringing a few friends with him.”
“Dante doesn’t have ten friends,” Deirdre argued. “He needs to understand that his Uncle Torrian cannot hook him up every time he wants to impress his friends.”
“He’s just having fun.”
“He’s spoiled,” Deirdre complained.
“It’s time someone in the family had the chance to get spoiled.”
She sent him a glare.
Torrian held up his hands in surrender. “Just kidding,” he chuckled. “The next time he asks for something, my answer is no. Come on.” He motioned for her with his head as he flipped opened a four-inch black binder. “The decorator left samples for the tablecloths.”
“What do you think of teal?” Deirdre asked, lifting a square of silky fabric. “It’ll match the Sabers’ team colors.”
“Nah,” Torrian said. “I don’t want this place tied to the Sabers any more than it already is.”
“Why, do you plan on getting traded anytime soon?” Deirdre laughed.
Torrian pasted on his best grin. His sister’s jab hit closer to home than she could possibly know.
Actually, a trade was the least of his worries these days. Depending on the prognosis he received when he saw his private ophthalmologist in a couple of days, it was possible he wouldn’t play for another NFL team ever again. He couldn’t hide his eye condition from the team doctors much longer.
Anxiety instantly fisted in his gut.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. Football was his life!
If he couldn’t play anymore, what good was he to anyone?
I applaud Mr. Sanderson’s effort to try something new and innovative with his debut novel, but there is something to be said for the tried and true. What could have been a fresh, fun take on a Shakespearean classic met a death more tragic than Macbeth’s due to the author’s over-the-top scenarios and tendency to over dramatize.
Next time, Mr. Sanderson, leave the real writing to the true literary geniuses.
“And send.”
Paige Turner clicked the computer mouse and leaned back in her ergonomic chair. “That one is going to ruffle some feathers,” she surmised as she lifted the mug of tea to her lips. She wondered how long it would take the Web site’s content manager to respond to the book review she’d just posted to her blog.
This was the fourth author from this publishing house to receive an unflattering review on her book review blog,
Page Turners with Paige Turner,
the online supplement to her entertainment column in
Big Apple Weekly
magazine.
She was used to the backlash. No one liked a negative review, and now that her column was quickly becoming
the
place New Yorkers looked to when they wanted the inside scoop on what was hot in the Big Apple, they certainly didn’t want a negative review from
her
.
Most authors adhered to the adage that even unflattering publicity was good publicity, requesting Paige review their new releases even though it was likely the books would get slammed. Yet others believed their work was good enough to impress her.
“Was that your motive, Mr. Smallwood?”
Paige picked up the copy of the highly anticipated combination cookbook and memoir of the star wide receiver for the New York Sabers.
In the Hot Seat: The Life and Times of Torrian Smallwood
was one of the most talked-about books of the fall. “You
are
hot,” Paige mused. The book’s glossy dust jacket showcased the football player’s spectacular six-pack abs and chiseled chest to full effect. The brown skin stretched taut over all those muscles reminded her of the milk chocolate silk sheets on her bed. Shadowed under the cover of his gray-and-teal Sabers helmet were breathtaking hazel eyes and a smile that alone was worth the book’s retail price.
Too bad the content had not done much to impress.
Paige thumbed through the pages, which alternated between recipes and short anecdotal stories about the seven-year NFL veteran. Paige couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the lame football-themed names that had been given to the recipes. Tailgating Taters. Touchdown Tomato Soup.
“Give me a break,” Paige snorted.
She skimmed over one of the parts she
had
enjoyed, a retelling of how a seven-year-old Torrian had set his mother’s kitchen on fire after attempting to make chicken soup for his sick Labrador retriever, earning himself the name Fire Starter. The nickname had carried over to his days of playing football. ESPN now had a special “Fire Starter Moment of the Day” when they covered a Sabers game.
