Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) (11 page)

Cole

This has JJ written all over it
, I thought, heading into Trent’s condo a few hours after the game. I’d exchanged familiar greetings with the bodyguards, then headed in to find the place packed with Kings team members, barely dressed women, and copious amounts of alcohol.

Not that Trent wasn’t down with a party. Before his… situation, he and JJ had built something of a reputation for knowing how to create unforgettable
Two Kings
events – parties that bordered on legendary. Because he was on Nate’s roster, and hadn’t really been playing, I hadn’t had the chance to talk to him. According to Nate though, Trent had been different since he got out.

Quieter.

More focused.

No longer about that party life.

And not to mention, he’d been pissed for a while about a futures contract being his re-introduction to the team after his incarceration – a contract that kept him in limbo, tied to this team, but unable to play. That had changed with
this
season, but he’d still been third string, until Todd Browning’s creepy ass got locked up. That moved him up to backup, but as long as Mayfair was healthy, he still got no play.

Until tonight.

I weaved through the crowd, easily spotting him. He was hanging near the open kitchen, observing the crowd with a beer bottle in his hand. He smiled when he saw me approaching.

“Uh oh, Front Office in the building,” he teased, bringing a smile to my face. “I can’t believe you’re out here, at a victory party.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “Don’t do me that way Trent.”

“You know I’m messing with you. Come here.”

I laughed as I walked up to him, stepping into his open arms for a hug. “You played a helluva game tonight,” I said as I pulled back. “That last pass, are you kidding me?! Who the hell throws a
sixty-two
yard pass, Trent?”

He grinned, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I mean… you can only throw that kind of pass when you have a receiver that can catch it, right?”

“Ain’t nobody talking about that right now. I’m talking about
you
,” I deflected, not wanting to talk about JJ. He’d been on my mind more than enough.

“Takes a team,” Trent countered, insisting on humility. “I’m just glad I got the opportunity to prove I still had it.”

I smiled. “Well, you definitely did that. But for the record, I never thought you’d lost it.”

Trent sucked his teeth. “You’re a “player success” director,” he said, with the finger gestures and all. “You
have
to be all motivational and shit.”

“
Wooow.
You think I’m just gassing you up?”

“Eh, maybe fifty-fifty.”

“Whatever Trent.” I shook my head. “Seriously though, you looked good out there today. Like you were at home. At
peace.
”

He nodded. “I was. Felt good to be back out there with my brother.”

“And I’m sure the feeling is
abundantly
mutual,” I laughed. “JJ has been campaigning and complaining about getting you back on the field. I’m sure he’s on cloud nine.”

“Maybe not. He’s been in the back scowling the whole time we’ve been talking,” he chuckled, tapping my arm to gesture where JJ was. “I think he’s feeling some type of way that you showed up to talk to me.”

“Jordan will be just fi— uhh, what the hell?”

I stepped back as out of nowhere, a woman pushed between me and Trent, with a duffle bag clenched at her side. She was a petite, caramel toned woman, with thick hair pulled into a ponytail under a baseball cap, and a curvy body poured into a sweat suit. Her whole demeanor was screaming
pissed off,
and one thing I wasn’t about to do was fight a mad groupie who – presumably – thought I was encroaching on her territory.

I was ready to alert Trent’s security when I noticed the smirk he was trying to suppress as he stared this woman right in the face.

Oh!
I thought, when he dipped his large frame, looping an arm around the woman’s waist to easily pick her up, tucking her under his arm. He put his beer bottle onto the counter, then bent to retrieve the duffel bag she’d dropped.

“Pardon me Cole, I need to go handle this,” he said, his tone contrite as he turned to leave. The final dot connected when I saw how strikingly pretty the tiny, angry woman stuck under his arm was. “Maybe I can formally introduce her when she’s behaving,” he called over his shoulder, leaving me to contend with Jordan, who I could practically
feel
staring at me now.

I saw him as soon as I turned around, tucked into a corner with a drink in his hand. He was – unsurprisingly – flanked by women, two of whom were pressed against his side, practically screwing each other in effort to get his attention. But his eyes were on me.

Shaking my head, I pivoted in the other direction, my sights set on the front door. I wasn’t here to party – I’d come to congratulate Trent. With that done, I was ready to go.

I didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised when I felt a hand around my wrist, nor did I bother resisting when he pulled me around to face him.

“You’re leaving without speaking?” he asked, staring at me through lowered eyelids. “Don’t you think that’s kinda rude?”

“It’s only rude if you don’t speak to the
host
,” I countered, gently pulling away from his touch. “But, hi Jordan. How are you?”

His lips curved into a smile that hit me in the chest first, then warmed my body from fingers to toes. “We won the game, so I’m great. But that’s all I get? “Hi Jordan”? I distinctly remember seeing TB get a hug. I can’t get a hug?”

“Trent got a hug because I
like
him.”

“So you’re saying you don’t like me?” Jordan asked, leaning into the wall. “Damn, Nicki. I’m going to start thinking you enjoy hurting my feelings.” He took another sip from his drink, and I excused the “Nicki” since he was obviously a little tipsy… and because that comment about hurting his feelings stung.

“You know that’s never been my intent.”

The lights in the condo were low for the party, making shadows play across Jordan’s already dark skin, exaggerating the movement when he lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll have to take your word for that. So does that mean I get my hug, or…?”

I rolled my eyes, then stepped forward, letting my bag fall into the bend of my elbow as I made a
come here
gesture to him. Jordan laughed as he met me halfway, ignoring the one-armed hug I was about to give him to wrap me in his arms.

I sucked in a deep breath.

I’d forgotten how good this felt.

He held me tight, one arm around my shoulders, the other around my waist as he gently rocked us back and forth. I ignored the sex-laced music playing, knowing it would take my mind somewhere it didn’t need to be, not while I was this close to Jordan. He smelled good, he felt good, and common sense told me this was
too
good to be true.

He didn’t resist it when I pushed him away, but he wasn’t in any particular hurry to let me go either. He was slow about unraveling his limbs from around me, and I put some distance between us as soon as he let me go.

“Great game tonight,” I said, trying to deflect the course of conversation. “That catch… it was nice.”

He nodded. “Appreciated. Had to remind the world that me and TB make magic happen on the field.”

“And dance moves,” I laughed. “I enjoyed seeing your victory dance.”

Enjoyed
was an understatement for how I – and probably every other person who liked men – had felt about he and Trent’s display of black brotherhood on the field. Completely non-sexual and yet completely
sexy as hell
. Chest bumps, two steps, hip thrusts that would have the mommy-bloggers mad as hell at their keyboards the next day, and just pure
joy
. It was beautiful.

Jordan chuckled. “Glad you were entertained.”

“And your postgame interview… no references to your dick, no cursing. I was impressed. I guess you’re implementing some of Chloe’s tips?”

His smile broadened. “Yeah, I am. Make you proud?”

I blushed, running a hand through my loose hair. “Uhhh… yeah. You did.”

“Good.”

Silence passed between us for several moments. I spent what felt like five minutes, but was actually more like thirty seconds letting Jordan devour me with his eyes before I took a breath, pulling my bag back up to my shoulder.

“Well I’m going to head out,” I said, glancing toward the door. “You’ve got a driver for the night, right?” I gestured toward his cup.

He smirked. “Look at you… worried about me and shit.”

“For the team’s sake.”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous. I’ll see you later.”

He tipped his chin up at me and then turned away, heading back into the party. I swallowed hard, fighting back the surge of jealously that swamped me at the thought of him going to be with the girls from before.

But he ignored them to get at you…

I sucked my teeth, then took my ass to the door, because
that right there
, those type of thoughts, were exactly the kind of bullshit I was avoiding by deciding against being with a player. Why the hell should I feel special because he’d come to talk to me, when now that we were done, he was going right back?

I already knew the answer: I
shouldn’t.

But something held me back from leaving.

Not even knowing what I was looking for, I moved slowly back down the hall, peeking around the corner to the spot where Jordan had been sitting before. To my surprise, he wasn’t there, and neither were the women. A lump built in my throat.

Had he taken them somewhere… private?

My eyes darted around the room in the lowered lights, suddenly desperate to find him. It took a few moments to spot him, but when I did, relief calmed my racing heart.

He was over in front of the TV, talking to Tyler Sanchez as the game replayed in front of them. I watched for a few moments as the two men engaged in animated conversation, then let out a slow breath.

Mentally, I kicked myself.

I shoved my hair backwards, away from my face as I pushed off the wall and left, feeling simultaneously annoyed and confused. If I was so anti-romance with Jordan, why the hell did I even care?

I
shouldn’t
care, and I knew it.

… I just wished it were easier to make that line up with reality.

eight.

Cons-

On the team that I work for (I don’t need those problems)

Inconsistent (Stays in trouble, even after saying he’s gonna do better)

Constantly seen with new women (Can I trust him to be faithful?)

Arrogant – thinks I want him (I
do
, but he’s conceited for thinking everybody does)

Zero filter (Can’t seem to not say crazy shit on camera.)

Pros –

That body (Those abs… that dick…)

That face (Those dimples… deserve a line of their own)

Those dimples

Those lips (Amazing kisser)

Very good with his hands (On the field, and in the bedroom)

Wait… my pros list is shallow as hell so far…

Makes me laugh (even when I don’t want to)

Generous (consistently one of the team’s biggest charity donors)

Dedicated, focused (on the field – can never say he doesn’t take the game seriously)

Loves football (equally… maybe even more than I do)

Honest to a fault (is this a thing?)

Hmmm. Too many pros…

More cons-

I feel weird if we’re in same room (Does he have to undress me with his eyes?)

Good chance I’ll end up looking stupid (Put my reputation on the line, just to get embarrassed when he leaves me behind for some sweet little 20yo actress, or exotic dancer “friend”? I don’t fucking think so.)

Makes me feel… not myself. (That butterflies in the belly, flushed cheeks, throbbing coochie shit is for teenagers and romance novels… right?)

“COLE!”

I looked up from my tablet with wide eyes, dropping my stylus pen as I hurriedly turned off the screen. I pressed the
stop
button on the treadmill and pulled my earbuds out, scowling harder at Presley than she deserved.

“What?” I asked, forcing myself not to snap the words at her. “What are you even doing in my house?”

Presley lifted an eyebrow. “Uhh, you called me at five this morning, insisting that I get here by seven. You said we were working from here today, instead of your office… remember?”

“Oh.” I grabbed my bottle of water off the treadmill, taking a long swig before I nodded. “Yeah, I remember. Sorry.”

I let out a deep sigh as I put the water down, and grabbed my towel to wipe the layer of sweat off my brow. A glance at the clock told me it was the middle of the morning, the Wednesday after the last game. I was working from home to avoid seeing Jordan.

“You’ve been on the treadmill for like three hours. Is that healthy?”

I let out another sigh. I was on the treadmill when I was supposed to be working to avoid
thinking
about Jordan. According to the pro/con comparison list I’d started creating on my tablet,
that
hadn’t quite worked out too well.

“I’m fine, Pres. Is that what you interrupted me for?”

She shook her head. “I actually stepped in to let you know your stepmother was here.”

I frowned as I took another drink of water, and stepped off the treadmill. “My who?”

“Your stepmother. Melinda Richardson, your father’s wife?”

I started coughing as water went down my throat the wrong way – my body’s negative reaction to a woman not even physically old enough to have a child my age be referred to as my “stepmother.”

“Well damn, Cole. I knew I wasn’t your favorite person, but you’re
literally
gagging. That’s amazing.”

My breath caught in my newly-cleared throat as Mel appeared in the doorway to my home office, looking like my father’s money. Presley’s eyes went big, and she looked between me and Mel before she scurried away, leaving us alone. Me in sweat-soaked Ivy Park workout gear, her in immaculate ready-to-wear Gucci.

“What can I do for you, Mel?” I asked, leaning on the handle of the treadmill as she stepped further into my office, looking around. She’d never been in my home before – hell, I didn’t even know she knew where I lived – so all of it was new to her.

“I’d like for you and I to have a long overdue conversation.” She stopped in front of me, her expression open, without being eager. “I realize it could be considered rude not to call first, but I was – legitimately, I think – afraid that you would either not respond, or put me off. And this conversation is, at this point, time-sensitive.”

My eyebrow crept up. “Uh… okay. Let me see what I have coming up in the next hour.”

I grabbed my tablet and water from the treadmill, and headed for my desk. Using my phone, I pulled up my schedule, and tried not to visibly react when I saw that I had a good forty-five minutes of time before my next appointment, and that thanks to Presley, most of my to-do list was already handled.

“I really need a shower,” I said, swallowing hard as I put my tablet down on the desk. “But if this isn’t going to be long… I suppose it can wait a few minutes.”

Mel smiled. “It won’t be. Can we sit?”

“Be my guest,” I said, gesturing at the chair across the desk from mine. I let out a deep breath as I sat too, wondering what the hell this was about. I’d talked to my father since that disaster of a dinner, but successfully avoided talking about anything that happened
at
the dinner.

“So,” Mel started, with a bright smile. “You and I have been connected through Eli for what, twelve years now?”

I nodded. “Yes. Just about.”

“Right. As such, I think that it’s past time that we work on cultivating something more – something
deeper –
than the… non-relationship we have now. There’s only so long that we can pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

“You were pretending I didn’t exist?”

“I was following your lead.”

“Fair enough.” I laced my fingers together, perching my clasped hands on the desk in front of me as I leaned forward. “Listen… let’s cut to the chase. Whatever you’re really here for… tell it to me like you would tell it to your home girls. We can cut the lead in.”

Her fuchsia-painted lips parted in surprise, then curved into a smile. “Okay,” she said, relaxing back into the chair. “Our lack of connection is upsetting my man, and I don’t like it, so I’m here to do something about it. Tell me if there’s any chance of us getting close enough to at least have dinner, shop together, something. And if not… I’d like to know why. I’d like to know what it is that you’re holding against me.”

Wow.

Okay.

So, she certainly didn’t hold back.

I… liked it.

“Well,” I shrugged, “I don’t… I can’t really say that there’s anything in particular that I have against you, Mel. You make my father happy, and you’re not obviously terrible, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re fine by me.”

Mel smiled. “That sounds really good, Cole. But cut the bullshit. If we’re going to talk, let’s do it.”

I let out a dry laugh, and shook my head. “I… okay. Okay. I don’t like that my father brought home a twenty-something when I was a teenager. I don’t understand what, besides money, would attract someone so young to someone so much older. I don’t understand how you were okay with dating a man with kids in the same age demographic as you, and neither of you
tried
to help me understand. I thought it was a fling, a phase he was going through, but then he married you, he’s
still
married to you, and now, you two are talking about a baby, and it confuses me. I just don’t damn
get it
. All my life, I thought that when my father remarried, it would be to someone who would try to place rules and restrictions on me, try to parent me, try to nurture, and bond. I hated the idea of it. But then he married you, and you… didn’t. And I didn’t realize until afterwards that I
wanted
that. He was supposed to bring me a mother, and instead he brought… you.”

Something weird was happening in my throat by the time I finished, and I snatched up my water bottle from the desk. I avoided Mel’s eyes as I took a long drink, draining the bottle, then turned to the mini-fridge behind me to grab two more bottles. One for her, and one for me.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after a lengthy silence had passed between us. “I had no idea you wanted that… wanted a mother.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, well neither did I until just then.” I suddenly needed something a helluva lot stronger than water.

Damn you, Jordan. Opened the door, and now I’m dredging up all my buried feelings.

Mel sighed. “I can’t be
that
for you. Not that I think you’re saying you
want
me to,” she quickly added, probably seeing the objection brewing in my expression. “Like you said… I’m more your peer than your elder. I can’t
mother
you, Cole. But I do think we could possibly be friends.”

I scoffed. “I don’t think we have enough in common for that.”

“And I think you can be closed-minded, and a little judgmental.”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, crossing my legs as I sat back.

Mel grinned. “See? There’s at least one thing we have in common – a sharp tongue.”

I narrowed my eyes at her for a few seconds. “Touché.”

“In any case,” Mel continued, “I certainly have no interest in a forced friendship with you. I don’t roll like that. Like I said – Eli wants us to be closer. I want my man to be happy. So here I am, asking what
I
can do to facilitate that.”

Propping my elbows on the desk, I rested my chin in my hands, studying Mel’s face. Particularly those soulful, sincere eyes.

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

For a second, confusion crossed her face, but then she nodded. “Yes, I do. I love your father with all my heart.”

“Help me understand that, then. How did you two even come about?”

A faint smile played on her face as she shifted in her seat. “It’s… kind of a long story, but… the short version is that I married my high school sweetheart, right out of school. Soon as we graduated, because we just knew we’d found our soulmates in each other. Went off to college together. He made it in the NFL, and I was an NFL cheerleader. Living out our dreams.”

“But?” I asked, and Mel laughed.

“So you already kind of know how this story goes, huh? His career ended early. Blew his knee out. Blew through the money gambling and drinking. Deciding to take all of his disappointment out on me. I was every kind of slut, whore, you name it, because I kept my cheerleader position with the team. Caking on make-up to cover the bruises he left on me, painting on a smile I didn’t feel, to go shake my pom-poms, so I wouldn’t have to go shake – or sell – my ass to bring some money into the house. Eli was working for one of the major sports stations at the time. They were doing one of those documentaries on players who left the game during their glory days. Decided to do one of my ex.”

Mel stopped speaking for a moment to clear her throat, then finally acknowledged the bottle of water I’d placed in front of her. She took a drink, let out a deep breath, and then continued.

“By that point, I was tired. Tired of getting my ass kicked, tired of pretending I wasn’t, tired of looking at him. He… he’d made me lose my baby,” she said, with obvious strain in her voice. “And I was just… I was done. But I didn’t have anywhere to go. Didn’t have anything. Didn’t really think
I
was anything. He’d been doing the interviews for the documentary, and I was playing loyal wife, because what were my other options? One day, Eli came to cheer squad practice, to interview me. Just me. He sat me down, and he talked to me, and made me laugh, and was just
decent
. I said everything I was supposed to say about my ex, and then when we were wrapping up, Eli made this comment… that my ex was lucky to have me. I don’t know what it was about that, but I completely broke down.  Eli sent the camera man out, and I told him everything.”

I was leaning onto the desk, completely riveted, and that weird feeling – that lump in my throat, and tingling in my eyes – was happening again. “What did he… my father… what did he do, when you told him?”

For the first time in the last few minutes, Mel smiled. “He wouldn’t let me go home. He put me in a hotel room, and went and talked to my ex. I filed for divorce, with Eli’s help. My ex… he threatened me, and Eli hired security for me. Wouldn’t let anybody get to me. He didn’t even know me, but he protected me. Got me into a place of my own. My ex ended up drinking himself to death – liver failure, coma… never woke up. For the first time since I was a teenager, I was
really
free. Eli and I kept in touch – he would check on me. Take me to lunch here and there. We were friends.”

I nodded. “But eventually, it became romantic… right?”

Mel laughed. “I’m pretty sure I had a crush on him first, before he ever looked at me sexually.”

“Probably because he had a daughter that was barely younger than you,” I muttered under my breath, and Mel shrugged.