Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) (4 page)

Jess was about as opposite of a pearl-wearing debutante as she could be. She rotated between a couple of assorted facial piercings, had a different hair color every week. When she dressed, she committed to a “look”, without a single shred of thought given to modesty. She wasn’t quiet, refined, or “classy”. But she was bubbly, kind, and cool as hell, and didn’t let anybody play her. So, the best little sister I could imagine having.

But of course, our father was holding out hope that she would cover up, quiet down, and get married. And he hoped that I would… hell…. I wasn’t ever sure
what
he wanted from me. I got the right football scholarship, went to the right college, got drafted onto the right team, finished my degree during the off-season, and yet there was still a problem.

I wasn’t
him.

Greg Johnson was
serious.
In bold strokes, and capital letters. I wasn’t bubbly like Jess, but I liked people, like to joke and have fun, get a little tipsy, dance, laugh, whatever. All the shit my father considered “clowning”, and according to him was the reason we’d only collected Super Bowl rings once in the six years I’d been on the team.

Never mind that one of those years, I’d been down because of an ankle injury. Never mind that we’d lost our best quarterback, and had been dealing with a subpar team and fucked up coaching staff since even before then. Never mind that when I
was
on the field, I fucking dominated. Every game, play after play, I was giving my
this-shit-is-going-in-the-highlights
best. I was racking up yards, making impossible catches. Keeping my team alive, making sure we weren’t a
complete
embarrassment.

But all he – and everybody else, apparently – wanted to talk about was “clowning”.

The shit was exhausting.

“So what’s next?” I asked, focusing back on Jess, and redirecting the conversation. “You need anything? Your bills covered?”

She sucked her teeth. “Yes, my bills are covered JJ, I’m grown!”

“You’re 23. That’s not that grown.”

“You’re 27. That’s not that grown
either
. But… thank you for making sure I’m good.”

“Always. I don’t want you having to ask Mama or our father for shit. So you don’t need anything?”

“Well, I didn’t say
that
. If the next time you decide to imply your dick is gonna put somebody’s eye out, you could be wearing a Jessmyn Johnson original graphic tee…. That would be perfect.”

I closed my eyes, pushing out a harsh breath through my teeth as I sat back. “Did you
have
to bring that shit up?”

“I didn’t
have
to, but you asked. It’s gone viral now, JJ. Think of how many eyes could have been looking at a
Jessmyn
instead of a… whatever the hell that was you had on.”

I frowned. “It was a plain ass tee shirt.”

“Exactly. My brother is supposed to be fly at all times. In
Jessmyn Johnson Signature.
”

“Bye Jess,” I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Byeeeee,” she sang. “And hey… you know I love your big head ass right?”

“You and everybody else.”

“Oh whatever. But seriously, you’ve been a little different lately, so I wanna make sure you know.” Her voice changed a little, going from playful to a serious edge that hinted at her worry. “I don’t really claim you in public like that, but I’m proud of you, and I love you.”

I leaned forward, running my hand over my face as I tried to shake off the tightness in my throat. “Thank you baby girl. I love you too.”

“Aiight,” she said softly, still in that concerned tone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

As soon as I hung up the phone, I wished I’d picked up something stronger than a damned beer. I knew it wasn’t her intention, but that conversation had dredged up shit I’d rather not think about.

I tossed my phone down on the couch and went back to the kitchen, grabbing another beer before I returned. When I sat down, I noticed that my phone was blinking again. I ignored it for a few minutes, expecting it to be more of Nicki cursing me out. I watched the first few plays of the recorded game, and then finally curiosity won.

It wasn’t Nicki.

There were very, very few people in the world I considered
friends.
Not associates, not people I partied with, not people who wouldn’t fuck with me anymore if the money ever ran out.
Real friends.

Trent Bailey was one of them.

“JJ… what’s up, man? What happened with you and that reporter? –TB”

I sighed, then read the message again. And then a third time.

What
had
happened?

It was taking the easy way out to say that Kendra Fulton had purposely pushed my buttons to create a story. She went too far, she was just getting under my skin. But that wasn’t
what happened.

“I lost my cool. I don’t like being a loser, bruh. This shit is getting to me.”

God’s honest truth, to somebody who would give me the same respect. Trent had never been anything
except
real, so I wasn’t about to play him by bullshitting.

“It would get to anybody. You’re human. But you gotta stay focused. I know better than anybody how dirty the media can be, how they spin shit however they can for a story. Don’t
give
them shit. Make them work for it.
Stay focused.
– TB”

I sat back.

He wasn’t lying, at all. I’d watched my friend get dragged through the mud, no mercy. Arrest, trial, conviction, jail time. Getting put off the team. TB had been
through
some shit – shit that made my little problems seem trivial in comparison. But he survived it, and was still able to be cool when he needed to. Coming from Trent, the shit wasn’t just a platitude. It was gospel.

Stay focused.

“Bet.”
Was all I sent back. I hit the “ignore” button on another call from Nicki, then turned off my phone and picked up the remote. Tonight, the only thing I planned to do was watch my performance in this game, and figure out where I could improve. Then watch everybody else, and figure out how to work with and around
their
shit.

It was all about being focused.

I knew who had walked into the locker room before I even turned around, from the chorus of greetings that went around the room. Because of who she was – or rather, who her
father
was – they were much more respectful than most other women would have gotten.

The demandingly soft sound of her clearing her throat behind me made me grin, and I kept that grin on my face as I turned around to feast my eyes on Nicole Richardson.

As usual, she had her hair pulled back, and black framed glasses perched neatly across her nose. If I had to guess, she thought the bun and glasses made her less desirable. If only she knew the truth – that the sexy librarian vibe she was giving, in her neat, tucked-in button up, pencil skirt, and heels, was having the exact opposite effect on a room full of testosterone.

I mean, I got it. As a woman in a male-dominated field, she wanted to be respected, not ogled, or fantasized about. But with a face and body like that – luminous copper skin, full lips, high cheek bones, slim waist, fat ass – there wasn’t much she could do to stop it.

The team respected her plenty though, because she didn’t give them a choice. She was great at her job. They took her seriously. They just…
also
wondered what she looked like under her clothes.

“We need to talk,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

I sucked in an exaggerated breath. “Ooh. I’ve heard that before. Never been good.”

“And today is going to continue that trend. Can you come to my office?”

Shrugging, I pulled off my towel, then used it to dry behind my ears. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, Nicki. Just talk.”

Her gaze drifted down to where my towel had been, then back up to my face before she rolled her eyes. “Can you put some boxers or something on please?”

“My eyes are up
here
anyway, Ms. Richardson.” I grinned as I pulled out my boxers and put them on while she stared up at the ceiling, waiting for me to finish.

“What happened to you meeting with Chloe?” she asked, once I pulled my sweats on over my boxers.

“No time. I needed to focus on the upcoming game.”

Her top lip curled. “Really? That’s the excuse you’re going with, after you’ve been to the strip club
twice
this week?”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. Didn’t you just tell me the other day that downtime was for winning teams? Well, here we are. We lost, so I don’t have any damned downtime.”

“Jordan, you
need
an agent. You need PR representation. These things aren’t optional, and you know it.”

“Yeah, I do. So, I’ll meet with Mrs. McKenna on my off day, Tuesday… if we win.”

Nicki narrowed her eyes. “You get off on being difficult with me, don’t you?”

I grinned. “I’ll only admit that when you admit that
you
get off on me being difficult with you. I keep things interesting around here for you, don’t I?”

“If interesting and agonizing are synonyms, then sure you do, JJ. Just make sure you have representation before bye week, please?”

I bit my lip. “
Anything
for you, Ms. Richardson.”

“Uh huh.”

She turned to walk away, and everybody who’d been pretending not to pay attention turned in her direction for the show that was her ass in that skirt.

“Oh,” she said, turning back to face me, and it was comical how the other guys tried to act like they hadn’t been looking. “I meant to tell you… you looked good out there at practice today. Good work.”

In response, I simply nodded, then turned back to my locker to finish getting dressed. I didn’t really know what to make of how pleased I was to know that she’d been watching me at practice. Nicki was fine – Nicki was fine as
hell
, but that wasn’t a road I need to go down.

One time should be
enough
times to know when not to fuck with a woman – especially when that woman was the owner’s daughter.

three.

“Your brother is in your office.”

My steps faltered, and I paused before angling my head toward Presley’s desk. “Excuse me?”

Anxiety crossed Presley’s face as she leaned to the side of her chair – away from me. “Uh, Nate? Nate Richardson…”

The girl looked so petrified that I tried to fix my expression into something less murderous. “I know who my brother is, Presley. I’m asking what he’s doing in there. What does he want?”

“He didn’t say. But he looked happy.”

I let out a loud, admittedly rude exhalation. “Of course he did. Hold my calls please.”

She nodded, and I took the last few steps to my door, hesitating for a second to collect myself. This was becoming way too common – me needing to mentally prepare before going into my own damned office. It seemed like every time I hit this door, there was a man I didn’t really want to talk to on the other side.

Today, it was my brother.

He was at the window when I walked in, but turned at the sound of my footsteps on the floor. His mouth quirked into a grin, and he moved towards me in confident strides, hands outstretched to greet me.

“What do you want?” I asked, dodging his embrace. He chuckled, and pulled me into a hug anyway.

“A man can’t come and say hello to his sister?”

“A man might, but you…”

Nate laughed again. “See, here you go. And I really was coming to check on you. That mess with your boy Browning… that’s a tough break.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking Nate right in his face – a face that matched mine more closely than I preferred when he was pissing me off. Same copper skin, same warm brown eyes, same thick lashes. The only things that saved Nate from looking like a girl were his sculpted chin and carefully groomed hair.

“Ah, there it is. You’re here to rub
that
in my face, as if I don’t have enough on my plate right now.”

He shrugged, trying to look sheepish, but his smug grin wouldn’t stay concealed. “I’m not rubbing it in. Why would I do that? I mean, sure… the quarterback you were supposed to be helping
succeed
got arrested for distributing child pornography, but you’re my blood. I wouldn’t do you like that.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes,
really
. Just because
my
offensive team members are keeping their noses clean, both literally and figuratively, doesn’t mean that I’m better at this than you.”

“Okay, that’s enough Nate,” I said firmly, holding my hands up for emphasis. He shut his mouth, but kept smirking, and I wanted nothing more than to smack that look off his face. But that would just be playing into the whole “women are too emotional” thing that I didn’t need plaguing me in the workplace too.

Even if the coworker was my brother.

A love of sports was one of the things Nate and I had in common, so it wasn’t surprising that we would both choose to immerse ourselves in it for our careers. We even took the same path – college, law school, and then the best position we could get on a team that had been in our blood since birth – the Connecticut Kings.

I was confident that favoritism hadn’t been the
only
thing behind us getting our jobs – we were as qualified as any other candidates, but had the advantage of a long, personal history with the team, and had been reading playbooks and football contracts since we were old enough to understand them.

But, while nepotism may not have been the only thing to get us hired, there was no doubt in my mind that my father’s influence had
absolutely
played a part in the positions we held.

I, Nicole Richardson, was Assistant Director of Player Success, responsible for half of the players on the Connecticut Kings’ offense.

My brother was responsible for the other half.

He thought it was the funniest thing in the world, pitting me and Nathan against each other to be the one who would eventually get to scratch the “assistant” and just be “director”. So far this season, Nate was winning.

“Okay, so maybe that was a little too far,” Nate conceded, holding up his own hands in a soothing gesture.

I rolled my eyes as I made my way to my desk. “How could you tell?”

“Call it “twintuition”.”

He dropped into the seat in front of me, making himself comfortable, much like Jordan had. I quickly brushed away the thought of him, before my mind traveled back to that little moment in the locker room. His broad, sculpted chest and shoulders, still damp from his shower. And when he’d dropped that towel…
shit.

“It’s pretty messed up though, seriously,” Nate said, and I latched onto his words, needing the distraction from what was happening in my head. “I never would have thought quiet ass Todd Browning would be into anything like that.”

I scoffed. “I did. I wasn’t surprised at all when the FBI stormed this place for him. Relieved, honestly. I knew something wasn’t right about him, I just couldn’t pin it down.”

Nate leaned forward, concern in his eyes. “What?! Did he—”

“No,” I said quickly, trying to quell whatever nightmare scenario Nate had probably conjured in his mind. “He never said or did anything inappropriate with me, I just got a… vibe. You pick things up from people when you spend time with them, and I’m just saying that I picked up “creep” from Todd Browning.”

“And you never said anything?”

“To
who
, about
what
?” I asked, pulling my face into a scowl. “What was I going to do, run and tell daddy I couldn’t work with that player because he skeeved me out?”

Nate gave me a look like he thought I was insane. “
Yes.
”

“
No
,” I shot back. “Would you do that, Nate? Tell your boss you couldn’t do your job because you were intangibly creeped out by one of the players?”

“No, but I can’t say that I’ve ever been creeped out by one of the players.”

“Exactly.” I sat back, my elbows resting on the sleekly curved arms of my office chair. “It’s not something you have to contend with, but I do. Out of the twelve guys on my roster, there are only five that
don’t
creep me out.”

Nate sniggered. “Is JJ one of those five?”

“You can shut the fuck up,” I snapped, and he laughed harder. “
Anyway,
my point is that even though they don’t make me feel that comfortable, I deal, because that’s what women do.”

“So you’re telling me almost 60% of your players make you uneasy?”

“I’m telling you 60% of men,
period
make me uneasy. You’re awful.”

“That’s harsh.”

“It’s true.”

“It sounds… stressful.”

“Well, being called a bitch because you don’t want to sleep with someone
is
stressful, Nate. But again, I deal. Did you need anything else? I have work to do.”

“Tell me what I can do to help.”

“So you can do the opposite? No thanks.”

Nate clapped a hand to his chest. “That’s how little you think of me? You’re my twin, Cole. When you hurt, I hurt. When you cry, I—”

“Laugh.”

“Are you really going to hold that against me forever?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Now get out so I can work. I need to talk to scouting. We need another quarterback, remember?”

Nate groaned as he pushed himself up. “Yeah, I know. Mayfair is…”

“Freaking out?”

“A little bit,” he answered, heading to the door. I turned my attention to logging into my computer. “We should all be freaking out, honestly. It’s a lot of pressure on him, especially when all we’ve got now is a third-string backup.”

My head shot up. “Don’t talk about Trent like that. He’s good.
Better than Mayfair’s wack ass,”
I mumbled, as I turned back to my screen.

“That’s not a shot against TB. He’s good, but is he good in a game? He hasn’t even played since before he got locked up. I don’t know if he could handle the pressure.”

“Because we aren’t letting him play, which I still don’t understand. He never let the Kings down, which is why he was allowed back on the roster in the first place. What good does it serve to keep him benched?”

Nate shrugged, then put his hand on the door handle. “I don’t know. Above my paygrade. I just do what’s needed to keep my guys in the black… unlike your delinquents. Who’s next, Cole? JJ hasn’t been arrested all year. Is he keeping that shoulder safe, or is his annual assault and/or drunk and disorderly coming soon?”

“Shut up,” I said, throwing a pen at him, which bounced off his neatly tapered haircut. “You just worry about making sure your quarterback doesn’t have an anxiety attack, so we can win this game. Get him in some sewing classes, so he can learn how to thread a needle for once, okay?”

“Oooh,” Nate said, wrinkling his face into a pinched expression. “That was nice.”

I beamed. “It was, wasn’t it? Now get out, seriously.”

“You coming to dinner tomorrow night?”

I tipped my head to the side. “The team dinner?”

“No… dinner at dad’s. Apparently Mel learned a recipe in some gourmet cooking class, and she’s excited, wants everybody to come over so she can cook.”

I scowled, then moved my hands to my keyboard. “I’m going to pass. I have no interest in being fed by daddy’s child bride.”

Nate winced. “Come on, Cole. You can’t be making those kind of jokes around here after the Browning thing.”

“Yikes,” I said, scrunching my nose. “You’re right. But still. No.”

“Mel is like thirty-five. She’s not a kid. And she’s cool.”

“Of course she’s cool. She’s a hot, kid-free, thirty-five year old divorcee. She’s the epitome of cool. And she could also be my big sister.”

“They’re
married
.”

“So? They’ve been married for damn near ten years, it’s not new information.”

Nate’s lips parted, and he slowly shook his head at me. “So… you don’t see the problem here, do you?”

I smiled. “Can’t say I do. Bye Nate.”

“Bye Cole. See you at dinner tomorrow.”

“I’m not… coming to dinner tomorrow.”

It was pointless. The door had already closed behind him, before the “
not
” was even out of my mouth. I let out a loud, exaggerated groan as I ran a hand over my head, smoothing back the imaginary hairs that were out of place.

I’d never –
ever
endeavored to be “that” child, who couldn’t accept it when a parent moved on with their love life, away from the person who gave birth to you. I wanted my father to find love, wanted him to be happy.

The least he could have done was not bring home a twenty-three-year-old Kings cheerleader when I was barely sixteen years old.  He had a thing for those cheerleaders – my mother was one too.

It wasn’t so much that I was bothered by the age difference between
them
. Some people frowned at a man pursuing a woman who was 19 years his junior, but I didn’t really give a shit. She was hot, and pretty, I got it.