Out of Bounds (9 page)

Jason gives a thumbs-up. “Awesome. Glad to hear.”

Elkins wipes his forehead on the hem of his shirt. “Thanks for asking, man.”

Jason nods a
you’re welcome
, then strokes his chin. “You growing that out?”

Elkins stands up from the machine. “I look good in fur, don’t you think?”

I clap Jason on the back. “If you ever decide to shave, you know this man will find a razor company who’d happily endorse you,” I say with a wink, knowing that Elkin’s hairy look is precious to him.

Elkins grabs at his beard. “Never,” he says with a shudder. “Especially if we’re winning.”

Jason points at him. “You keep
not
shaving. I’ll keep shaving.”

“Deal,” Elkins says with a fist bump, then moves over to the rowing machine on the other side of the room.

It’s early and there are only a few other guys here. Most have earbuds in as they lift, so Jason and I nod at a few, then set up camp at the bench press.

“I had the meeting with Qwench. They’re crazy about you, so I’ve been looking into the company a little more. To see if it’s a good fit,” he says as I adjust the weights.

“
What’s the verdict, Mr. Monopoly?”

He pats the silver bar. “Not sure yet. I need to dig a little deeper.”

I peer at him as I lie back on the bench and wrap my palms around the bar. His expression is serious. His eyes intense. “That sounds . . . ominous.”

“Just doing my research. That’s all,” he says and flashes a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry. You know I won’t let you take a deal that isn’t fucking amazing.”

I lift the bar as he spots me. “I know that.”

“They like your squeaky-clean image,” he continues as he spots me. He winks. “Good thing you didn’t go to Piccolo’s with us a few weeks ago. Man, the chicks were everywhere.”

I scowl. “Pretty sure women are not explicitly forbidden in my contract.”

He lowers his voice. “No, but it’s good to be cautious when you’re trying to rehab a public image.”

Something about the comment bristles me. “Hey, it’s not
my
image. I’ve always been good.”

“The team’s image, man, the team’s,” he says as I push up the weights again. “And now you and the team are one and the same. Anyway, I like the sound of the deal. I want it to work out, that’s why I’m going to spend some more time on it. Because if we can make it work, it can give you some financial security, and protect you if things don’t work out in LA.”

I arch an eyebrow as I set the weights in the holder. “Are you trying to say you don’t think I’ll last here?”

I sit up straight and Jason shoots me a withering stare. “You know I do, man,” he says, his brow furrowed. “What’s with you this morning? You’re coming at me all guns blazing. Do you need to get laid?”

I
grit my teeth and draw a sharp inhale. Do I ever need to get laid. With one woman. Only, it feels a lot more than that already with Dani. Which is crazy, since I’ve only seen her a handful of times. But it feels like there could be something more between us. The chemistry is sizzling, but we also
get
each other. We like the same things, we fall into an easy rhythm, we connect.

“Don’t we all man, don’t we all,” I say with a forced laugh, trying to make light of the comment. Maybe even to deflect it.

He doesn’t let go. Glancing around first, he drops his voice so I’m the only one who can hear. “Is there something up with you and the lawyer?”

I lower to the bench again, my eyes focused on the ceiling. I don’t look at Jason. I don’t like lying to him. “Nope.”

Meanwhile, I wonder how the fuck he could tell during the movies, especially when he was all about Ally. “But there sure seemed to be something up with you and her sister.”

Jason grins, and he’s never a big smiler, so I know that means he’s into her. As one of the other guys grunts while lifting some heavy weights, Jason says, “She was cool. I’m going to text her today. Maybe see about getting coffee or a drink.”

He
can
see her easily. He doesn’t have to worry about unwritten rules, or playing fast and loose with the team’s public image. “Sounds like a plan.”

“And back to you now,” he says, surveying the weight room once more. Coast is clear. “The one we were talking about a minute ago. You’re into her, aren’t you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just seemed kind of obvious. I guess the same way you could tell I was into her sister.”

There’s
no point denying it now. He’s already sniffed out the truth. Besides, he’s my best bud. Keeping my voice low, I say, “We hooked up before the season started. Before I was traded. But we cooled it when we realized we were playing for the same team, and that it could complicate things.”

He nods, pats the weight bar again. “Smart move. Best to just keep focused on the game.”

“You think so?”

He taps his fingers to his temples, our sign for blinders. “Absolutely. No time for distractions. It’s much better to wake up to a photo of you and the taco truck owner than some piece about how the quarterback is fucking the management,” he says, and the stark but realistic way he puts it reminds me once again to keep my eye on the prize. The field. Only the field.

That’s what I do.

My first and most important love is football. It needs my full attention. My devotion. That’s what I give it.

When I step onto the field that weekend, I savor the smell of the grass, the thunder of the crowd, the rush of the adrenaline pumping through my blood. In the huddle, I’m all business, and the Knights are as crisp as crisp can be.

We win the game, and somehow we pull off that wonderful feat again the next Sunday too when we pummel Dallas on their field.

Four for four.

“Talk about a fucking streak,” Elkins shouts when I enter the locker room after the game. He high-fives me, and a bunch of the other guys do too.

I
hold my arms out wide. “All I do is throw ’em. You’re the one who has to catch ’em,” I say, because Elkins is killing it in that department, and he made it into the end zone twice in today’s game.

We ride that high on the jet home with fist bumps, struts, and shit-eating grins galore as we reach our cruising altitude. I sink into the cushy leather seat, happy as a clam, since I just can’t complain about a 4–0 record for the first month on the job. The only thing that would make it better is a good woman.

But I’ll take what I can get.

The next week, it’s more than I expect.

Chapter Nine

Drew

“I’m going to school you again!”

The taunt comes from Taylor, the kid I’ve been battling in whack-a-mole.

“Don’t count me out yet.” I lift the mallet and send a wooden mole back into oblivion.

“You can’t catch up,” Taylor says again, a huge grin on his thin but gleeful face, as I chase the vicious little moles in the game. I’m at Santa Monica Pier for an event to benefit the children’s hospital, and the new wing that just opened there. The team donated a huge amount to have it built. I’ve played arcade games with a few kids, and I’m going head-to-head in yet another round of whack-a-mole with this tenacious ten-year-old who has kicked cancer’s ass.

He’s beaten me nearly every single time. And this time too. As my round ends, I raise a hand and high-five him. “Taylor, you are the king of whack-a-mole,” I say, thrusting his fist high in the air.

From across the arcade, a photographer snaps a shot. I don’t mind, but I wasn’t playing this round for the sake of the picture. I was playing it because Taylor is a fun kid and deserves to have a good time. He’s a fierce competitor too, and I admire the hell out of that. I knock fists with him, and tell him as much. “Now listen, Taylor. When you get back to fifth grade, I want you to tell everyone you kicked my butt at whack-a-mole. Can you do that, my man?”

He beams. “I can do that, and can you win again next weekend against San Francisco?”

I laugh and clap him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna do my best.”

He heads off to join his parents, and I return to the game for a quick solo round.

As
I clobber a mole, a pretty voice floats into my ear. “Careful. You don’t want to get an NFI.”

Slamming the padded hammer down on the wooden weasel, I answer with a grin. “You’re right.” The next mole submits to my speed with the hammer. “Can you even imagine the ridicule I’d suffer for a whack-a-mole-induced injury? That’d be one helluva nonfootball injury.”

Dani steps closer to the game and rests her hand on the back of the console. “So much ridicule. It would be the talk of the town,” she says with a playful shudder. I sneak a glance at her and my jaw drops. Hell, if she doesn’t look hot tonight. So hot, in fact, that I miss the next five whacks. Maybe ten. But the woman is wearing a goddamn red dress. It’s a tight sheath that hits above her knees, and she looks good enough to eat.

All I want to do is eat her.

“I thought you were a whack-a-mole pro,” she says, a teasing little lilt to her tone as she eyes the game board. The moles pop up and I miss nearly every one. I’d rather stare at her.

“I was, until Taylor gave me a good old-fashioned thrashing.”

“I saw that,” she says softly. “I was chatting with some of my colleagues by the Skee-Ball. And I love that you spent time with Taylor, and the other kids.”

“He’s a good kid. We had fun.”

“They adore you. All the kids here do. It’s great that you come out for this.”

A blush creeps across my cheeks, and I’m not a blushing guy. But I like hearing these sweet compliments from her. “Now, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t? It’s the right thing to do, and it’s also fun as hell.”

She smiles at me and all my appropriate thoughts fade away. My body says
kiss her
. My fucking heart says to do that too. This woman just does something to me, and like an invisible
thread
connects us, I feel a pull. Desire gets the better of me. It blots out everything else—the game, the rules, the team’s image. It erases all the reasons, personal and professional, that I need to be cautious. Right now, I want to be the opposite.

I inch toward her, and her eyes widen to saucer size. I freeze as she raises her chin, and mouths “smile for the camera.”

Damn. She distracts me with her beauty. Knocks me off my cool, calm center because I want her so goddamn much. I’ve got to be more careful.

I turn and flash a grin at the photographer who’s been making the rounds. Dani smiles too, and the guy gives us a thumbs-up before he heads off to another group.

“Close call,” I say under my breath.

“Were you going to try to kiss me?”

I nod. “I would think that was obvious.”

“It was obvious.”

I lean a hip against the game. “I know I shouldn’t have, but seeing as I was a good boy and restrained myself, let me ask the question—what would you have done if I had kissed you?”

A sweet smile tugs at her lips. “Probably kissed you back. Against my better judgment.”

I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “Screw judgment,” I say playfully and she laughs.

But a few seconds later, good judgment returns in the form of Stuart. He swoops in and shakes my hand. “Great night. Great event. Couldn’t be more pleased. You?”

I nod. “Everything is fantastic.”

“Wonderful.” He takes a beat, glances from Dani to me and back. For a split second, something inquisitive passes in his eyes, and a flurry of nerves race down my spine. Almost like how I feel when I can’t find a receiver and I’m about to get sacked. But that’s foolish, I tell
myself.
I need to chill out. Especially since Stuart’s next question is nice and easy. “We’ve got a request from eight-year-old Hannah, who just had corrective surgery on her ankle, for a round of Skee-Ball with the quarterback.”

“Say no more. I’m there.”

“He’s great at Skee-Ball,” Dani chimes in, and Stuart cocks his head to the side, as if he’s curious how she knows this little tidbit. That feeling starts up again, but Dani’s a pro at handling Stuart.

She narrows her eyebrows, and holds out her hands. “Duh. He’s the quarterback. If he can’t win at Skee-Ball, we should kick him off the team.”

“Yes, we absolutely should.” The older man adopts a stern look, shakes his index finger at me, and says, “Son, you’re gone if you don’t beat Dani in Skee-Ball after your round with Hannah.”

I exhale, relieved as hell that he didn’t pick up on a vibe. Or worse, start sniffing out what we’ve been up to. But then, maybe it was curiosity I saw in his eyes?

I chase away the thoughts.

We head over to the games, and a little redhead with freckles across her nose hands me a ball. “You go first,” Hannah says with a serious tone.

“Got myself quite a competitor here,” I say, and then we play.

This time, I do win. By a landslide. And after I take on a few more kids, I play a round with Dani. She’s good, but I’m not the quarterback for nothing. I know how to aim. I know how to throw balls. I know how to hit targets. The skills carry over, and I beat her too.

Then,
since most of the kids are gone, one of my receivers challenges me, and I obviously can’t turn that down, so I wind up playing Skee-Ball with Elkins for another twenty minutes.

By the time I’m done, Dani is gone. When I return home and check my phone, there’s a text message waiting for me.

Dani
: Did you destroy Elkins?

I don’t text back. I call. Because that’s safe. That I can do. I can talk to her, and I won’t step across a line I need to maintain.

“It was a complete annihilation of my teammate,” I say. “All the more impressive considering I was distracted by this hot blonde most of the time.”

“Were you now?”

“I was,” I say, as I settle into my couch. “She’s gorgeous and whip smart, and she shows up at places I don’t expect her.”

“Like the beach, and the movies, and the pier?”

“Exactly. She’s everywhere.”

“Have you ever considered she might be stalking you?” Dani asks in a serious tone that makes me laugh.

“I’ll take that kind of stalking. Maybe she’ll stalk me all the way over to my bed, and strip naked for me,” I say, knowing full well she won’t, but loving the image.