All In: Playing to Win (Gambling With Love Book 5) (20 page)

"Inviting me to your house?"

"Real. There may have been paparazzi outside the gates, but that had nothing to do with why I invited you over. They were trying to catch me cheating on you, even though I already knew I didn't want anyone else. Not because I was trying to keep my contract but because I was falling hard for you. I wanted the first time I made love to you to be in my bed. And you
know
that was real."

"Jake said you screwed some girl while we were..."

"
Not
while we were together. Her name is Addison. We kissed, and I, ah, went down on her, but nothing else happened because I couldn't stop thinking about you. It was that Friday night a few minutes after I saw you leave with that guy."           

"I trusted you," she says, barely a whisper.

"I know and I'm so damn sorry. I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'll never lie to you again if you just give me another chance.”

“Is that why you made the donation to the foundation? As a bribe to get me back?”

“God no,” I assure her. “That money wasn’t meant for you.”

“It wasn’t?” she asks.

“No. It’s for the foundation to use to help save the lives of girlfriends, fiancées, and wives for all the men who love them. I may have only known you a few weeks but I already love you so much that losing you would completely destroy me."

"You love me?" she gasps and her sad, red eyes widen.

"Real. So real that I can't imagine my life without you. I need you, Natalie. There's like this intense gravitational pull I feel toward you. I can't resist it, and I don't want to even try. It's so damn strong that I actually collided into you four years ago. That video...the photo of us on your wall? If that's not what love at first sight looks like then there's no such thing."

"That's how I've felt about you for four years. It's probably why I moved to this city and ended up in this stadium."

After seeing that photo in her apartment I knew without a doubt that she loved me, and had loved me for years. Not my money, or my fame, or my looks. She was smart enough to figure out that we were meant to be together. We're soulmates that will keep finding our way back to each other no matter what. I hate it took me so long to realize it for myself.

"Then you can't give up on me now," I tell her. "Not when I finally know how you've felt all along."

"No, I can't, because I love you too and even if I didn't, I wouldn't want you to give up football for me. Alex Marshall sucks."

"Thank God," I say on an exhale, pulling her into my arms and crushing her against me.

"Um, Zack? Is there a reason I'm seeing this PDA?" Jerry asks from his office door.

I turn around and make the introductions, not the least bit embarrassed by getting caught with Natalie in my arms. "Mr. Tucker, I'd like you to meet my
real
girlfriend, Natalie Adair. Natalie this is Jerry Tucker, owner of the Wildcats."

Jerry smiles at Natalie and holds out his hand which she shakes. "Nice to meet you, Natalie. I'm glad Zack finally found a nice girl like you."

"Thank you, sir. I'm a huge Wildcats' fan," she tells him.

"Natalie knows football like you wouldn't believe," I confirm.

"Huh. And didn't I read something about you being a cheerleader in college?" he asks.

"Yes, sir."

"You ever try out for the Lady Cats?" That was the name of our cheerleading group.

"No, sir. I retired my pom-poms."

"Well, I think our squad could use some of your goodness rubbing off on them. Let me know if you're interested, maybe even in some sort of managerial role."

"Natalie is actually interested in photojournalism, and more specifically, sports," I tell him.

"Oh really? Well then we'll have to get you down on the sidelines."  

"Thank you, sir. I'd love that," Natalie replies with a smile.

That's right where she belongs, down on the field with me.

"Was there anything else?" Jerry asks, looking between the two of us then down at the watch on his wrist. "Don't you have a plane to catch for tomorrow's game?"

"That's all, sir. Thank you for your time," Natalie replies as she grabs my hand and tugs me out the door.   

"Thanks, Jerry," I call out as we leave his office.

I owe that man my life.

Five years later…

Ten seconds on the clock, no timeouts, and the score is fourteen to ten. A field goal won't do. We need a touchdown to win. On first and goal, the ball is at the Washington Wolves' twenty yard line, and there's only time for one play, maybe two at most.

I'm in the shotgun formation where my wife says I perform the best. She's right. I read the defense and call out the snap count to the offensive line. Simpson hikes the ball to me on my count and then my feet are moving backwards and my eyes are searching, hoping somebody will get open. Thankfully Jake runs the cross route perfectly, losing his defender at the five yard line. I haul back and throw the pass with a perfect spiral. You can feel the collective gasp of everyone in the stadium as we all wait and watch to see if he'll make the catch.

Jake goes up in the air and the ball hits him dead center on his chest.

Hold on to it! Hold on to it!
I chant over and over in my head until both of his feet come down in bounds. The momentum of hitting the ground so hard causes the ball in his hands to momentarily bobble, but he secures it and tucks it under his arm. Jake takes off, and has to stretch the ball over the end zone's orange pylon right as the safety tackles him and the clock buzzes.

Everyone looks to the closest referee waiting for his signal. Was he in or out? Did he make it? When both of the refs arms go straight up in the air chaos erupts in the indoor stadium.

Touchdown!

Everyone screams and jumps up and down celebrating our win every way possible. I find Jake and lift him in the air, thanking him for making the catch that sealed the deal. We're surrounded by our teammates a second later, hugging us and laughing, unable to believe we've made it. Together we've just done something every football player dreams of doing, but only a few ever manage to accomplish.

Cameras with bright lights and microphones are shoved into my face. Confetti and balloons in our team colors of black and blue rain down on the entire field.     

"How does it feel to win your first Super Bowl?" someone asks me.

"Zack, do you think you'll be named MVP?"

"How badly did you hurt your shoulder after the sack in that last series?"

Question are being fired at me, one right after another while my eyes search the crowd of people rushing onto the field. She's so small it's hard to spot her tiny frame. But Natalie and I have our own way of just
knowing
how to always find each other. I turn around and there she is. Wearing my jersey that has "
My Lucky Charm
" written in faded black marker. She's so damn gorgeous, smiling brighter than the sun.

I push my way through the crowd until she's in front of me, easily ignoring everyone else around us.

"Yay, Daddy! You won!" Two-year-old Sophie squeals when I reach down and grab her and Natalie in a crushing hug. I hoist our beautiful daughter up on my shoulders, so she can see above the crowd while I kiss my beautiful wife.

Every day I thank the cancer gods for bringing her back to me, and pray for them to keep on staying the hell away from her. So far so good.     

"Congratulations! We're so proud of you, Daddy!" Natalie yells over the chaos when our lips finally pull apart. "Now let me get a couple of picture of you and Sophie."

Taking a few steps back she lifts her camera and snaps a few photos. There's so many people crowding onto the field that I panic when a few jostle into her.     

"Be careful down here. I don't want anyone to bump into you and hurt the baby," I tell her, closing the distance between us to put an arm protectively around her. I flatten my other palm over the number fourteen stretched tightly over her swollen belly. I can feel our son going wild in there, just like everyone else in the stadium.

I love how beautiful Natalie is when she's pregnant with my babies. I already know that two will never be enough, and just hope I can convince her to have a few more after Braxton is born.

"Stop worrying and enjoy your moment," she says, dismissing my concern. 

"What moment?" I ask, reaching up to grasp my daughter's leg tighter and pulling Natalie closer to me, as far as her pregnant belly and my pads will allow. "Winning the Super Bowl?"

"Well, yeah." She laughs like it's obvious.

"Oh, baby, this is absolutely nothing compared to winning you," I tell her, unable to help my smile when I brush her lips with mine again.

###

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COMING SOON FROM LANE HART

Look for Joe’s book in September 2015

MMA Middleweight World Champion, Jackson "Jax" Malone has just entered the fight of his life. Known for his viciousness in the cage, and his playboy ways out of it, Jax is arrested and charged with a brutal rape. The thought of spending decades in prison is one of the few things that actually scares the shit out of this cocky fighter.
Newly admitted attorney Page Davenport is willing to do anything it takes to get out from under her father's thumb and finally prove herself in his law firm. Anything except represent the infamous miscreant, Jackson "The Mauler" Malone. Despite her protests, Page is powerless to avoid becoming the sacrificial lamb, the token female, who will be the face of the violent, angry Neanderthal's defense team.
Jax is a bad boy with a temper, doing whatever the hell he wants in life while flipping the bird at all his haters. Page is the prim and proper rich debutante her parents want her to be. They've been pulling her strings, telling her what to do, where to go to school, what to wear, and even who she should marry.
Page and Jax struggle to work together, engaging in a knockdown drag-out fight for dominance. When they finally stop taking swings at each other, they're both surprised to realize that sometimes first impressions are completely wrong. In fact, opposites really do seem to attract. However, there are lines that attorneys and their clients can never cross, if Page wants to keep her license to practice law.
Will Page risk it all and submit to the cocky fighter? Or will Jax's temper and jealousy prove too much for her to take on outside of the courtroom?
Either way, one thing is for sure - neither Page nor Jax are going down without a fight. In the end, the secret for them to find heaven may be to battle their way through hell first.

Excerpt from Chapter One of Jax

"Mr. Malone, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Page Davenport. Page, this is Martin Malone and his son. I'm sure you'll recognize Jackson Malone from his outstanding MMA career," my dad says when he makes the introductions.

"Nice to meet you," I lie as I hold out my hand to the older man. Shaking it he gives me a polite nod of his head while assessing me. He's not looking at me in a creepy, sexual way, but it's more of a look that says,
Is she really old enough and experienced enough to represent my son?
Of course not, and everyone in the building knows that.

My curious eyes finally dance around the older man to the one standing behind him. The spacious conference room that can easily accommodate ten ego-inflated attorneys suddenly feels too small. Intimidating doesn't even begin to describe the vibe this man is putting off. He practically comes with his own flashing neon sign over his coal colored pompadour cut, shaved close on the sides, that says in big, bright letters, "
Danger! Stay back at least 100 feet!"

It isn't necessarily the guy's size that makes him scary, even though he’s built like a tank at more than six feet tall with a wide, muscular build. But when you add in his black bottomless-pit eyes and tight unshaven jaw...he looked like Mount Vesuvius about to erupt. Violence and tension radiate off of him in waves that are almost visible. In nothing special faded jeans and a plain white tee contrasting with his tan golden skin, he's absolutely, without a doubt, the most…scrumptious looking man I've ever laid eyes on. His mug shot plastered all over the television and internet don’t do him justice.

How the heck is it physically possible for someone who lets other people punch him in the face for a living still look like...like...a gorgeous
Abercrombie & Fitch
model?

And how can someone so bad ass and angry still come across as...well, I'd never actually say this to his face, but pretty?

The man is nothing like the type of guy I'm usually attracted to. He's missing the requisite white collar and tie. I have a feeling that the brute before me never wears either. Instead of clean cut, he's ruggedly and dangerously handsome, singularly able to make women stop, drop their panties, and roll over...and cause men to run away like cowards with their penises tucked between their legs. Speaking of penises...

"Page?" my father's commanding voice interrupts my perusal, that has gone on far too long and much further south than is professional.

He is a monster, not a sexy man you should be wanting a life size poster of for your bedroom!
My inner sanity finally surfaces and reminds me of the rape and strangling he's charged with. Yes, that's exactly what I need! A reminder of why he's here and the horrible thing he did.

"Nice to meet you," I lie again, intentionally not offering him my hand to shake. It would've been a serious stretch to reach him across the table anyways, I tell myself.

The dangerous man's dark, seemingly soulless eyes assess every single inch of my body. And, unlike his father, his gaze is definitely sensual. He's looking at me like I'm a brand new flavor of
Ben & Jerry's
. One that he can't wait to dip his…spoon into, gorge himself on until he scrapes the very bottom of the carton, and then lick the container completely clean with his tongue.

Even if I had looked at him the same way, his perverted stare helps cool my overheating hormones, seeing him for the pig that he is.

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