Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (4 page)

My engagement ring.

Which I’m wearing because I’m engaged.

“Holy shitballs,” I say aloud.

I grab my phone to text Adam good morning, but then see the time—I’m running late if I’m going to meet our families for breakfast at nine thirty.

I jump out of bed and get ready as quickly as I can. As I’m brushing my teeth, I catch sight of myself. Normally, in these sorts of circumstances, I would just put my hair in a ponytail, throw on jeans and a clean shirt, and leave. But, looking at myself in the mirror, I can see circles under my eyes and how uneven my skin looks.

I grab my tiny makeup bag that has powder, a tube of drugstore mascara, and the most neutral lip gloss in existence, and get to work. Five minutes later, I’m done. Though it’s not much, there is a difference—my eyes look brighter, at least.

Then I run a brush through my hair and instead of throwing it into a ponytail, grab Willa’s surf spray and use some on my hair.

I leave the bathroom, change, and grab my small cross-body purse before heading out to make my way to breakfast, and quietly make my way across the living room.

“Have fun,” I hear someone whisper behind me. I turn around and see Willa and Sophie sitting at the small table in the eat-in kitchen.

“I used some of your surf spray stuff,” I whisper to Willa. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Totally fine,” she says. “Your hair looks good wavy.”

Sophie nods in agreement, and I smile and wave as I leave the apartment.

Now, to figure out how to hail a cab.

When I get to the restaurant, I see the entire group of Kistlers and Narduccis waiting outside the breakfast place Willa suggested we go to. Including Adam.

Adam, my fiancé. Who is going to be my husband.

My stomach flips a bit at that thought.
Fiancé
doesn’t freak me out so much—but there’s something about
husband
that just seems much older and more mature and more serious than what we are.

He sees me as I’m getting out of the cab and comes over.

“Morning,” he says, wrapping me in a hug.

“Morning,” I say back, looking up at him. His lips meet mine and my body warms all over from the contact. “How’d you sleep?”

“Incredibly well,” he says. “I guess that’s what happens when you’ve basically been awake for two days and are running on adrenaline.”

“I’m glad you slept.”

“Think our families are going to grill us?”

“What would they grill us about?” I ask. I just figured we’d all have breakfast together.

“Our plans.”

“But we don’t even really know our plans,” I say. “Besides, we don’t have to know everything right now. We haven’t even been engaged for an entire twenty-four hours yet.”

“True,” he says. “Plenty of time to figure it out.”

Adam and I chat with our brothers until the hostess calls us inside, and we head to a long table in the middle of the restaurant.

I sit between my mom and Adam, and am glad when Mrs. Kistler makes her way to our end of the table. I feel like there’s some serious mending I need to do with her.

After we’re all seated and have placed our orders, a rare silence falls over the table and Mrs. Kistler says, “Well, I guess now is the time to talk about this wedding.”

Holy crap. We’re going to have a wedding.

How I hadn’t thought about that already, I don’t know. But somewhere between the draft news and the actual proposal and the surprise of my family and friends in New York, I hadn’t even thought about the fact that a wedding has to be planned.

“This is just so exciting,” my mom says, looking over at Mrs. Kistler. “Have you two talked about a date?” she asks Adam and me.

My mind goes entirely blank. I literally can’t think of words.

“We haven’t,” Adam says succinctly.

“But you have talked about your plans for the future, I’m guessing,” my dad says.

“Well,” Adam says. “We decided we would see what happens and then talk about it. We haven’t really had the time to talk about it yet now that we know what’s happening.”

“I see,” my dad says, looking perplexed.

“So, wait,” Mr. Kistler says. “You decided to propose to Courtney before the two of you had talked about whether or not you wanted to get married?”

“We know that we want to be together,” Adam says defensively. “Now we have to figure out the details.”

I look around the table at my family and the Kistlers. Everyone looks completely shocked.

“How could you not have discussed it?” Mrs. Kistler asks.

I feel a flush creeping up my chest and know that soon my face will be the color of a tomato.

Adam doesn’t seem to have an answer for his mom and suddenly I hear myself say, “We have time.”

“I understand you’ve been through a lot of excitement in the last couple days,” my mom says gently. “But Vicki is right. We need to talk about plans and details if you two are going to get married and moved before Adam has to report for training camp.”

“Whoa,” I say, sitting back hard in my seat. “Who thinks we’re going to get married this summer?”

“Well, that’s what makes the most sense,” my mom says. “I figured that’s why Adam proposed the day after the draft.”

I look to Adam and he looks as dumbfounded as I feel. Now I’m realizing the fact that we haven’t discussed this at all is An Issue. Our families assumed this would be some sort of whirlwind wedding.

I haven’t
really
thought about it, but given my current terror at the thought, I’m guessing that is not what I’m thinking.

“I proposed because I love Courtney and wanted her to know that just because I’m moving doesn’t mean that I’m leaving her behind,” Adam says. “While I wouldn’t mind getting married quickly, I don’t want to overwhelm everyone.”

“You really want to get married this summer?” I ask him as quietly as I can. It’s no use, though—our families can totally hear us.

“Sure,” he says. “Why not, right?”

“Adam, I’m nineteen. That aside, what would I do in New Orleans while you’re at football camp and team meetings and weight training?”

“Whatever you wanted. You could transfer to Tulane.”

“No.”

It comes out of my mouth before I even register that I’ve had the thought.

“Courtney, why don’t you think about what Adam is saying? It makes sense,” my oldest brother, Tony, says.

“Because I don’t want to go to Tulane,” I say, suddenly furious. “If I had wanted to go there, I would have applied last year. I want to go to Mizzou.”

“But things are different now,” my mom says.

“How? Because I have a ring on my finger? All that changes is the fact that I now have some shiny jewelry that tells other dudes that I’m off the market. Adam and I are still together. Sure, he’ll be in a different place than me, but that doesn’t entirely change the nature of our relationship.”

No one says anything and I look around the table, trying to find someone who will back me up. I know my brothers won’t be any help. Tony is married to his job, Kent is in a relationship but doesn’t seem like he’s ready to pop the question yet, Rob and his college girlfriend just broke up, and Ryan is a commitment-phobe. I move on to Adam’s brothers, and catch Jason’s eye. He gives me an indecipherable look, so I move to Mike.

“What do you think?” I ask him.

Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, my situation was different,” he says. “I’ve been out of college for quite a while. Same for Ashton. When we got engaged, we didn’t have to worry about finishing school. Ashton just planned the wedding and told me when to show up.”

I sigh. That’s entirely unhelpful.

Luckily, we’re saved by food. When everyone’s breakfasts are brought out and placed on the table, everyone digs in and no one brings up moving or wedding planning again.

But I know that I can’t escape the conversation for long.

Adam and I
really
need to talk.

Adam

“Okay,” Courtney says, pacing the length of the hotel suite.

After it became painfully obvious that we have no idea what we’re doing with this whole engagement thing, our families decided to go sightseeing after breakfast so that we could have some time alone.

“Okay,” she says again. “What do you think our game plan should be?”

“Well, honestly I was hoping that you’d transfer schools and move to New Orleans with me,” I say. I look up and see that Courtney’s face has gone completely white. “But you obviously don’t want that.”

“I don’t know why,” she says, sitting in a chair. “When it was mentioned earlier, everything in me reacted negatively.”

“You love Mizzou,” I say with a shrug. “I get that.”

“But I love you more than a school,” she says.  “I guess I should just get over it and transfer.”

Though I want that to be the end of this conversation so we can make the most of our alone time, I don’t want Courtney to do something she doesn’t want to do.

“I don’t want you to transfer if you don’t want to,” I say.

“But how are we going to be together?” she asks.

“We’ll do long distance.”

“Do you want to do that?” she asks. “All things considered, even if I moved with you to New Orleans, I’d barely see you due to your schedule. How will we make traveling work?”

She has a point there. And I don’t have the answers. But I need them right now. I close my eyes and try to think of the most logical outcomes.

“I think you’d probably have to do most of the traveling,” I say. “At least during the season.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I figured that much.”

“I know that I’ll have a few tickets for each game to give out to people,” I say. “I’m guessing you’ll want to come to the games.”

“Duh,” she says. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to come to all of them. That’s a lot of traveling for a college kid who will definitely have classes on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Yeah,” I say. “How often do you think you can handle traveling?”

She mulls it over and says, “If it’s driving to places close to Missouri, then twice a month?”

That’s not as often as I’d like, but it’s better than once a month. “Okay. So we’ll look at the season and figure out which home games you can make it to. I figure you’ll want to come if we play in Kansas City and St. Louis at their stadiums.”

“Obviously,” she says.

“Okay,” I say. “I can always fly you to Chicago and Denver and some of the other Midwestern stadiums, if it works with your schedule. This is doable.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But I guess what we really need to figure out is when we want to actually get married.”

I haven’t given the wedding day much thought. All I know is that I love her and I want to be with her and I want her to be happy. So if she says she wants to get married tomorrow, I’m good with that.

More than good with it.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“What if I don’t know yet?” she asks quietly.

“Do you want to marry me?” I ask, suddenly nervous. What if she’s backing out now that the reality of getting married is sinking in?

“Of course,” she says. “I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t. But I’m not sure I want to get married quite yet. Does that make sense?”

Not really.

“I guess.”

“I mean, we can be engaged for a while, right? There’s no rule that says we have to get married within a certain time period after getting engaged.”

“That’s true.”

“So why don’t we just wait?” she asks. “We have enough to worry about right now, with you moving and needing to focus on actually making the team this summer. Let’s just get through that transition before we try to make this more complicated and stressful than it already is.”

“Did I overwhelm you with this?” I ask.

That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted her to know that I’m serious about us and that I wasn’t going to act like my brothers did when they joined the NFL. I’m sure I’ll go out with my teammates and enjoy New Orleans when I can, but I don’t care about dating or sleeping around or being photographed with models. I just want Courtney and football.

“I didn’t think so,” she says. “But I guess planning a wedding and figuring it all out is a lot of damn work. That part is overwhelming. But the being engaged to you part isn’t. It’s the best.”

“So you’re happy?”

“Yes, Adam. I’m happy.”

I cross the room to her in two steps and lean down to kiss her. She immediately throws her arms around my neck, pulling me closer and opening her mouth to mine.

She is such a damn good kisser.

When we break away for a moment, I pull her up to standing and look toward the bed, hoping she’ll catch my drift.

“Adam,” she says. “You know I want to.”

“And now that I’ve put a ring on it, that want to is turning into a will?”

She laughs lightly and says, “I’ll consider it.”

The fact that we haven’t had sex yet is something that no one else knows. We’ve slept together in the sense that we have slept in the same bed. But the actual act of what is implied in sleeping together?

Nope.

We’ve discussed having sex at length—she’s still a virgin and while she hasn’t ever necessarily been waiting for marriage, she wants to be completely ready for her first time.

I get that. And I’ll never pressure her into it before she’s ready.

But I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t thinking that now that we’re engaged that maybe Courtney would be more comfortable with the idea of sex.

I kiss her again, slowly this time, kissing her completely until I feel her shaking a little in my arms.

She looks up at me and I can see the desire in her eyes. She grabs the hem of my shirt, working it up my body, and I help pull it off the rest of the way. Then she runs her hands down my chest and just that contact makes me hard.

I’m going to have to exercise some serious control when we do finally have sex.

She reaches up to her tiptoes and I lean down to kiss her, and her mouth is like fire this time. She clearly wants me, and knowing that turns me on even more.

I start working her shirt up and over her head, but know better than to go for the bra. That stays on.

“Maybe we should, uh, head toward the bed?” she suggests.

“Seriously?”

“Not for that,” she says quickly. “Not yet. But we can do other stuff.”

We move to the bed and continue with the hottest making out ever. Courtney’s hair tickles my skin as she kisses down my chest and stomach and back up again. Her teeth graze my right nipple, which sends shock tremors through my body, and I gently flip us over so that I can have my turn teasing her.

I kiss down her collarbone, tracing the curve of it with my tongue, and then lower down to her gorgeous cleavage.

I feel Courtney move under me and I look up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, a dangerous look in her eye. “I think maybe it’s time to lose the bra.”

Hot damn.

She sits up and I watch unblinkingly as she reaches to unclasp her bra. And then there are her seriously perfect breasts, in all their seriously perfect breasty glory.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes at that, like normal, but I lean toward her and say, “I mean it. You’re gorgeous.”

“Not that gorgeous,” she mutters.

“What?” I ask, taken aback.

“It’s nothing,” she says, pulling my face to hers and kissing me again.

“It’s not nothing,” I say between kisses. She’s never said anything like that before. I know that she gets a little self-conscious, but never has she said anything negative about herself. There’s no reason for her to—she’s perfect.

“I’m just being dumb,” she says.

“Courtney. Talk to me.”

“Are you going to stare at my boobs the entire time I’m talking?” she asks, making me realize that I am, indeed, staring at her boobs.

“They’re new,” I say in my defense.

“They’re not new,” she says. “They’ve been here the whole time!”

“They’re new to me.”

“Men,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“You’re changing the subject again,” I say, forcing myself not to stare at her boobs.

She sighs. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s enough of a big deal that you mentioned it while we were making out half naked. What’s going on?”

She sighs again, crossing her arms over her chest, and quickly says, “I’m number eighteen on the twenty hottest girlfriends of the draft.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“There’s this sports blog that ranked the twenty hottest girlfriends of the draft,” she says. “I’m number eighteen.”

Jesus. Christ.

How anyone could ever put Courtney at eighteen, I don’t understand. She is seriously smokin’. A curvy, sexy brunette with legs for days and eyes the color of milk chocolate.

“That blogger is an idiot,” I say.

“I was actually surprised I even made the list,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. But I can tell that this is a big deal for her.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand how you didn’t top the list.”

“Come on,” Courtney says. “Look at me. I’m totally normal. Which I’ve always been fine with. But you can’t deny that most of the girlfriends and wives of athletes err on the side of model.”

She’s right, I can’t deny that—hell, my brothers are guilty of what Courtney is saying—but I don’t find those girls nearly as pretty as Courtney.

“You’re not totally normal,” I say. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

“Which is why you dated a tall, skinny, blond volleyball player all through high school,” Courtney says flatly.

Sometimes the fact that she has known me my entire life really comes back to bite me in the ass.

“If I had known I could have dated you without your brothers trying to kill me, I would have!”

“As if they weren’t trying to kill you on the football field anyway.”

She has a point.

Though we lived near each other growing up, the zoning property for the school district ran so that we went to rival high schools. Which meant that my brothers and I grew up playing Courtney’s brothers in football. It would get heated.

“More than they already were,” I clarify. “Besides, I needed to get the tall, skinny, blond thing out of my system.”

She smacks me with a pillow for that comment and I retaliate by tickling her.

“I hate you so much,” she says, one word at a time, between breaths.