Dearest Series Boxed Set (55 page)

Daren runs a hand through his thick, dark hair that’s cropped short on the sides but long enough on top to flop onto his forehead. I don’t need to get closer to see the effect those hazel eyes have on girls as three women saunter over to his table.

Sheri flicks me in the shoulder. “At least let me introduce you two before some slussy gets her hooks into him.”

A cynical smile plays on my lips, one that I hope says I’m a no-fly zone for players. Because Daren’s a player just like Jacob, and players only do one thing. They cheat.

I shake my head. “No need. We’ve met.”

* * *

G
o out with Daren
.
That’s the worst idea ever. I want to punch myself in the face for the two-point-two seconds my brain found the suggestion appealing.

I finish tying my shoelaces before I trudge down the stairs and out into the humid morning. Well, night for most people.

Reaching behind me, I grab my ankle and stretch my quad. At quiet times like this, I always think about Jacob. Not that we ever worked out together. He never got out of bed at this hour. Maybe the fact that he didn’t says something about us.

I can’t stop doing this, replaying our relationship to try to pinpoint what went wrong. It’s been torture to not take his calls—I miss him like crazy—but I’ll never forgive him for what he did. Because it wasn’t a one-time thing. It wasn’t some crazy drunken accident. It was deliberate. Calculated. Habitual.

My hand twitches on my phone.

When I get desperate, when I get tempted to contact him, I watch the video on my cell. That’s a different kind of torture. Watching the man you thought loved you screw another woman feels like a slow death of a thousand lies.
I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to have my children.
All lies.

But rather than distance myself from these thoughts, I force myself to think about those excruciating details to harden my resolve.
His dick. Her mouth. Their moans.
Yeah, fuck him.

When I’m done stretching, I jog slowly and let the ache from last night’s drinking spread through my limbs. I’ve never run in Sheri’s neighborhood before, but I know the main streets well enough from attending school nearby, and I’m on the familiar ground of the Esplanade before I know it. The path meanders around the Charles River, which laps against the banks this morning with the steady breeze.

By the second mile, Jacob’s betrayal feels duller, less like a knife to my heart and more like a bruise to my ego. But I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. For questioning my self-worth. Moving in with Sheri and getting my new job means I get to start over, and I intend to take full advantage of these opportunities.

Perhaps that’s why Daren sounded briefly alluring. A gorgeous face to distract me. God, I could use a distraction. That’s why I love work. It keeps me so busy, I barely have time to breathe.

By the time I loop around and reach Sheri’s building, the sun is starting to warm the horizon. Guns ‘n Roses blasts from my iPhone as I push into my final sprint. My blood is thrumming through my veins, and I’m drenched with sweat, but it feels good. I’d never admit this to a sane person, but I like having to get up this early. It forces me to stay on top of my life.

Internally, I’m ticking off today’s call schedule. I have a meeting in an hour, an on-air interview at eight a.m., three stories I’m researching for the week, the web report to update, and at least a dozen follow-up calls to make.

When I turn the corner, I never see it coming. But when my body slams into the brick wall, all the air escapes my lungs as I fall backwards and onto the pavement.

I
t’s still early
as fuck, but if I don’t hit the road soon I’ll be stuck in rush-hour traffic, and I don’t want to be late. Plus, I need to check how long the drive takes at this hour since training starts at seven a.m. Although camp doesn’t begin for a few weeks, I’m meeting with one of the trainers to take a tour of the locker room and gym. The coach knows this is as much of a head game as it is about physical ability, so he agreed to let me work out there a few days a week and get a feel for the team’s facilities until preseason starts.

My key turns in the lock as I ask myself again why I’ve kept this condo. The parking is terrible, my commute sucks, and the building is old. I purchased it for Veronica and me to live in after we graduated because I knew she wanted to stay in the city, but since we broke up the night of the draft, she never even knew about it. I’ve been thinking about scoping out some condos closer to the stadium.

Thoughts of that failed relationship automatically put me in a foul mood. Four fucking years wasted. Even the eight months we spent apart sophomore year were plagued with her drama and lies.

I’m good at a lot of things, like football and school, but even the word “relationship” feels like a live wire waiting to electrocute me.

The problem with Veronica, aside from how she and I got together in the first place, was football, the one thing that gave her the attention she wanted. Ironic.

That’s just it. I can’t have a woman jealous over what I do for a living. I’ve busted my balls since I was a kid to get here. People can say I’m rich already, that it doesn’t matter how my football career pans out, but that shit makes me want to bust my ass more. Besides, that money isn’t mine, and I need to make my own way.

If I do this, if I make our demise about her shallowness instead of her betrayal, my chest doesn’t feel like it might explode. Like I might put my fist through a concrete slab. Because that confession...

My stomach twists when I think of what she told me that night. Even though she begged me to forgive her, there are some sins that can’t be washed away with words.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I realize the sun is rising and I need to haul ass. I toss the gym bag over my shoulder and head toward my SUV in the back lot. As I round the corner, I pull my phone out of my back pocket to see if the realtor returned my call.

Deep down, I think I dodged a bullet. Because at least Veronica never moved in with me. That would have been a nightmare.

Suddenly, I hear an “oomf” and my cell goes flying.

It takes me a second to realize what just happened, and that’s when my heart starts to race. Holy shit. A woman is on the pavement.

I drop my bag and lean down to her. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She turns her face toward me with a groan.

Wait a sec.
I know that face. I could never forget that face.

“Maddie?” What’s she doing outside of my building at five thirty in the morning? She’s wearing yoga pants and a tank top. Her iPhone is on the ground a few feet away. “Maddie, shit. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She blinks a few times. Finally, she groans. “Jesus Christ, Daren. Are you trying to kill me?”

Did I hurt her? Fuck.

I brush her hair out of her face until those piercing
blue eyes peer back at me. Without thinking, my hand trails through her hair and cradles the back of her neck.

We stare at each other, and she sucks in a breath.

Why am I holding her like this?
The same question registers in her expression, and I back away and clear my throat, trying not to notice the way her tank top reveals all kinds of creamy cleavage.

Why is she still sprawled on the ground?
Oh, yeah, asshole. You knocked her down. Help the girl up without trying to grope her this time.

“Here, let’s get you off the sidewalk.” I extend my hand, which she ignores as she pulls herself up.

She shoots me a dirty look as she dusts off her ass, which I’m wildly curious about seeing how she’s wearing snug-fitting workout clothes.

Wow. Maddie McDermott. Her thick, black hair sits in a messy ponytail, made even messier by our collision. She’s tall for a girl. Slender but curvy in all the right places. The last time I saw her in person, she was wearing a slate-colored business suit and was interviewing the mayor. And Maddie in a business suit is a sight to behold.

But shit. She’s even hotter when she doesn’t have any makeup on.

She leans over to grab her iPhone, and I avert my eyes from her rear because I don’t want to be the skeeve who checks out girls’ asses.

When she turns back to me, she’s frowning. “Someone should put you in charge of the welcoming committee. Is that how you greet all of your new neighbors? Don’t you think you should save the tackles for the field?”

Despite the non-staring pact I’ve made with myself, I can’t help but take in her pouty lips and the way her nose wrinkles in the cutest way when she frowns.

Wait. What is she talking about?

“I’m sorry. I was on my way to Dunkin’ Donuts for some coffee, so my brain isn’t fully functional yet. Did you say we’re neighbors?” She nods. My eyes widen. “You’re Sheri’s Maddie?”

Her eyebrow raises. “I don’t label myself as such
per se
, but yes, I’m Sheri’s Maddie.”

My mind instantly flashes to the box her roommate joked was likely full of sex toys.

Fucking hell. Maddie and sex toys.

Down, boy.
I need to go before my dick gets any more excited to see her.

“Sorry, Maddie. I’m running late. Tell Sheri hi. If you’re around this weekend, I’m having a Fourth of July party on the river. You guys should join me.”

She shakes her head before I finish talking, her eyes darting down to the ground. “Sheri is heading out of town, and I have to work. But thanks.” She’s frowning like I’ve just asked her to grout my tub.

Okay
. That was a fuck-off vibe if I’ve ever seen one.

Nodding, I grab my gym bag. “Well, have a great Fourth, then. Sorry about knocking you on your ass.” I don’t wait for her answer before I take off for my SUV.

* * *

F
orty-five minutes later
, I’m almost at the stadium, but I’m thinking about Maddie. I don’t know why it’s still bugging me, but she couldn’t have turned me down any faster. Which is so different from the first time we met last fall. Okay, she might have been on the fast track to getting drunk with one of my best friends, Clementine, but Maddie was chatty and sweet and, fucking hell, gorgeous.

I’m wondering if I’ve offended her somehow. This is probably a dickish thing to think, but I’m not turned down often.

Rubbing my neck, I’m tempted to feel paranoid right now. I wonder if she knows the truth behind Clementine’s book. That’s how Maddie and I met, after she interviewed Clem, when Clem’s identity as a bestselling author was revealed.

I shake my head. It’s probably for the best that Maddie’s not interested. For a million reasons.

Preseason means I don’t fuck around, so my summertime activities have to stop anyway. With a new team, about a hundred new plays to learn, and the stress of the NFL, the last thing I need are head games. And women definitely mean head games. Because I am great at a lot of things, but dealing with female drama is not one of them.

I’ve spent the last two months since my breakup embracing the fuck-till-you-forget lifestyle until the wasteland that was my former relationship is a distant blur. If anything, this summer made me realize my ex and I were over months ago, maybe as far back as Christmas.

Jax, my best friend and Clementine’s twin, likes to tell me it’s about fucking time Veronica and I parted ways. I think he’s right.

Now it’s time to get serious. To focus on football. To play like my life depends on it.

So the last thing I should be thinking is how I’d love to get Maddie McDermott horizontal on my sheets, maybe in my tub, and definitely on the living room floor, preferably near the fireplace.

My cock might be cheering yes right now, but I know better.

But when my phone rings with a call from my realtor, suddenly moving doesn’t seem as pressing as it did this morning.

Maybe living in the city won’t be a hassle. Because living in the Back Bay has at least one perk.