Double Coverage

Double Coverage

Mercy Celeste

Published 2011

ISBN 978-1-59578-803-0

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2011, Mercy Celeste. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

[email protected]

Editor

Jean Cooper

Cover Artist

April Martinez

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Maybe it was the sand or the Gulf breeze. It could have been the three appletinis. But when former quarterback Trigger Morgan makes a pass, Kailey Whitmore decides to throw caution to the wind and take him up on his offer.

A one-night stand at the fifteen-year reunion—how cliché. Unless Trigger has plans for more than just one night.

But Trigger’s best friend, star NFL wide receiver Bullet Brady, has ideas of his own. And those ideas include making Kailey part of his fantasy team. That is if Trigger is still game for a little Double Coverage.

Dedication

To Rita VF—Thanks for the girl talk and the commas.

Chapter One

The Alabama Gulf Coast

Early Summer

Kailey Whitmore sat at the bar gazing out over the people who’d shown up for the fifteen-year reunion. Back in the day, they’d all been skinny and fabulous. Now they were just old. Okay, maybe thirty-three wasn’t old, but Kailey sure as hell felt every one of those years keenly. In five years, when they gathered for the “official” reunion, she would be ancient—unless something changed, and fast.

Pink’s “So What” blared over the lounge sound system at Kailey’s request. “So What”—a song about a bad breakup, anger, and coping set to a hard driving beat—pretty much summed up the past year of her life.

Fresh out of college, she’d married the first guy she’d made love with. Yeah, looking back, he was a pathetic waste of a spectacular body, possessing very few brains and no humanity to speak of. However, she’d been stupid then too, and hadn’t noticed or cared as long as the sex was good and there was money.

And there was money, lots of money—mostly hers, earned from working two jobs in those first years while he finished dental school, and then his after he finished dental school. She never noticed that the sex had become stale or that the money was disappearing until it was too late.

He started staying late so she put in more hours. He said business was bad because of the recession, so she took on special projects that kept her out of town—after all her job was recession-proof. Then he’d stopped coming home altogether. That’s when she’d noticed. That’s when suspicion led her to discover more than she wanted to know.

His hygienists were named Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; there was even one named Saturday. Sure, those weren’t their real names, just the days he met them for lunch or dinner and a fuck at their place. The bitches. All of them with gorgeous long, flowing hair and outstanding boobs. Boobs that he’d paid for on more than one occasion.

Sorry sack of shit—waste of her youth, her life, her love.

Kailey sipped an appletini as she watched her former classmates gyrate on the dance floor. Some of them were actually married to their partners. How novel. There was Veronica Hutchins—the bitch head cheerleader and all-around perky nemesis of girls like Kailey—with Mark Cullman, former basketball captain, on the dance floor. She wondered if Ronnie’s hubby knew they were bumping uglies off the floor as well. Brad Brickman, the men’s wrestling captain, was flirting outrageously with Heather “Bunny” Kaufmann. Too bad he was so deep in the closet he was having adventures in Narnia. Too bad Bunny was too stupid to tell there wouldn’t be a happy ending for her tonight.

And then there was the captain of the football team, just as gorgeous and as single as ever, and headed straight for her. Oh, for the love of God, he
was
headed straight for her. Her heart somehow managed to skip a beat when he smiled her way.

“You look stunning, Kailey.” His voice was deep, masculine, and damned sultry. She smiled at him behind her glass, looking him over. He had the body to match his voice, well-developed shoulders, slim waist, and muscular thighs. His face wasn’t bad either, with little laugh lines beside his brown eyes, and a straight nose and square jaw.

“I could say the same about you, Trigger.” She swirled her drink, sipping to hide the smile she hadn’t expected when he blushed. Trigger Morgan had actually blushed! Damn, that was priceless.

“Just Trig now, Kailey. Trigger was embarrassing enough back then.” He placed his foot on the bar rail and leaned on one elbow beside her. “How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, you know, can’t complain. I work too hard, play too little. Same old, same old.” She wondered why he was standing there looking at her as if she were a buffet. “Are you drunk, Trig?”

“No. Why do you ask?” He signaled the bartender for a beer, then looked her up and down, undressing her with his eyes. Jesus. So, that was what it felt like to have Trigger Morgan look at you with those bedroom eyes of his. Like liquid fire, all tingly and hot.

“Because you never spoke to me back in the day, Trig. Remember? Dorky little Kailey with the glasses and braces, and the straight As and perfect attendance award. Thirteen years worth of straight As and perfect attendance awards, I might add.” But that was fifteen years ago, and the braces had paid off; the glasses had been replaced by contacts. She still had perfect attendance, damn it all to hell.

“That’s because I was afraid of you.”

“Bullshit. I was just a dork. There was nothing scary about me. You were a stuck-up jock who thought I was beneath you. Admit it.” She was still beneath him if the rumors were true. He was now a doctor. Trigger Morgan had gone and gotten himself a medical degree. Trig Morgan was a goddamned pediatrician. Well, at least he wasn’t banging his patients, unlike a certain dentist she could name.

“You know, Kailey, I’ve always had this one particular fantasy. It was about you, and you were definitely beneath me.” He smiled at her over his glass, heat and promise in his eyes. Oh holy hell. “We’d be good together.”

“What’s wrong, Trigger? Strike out with the cheerleaders this time around?” She glanced over at the Rah-Rah table where several sets of blue eyes were staring daggers at her. “Or did you lose a bet? I’m going to go with the latter. So what was it—kiss the valedictorian in front of everyone or steal a mascot head from the rival school? I bet stealing the mascot head will be easier.”

“There is no bet, Kailey.” He slid his hand along her arm.

Heat and electricity shot through her, taking her by surprise. She gasped, and he smiled. Oh dear God in heaven, the man had a killer smile.

“I’ve always had a thing for you, and I figured I’d catch you between husbands and see if maybe you might have had something for me once upon a time.”

“You’re kidding, right?” His hand trailed up her arm to her shoulder. She shivered; her skin prickled with a combination of desire and humiliation. “Don’t screw with me, Trigger. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’ll take that as a not interested, then.” He removed his hand, grazing her nipple “accidentally” as he stepped away. “Nice seeing you again, Kailey. My condolences on your divorce.”

“Son of a bitch,” she said to his retreating backside.

“Do you believe that guy?” She turned to the bartender when Trigger was out of earshot.

“Honey, what is wrong with you? That hot piece of ass wanted you. He’s been watching you all night, and you broke his little heart, bitch.”

The guy smiled as he spoke, but his words startled her. Trigger Morgan wanted her. Yeah, right.

“And Cher is a man.”

“Hey, now, no call to get nasty, honey. I was just sayin’, but if you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

“He’d rip you apart.”

“Oh honey, one can only hope.”

*

He watched her laugh at something the bartender said. She was stunning when she let go. Okay, she was stunning when she had that stick up her ass too. But when she really let go and smiled or laughed, Kailey Whitmore was a knockout.

Growing up, she’d lived down the street from him. Her older brother used to drag her out to play ball with all the boys. He’d teased her because she threw like a girl, but damn, after a year or two Kailey could throw a football almost as well as he could. He liked that about her. At twelve, she stopped coming out to play. Her brother had grown up and moved on to girls and cars, forgetting the kids and her. As time had gone by, he’d watched her blossom from gangly tomboy to full-grown woman. Obviously awkward in her own skin, she’d always avoided him and most of the other kids. She liked school—really liked school. She didn’t have time for ball games and prom as she won science awards and writing contests.

Kailey was a bona fide brain, one with boobs and long legs and pretty brown hair with blond streaks that he wanted to run his hands through, and eyes so green he couldn’t help but think of heaven. But Kailey had never looked twice at him.

Tonight she looked so lonely sitting at the bar all alone. There was something about the way she held herself that gave him courage. It helped that the gossip about her breakup swirled fast and furious around him. Her dentist husband caught banging his hygienists,
all
of his hygienists—Jesus Christ, was the man blind or stupid?—when he had her to come home to. She’d divorced him, a nasty divorce that cost him his license after his other extracurricular affairs came to light. Damn shame—for the dentist.

Trig wanted her for himself, always had. When she called him by his teenage nickname, he’d gone hard with greedy, syrupy desire. Then she looked at him with those goddamned green eyes turned hard as emeralds, and he knew he didn’t have a chance in hell.

He sighed, wondering how he had reached this point in his life, lusting after the one woman who didn’t know he existed, while a whole tableful of them would claw each other’s eyes out to go home with him tonight.

He watched her lean in to whisper in the bartender’s ear. If she preferred some damn bartender to him, then so be it. He set his glass on the table and said his good-byes to those around him. Tomorrow he would try to get an earlier flight back to New Orleans and put her out of his mind once and for all.

*

She saw him shaking hands and patting backs. He hugged one of the cheerleaders, patted another’s very pregnant belly as he headed for the door. He looked resigned, almost defeated. He was leaving. Of course not. Trigger wouldn’t just leave because she turned him down. Would he?

“Girl, he’s walking out the door. You better go get him, or mark my words, in five years you are going to regret letting him go.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway? Sister Lonely Hearts?” Kailey reached into her purse, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and shoved it at him. “Well, whoever you are, keep the change.”

“Go get him, cowgirl,” he called after her. She felt her face turn red and avoided all of the curious gazes as she rushed past the tables, especially the Rah-Rah table. She was out of breath when she caught him at the door.

She tapped him on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath before he turned around. And when he did, she didn’t think—she simply acted.

She pressed her body close to his; she could feel his heart beating wildly. She could feel his breath on her lips, her breasts crushed to his chest. She didn’t know what hit her when her lips touched his; lightning flashed in her head, thunder rumbled in her chest. Oh, Christ, he felt so nice, tasted so sweet she thought she would die.

“Your place or mine?” she asked, her hands skimming his shoulders.

“I’m upstairs; where are you?”

“Your place, then. I don’t think I’ll make it to mine.”

Chapter Two

The room tilted, but she didn’t care. Trig Morgan—quarterback, football captain, and everybody’s all-American unapproachable jock—nibbled her ear. The elevator was too damned slow, her dress was too damned in the way, and he was too damned yummy for her own good.

If that damned elevator didn’t get here soon, she’d melt or explode or come to her senses. There were eyes on them. Some she knew, some she didn’t, but she didn’t care. She wanted his hands on her body. He was good with his hands, everybody said so.

“You smell nice,” he whispered in her ear, his tongue dipping in for a taste. She trembled, pressing her body closer to his, so close she could feel every muscle hidden beneath his shirt. The bulge he pressed against her belly took her breath away. “Taste good too.”

“You talk too much.” She leaned against him, her clit throbbing, her panties soaked just because he blew in her ear. “And that elevator is too slow.”