I'll Catch You (2 page)

Several moments passed before he barked out a laugh. “For a minute there, you had me thinking you could actually handle the boys up in the Sabers front office.”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“Sweetheart, those men would eat you alive in a contract negotiation. You don’t know what hardball is until you go up against Milton Crawford and the rest of Sabers management. Besides—” he hefted the duffel bag’s strap over his right shoulder “—there’s a good reason I could never have you as my agent.”

“And what’s that?” Payton inquired.

With a wicked grin tipping up the corner of his mouth, his eyes made another journey down her body, hovering at breast level before climbing back to her face. “I’d spend every minute we’re together picturing you naked.”

He winked, turned and left her standing in the middle of the locker room.

“How can you say I’m difficult to work with, Powers? We’ve never worked together.”

“Stop moving,” came another frustrated reprimand above his shoulder.

Cedric raised his head from the massage table’s cushioned face cradle and mouthed
sorry
to the trainer who’d been kneading the muscles in his upper back for the past half hour. Settling his face into the cradle, he adjusted the Bluetooth device in his ear and returned his focus to Aiden Powers, agent to his former teammate Thelonious Stokes. Powers was the fifth agent Cedric had talked to this week, and from the way this conversation was going, he was about to get another “I’ll have to think about it.”

And that would be the good scenario. He’d had three agents tell him flat-out no.

“You’d be crazy not to take me on,” Cedric continued. “Didn’t you see that thirty-two-yard touchdown run today? I’m money in the bank.”

“Not as much as you could be. After the stunt you pulled at the Baltimore game, Reliant Sportswear backed out of the deal they were about to offer you.”

How did Powers know about the Reliant thing? Cedric had just gotten word that the deal was off two days ago. No doubt Gus had been flapping his gums. He should have known agents gossiped like a bunch of girls.

“That incident in Baltimore was a big misunderstanding. Watch the tapes. You’ll see it was one of the fans who started it by throwing that bottle onto the field. The commissioner is even thinking about revoking the fine the league charged me. Reliant is going to come crawling back when that happens. You’ll see. I’ve got—”

The high-powered agent cut him off. “Look, I don’t have time for this, Cedric. You lost Reliant, you’ve pissed off Sabers upper management more times than I can count—face it, Milton Crawford has never liked you being on his team.”

“What are you talking about? Crawford loves me,” he said, referring to the owner of the Sabers. Sure, the big man had called him out a few times, but that was nearly four years ago, during his rookie season. It was all water under the bridge.

“No, he doesn’t.” Powers’s reply was dry and matter-of-fact. “But that doesn’t matter. As long as you perform on the field, Crawford will tolerate you. It’s the other stuff. You’re banned from most of the nightclubs in New York!”

“Only two clubs and neither incident was my fault,” Cedric defended himself. “They were both a matter of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“That’s the problem. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time seems to be standard operating procedure for you. You’re a magnet for trouble. A loose cannon. Even if you were able to get a deal with Reliant Sportswear, it wouldn’t be enough commission for the headache you would cause. Try calling Sammy Hester. I heard he just lost the Tennessee quarterback to David Sage. He’s probably looking for fresh meat.”

“I don’t trust Sammy Hester,” Cedric said. Besides, Hester had turned him down when Cedric had called him on Thursday. “I need you, Powers. That deal you landed for Theo with Sports Talk TV was sweet. I need someone like you in there when the Sabers renegotiate my deal at the end of the season.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Reeves,” the agent said, weariness in his voice. “I’m going to tell you something you probably haven’t accepted yet, but you need to face it. Despite that nice run you had today, the likelihood that the Sabers will renew your contract is slim. Have you been watching any football on Saturdays? ’Bama, Nebraska, USC and Georgia Tech all have running backs that are just as good as you are, and from what I know of them, they’re not likely to get thrown out of nightclubs on a weekly basis.

“The league is cleaning up its image, and guys like you are becoming too much of a liability. Teams would rather take a chance on new talent than to sign a known troublemaker.”

Cedric shut his eyes, the effects of a half hour on the massage table evaporating with that one word.

Troublemaker.

He hated that damn label, but once you were painted a certain color it was hell to wash yourself clean of it. Yeah, he’d made some knuckleheaded moves in the past, but he wasn’t some hotheaded rookie anymore. Why couldn’t anyone see that?

“I’ll be straight with you, Powers. I need an agent. A good agent. This is my first contract renegotiation. I need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Aiden Powers’s sigh came through loud and clear over the Bluetooth. “I would tell you that I’d think about it, but it would be a waste of your time, Reeves. My answer is no. I’ve got a full slate of clients, and even though they all may not be choirboys, I don’t have to worry about picking them up from the local precinct at three in the morning, either.”

Cedric winced at the reminder. Powers hadn’t gotten that tidbit from hanging around the agent watercooler. News of his near arrest had been in every major newspaper and on every sports blog in the country. Another case of his being at the wrong place at the wrong time, but the reporters didn’t bother themselves with reporting the whole story, only the stuff that fed his bad-boy image. Cedric was getting damn tired of that image.

“Good luck finding someone,” Powers said before disconnecting.

Cedric’s head sunk deeper into the massage table’s face cradle, disappointment attacking him like a quarterback blitz. Aiden Powers hadn’t been his last hope, but he was close to it.

When his former agent had told him he was dropping him as a client, Cedric hadn’t imagined he’d have trouble finding another one. He’d won the Doak Walker Award for top running back in the nation his senior year at Penn State and had been in contention for Rookie of the Year his first year in the league. He was one of the top running backs in the entire NFL, dammit. What agent wouldn’t want to represent him?

Those who didn’t want to be saddled with a troublemaker.

“Cedric, you’ve got to relax, man. Your deltoids feel like speed bumps. There’s only so much my magic fingers can do.”

Cedric raised his head and looked up at Tony, one of the trainers who worked with the Sabers running core. “Thanks for trying, but I’m too stressed to relax,” he answered.

“There’s only one other thing I can think of that’ll relieve the stress, but I can’t help you with that one. Maybe some of the Saberrettes are still around.”

Cedric chuckled as he levered himself off the massage table. “The Saberrettes are off-limits,” he said, referring to the Sabers cheerleading squad. “Haven’t you heard it’s dangerous to play around in the workplace?”

“Not like I’d have the chance,” Tony said with a hint of bitterness as he wiped massage oil from his fingers. “They won’t even look at us guys not wearing football uniforms.”

“From what I’ve heard from a couple of the guys on the team, you’re not missing much. Hey, thanks for the work on my back,” Cedric offered as he tucked the towel around his waist. “I may try soaking in the hot tub at home. See if that helps.”

“Good idea,” Tony said. “Hey, Reeves. Sorry about the whole thing happening with your agent.” Tony gestured to the Bluetooth attached to Cedric’s ear. “I couldn’t help but hear, you know?”

He shrugged. “There are more agents out there than ball players. I’m just being choosy.” Cedric pointed a finger at the massage table. “Tomorrow? Same time, same place?” Maybe the consecutive massages would make a dent in the weight he carried on his shoulders.

Cedric grabbed the duffel bag he’d stored underneath the table and retrieved the clothes he’d stripped out of before his massage. A metallic silver business card fell to the floor. Cedric scooped it up and turned it over.

“Mosely Sports Management. Payton Mosely, Owner.”

He recognized the email address as the one that had cluttered his in-box.

Cedric shook his head and chuckled as he tossed the business card into his bag. When had she even managed to slip that in there? Ms. Mosely went after what she wanted, he’d give her that. He wondered if she was a Ms. or a Mrs. If he didn’t have so much on his plate these days, he would take the time to find out. Images of that pretty face and those fantastic breasts had been hovering at the edge of his mind since their encounter in the locker room.

Cedric dropped the towel from his waist and pulled on his black sweatpants and black Sabers T-shirt. He made his way over to the suite of offices and conference rooms where postgame meetings were held. Personnel were filing out of the wrap-up meeting for the offense coaches. Cedric signaled to the Sabers’s wide-receivers coach, Torrian Smallwood, as he exited the conference room.

Torrian had been sidelined by an eye disease that had left his vision too messed up to play but plenty good enough to coach. This was his first season coaching the Sabers wide-receiver core.

They clasped palms. “Nice run for that touchdown. You had the closest man beat by five yards.”

“I had the wind at my back,” Cedric joked.

“Whatever, man. It put us back in the game.”

“What time are we meeting?” Cedric asked him. For the past few years, Cedric, Torrian, Theo Stokes and his fellow teammate Jared Dawson had met in Torrian’s rec room after home games for dominoes, junk food and beer.

“You didn’t get my text message?” Torrian asked. “Paige scheduled some big-time food critic to eat at the Fire Starter Grille tonight. I’ve got to be there. Plus Theo’s plane was delayed by storms in the Midwest. He’s still stuck in Omaha.”

“I caught a bit of the Nebraska game last night. Theo’s doing a good job as sideline commentator.” Something Aiden Powers had said to him sounded a bell in Cedric’s brain. “That running back at Nebraska looked pretty sharp. You know if the boys in the front office are looking at him?”

“I’ve heard his name mentioned,” Torrian replied. His ex-teammate leveled him with a stare. “It’s not time to start worrying about your job yet, Cedric. Just keep having games like the one you had today and keep your behind out of trouble. In fact, why don’t you come by the restaurant tonight?”

“Nah, I’m good, Wood,” he said, calling Torrian by his nickname. “I need to go through a few routes in the playbook.”

“You’ll be here tomorrow watching tape?”

“Probably get in around eleven.”

“See you then. Good game, man.” Torrian brought him in for a one-armed hug, then continued down the corridor.

Cedric gripped the handles of his duffel and made his way out to the parking lot. His stride faltered when he noticed the slim figure leaning against the concrete pillar a few spots down from where he’d parked his Lincoln Navigator. She straightened when she spotted him walking toward her.

“Hello again, Ms. Mosely,” Cedric greeted her with exasperation. “You sure you don’t have anything better to do on a Sunday afternoon? Hanging around a parking lot isn’t all that exciting.”

“All I want is twenty minutes,” she said.

“And just what is it you think you can accomplish in twenty minutes?”

“I can show you just what I can do for you,” she answered.

Cedric’s eyes zeroed in on her lips. They looked so inviting, so extremely kissable. Could they really be as soft as they appeared?

Cedric gave himself a mental shake and got back to the matter at hand. “Look here, sweetheart—”

“It’s Payton.”

“Fine,
Payton.
I appreciate a woman who goes after what she wants—”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “First, try not to see me as a woman, since that’s obviously one of your hang-ups.”

Cedric dragged his gaze over her well-put-together body. “Baby, there’s no other way to see you.”

Every single inch of her was woman, from the silky hair that fell just above her shoulders to her delicate white-tipped toenails. Her dark denim jacket accentuated firm, round breasts and a tiny waist. Her skirt hit just above her knee, leaving her sexy, caramel-colored legs bare.

All woman, indeed.

“If we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to lay off the innuendoes,” she informed him. “I expect you to treat this relationship as professionally as you would if you were working with a male agent.”

“First, we’re not going to work together. Secondly, should I remind you that
you’re
the one who’s been stalking
me?
It’s pretty bold of you to start laying down rules when you’re the one who’s in need here.”

“How many agents have you contacted within the past week, Mr. Reeves?”

“It’s Cedric,” he said. “If I’m going to call you Payton for the next—” he glanced at his watch “—five minutes I plan to entertain you, we might as well be on a level playing field, right?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sorry, got distracted,” Cedric said, looking pointedly at her breasts that were made more pronounced by her posture. She quickly dropped her arms. Cedric grinned.

“Why don’t you stop dodging my question? How many agents have you spoken to this week?” she asked again.

“A few,” he answered, enjoying this probably more than he should.

“Any of them talk to you longer than five minutes?”

Cedric switched his duffel from one hand to the other. Her gibe had hit its mark, and he suddenly wasn’t enjoying her company so much.

“Face it, Cedric. You can’t afford to just write me off. Not without at least hearing what I can offer. You’d be a fool to let some sexist notion that women can’t be sports agents get in your way.”