Thousand Yard Bride (9 page)

“I highly doubt that will happen. Also, nobody’s going to think you’re morally depraved because you slept with the sexiest man alive. What does hunky football star dreamboat have to say about everything?”

I dug into the pizza and gave myself a minute to think it all through again. “Not really sure, to be honest. He seems to think it’s no big deal.”

“It isn’t! It’s just sex, Jo. Sex is fun, it’s good! Just talk to him and make sure you’re on the same page about all the work stuff. It’ll be fine,” she added, shaking red pepper flakes over her slice.

I figured that her advice was as good as any. Lanie had a history of what could have been awkward hookups, yet she always managed to emerge from her affairs just fine. She even stayed friends with her one-night stands.

Sitting there with a full belly that I still stuffed more pizza into, I calmed myself with the fact that she had to be right. Everything would work out. I was due for some good karma.

* * *

I
'd decided
to take a page from Lanie’s playbook and level with Hunter. I'd tried to call him the next day, but all I'd gotten was his voicemail. Frustrated, I sent him a quick text that said:

I want to get together. I'll be at Sportsfire, meet me there before two.

I figured if he came to my office at SportsFire I could kill two birds with one stone. My new bosses would see that I was diligently working with my client, and I could also talk to Hunter in a neutral, professional environment. Plus, I had an office with a door, so no one could eavesdrop or accidentally overhear us.

He never texted me back, and as two turned into three, I was starting to wonder if something had happened to him. My nerves prickled, imagining he was out doing terrible stuff that I wasn't preventing. Would the next time I saw him be on the news?

The SportsFire receptionist Gabrielle knocked on my door before entering. “Mr. Daniels to see you, Jo,” she said, a little extra purr in her voice.

Oh, thank goodness.
Hunter swung into the room, his legs clad in form-fitting torn jeans. The receptionist checked his ass out as she turned to leave. I couldn't blame her.

“Fancy office, P.R. lady,” Hunter said as he sat down, putting his feet up on my desk. “I like it.” I wanted to be annoyed, but his boyish enthusiasm was kind of endearing.

“Thank you, and thanks for coming in."
Even if you never confirmed the meeting and showed up after I asked you to.
I didn't say that. "I just wanted to meet with you and discuss the LA situation, make sure we’re all squared away."

Smokey humor rolled over his tongue. “I thought we already did that over quinoa at The Standard?”

“We did,” I said. “But we still need to . . . I just need to be absolutely sure that this will stay between the two of us.”

Crossing his legs, he waved the tip of his shoe side to side. “Jo, listen. You seem really cool, and I had fun the other night. I won’t tell anyone, because you asked, but I can’t pretend it never happened. Can you honestly say you can?"

I went to answer, then I caught myself. In my lap, my fists clenched. I was glad he couldn't see from where he was. "It has to be a secret."

"And it will be. Our little dirty secret." His laugh ran into my veins, and when he grinned, I imagined his teeth on my skin.

“You’re sure?” I asked, finding it hard to believe it could be this easy.

“How about we pinky swear?” he said, holding up his pinky finger.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Come on, pinky swear, Jo. It will make you feel better.” Hunter got up from his chair and leaned over my desk, offering me his hand. When I extended mine, I noticed how small it looked next to his.

This is the same hand that was burying two fingers inside of me,
I realized, startling myself. My pussy twitched sympathetically.

He whispered, "Something wrong?"

Shaking myself free of the filthy images, I put my pinky finger around his. "I'm fine. Let's do this." It was ridiculous, but when he squeezed, shaking my hand and forming a knot between us, I flushed with delight.

Hunter’s hand lingered over mine before he pulled it away and headed for the door. “Anything else?” he asked, his hand on the knob.

“No,” I said, torn between being relieved he was leaving, and aching for him to remain close by. “Take care, we'll talk soon.”

Hunter opened the door, stepped into the hall, then turned to lay his serious eyes back on me. “But, Jo?”

Leaning forward, I listened to my blood thumping. “Yeah?”

“Just because I won’t tell anyone, doesn't mean I won’t think about it. Often.” He winked, lifting his hand and deliberately crooking two fingers at me. It was a subtle but obscene gesture, a silent reminder that he knew what he could do to me—and so did I.

Then he shut the door behind him, leaving me alone in my office with his lingering minty smell. It took me right back to that long night in Hunter’s hotel room. It was looking like I, too, would have a hard time not thinking about what we'd done.

I
t had been
two weeks since the night that little P.R. agent had driven me wild. Normally by the next day I had no trouble forgetting a hook up. If anything, I had trouble remembering them.

For some reason, I couldn’t shake Jo.

I hadn’t had a night with a woman like that since . . . well, since my ex, Poppy. I'd gone out of my way to compare Jo against the long list of girls I’d been with since the breakup. It seemed liked the easiest way to find some flaw in her—something someone else had done better.

Jo was different. I couldn't get her out of my head. When I thought of her, I longed to have her to myself for just another few minutes. How could I mesh with her so perfectly in bed, but clash in real life? She'd been dynamite in my arms, a pure explosion of wet heat and carnal bliss. Then in the morning, she'd gone back to being Ms. Stick Up Her Ass.

When she'd called me to her office at SportsFire, I'd gone straight back to wondering what she wanted from me. Had she given up on calling it quits? Was it some not so subtle booty call?

Nope. Not at all.

Jo had sat me down and lectured me, and all the while, I couldn't help but think about taking her right there on her desk, palms spread out on the paperwork while I pumped into her hard and deep from behind. It was all I could do to stay focused on our conversation.

With other women, once I’d slept with them, I didn't really feel much of anything. Jo stuck with me for some strange reason. I couldn’t say that I minded it. What I did mind was that she made it clear that sex was off limits for us from now on. I wondered if I could change her mind.

So I was happy when Jo said that she was coming to watch me practice. She'd said she was bringing along some photographer for some action shots. I guess it was meant to "help my image" or something, but I was already planning to use it as a chance to show off for her. No woman who’d ever come to watch me at practice could resist me afterward.

That was a fact.

It felt good to head to the stadium. I loved working out in the weight room with my buddies. Plus, post-draft rookie camp was coming up, so Reese, Jam, Benny and I were expected to be there and show the new guys how it's done. Mostly though, I wanted Jo to see me in my element.

I longed to see the look in her eye when she watched me catch a pass and run it into the end zone. I knew what I could do on the field, and I knew my fans had a name for it: The Legs Spread Show Down.

I had every intention to keep our night in LA a secret. But it was fair game to make her rethink a round two.

As soon as I entered the locker room, I heard my teammates’ loud voices.

“Hunter Daniels Junior! Look who finally decided to show up,” Benny said as he pulled on his workout shirt.

Reese winked at me, slamming his locker shut. “Congrats, Mr. Croc-Cooler. That was a hell of a party.”

His praise made me swell up. “Thanks, man."

“How did things with P.R. Jo go?” Reese asked.

Jam, ever immature, chimed in, “That chick is hot!”

“Are you gonna tap that, Hunt?" Benny asked. "If not, can I? Pretty please! She seemed like an uptight bitch, and they always fuck the best."

I bristled at his comment. It didn't matter if he was right—Jo did fuck like a pro—but I'd already started to think of her as mine. Important to me. It was hard to shrug off such casual insults in her direction, even if they came from a total douchebag. “Is this the League, or are we back in high school, man?” I shot back.

Benny glowed like a stop light. His sneer split open, ready to hurl an insult at me, but Reese interjected first. “Jo and I had a nice conversation at The Standard. In shocking news, it turns out that she’s an actual human being. So, I don’t think she’s your type, Benny"

The other player flipped us both off. Jam patted him on the back consolingly.

Reese turned toward me, noting my grin before I could hide it. He was sharp; I'd have to be careful if I wanted to keep Jo and I a secret. He said, “She seems like a professional. She know what she’s doing, Hunter?”

An image of her naked body twisted around mine flashed through my brain. “She’s very good at what she does.” I remembered to add, “Let’s all be gentlemen today when she comes to photograph the warmups. Maybe even keep the language slightly more civilized than usual.” For emphasis, I added, “Assholes.”

Benny snorted, his lip curling. “Since when are we gentlemen? We're fucking
kings!
And you’re right, we are assholes, but we’re irresistible assholes. Just ask this chick from last night.” He pulled out his phone to show us a picture of a stacked blonde.

It was the kind of thing I'd normally have laughed at. I might have even asked for the girl's number. There was a sourness in my stomach, a confusion I didn't like one damn bit. “She’s definitely hot, man,” I said as convincingly as I could.

“Fuck yeah, she is! She wants to be a Hawks cheerleader. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that piece of ass bouncing up and down on every sideline? I know it’d be nice to have her around for this.” He pointed to his crotch, as he had a tendency to do far too often. I couldn't help but laugh along with the other guys.

Reese said, “You’re lucky we allowed you in the Kings Club, brother. Remember, we gotta have Hunter’s back so he doesn’t lose his contracts and all his lovely buckets of money.”

“Fuck that," Benny laughed. "I have my own money to worry about. Not all of us can have family money like Richie Rich.” Heat prickled up my neck as he kept talking. “You don’t even have to play ball. You could just sit at home and have your housekeeper bring you drinks on a tray and be A-OK.”

There was a lump at the base of my spine, an iron spurred ball that grew with his every word. My voice was amazingly calm. “Careful. You of all people need me on this team.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, rich boy?” Benny said, getting up in my face.

Those words slid off his tongue like oil.
Rich boy.
I hadn't asked to be born into the Daniels' lifestyle. People acted like it made my achievements worthless.

My knuckles turned white. I was sorely tempted to punch Benny in his smug face—was he trying to start a fight? With
me?
He had balls and no brains.

Reese stepped in between us. “You still want to keep chartering the Daniels' superyacht to Europe in the off-season, right? Don’t mess with the money man’s stream of dinero, Benny.”

“Well put,” I said, fondly remembering the time we'd all gone to the Mediterranean. Women in Greece look like actual goddesses and taste like heaven.
Jo tasted better,
that insufferable voice whispered to me.

Benny held his head high, staring down his nose at me. With a loud sniff, he turned away, letting the tension evaporate so we could finish putting on our gear.
Good call,
I thought, eyeing the back of his head and imagining giving it a good strong elbow-drop.

Coach Bauer came into the locker room, yelling at us in his drill sergeant-style. “You boys better get out there in less than five seconds or you'll be running laps until tomorrow morning. Move!”

The guy was great at strategy, but a total asshole when it came down to it. You could have an injury or a family emergency and he'd
still
show you no sympathy. He treated us like we were machines. I appreciated his winning record, but deep down I didn't have much respect for him. He reminded me too much of my dad.

I retied my laces and then checked my appearance in the mirror.
It isn’t about Jo
, I tried convincing myself.
I just want to be sure I look presentable for the photographers.

It had been a while since I’d been on the Hawks’ turf. I missed everything about the field when I was in the off-season. I even missed the funky smell of the sweat-covered equipment.

The rows of empty stadium seats unnerved me. I knew that in a few months they’d be filled with fans in crimson shirts shouting encouragement. Now, though, it was like a huge graveyard. I missed the energy of the fans—it motivated me like nothing else.

We hit the field and started running plays with the new guys who had just been drafted. Since the Kings were the experienced players, we wanted to show the rookies what the Hawks were all about.

Reese and I had a good system going. We had each other’s backs as wingmen when we went out on the town, and on the field we understood each other. It’s what got us to the playoffs last year.

He signaled for me to go long, so I sprinted as fast as I could before turning around right where I knew the ball would arc toward me. Reese’s pass was coming in hot, so I ran backwards, rushing to catch it.

Someone shouted, “Watch out!”

My eyes were still glued to the ball as I stepped an inch out of bounds and crashed into something that gave way and sent me flying ass over teakettle. Careening out of control, my eyes rattled in my skull long after I'd stopped moving.

I was flat on my back staring straight into the sky. “What the fuck?” I groaned, struggling to get up as a camera flash went off in my eyes. I threw up an arm and looked away, blinded by the pop of white. Blinking over and over, my focus returned.

Just in time for me to realize Jo was sprawled out next to me.

Her skirt was hiked up high above her knees, legs bent in an unflattering pose. Grass stuck to her hair like green snowflakes. She was covering her face with her hands, making a soft, pained noise.

Sitting up in a whirl of fear, I bent over her. “Jo! Are you okay?”

“She looks great to me,” the grinning photographer said, still snapping away.

Jumping up, I put my hand over his lens. “You want to make it out of here in one piece? Delete those fucking pictures.” The smile left his face and I watched him go through the last few digital shots and delete them.

Carefully, I reached out to help Jo to her feet. She waved me away, brushing herself off as she knelt. It was a relief she didn't seem injured; she'd been cradling her face so tight I'd expected to see a bloody nose.

"I'm fine," she said, moving to stand. She set one foot on the ground, wincing sharply and sitting back down. "Shit. My ankle is killing me."

My stomach started to eat itself. "I didn't even see you there. I'm seriously sorry, Jo." I was used to colliding with much larger bodies, tackling guys who easily weighed twice what she did. “Let me help you up.”

I reached for her hand, but she didn't make it far before she yelped in pain again, leaning down to feel at her ankle. "I'm worried it's broken," she said, looking up at me uneasily.

I got down at her feet and whistled for the Hawks’ trainer. The team medic came over, followed by some of my concerned teammates. Another one of Jo’s photographers kept taking pictures. “Hey, Lenny, maybe take a break,” Jo told him.

The team medic asked, “Can you wiggle your toes?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s probably nothing. I just need a minute.”

“You sound like a player,” I said, impressed by her toughness.

Jo laughed, her smile like a fresh breeze. Lifting an arm, she motioned for me to help her stand. I moved carefully, not wanting to exacerbate her ankle. She leaned her weight on me, and I tried to ignore the feeling of her curvy body pressed against mine. As I guided her down the sidelines, I heard Benny shout at us, “Way to be a helping hand, Hunter!”

“Get back to practice, boys,” Coach Bauer yelled. “Nothing to see here.”

I turned to Jo. “I'm taking you to get that ankle looked at.” She crinkled her forehead, so I headed off her argument. “It’s already swelling up, if it gets worse you won’t be able to walk on it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “What about the rest of practice?”

“Ah, we haven’t even gotten to training season. We were just playing around out there." I was reminded of how I'd hoped to show off and look good for Jo.
And instead I slam into her like a runaway train.

Jo dismissed the photographers she’d hired, sharply informing them that they’d have a very hard time getting their press passes for the season if they didn’t delete the pictures they’d taken of the incident.

“Lenny,” Jo said sternly as we walked past the photographer who was scrolling through images of me and Jo together on the ground in his digital preview window. “We need Hunter catching the ball, not helping me up.”

“Fine, but I got some real touching stuff here, Jo.”

“Just delete them, Lenny.”

“Ok, ok, you’re the boss,” he sighed.

As we made it to the edge of the field, the medic appeared with a wheelchair. “I’m not getting in that for a tiny little sprain,” Jo said. “I didn’t break anything.”

Grinning, I gave her waist a little squeeze—I loved how she twitched in surprise. “It’s a long way to my car, Jo. You either ride in that or I'll carry you."

Her whole face went pink. I wondered if she was hesitating because she liked the idea of being in my arms. “Fine,” she finally said, letting me help her into the wheelchair.

Off to the side, I saw Lenny getting into his car. I thought about asking Jo why she wouldn't want a photo of me looking like a decent human being helping someone, but I thought better of it and just pushed her over the asphalt.

From my angle, I could see the back of her neck and her messy hair that had fallen almost entirely from her tight bun. On impulse, I brushed a wild piece off of her face, my hand lingering on her snowy skin.

“Hunter!” she protested. “What are you doing?”

“Relax," I chuckled. "There was a piece of grass in your hair.” It was an easy lie.

“Wonderful. It'll go with the grass stains on my new suit.”

When we reached my car, I carefully eased her into it. Jo was obviously in pain—her clenched jaw gave her away—but she didn't want to admit it. Hoping to distract her, I cranked my music up, cycling through wildly varied stations.

Leaving it on some polka made her stare at me and laugh. "What?" I asked innocent. "It's my favorite."

Jo looked out the window, a tiny smile replacing her pale discomfort.

When we got to the ER parking lot, she tried to get out of the car on her own. She was able to prop herself up on the door, but when she tried to walk, she wobbled on her feet. I caught her and scooped her light frame up in my arms with ease.