A Night With Knox (3 page)

“Just
looking for some air,” he says,
shoving his hands in his pockets. “That
allowed up here?” That cocky glance
he shoots me makes my heart leap. This decision is growing easier by
the second. After all, the best way to get over my bad mood is to
throw myself into the opportunity to take this new year by the horns
and see where the ride takes me. Jackson, consider this revenge.

“As
a matter of fact, it’s
free and all around. Help yourself.” A
smile tickles the edges of my lips. He chuckles, and I press on,
turning to face him. “So what brings
you up here tonight?”

“It’s
a little too crowded downstairs.” He
smirks as though he’s
not telling me the whole story. “And
you?”

I
smile coyly. I’m
more than happy to play whatever games he’s
interested in. “Same thing.”

Silence
lulls between us. I hear the cheers of the crowd below, celebrating
and dancing as midnight inches closer. The skyline twinkles, pulling
at my attention, but this stranger is too arresting to look away.
“So,” I say, trying to crack
through the pause, “how about them
Yankees?”

I’m
cringing internally at the lame joke, but to my surprise, he throws
his head back and laughs. “What?”
I ask.

He
slides down the railing to stand closer to me. “Cooper
Knox,” he says. “I
play for the Yankees.”

Of
course. Just my damn luck. A baseball player.

I
work in football—a real sport. Not
only was my opening line totally corny, given the fact that he
actually plays
for the Yankees, but I’m
also not nearly as impressed as he probably thinks I am. Baseball,
for me, is just a slight step above golf.

He
holds his hand and I stare at it. “Unfortunately,
my colleagues at work would officially disown me if I so much as
shook your hand.” I imagine the look
on the guys’ faces
if they knew who I was with right now. Baseball is one thing,
tolerable at the very least, but a
Yankee
baseball player positions Knox just below a golfer in their eyes.

But
his name jiggles something in the back of my mind. Knox…Knox…
I’d seen the name
before—and not just scrolling across
the bottom of the screen while I watched football. I frown, trying to
remember.

Knox
sees the look on my face and it’s
like he’s prepared
for it. “Don’t
tell me. You’re
one of those poor souls.”

I
raise an eyebrow. “A poor soul?”

“A
Red Sox fan.”

“It’s
not so much a Red Sox fan,” I say,
not missing a beat, “as just
vehemently-not-a-baseball fan.”

He
drops his hand with a smirk, tucking it back into his pocket. Despite
my quip, I can’t
help but wish I’d
taken it, wish I could lace my fingers in between his. Knox leans
against the roof’s
railing and shrugs. The contours of his muscles strain against his
well-cut shirt. “I’ve
been told the Yankees are America’s
team.”

“If
any team is gonna be America’s
team it’s The Falcons. That’s
football, you know, a real sport.”

“Baseball
isn’t a real sport?”

“Not
at all.”

“Then
fill me in. What have I been doing for the last several years of my
life?” He takes a step towards me and
I inch forward as well. I can feel the heat emanating from him and
want nothing more but to be closer.

“Playing
a backwards sport. Making errors instead of penalties. What even
is
that?” This is a favorite routine of
mine. It’s
guaranteed to get the guys at work in hysterics every time, but I’ve
never tried it out with an actual ball player before. “Let’s
not start on how the offense can’t
touch the ball.” I put a hand on the
railing, leaving it open and ready for him to take. I can’t
say it’s my
smoothest move, but I’m
a little out of practice after all. “Basically,
you’re
being lied to,
possibly
being indoctrinated into a cult. Have you sought professional help?”

Knox’s
face is stone cold, a hardened seriousness betrayed only by the glint
of amusement in his eye. “Does
talking to you count?”

“As
a matter of fact, it does.”

He
leans in just a bit, bending down so that he’s
on my level. His lips are so near mine, the top one slightly smaller
than the bottom. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. Run my
tongue across his jawline and thread my fingers through his hair.

“That’s
mighty generous of you.” He pours on
the southern charm, deepening his twang.

“Well
I’m nothing
if not generous.” I mean it to be
flippant, to continue this game we’ve
set up, but when I meet his eyes, my playful façade
floats away. My breath hitches in my throat as a current of
anticipation jolts through me. I feel locked in his gaze, emboldened
by it.

I
look away first, tucking a stray hair behind my ear and refocusing on
the skyline. The lights of Atlanta still wink at me, urging me to
join in the wishes of a whole city for a better new year. Out of all
the proclaimed and broken resolutions of years past, sleeping with a
baseball player never made the list. But that doesn’t
mean a girl can’t
go in for extra credit.

“So.”
I recover somewhat. “What
brings you to Atlanta for the holiday?”

“I
own a couple of bars with my friends,” he
says, “this one included.”

It
clicks then. Cooper Knox is the silent partner in my brother’s
business ventures. The one who’s
never here but fronted the money for the first bar.

Shit.
Shit. Shit.

Leave
it to me to find the one guy who is completely off limits. And not
just in Jackson’s
Code of Conduct. If Knox’s
head gets put on a pike, Jackson will have help from Ryder, Cash, and
Parker. The guys are pretty adamant about this sort of stuff. I’ve
been adopted by all of them and the last thing they want for their
little sister is a Sexy Bastard.

“Speechless?”
Knox gives me a nudge and it sends shivers down my
spine. “What have I done now? Is
bar-owning right up there with baseball?”

I
look into his eyes again. The fear of all the guys becoming furious
melts away and is replaced by Knox—and
the incredible night we could have. I can already feel his arms
around me and picture the way we’ll
fit together.
This is gonna be bad
,
I think, followed quickly by,
This is
gonna be epic
.

I
put my game face on. “Not at all,”
I say. “In fact I think you should introduce
yourself always as Cooper Knox, bar owner. Much more respectable than
Cooper Knox, Yankee.” I inject the
word “Yankee” with a playful
venom.

He
stands straight and holds out his hand again. “I’m
Cooper Knox and I own a bar.”

I
lace my hand with his. Heat emanates from where our skin touches,
rising up my arm to my chest. His grip is firm, but not overkill like
some of the guys you meet in sports. “I’m
Shelby and I’m
the PR director for the Atlanta Falcons.”

“That
explains your love of football.”

“Indeed.”
I try to sound professional and dignified, but I
can’t help
but smile. It’s
my dream job and I happen to be pretty good at it. Football players
are cool. It’s
sort of like hanging out with the Sexy Bastards, only I get paid. The
downside is that it’s
rough on the dating life—on top of
all of the problems I already have. Just like I’m
Jackson’s
baby sister here, at work the Falcons also consider me to be under
their protection. At some point, I’ve
got to be allowed to make my own choices.

“Your
football friends would be scandalized to see you with a ball player,
wouldn’t
they?” Knox teases.

I
play along. “Afraid so.”

“So
let’s make a compromise.”
He sweeps an arm around me, his palm firm on the
small of my back. I lean into him, hungry for more contact, for the
heat growing between us. “I’m
just a guy who owns a bar and you’re
just a girl who works in PR.”

I
meet Knox’s
gorgeous green eyes, knowing that there are endless reasons to resist
my attraction to him, knowing that he’d
be as good as dead if the other Sexy Bastards found out. But how can
I resist the most attractive man I’ve
ever seen suggesting a night of purely anonymous fun? What the guys
don’t know
can’t hurt
them. I place a hand against his perfectly chiseled chest and say,
“Just for tonight.”

It’s
a fairytale that’s
bound to break apart in the New Year, but for now…Why
the fuck not?

Knox

“So
how did you really end up alone on a roof on New Year’s
Eve?” I ask. In New York, Shelby would be
hip-deep in men practically begging to make her scream until the
early hours of the morning. I may have been absent from the Atlanta
scene for some time, but I can’t
imagine it’s
that different here.

She
looks over her shoulder again at the door and I follow her gaze. I’ve
noticed her do this a few times. Zones out, looks over her shoulder
like she’s
expecting someone to walk through the door and rain on her parade.

“It’s…complicated…”
she says, choosing her words carefully. Her teeth
catch her bottom lip and she finally takes her eyes off the door.
“What about you? What’s
a bar owner doing up here? Don’t
you have guests?”

“It’s
complicated,” I say, mimicking her
response. She laughs, throwing her head back.

“Try
me.”

Her
body is so close to mine, the cut-outs in her dress teasing. The heat
between us is so intense that she’s
not even shivering in the brisk winter chill. Damn, how much I wish I
could rip that dress off right here. “Well,”
I begin, “in
your
perfect world, I’m
just a guy who owns a bar—even though
some women find that other career appealing. Unfortunately that’s
the
only
thing they find appealing.”

“Aren’t
we lucky that I don’t
find that career appealing.” She
smiles devilishly.

“I’m
not sure if that was an insult or a compliment.”

She
looks up at me through her lashes, all doe-eyed and submissive,
leaning in close. I could easily close the gap and kiss her, but I
hold back. This girl’s
quick, all fire, a hot shot with her tongue. I’m
going to make her work a little harder before I give her what she so
clearly wants.

I
barely catch the mischievous sparkle in her eye before she says,
“Definitely an insult.”

Cheers
rise from the club as the countdown to midnight begins.

Ten…

The
world seems to echo around us, as everyone joins in the proclaiming
of the final moments of this year: people on the streets, in the
club, even other rooftops. It’s
as if all of Atlanta has turned out to celebrate. In the distance
the peach rises above the crowd ready to drop.

Nine…

Shelby
leans over the railing, watching the people outside the club pair off
as they get ready for a midnight kiss. I wasn’t
expecting to find anyone like her in Atlanta, much less on the
rooftop of my club. She looks over her shoulder at me, a silent dare
in her eyes.

Eight…

I
snake an arm around her waist, enjoying the sound of her breath
hitch. My fingers connect with her skin through the cutouts on her
dress, pressing against her bare skin. It’s
tempting to push the dress aside and explore more, but the dress
locks her in fabric. She shivers, and I pull her closer to me.

“Happy
New Year,” she says.

“You’re
a little premature on that, sweetheart.”

Three…

I
pull her tightly against me. She follows my command, pressing herself
into me. Her hands move up my chest, grabbing hold of my blazer’s
lapels. I know exactly how this night is going to end.

Two…

Her
lips hover over mine, but I don’t
move in right away. Shelby’s
eager and waiting, breathless in anticipation of my touch. What man
can resist such a sight?

One…

Our
lips meet. Fireworks rip through the night and the city roars with
celebration, but that is so far removed from this moment. Kissing
Shelby is a perfect curveball. She’s
soft and her grip tightens on my jacket as I slip my tongue into her
mouth. She moans deep in her throat and I shift my arms, letting one
hand settle over her perfect ass.

I
pull back and she tries to reel me back in by my jacket. I study her
face, beautiful, flushed, and alive. “You
wanna get out of here?” I ask.

Her
eyes glossy and lips still puffy from the kiss, she breathes,
“Absolutely.”

We
break apart reluctantly and climb down the stairs and emerge on the
top level of the Library. The place shimmers with glitter and
confetti. From this vantage, I spot the guys in their corner of the
room. Ryder and Cash are both wrapped around their women. Parker and
Jackson are nowhere to be seen, but if I know those boys they’ll
have found someone for a New Year’s
kiss.

Taking
Shelby by the hand, I lead her toward the stairs, but she stops
short, pulling away slightly. I turn back to her and see her startled
expression. Her eyes scan the crowd and freeze on someone, but before
I can track her line of sight she drops her gaze.

She
backs up in the opposite direction of the front door.

“Actually,
let’s go
out the back way,” she says. The look
she’s
giving me says this isn’t a
joke. There’s
something—or more likely some
one
—on
the floor of the club who she doesn’t
want to meet. Probably some ex. A girl like Shelby definitely has a
trail of broken hearts in her past.

My
first impulse is to demand to know who the jerk is and I bet I could
make him regret whatever troubles he caused her. But I can tell from
her stony expression that she wants as little as possible to do with
this guy—even if that means giving up
the opportunity to see me knock him out. To put her at ease, I say,
“Don’t
want to be seen with a Yankee?” It
works. The tension leaves her body and her hand slips back into mine.