Blindsided (8 page)

One word. One word is all it would take to tear apart six years of work.

“No,” I say forcefully. “You can go, but I won’t.”

My best friends look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but I’m sticking to it. I have to stick to it for my own sanity and safety.

I open the door, ignoring Macey’s, “Unf—” and face Corey. “I have things to do. The girls will go, but I’m not. Sorry.”

Then I turn away and head toward the stairs. Corey doesn’t say another word. He just stares after me, and he lets me go.

And despite the fact that it’s exactly what I want him to do, I don’t like that he has.

“Y
ou threw without thinking!”

“Fuck off, man!” I point to the screen. “See that gap there? Where there are no Texans? That’s where
you
needed to be! How do you expect me to get the ball to you when there’s three of their defense right the hell there?”

“By waiting for two seconds!”

“And how’s he gonna do that?” Reid raises his eyebrows. “He’s the quarterback. Everyone moves for him the second he gets the ball. Corey’s got a throw with the aim of a sniper.”

My lips twitch smugly. That’s one I haven’t heard before, but I like it. Reviewing last season’s tapes is always a nightmare, but we’re fucked if we don’t. There’s no other way to make an impact in the preseason. And that’s what preseason is—a chance to make an impact, to inject fear into the other teams.

In our case, it’s to tell them that the Vipers are ready to intercept every throw, run every yard, and touchdown every ball.

It’s to tell them that we’re ready to take the fucking Vince Lombardi home next February.

Wes puts his hands in the air. “By running. He has feet, doesn’t he?”

“Run friggin’ where?” I jab at the screen again. Is this guy dumb or what? “They had me covered. They would have jumped on me if I’d sneezed in the wrong direction.”

Wes sighs. “Fine. I’ll remember to move my little peasant legs next time, Your Highness.”

“All right, Wes, Corey. That’s enough of your bitchin’.” Lincoln Sparks, our coach, slams the door behind him. “Tactical meeting or not, whining at each other like a couple of girls ain’t sorting it. Wes, you should have run into the space. Corey, you should have tried to shake off their defense. We’re trying to get yards, not look good and get laid after the game.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes—this is my coach after all—because I can get laid either way. We all know it, so the only thing the yards count toward is winning the game.

“We just about killed it last weekend, but the preseason ain’t over yet, and the regular season hasn’t even begun. I want you go out there and live up to your damn team name! I want you to kick their asses and show them who the real champions of the National Football League are.”

“We’re on it, Coach,” Jack pipes up. “What was it you said, Reid? Corey’s got the aim of a sniper or something?”

Coach chuckles. “Never a truer word spoken. As long as he goes for the football equivalent of a headshot, we’ll be just fine next game.” He slaps my shoulder.

“I’ll take ‘em in one, Coach. Don’t worry about that.” I wink.

“Man, my head hurts,” Jet groans, rubbing his temples.

“Get in Corey’s way in practice, did you?” Reid laughs.

I smirk. “He’d be out cold if he did.”

“Don’t doubt that,” Coach agrees. “I remember when you threw to Russell and he missed the catch—hit him right in the stomach and winded him.”

I link my fingers and stretch them out in front of me, my knuckles cracking. “All in a day’s practice, boys.”

Laughter echoes through the room—because my words are true. They know it. I learned the game from the best fucking quarterback to ever play in the NFL. My father.

I learned the aim and the throw. I learned the run, how to outsmart the defense, how to whoop asses from their twenty-yard line to our touchdown zone. I learned how to run every fucking game with an iron fist and smash every opponent.

Relentless. Intense. Destroying.

They’re the first words that come to mind when someone mentions the game. The three words that mean the goddamn world and more to me.

Except now there’s another creeping into that collection of words. And it’s more than a word. It’s a name, a description, a verbal embodiment of a person.

Leah.

My dream and my motherfucking nightmare.

There’s no other way to describe her. She’s the thing I desire above everything else—maybe, right now, even above the Super Bowl—but she’s also the thing I fear most. And I don’t have a clue why. She’s not scary, not with those baby-blue eyes, pouty, pink lips, and smooth, blond hair. She’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever known, but I’m terrified of her.

Terrified that maybe she really will stick to her ‘no’ and never give me the tiny slice of heaven she embodies.

I grab my bag from the locker room and sling it over my shoulder. The stadium is suffocating. I need to leave. I need to find a goddamn punching bag and work all of this shit out.

Leah Veronica is fucking with me in the worst kind of way.

I’m certain she knows. She has to. There’s no way she can stand in front of me and not see what she’s doing to me with her back-and-forth bullshit. There’s no way she can curl into my arms, kiss my lips, whimper into my mouth, and not see or feel how much I want her.

One fuck. One goddamn fucking fuck. That’s all I want. All I need. I just need to get this chick out of my system and move on.

She’s the hardest fuck I’ve ever had to work for, so she better be the best.

“I ain’t wearing a fuckin’ tie,” I say with my phone on speaker.

“You don’t have to, man,” Reid says. “Just a smart shirt or some shit. I don’t know. My mom organized it. She thinks I’m twenty-one, not fucking twenty-six. I’d rather watch Avengers with Leo.”

“Watching Avengers with Leo is an option?” I love Reid’s son. The kid is awesome with a capital A.

“Man, if it was, don’t you think I’d be doin’ it?” he grumbles. “Mom hired a sitter so I have to go.”

“Damn. Well, I got a white shirt. Will that do?” I throw the shirt on my bed. “Last time I went to this place, my mom made me wear a damn tux.”

Reid laughs. “Bring your bow tie to pull the chicks!”

“Fuck off. Shirt and jeans it is. See ya.” I hang up and throw my phone on the bed. That puts an end to the most damn teenage-girl-esque conversation I’ve ever had.

I dress quickly and grab my phone from the bed. Then I dial Leah’s house number, but it goes to the messaging service. Fuck.

I’m gonna get this girl if it kills me.

After jumping into my Range Rover, I drive through the Hills to her house. The gates are shut and locked, but I lean out the window and press the buzzer anyway. There’s no answer, like I expected, so I lean back in my seat and take the turn to downtown.

What if her ‘busy’ was seeing another guy? Fuck. No motherfucking way.

Her body belongs to me until I decide otherwise. Every fucking part of her, from her head to her toes, is mine. And only mine.

No other guy, no man, gets to see it. They don’t get to touch it or kiss it or even think about it.

She doesn’t know it, but I do. I know how she responds to me, how her heart thuds beneath my touch, how her pupils dilate when I get close. I see the way she inhales whenever her eyes meet mine. But her? No.

Leah Veronica has no idea how she feels about me.

She’s oblivious to the obvious.

Luckily for her, I’m more than clear on the situation.

Leah Veronica belongs to me.

And she will until I tell her that she doesn’t.

I park in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel and hand my keys to the valet without a word. Then I fiddle with my sleeve and walk into the hotel. The concierge guides me into the elevator then takes me two floors up. After stepping out, he makes me follow him down the hall and into a large dining room.

The room is filled with the team and their girlfriends. And Reid’s mom, being the head of a modeling agency, has ensured that there are enough models and aspiring actresses here to keep any playboy happy. Several walk past me as I cross to the bar, and I give them a cursory look.

Shit, they’re sexy, yeah. But that’s all they are.

“You finally decided what to wear!” Jack laughs and slaps my shoulder. “Here. Have a beer. There are some fucking assholes walking around with champagne or some shit. I had to tell them to fuck off four times before they finally realized I’m not drinking that bubbly bullshit.”

My lips tug to the side, and I grab the beer. “You know me well, man. When’s dinner?”

“Half an hour,” Reid says as he steps up next to me. “And your ass better be in that fuckin’ seat or my mom is gonna kick it to Canada.”

I laugh. “Ouch. She that excited?”

“Twenty-six, man. What the fuck is this?”

“She just wants to show off her itty-bitty baby,” Jack coos, pouting his lips and reaching for Reid’s cheek.

“Her itty-bitty baby stopped being a baby when he had one of his own six years ago.” Reid punches his hand away. “So fuck off, asshole.” He turns to me. “Hey, remember that blond chick you hit on in the bar?”

“Leah?” I frown.

“Yeah. She’s here with two of her friends.”

“And that brunette is fucking hot,” Jack adds. “I would definitely give up celibacy for her.”

“Yeah? And how’s that celibacy workin’ out for you, bro? You made it past five nights yet?” I question.

“No. But I’m getting there. Once I’ve fucked her, that is.” He nods in the direction of her.

I notice Macey first. Her bright-pink dress clings to her body, and if I preferred brunettes, she’d be at the top of my hit list. Standing next to her is Ryann, in an equally tight, if not longer, blue dress.

But it’s Leah who stops me. She’s here despite her protestations, and fucking hell, is she here. Her dark-red dress hugs her tits and waist and hips then flares at her legs. And shit. Fuck. She looks fucking gorgeous, her lips red to match the dress, her hair loose over her shoulders.

Just…fuck.

She looks up and her eyes find mine. There’s a defiant spark in them that I can see from here, one that tells me to fuck off, that she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.