Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (8 page)

When I get to the field house, the offensive coordinator calls me into his office to let me know that our publicist, Amanda, has lined up a couple interviews for me to do later this afternoon, schedules a time for me to go through some prep questions and talking points with the team’s media coach, and confirms my measurements so that Amanda can have fresh clothes for me to change into after practice.

This life is insane. I don’t even have to provide my own clothes.

Which is a really awesome perk. Under Armor, T-shirts, gym shorts, and jeans forever.

When Coach dismisses me, I head into the locker room to stash my bag before heading to the field for conditioning. Several of the team members pat me on the shoulder and congratulate me on making the team—for some of them, it’s the first time they’ve actually spoken to me away from the field.

The sense of finally earning my spot and being welcomed by seasoned players makes my pride swell and pumps me up for practice today. I can’t slack off now. I need to prove to them that I’m worth the time, money, investment, and faith they’ve put into giving me a spot on the roster.

“Kistler,” I hear a voice say from behind me.

I turn and see that it’s Jax Montgomery. Holy crap. Deeks wasn’t lying.

“Hey,” I say to the quarterback.

“I heard the good news. Congrats, man.”

“Thank you so much. I’m excited to be a part of the team.”

“We’re excited to have you. You’ve been killing it out there this summer.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling self-conscious talking to Jax freaking Montgomery off the field for the first time. I’m used to being around NFL players—my dad is close friends with many of his former teammates—and most of my brothers’ friends are current players. But there’s something commanding and powerful about Jax. Maybe because he’s the first quarterback I’m playing with as a professional.

“My wife and I are having a party on Saturday. Nothing fancy, just a casual cookout. If you’re free, you should come by.”

There it is: an invite to a team party from the quarterback.

“I’d love to come. My fiancée, Courtney, is coming to visit this weekend. Is it okay if she comes too?”

“Of course,” Jax says. “Looking forward to meeting her.”

I nod, trying to hide the huge smile threatening to plaster itself on my face.

“Come on,” Jax says, smacking me on the back. “Let’s get out there and get to it.”

Courtney

I land at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans with more nerves than I had during the flight.

Having five kids—four of them boys—made taking vacations hard for my parents, so we went on car trips, and we never went very far. Before today, I’d never flown, and thought that I might throw up when the plane took off.

But now that we’ve landed and I’m going to see my fiancé, whom I haven’t seen in weeks, I’m excited and giddy and, well, turned on. The thought of throwing my arms around him and feeling all of that brawny muscle and running my hands up and down his body while kissing him…
Yeah
.

I’ve thought so much about him that I went on a secret shopping trip and picked up some sexy underwear for this trip.

Because I think I’m ready.

Maybe.

Sometimes I think I’m ready. Other times I still feel very intimidated and afraid of sex.

But Adam is my fiancé. He adores me. I love him. I
want
to have sex with him.

My issue is that wanting something and being prepared for something are two totally different things.

When I’m off the plane, I make a quick stop at the restroom to check my reflection and make sure that the cute New Orleans Saints V-neck tee I bought isn’t too wrinkled. I notice that a small pimple has popped up on my chin. Trying to pop it now will just make it worse, so I sigh and then head to the escalator to go see my fiancé.

As I scan the baggage claim area from the top of the escalator, I don’t see Adam anywhere. And he’s the type of guy to stand out, considering his size. I grab my phone and realize that I never turned it off of airplane mode.

I swipe and wait as my phone reconnects to the signal, and then see a message from my mom, asking if we landed safely, but nothing from Adam.

Maybe he’s just running a little late from practice. That’s entirely possible.

As I get to the bottom of the escalator, I pause and look around before walking toward the exit. I only packed a carry-on, so there’s no need for me to wait at the baggage claim. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my waist, spinning me around, and I’m face to face with Adam, whom I barely register before he grabs my face and meets my lips with his.

The kiss is deep and long and hot.

Way too hot for a kiss anywhere in public.

When we break apart, I feel flushed and short of breath and very, very turned on.

“Where were you hiding?” I ask. “I looked for you everywhere.”

“I was standing just to the right of the escalator.”

“Exactly where I couldn’t see you,” I say, shaking my head. “Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He grins and says, “I just wanted to surprise you. I like your shirt, by the way.”

Normally when I buy clothes, I go for things that aren’t formfitting. I’m more comfortable in something a little loose. But even though I ordered a large shirt from the NFL website, when it arrived I was shocked at how small the large was. I was going to send it back immediately, but my mom saw it and forced me to try it on. I thought it was way too tight, but she swore that it looked great on me and that it accentuated my waist. I’m pretty sure it just makes my boobs look huge. Which is probably why Adam likes it so much.

“I figured you would, Mr. I-Play-for-the-New-Orleans-Saints.”

“It’s still so weird to hear that,” he says, smiling hugely.

“Why? It’s not like you were surprised to make the team. You worked your ass off all summer.”

“But. I play for the New Orleans Saints. It still sounds surreal.”

“I guess it does a little,” I say. “I’m used to saying ‘Go Tigers’ not ‘Go Saints.’ It’s nice that they’re the same colors. My black and gold game day wardrobe is still applicable to my life.”

Adam laughs at that and then grabs my suitcase in one hand and my hand in the other. “Come on. Let’s go explore New Orleans.”

After I take the last bite of my étouffée, I frown at my plate.

“Didn’t realize that was the last bite?” Adam asked, an amused twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Just sad that it was. That was seriously delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I still can’t believe you swung a reservation here at the last minute.”

“It wasn’t really me,” he says. “I might have mentioned it to our press office and they said they’d take care of the reservation. Apparently local restaurants like having Saints players frequent their establishments.”

“I’m sure,” I say, before realizing what else probably goes along with having the press office of a national football team book a table for you. “Wait. Does that mean you have to do press?”

Adam shrugs. “Nobody said anything about it.”

As if on cue, the maî·tre d' comes over with a huge piece of chocolate cake and says, “Compliments of the chef. Mr. Kistler, if you don’t mind, we’d love to get a quick photo of you and your fiancée for our social media accounts.”

“Of course,” Adam says graciously before giving me a look that says,
Is that okay?

I smile and look toward the maî·tre d', who has motioned over a full-on professional photographer. As the photographer hurries over, a black and gold candle is placed in the cake and quickly lit before we’re being instructed to lean in, tilt our chins a certain way, and smile.

The whole thing is over and done with in under a minute and we’re left in peace, though several other diners are now eyeing us. I hope they just think we’re celebrating a birthday or something, and that they don’t actually recognize Adam. Not that I don’t want him to have fans, but I’d like for him to be just mine every once in a while.

“Sorry about that,” Adam says, picking up a fork and digging into the dessert.

I pick up the other fork and follow suit. “Not a problem.”

“Thanks for being cool about it. I honestly didn’t realize that would happen.”

I start to tell him that it’s impossible for him to be that naïve. His father and both brothers have been through this. He
has
to know that this is the treatment you receive when you’re a professional athlete.

Then again, he grew up in a small, suburban town in Missouri, the same place his father grew up and retired to because he wanted his kids to have some semblance of a normal childhood. Sure, his dad and their family got some attention, but mostly everyone was used to them, so it’s not like his entire life was documented in tabloids. Maybe Adam really
is
that naïve.

“I guess you’re going to have to get used to it.”

“I guess,” Adam says, shaking his head before saying, “So hey. We’ve been invited to a cookout tomorrow.”

“That sounds fun,” I say. “One of your teammates?”

“Yeah,” he says, and I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the name. “Jax Montgomery.”

I was not prepared for that name.

“As in beloved quarterback, husband and father of the freaking year, and all-around wonderful person, Jax Montgomery?”

“That would be the one,” Adam says, looking amused by my description.

But it’s not like I’m wrong. It’s very fitting for that guy to play for the Saints since he practically is one. His wife, Melissa, is a breast cancer survivor, and he created a foundation in her name that pays for cancer treatments and medications for those who can’t afford to pay out of pocket.

“Wow,” I say. “So we’re going to meet Jax and Melissa Montgomery tomorrow.”

“As well as the rest of the team,” Adam says, grinning.

“I might as well rip meeting everyone off like a Band-Aid, I guess.”

“Hopefully it won’t be as painful,” Adam says. “Are you about ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” I say, as Adam motions to the waiter to bring our bill.

Then the thought of what might come next tonight enters my mind, as does the matching red lace underwear I brought with me. My stomach clenches involuntarily and I feel clammy all over.

How is it possible that I am still in no way ready for sex? Is this normal?

I tamp down the panic rising in me and breathe in deeply to help myself relax. So I’m not ready yet. That’s okay. Adam has said he’ll wait for me and he will because he loves me.

Besides, maybe I’ll be ready tomorrow.

When we pull up to the Montgomery’s place, I’m shocked by how normal it is.

The white brick house is large, but not enormous. It’s just a bigger-than-average, normal-looking suburban home.

“Should we have brought something?” I ask, even though it’s way too late to be asking the question. I should have thought about it this morning instead of inwardly freaking out about the fact that I brought nothing seemingly appropriate to wear to a cookout at an NFL quarterback’s house.

Adam swore that my red shorts and black T-shirt were perfect, but I still feel like I’m probably underdressed.

“I don’t think so,” Adam says. “At least, Jax didn’t mention it. But I also didn’t ask.”

“Crap. We should have brought something.”

“Do you want to go find a grocery store and grab something from the deli or bakery?”

“No,” I say, sighing. “We’ll just hope for the best.”

We walk hand in hand to the door and ring the bell. A few seconds later, Melissa Montgomery herself answers.

“Hi! You must be Adam and Courtney,” she says, warm and friendly, looking like an ad for the perfect wife in her sundress and sandals, her blond hair in loose, beachy waves. “Please come in.”

We step inside the house and Adam, in his usual manner, wraps Melissa in a hug and says, “It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for the invite.”