Fair Game: A Football Romance (115 page)

Epilogue

Five years later

Lourdes

“Aria! We have to go. Hurry and tell your brothers to grab their suitcases!” I yell up the stairs of our home in Berkeley.

“Babe, we have plenty of time. Don’t stress. Here, listen to some music,” Liam says, trying to put his headphones over my ears, but I bat him away.

“Uh uh, we have fifteen minutes to load up the truck and make it to the airport in time. You know I’ve got this down pat. We’ve been doing it for years.”

He curls his bottom lip in and tilts his head to the side to gaze at me.

“What?” I ask, throwing the last of our carry-on bags into the pile at the bottom of the steps.

He smiles and tucks a chunk of my long hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful.”

I roll my eyes and sigh. Its no use trying to inject some pep into his step. He’s a laid back man living a crazy life that I just so happen to plan and organize and stress about. But I wouldn’t change one second of any of it for the world.

“Thank you. You’re pretty beautiful yourself,” I say, surrendering to his relaxed mood.

“Okay, now that we have agreed that we both have great genes and we’re beautiful, will you please go get our children so we don’t miss our flight?”

“Yep, if you promise to do me in the airplane bathroom again. I love being a member of the mile-high club, you know. I’d hate to have it revoked for lack of participation.”

I throw my head back and flop my hands against my sides. “Yes, yes, I’ll do you ten times if you’ll just get these kids into the truck.”

“Ten? Really? Cool.” He quickly kisses me on the mouth and turns to take the stairs two at a time. Promise a man sex, and he’s as good as conquered.

Five seconds later, it sounds like a heard of elephants trampling down the steps and through the house.

“Grab a bag or two and pack them in the back,” I yell after them.

We tour every summer with Liam. This year, we’re going to the Netherlands, South Africa, and then a little closer to home in Vegas. I love summer. Touring is crazy busy, but it’s a different kind of busy. I spend the rest of the year studying and taking care of Liam and the kids. I can’t believe I’m almost done with law school. Only one more year, and we can move back to Santa Monica for good. I miss our little piece of paradise on the beach, but I’m overwhelmingly grateful to Liam for being flexible enough to move our family here until I’m finished with school. I may even be able to finish early with a few online courses and an internship at a law firm in Santa Monica. This is very good timing, considering I just found out yesterday that I am pregnant with our second child—or our fourth, however you want to look at it. This kiddo is a surprise, and I haven’t even told Liam yet, but he will be thrilled. He’s been asking when we could have another baby for two years. I told him there was no way until I graduated, but he insisted he could pick up the slack, and I’m sure he could have. But I wanted to enjoy my pregnancy this time, with no hovering exes or cancer—just me, Liam, and our children living a normal life . . . well, sorta.

“Okay, they’re all in the truck, bags are packed, and we’re ready to go, Boss.” Liam hops up on the kitchen island and grabs the last apple from our fruit bowl. It’s probably the last edible thing left in the house, since we’re going to be gone for three months.

“So what are you doing up there? Let’s go.”

“Come here,” he says, lowering his head and crooking his finger at me.

I step between his legs, and he pulls me close, holding me against his chest.

“I want to kiss you.”

I tuck my hands into the back of his jeans and tip my head back, offering him my mouth. His lips press against mine, his tongue slides between them, and within seconds, I have my hands under his shirt, running my nails over the chiseled muscles of his back, and he is pressing his hard length against my belly.

“Liam . . .” I say, panting and offering him my neck so I can catch my breath. He trails wet kisses and licks along my collarbone and is pulling at my shirt when Aria comes running into the kitchen.

“Mommy, gross, you guys are always eating each other,” she says, and I burst out laughing.

“I was about to say we should go before one of them comes looking for us,” I say to Liam.

“Yeah, I figured. We’re coming, honey. Go get back in the truck while I try to keep Mommy off me.” He says, as if I instigated this little make-out session.

“Nice,” I say, slapping his chest.

Aria takes off out the front door, letting it slam shut in her wake, and Liam slides off the counter, but I don’t back away just yet.

I run my finger along the inside of my necklace, and he freezes.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. What makes you think anything’s—”

He grabs my hand that’s touching my chain. “You only do this when you’re really worried or you have something important on your mind. Now tell me what it is.”

“Okay. I’m pregnant.”

He blinks, and his mouth hangs open. I know what he was afraid I might say. Every time I need to talk to him about something serious, he thinks the cancer has come back. I’m glad I could surprise him with something so much more joyful.

“What? That’s the best news I’ve heard in five years.”

“It’s been that long since I’ve given you good news?”

“Not good news, great news! And yes, when we found out you were cancer-free, that was the best news ever. God, Lourdes, this is amazing. I think instead of making sure everyday has a little bit of good in it, we should start making sure everyday has something great.”

“Liam, I’m not having that many babies, and I’m never getting cancer again, so I’m good with good instead of great.”

“Well, you can be, but I’m going to work on great. I fucking love you, KW.”

“You never did find a sexier nickname for me, did you?”

“You don’t need one. Your body and those sexy, pouty lips of yours speak for themselves. Come on, preggo, let’s go to the Netherlands.”

“Preggo? Oh, great. That’s not very sexy.”

He slides his hand under my shirt and over my flat tummy. “It is to me, baby. It is to me.”

The End

Fair Catch

Emerson Rose

Chapter One

Angel

My tight muscles begin to loosen in Marcus’s capable hands.

“How does that feel?” he asks pushing against my leg.

“It hurts a little but I don’t want you to stop.”

“I want to take this slow, Angel, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t have time for slow.” I take a deep breath, hold it, and blow it out slowly as he backs away from me. His kind warm brown eyes plead with me to let him go easy but I can’t, I want this, I have to have it.

“Okay, I’ll work you over but you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” I say as he raises my leg again leaning into me.

I see a glimmer of hope flash across his face, maybe I should be more careful offering anything.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

Marcus winks and one side of his mouth lifts in a sexy smirk that would melt the panties off of most women.

But not me.

“Are you supposed to be fraternizing with your clients?” I ask.

“Probably not, but I can’t help myself.”

I loll my head to the right and see us in a mirror across the room of the physical therapy room. We are a sight to see, two attractive people in what could be construed as a compromising position in any other environment. My leg is nearly horizontal to my torso; Marcus has one hand on the back of my thigh and the other cradling the arch of my foot testing the limits of my hamstrings.

How to let him down easy? I could say I have a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure he knows I don’t. I could say I’m a lesbian but I think he’s too smart for that one. Maybe I should tell him I’m too busy, that’s not a lie but it’s an ego buster and Marcus is sweet. I turn to face him again.

“Thank you, really, Marcus, I appreciate the invitation slash bribe.” He’s smiling whew … this is going well.

“My audition is next week, Miss Valentina has me on a strict schedule that is consists of hours of practice and zero fun.” I wag my finger back and forth emphasizing my lack of social life.

“You should take a break, let me feed you.” He looks at me through my legs when he sits back on his heels with his chin down and eyebrows high.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“You should tell Miss Valentina to lighten up.”

“Ha, no way. You have not met Miss Valentina, she’s scary and demanding. Telling her to lighten up would be like telling Miley Cyrus to keep her tongue in her mouth; it’s just not going to happen.”

“Hmm, intense huh?”

“To say the least.”

“Well I guess you’re going to have to have her do your physical therapy then,” he says laying my leg down on the floor.

“You work for MBS, you’re supposed to heal my mind, body and soul. You took an oath or something didn’t you?”

He chuckles and I sigh with relief. I’m glad he’s not upset, or at least he doesn’t appear to be. Rejecting guys never gets any easier especially when they are as nice as Marcus. My career is my top priority though, along with making my parents proud. I’m not letting a man derail me now; I’ve come too far.

My mother put me in dance when I was two and a half, the second I was out of diapers and she regrets it every day. My father is a gifted neurosurgeon, he had his heart set on both of his daughters being physicians but he was only granted half of that wish. My older sister Heaven has been a pediatrician for three years now and he couldn’t be more proud of her. Dancing on the other hand is not an acceptable career in his book but I’m going to make him change his mind, no matter what it takes.

“I have so many dirty responses to that question it’s insane. I’ll be a gentleman and keep them to myself.”

He stands and offers me his hand to help me up. I take it and let him tug me to my feet even though I don’t need the help.

I’ve been coming to MBS since I twisted my ankle and pulled a hamstring two weeks ago. It’s expensive but MBS is a well-known healing center for athletes with injuries. Their nurses also travel and God willing I will be touring with the San Francisco Ballet Company after my audition next week.

“Thank you,” I say and curtsey deep with a flourish.

“Don’t mention it, I’ll see you tomorrow at two right?”

“Yep, if Miss Valentina doesn’t cripple me in practice today.”

“You want me to come and slay your dragon? I’m a great knight in shining armor.” He puffs out his chest and I can’t help but laugh.

“That’s the perfect name for her but I’m good thanks. She’s tough but I can take it.”

“Okay, but if you need me you still have my card don’t you?”

He has given me his card twice. I didn’t think anything of it the first time, he’s a personal trainer and I’m sure he likes repeat customers. But the second time I was sure he was interested in stretching my muscles in more than one way.

“Yes, got it in my wallet, both of them.”

He grins and I turn to leave. It’s time to go and be tortured and I can’t wait. 

Chapter Two

River

“What the hell is this?” I ask shaking the letter I just found taped to my locker in coach Bradford’s face.

“I’m not taking ballet classes, no way. I’m nimble and flexible enough to win two America Bowls. I don’t need to prance around in a tutu to get in shape.”

“Well you’re doing it, Jerry thinks all of you could use some grace, so grace you’re gonna get.”

“I’m a football player not a ballerina, what the hell?”

Kyle Jennings, the San Francisco Sparks largest linebacker, joins me in coach’s office - all two hundred and seventy five pounds of him.

“Yeah, what the hell coach?” he says. A sharp tongue and a frown replace his usual friendly tone and smile today.

I try to imagine Kyle in ballet class; the thought of his enormous biceps curved above his head in a ballet pose almost makes me laugh, almost.

Coach stands behind his desk shaking his head back and forth waving his hands in the air looking at his feet.

“I don’t want to hear anymore complaining. You gotta do it so suck it up. Damn, what a bunch of babies.”

“Maybe we’ll get some hot dance teachers,” the ever-optimistic defensive end Mason Johnson says from the door behind us. He’s holding his copy of the letter in his hand with a big cheesy grin on his face.

“I don’t need no hot dance teachers, I got a wife and three kids at home.” Kyle says.

I wish I had a wife and three kids waiting at home for me, actually I want a wife and five kids but who’s counting? Being one of seven kids in a large Catholic family I’ve always dreamed of having a house full of rug rats and a sexy woman by my side to share it with.

“Shut up, man. How about we let the paparazzi leak pictures of you leaping in the air in a tutu.” I say.

“All of you shut up, there won’t be any tutu’s and the class is going to have air tight security, no paparazzi will be allowed in the building.” Coach says. The six foot two former football star turned coach plops back into his luxurious leather office chair. A chair that he spends at least twelve hours a day in, the other ten are spent kicking our asses.

He reminds me of my dad when I was little. After a day of chasing all seven of us around he would flop down in his big Lazy Boy chair and close his eyes for a well-deserved nap. Mom worked at
S is for Style
Salon as a hairstylist and dad drove a truck at night to support the nine of us. The Kelly home was hectic, but I loved every minute of growing up in that big family.

“When do we have to start?” I ask.

“This afternoon, be at that address on that letter or pack your bags and find yourself another team.”

I. Am. Taking. Ballet.

My sisters took dance class when we were kids. They were always begging me to be their partner and lift them up when they practiced. I told them emphatically a million times that ballet is for sissies. I wish I had kept my big mouth shut. If they find out about this and tell my brothers I’ll be the butt of every joke when we get together this forth of July. Coach had better keep his word about the damn paparazzi.

“This is some ridiculous shit.” Kyle says storming out of the office with me on his heels.

“We’re gonna have to kick some serious ass if this gets out, man. My sisters are relentless, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“My wife’s gonna love this, I don’t even dance at weddings, you haven’t seen relentless till you’ve met my girls.”

Kyle has three daughters, a house full of estrogen. Good thing he’s gone a good portion of the year. I’m never going to be a part time dad when I have a family. I’m not sure how the hell I’ll pull that off when I travel with the team three fourths of the year. I don’t have any prospective wives in sight so I guess it doesn’t matter.

“I was going to lift this afternoon,” Kyle says stuffing his hands deep in his pockets pouting like a kid.

“You can lift me.” I jump in front of Kyle and hold my hands over my head.

“Shut the fuck up man, I ain’t lifting your ass nowhere.” Kyle pushes me aside like a feather and trudges toward the entrance of the Cavanaugh Stadium.

Kyle kicks a trash can on his way to his car and I chuckle, he’s more pissed than I am about this. I look at my phone and see that I only have thirty minutes to get to my first ballet class.

What does a guy wear to something like this? I’m pretty good at putting together a sharp outfit for any occasion; mom says I have an eye for fashion. But dance class? I sure as hell don’t own a leotard and if I did mom would be asking some pretty uncomfortable questions.

I swing open the door of my sleek black Bentley GT and slide into the drivers seat. Damn I love this car. I’ve only had this baby for a month; it’s my first new car. I never wanted a sparkling new ride, but after being hassled by my teammates about my 1996 Chevy Blazer for five years I broke down and bought this beauty.

Kyle calls it my bait car, he says I bought it to get laid. That’s the very reason I never bought something new. I detest gold digging women and my old Chevy helped me weed out the worse of the worst.

I actually had a woman turn around and go back into her house when I pulled into the driveway in my old Chevy. I sent her a quick text thanking her for not wasting my time and went out to eat with a friend.

Now I’ve become so well known that it wouldn’t matter if I showed up in a beater dressed in rags, gold diggers can smell the money. My plan is to drive my luxury car and enjoy it while staying away from women for a while.

Yeah right.