Linebacker's Second Chance (Bad Boy Ballers) (17 page)

Here we are now, at the beginning of the preseason, and the big kickoff party at Mack’s house is already starting.
 

But Mack is here, walking back and forth down the hall, unable to bear the weight of what we’re doing. I don’t want this any more than he does, and now the shame is weighing on me most heavily.
 

He turns to look at me, and I’m struck by the trouble in his eyes. Something in my chest tightens, and my stomach threatens to drop out of my body. I can’t deny how this man makes me feel, and I can’t leave him now.
 

He frowns in my direction and goes back to pacing. “I’ll do anything to get out of this, Renata. But it seems like they’ve got us.” His fists are already clenched, and he’s pacing. I’m clutching a cup of coffee hard and watching him as he goes. He’s angry—and I don’t blame him. I’ve never gone against my instincts before, but this time, I sure as hell did.
 

He clouded my judgment.

Kinley Edwards seemed like the perfect solution, and it seems she’s been slowly leaking things to the press about her suspicions regarding Macklin—and the press loves anything to do with Macklin Pride. When I started messing around with this client, I didn’t count on the hunger of the media. It’s been a long time since I’ve dealt with a true bad boy—and it seems that, in the NFL, Mack has the reputation for being the baddest boy of all.

“I know, Mack. I did it to you.” I slide down into the dining room chair, my body crumpling with shame. I look over at the house where Mack lives, the house that I wanted, the one I imagined with him. There’s a girl inside that house who’s more than a girl—she’s manipulative, she’s reckless, and she’s caught in a whirlwind of power she doesn’t fully understand. She’s drunk on it—the power of being famous, of having a famous fiancé, of having the power to tell him he’ll need to marry her or else.

Mack slows down and then comes to sit next to me on the couch, taking my hands in his. I almost recoil, thinking that Kinley probably has someone watching us, watching Mack’s every move. But I let the comfort of this small touch take me over, knowing that this magic time between me and Mack may soon fade out into eternity.
 

“I was the one who fucked up bad enough that we needed a supremely quick fix. I was about to lose my job
that week
, and you knew the way to make it better.” He shrugs helplessly, and a wave of warmth comes over me. The things I feel for him are rooted so deep that there’s no way I could escape them, not really. When I first came out here, I had myself convinced that I was over him—for the most part, I thought I was. Sitting here, my hands in his, I can see that’s not true.
 

“And I was the one who told you to do it. I was the one who picked Kinley, and I knew she had some kind of connection with Eddie. I just didn’t know what she’d be like when it came down to the wire.” I tap my nails against the coffee cup. I had them painted bright red two days ago, on a whim. It seemed like the thing to do, as a wanton woman sneaking around behind a young woman’s back—an evil young woman’s back, but behind her back nonetheless. Behind everybody’s back. “She’s got Eddie on board with her little schemes, and he tells me he’ll get you fired if you don’t keep on with this engagement.”

Judgment—clouded.
 

“Goddammit all to hell. I’m done with his threats. And hers too, while we’re at it. There’s got to be some solution we haven’t thought of.” The severe, Roman lines of his face harden into a mask of anger. “I can quit my job. I can leave the NFL before anyone ever knows about this. I want to be with you, and only you. You’re the only thing that’s important right now. The only thing I want.”

Mack's words ring in my ears. Did he just say what I think he said? Did he just say the one thing I've been wanting him to say for all these years, even as I denied it, even to myself? That he wants me above all else - above his career, above all the other women, all the perks of being a famous football player? Part of me - a big part of me - wants to nestle into his arms and agree to his plan. But I can't do that. I came out here to do a job. And it wasn't getting Macklin Pride to quit the career he loves. Not to mention the fact that I'm still skittish, stung by a past neither of us have ever been able to get beyond.

“I don’t know if you’ll be saying that when Kinley throws her tantrum and gets her way. She’s the most dangerous kind of woman. Privileged. Scorned and rejected. And she enjoys playing the victim. There’s no one the media loves more than that type of girl. They see her as innocent and powerless—and when she’s officially jilted and you leave the NFL, there won’t be another job or another fancy life lined up for you after it all ends.” I lower my head into my hands, head starting to pulse just slightly, a cloudy pain forming behind my eyes. I fear the end coming, the end of whatever this is. I might as well say goodbye to Mack now, even though there are many things left unsaid, secrets left unspoken, layers hidden beneath his surface. So many people might think that there’s not much hidden beneath the façade of a masculine, muscular linebacker. But with Mack, there have always been hidden depths. If I’d thought of that when he left instead of being blinded by pain, maybe I would have gone to him then. And maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.

So many maybes. So many regrets from times long ago. I try to sear the memory of Mack holding my hands in his into my memory, indelibly, so that I can freeze this moment and time and go back to it when this is all over. Because there’s no way I’ll be leaving town
with
this man. There can't be, can there? Second chances happen, but not for me.
 

“Renata. Listen to me. There’s a way out of this. I’ll find it. We’ll get through this, and we’ll come out on the other side.”
 

I nod slightly. “If you say so,” I mumble. My brain starts circling through all the things we could do—talking to lawyers, getting the contract looked over and somehow nullified, and perhaps my least favorite—talking to Kinley. Could I pay her part of my commission on this case to get her off my back? I remind myself that $600,000 is nothing to a woman like her. It’s all about the glory she can get from a famous relationship in the tabloid headlines.

“I’ll quit. I’ll do it. Before they can fire me, because I’m sure as hell not continuing with any engagement when I don’t love that woman, and she doesn’t have a goddamn ounce of respect for me.”
 

He’s so angry now he's shaking, so I squeeze his hands and pull him into an embrace. In an instinctual response, heat pools between my legs, my sex pulsing from being so close to him and taking in his scent. Like he’s reading my mind, he pulls me into an embrace on his lap, my legs straddling his. It feels so intensely sensual to be with him right now. He tilts my head toward his and kisses me, softly, gently, until the kiss grows in intensity. We sit there like that, just kissing.
 

The power of his embrace seems to block out everything else in the world—all of the pain and the drama, the headlines targeted at Mack, the conniving and backstabbing of the men and women who would seek to do him harm. We don’t do anything else, content to just be together for this still moment in time.
 

When he gets up to leave, I feel a sense of preemptive loss. When he goes up to his house to meet Kinley and all of the men from his team for the kickoff party, he’ll be solidifying himself as part of a power couple. The engagement was one thing—but this is the party all the photographers and sports reporters are attending. There will be pictures and interviews, photo opportunities with Eddie Davidson and all the members of the team. With each public event, we’re more deeply mired into this agreement.
 

And it’s clear Kinley and Eddie aren’t about to let it go.

The party up at my place is usually the biggest splash of the preseason. With Kinley here, there are even more photographers and reporters than usual. The caterer has everything set up perfectly—tens of thousands of dollars worth of food. The open bar is already flowing. Wingate and Darius are helping themselves, already caught in a deep conversation. Their eyes flick over to me, where I stand in the corner. Kinley comes and goes, taking my arm and dragging me around the room. With each touch she places on my skin, I cringe and something deep in my gut sinks. I know Darius and Wingate are talking about me, about the choices I’ve made that led up to this night. About the headlines in the media, and my desperate wish to break the engagement.
 

My eyes endlessly scan the room for Renata. Her red lips and perfectly painted red fingernails. Her body, muscular and sensual and tightly controlled—that is, until she’s in my arms. It’s then that she becomes who she really is. Now that I’ve finally had her, I want more. I lick my lips, thinking of my tongue against her skin. Being here at this party makes me think of all the mistakes I’ve made, all the things I’ve kept hidden, all the needs I have, the life I want. That life is with Renata. Not with football. Not with the team. And definitely not with Kinley.

My thoughts swirl into a fever pitch, and I finally pull Kinley aside after she’s had a few glasses of wine. “Kinley,” I whisper. “We know you’ve been leaking shit to the press. And it ain’t terribly pleasing.” I grab her hand and squeeze tight like we’re a normal couple, and she whimpers. In a former life, her little lip bite and soft sighs would have been alluring. But sober—and finally aware of what I want—there’s nothing that compels me toward this woman.
 

“Who’s ‘we?’ You and your gay cousin? Or your mysterious lover on the side?”

“I’ve got no lover on the side, and you know it.” What I’ve got is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with—she’s no side woman. She’s the only woman.
 

“Do I know it? Hm, I’ve been wondering how Macklin Pride keeps himself occupied with his legendary cock and insatiable sexual appetite. None of that sexual energy is directed at
me
, is it? Am I not enough for you, Mack? Am I not pretty enough? Not famous enough?” She pouts her lips at me, and I back away from her a couple of inches, disgusted.
 

“Didn’t take you long to find someone else you’d rather be with.” I nod to the wide receiver I think she’s sleeping with, and she blushes, almost imperceptibly. “If you want to be with someone else, by all means, please go for it.”
 

“He’s not
famous
. He’s not the one I want to tame and show off to the world. You are. You’re the one who will get me the most concert tickets, the biggest video producers, and the most intrigued fans. You will not screw this up for me. We’ll be engaged through the goddamn season or so help me, I will end you—and her. Whoever she is.” She says the last words pointedly, turning to flash a smile and take my arm in hers just as a photographer passes by. After that, she leaves me and walks over to Gabe, the wide receiver. They walk off together, and I know she’s doing it to flaunt her power right in my face.
 

I walk past the open bar, again tempted. After that dark day when Renata saw me at my worst, though, I won’t touch it. “Club soda,” I say to the bartender. He pours it for me, and I take it, still scanning the room for Renata. The rage is pouring through me. Kinley is fucking with the wrong linebacker.
 

Just as I have that thought, I look up to see Renata standing by the door, in her white blouse and pencil skirt. Even though her outfit is plain, she looks a million times more beautiful than Kinley. There’s a lingering look of guilt on her face. She blames herself for this. I blame myself. And soon, I might have to let her go without her ever knowing how I truly feel about her.
 

Without even thinking, I walk over to her. Glancing around cautiously, I guide her back onto the front porch, where the stars are hanging over my estate with a delicate glow. “Let me take you down to the back porch. I have things I need to tell you. Things that need to be said by the light of the stars, not in a party where I’m pretending to be engaged to a woman I don’t love.”

“This isn’t wise, Macklin,” she says.
 

I think of how recklessly I want her, how deeply and awfully I need her. I brush my thumb over her bottom lip. If I have to tell her goodbye, I want one last night. “Kinley just went off with Gabe.” I shrug. “She’s occupied. I can guarantee it.”
 

Renata gulps and nods her head slowly, letting me lead her down the stairs and around to the back of the house. The bottom porch faces the guest house and the back of my estate, secluded and private. No one can hear us here. I’ve tested that fact a number of times. It might be stupid. It might be reckless. But let Kinley find us. The bravado rages through my blood, mixed with my need for the woman beside me, the one whose hand is curled trustingly into my own.