Sacking the Quarterback (5 page)

I ignore the
tremor
of excitement that I feel in my stomach as I walk toward the entrance of the Bubble, knowing that I'm going to see Grayson very soon.

When exactly did I turn into a fangirl for him?

Probably around the time he stuck his tongue in my mouth, making my body come alive for the first time in years.

Yep, that was the exact moment.

I can see that the main entrance is all closed up. The lights are out, but Grayson said that I should come in through the field entrance.

If only I knew where the field entrance was. I look around for a sign, see nothing, and decide to walk around until I find it. I'll give it ten minutes before I call Grayson and have him come get me.

I begin walking down the length of the Bubble. The area's well lit, so it isn't completely scary. But I am relieved when I round the side and see a guard standing by a door. He looks up at me.

“Hi,” I say. “I'm here to see Grayson Knight. He's expecting me.”

“Yeah, he said to let you in when you arrived,” he says, and stands aside, opening the door he was guarding.

I step through and hear it clang shut behind me. And then I'm on the edge of the football field. Floodlights all the way around illuminating it.

And there's a solitary figure in the middle of the field, facing away from me.

Grayson
.

I can tell that it's him from the line of his broad shoulders and the way he holds himself. Proudly, but like he's got the weight of the world sitting on him. His hand comes to his side and I can see a football in it.

I take a step onto the grass, and he turns to face me as if he's sensed my movement.

I can't see his expression because he's too far away. But I can definitely feel the heat and electricity that seems to connect us. It travels across the field and right into the very core of my body. And the pull is begging me to race in Grayson's direction, right into his arms. Or bed.

Crap. I'm so screwed.

On wobbly legs, I start to walk slowly toward him.
Thank God I wore flats today.

Grayson doesn't make a move. He stands there, watching me walk to him. I feel like he's slowly undressing me with his eyes. It's torture. And it puts me on edge. God, I'm so nervous. My stomach is rolling, and my heart is doing jumping jacks in my chest. I don't know what I'm going to say when I finally reach him.

All I do know is that Grayson makes me feel out of control. And I'm not used to being out of control. Control is what shapes me, keeps me moving forward in the safe life I've created for myself. Grayson seems to strip all of that away, leaving me vulnerable and bare. Yet I can't seem to stay away from him.

Finally I reach him. I stop a few feet away. “Hi,” I say, my voice sounding small in the expanse.

“Hey.” He flashes a smile at me, and I almost swoon.

Jesus Christ.

“Are we alone? Apart from the security guard.” I tip my head in that direction.

Grayson puts the ball down on the ground by his feet. He takes a step toward me. “Yeah.”

I step back. “We shouldn't be seen together. Not with the way things are at the moment.”

He frowns, his brows drawing together. “So why come at all?”

I wrap my arms around my stomach, looking at my feet. I shift on the spot. “Because…”

“You wanted to see me.”

I lift my eyes back to him. “I did. But I shouldn't. This—” I say, gesturing between us with my hand. “What happened last night. Can't happen again. I'm the assistant state—”

“I know,” he snaps. “You've already told me a hundred times.”

“I'm saying it because it's true.”

He closes the space between us by reclaiming that step. “If things were different?”

“But they're not.”

“If they were?” he asks, keeping his eyes firmly on me.

I hold my thoughts for a while, lips pressed together. “Grayson, I can't…”

Disappointment flashes through his eyes. He turns away from me. “I'm sorry that I kissed you last night,” he says, and his voice is quiet and it breaks my heart. “I was out of line. It won't happen again.”

“Okay,” I say. What else can I say? I'm glad that he isn't looking at me right now, because I know that the disappointment that's lancing through me is showing on my face.

He turns back to me. His expression is fierce as he says, “When I say I'm sorry, Mel, I mean I'm sorry for the way I made you feel when I kissed you. The last thing I ever want to do is make things hard for you. But…” He takes a large step in my direction, his long legs eating up the space between us. He's so close now that I have to tilt my head back to look in his face. “
I'm
not sorry it happened. I'll never be sorry it happened. Because I wanted to kiss you. Goddamnit, did I want to kiss you.” His eyes go to my lips. “I always want to kiss you. I have from the first moment I saw you.”

He lifts his eyes from my mouth back to my eyes. My body starts to tremble.

Holy crap. I'm so screwed.

“I…” I part my lips to say something. What that is, I have no clue. So I close my mouth again.

Grayson pushes a hand through his hair. “I know you don't want things to be that way between us, so I'll back off. I just wanted you to know how I feel. Now that I have, I won't bring it up again.”

My heart sinks so hard I'm pretty sure it's in my foot.

In my heart I'm screaming,
I do want to be with you!
That's the problem. I want him and I can't have him.

How do I tell him how I feel without actually telling him?

I rub my forehead with my fingertips, frustrated. I take a breath and say, “Grayson, my job is everything to me.
Everything
. I've worked really damn hard to get where I am today, and I'm still not where I want to be. I want to go further. I want to be state attorney someday. And I won't do anything that will risk that happening.”

He leans down and picks his ball back up. Holding it between his large palms, he stares down at it while he says to me, “I get that, Mel. I do. I really wish I didn't, but I do understand.” His eyes come back up to mine. “But I have to know. If things were different. If I wasn't up on this charge. And we were just who we are, and I kissed you—”

I cut him off. “If you weren't up on this charge then we wouldn't know each other. We don't exactly run in the same social circles.”

“Stop evading and just answer the damn question.”

My mouth goes dry. He knows the truth. He knows I'd be with him in a heartbeat. I don't know why he's forcing me to say it.

Saying it out loud will do neither of us any good. It'll just remind us of the reason we can't be together. So I choose not to say it. I choose to remind him of why we can't be together.

“I'm the assistant state attorney who's prosecuting you, Grayson. Outside of that, nothing else matters. ‘What ifs' and ‘maybes' are pointless. What matters is the here and now, and that means that what happened last night will never happen again.”

Grayson's face darkens.
Anger and frustration and sadness all flicker through his eyes. It's a hell of a combination to see. His jaw is clenched tight and the muscles in his face work angrily. “I don't accept that,” he says, and throws the ball to the ground. Just like that, my face is in his hands, his body is pressed against mine, and he's kissing me all over again.

This time I don't stop him. I couldn't if I wanted to. My body is weak to him. He kisses me with a passion and intensity that I've never before known.

Breaking from my mouth, he presses his forehead to mine. “How can you be sorry for kissing me when it feels like this?” he asks, brushing his lips over mine. “I want you. You want me. We can make this work.”

I open my eyes. “How? Because I can't see a way we can work.”

“Take yourself off the case. If you're not the one prosecuting me, then there's no problem.”

“I can't do that,” I say, shaking my head. I have to see his case through. And if what I overheard earlier is true, then Ben, my boss, whom I once admired, might be trying to set Grayson up for a big fall for his own gain. Financial and political. And if I'm not there, I don't know who will stop him.

“I'm the assistant state attorney,” I tell Grayson, pretending that's the only reason. “I don't get to pass off cases.”

Exhaling, he brushes his lips over mine and says, “I want this with you.”

I wrap my hand over his wrist. “I know.”
I want this, too.
“I don't see—”

“Don't say it.” He cuts me off with his lips. “Just…don't say it.”

I murmur my assent, letting him kiss me softly.

When we break apart, I take a small step away, needing space to try to clear my muddled thoughts. Grayson catches my hand, like he's afraid I'm going to run away.

I let my eyes drift over the field.

“Have you been training all day?” I ask, trying to lead us away from this thing that's happening between the two of us.

“Yeah. I've been out here all day, practicing. I love being on the field. Having a ball in my hand.”

I understand that feeling. Except I love being in court, putting the bad guys away.

Pulling his hand from mine, he picks the ball back up from the ground and throws it clear across the field.

“Wow. I can see why they pay you the big bucks. You have a hell of an arm on you.”

“Football is the only thing I was ever good at. If I can't play anymore…then I don't know what I'll do,” he says, and there's a sadness in his tone that pulls at my heart.

“So why risk it all and take drugs to the club that night?” The words are out before I can stop them.

He doesn't look at me. Doesn't say anything. Just stands there, motionless. And even though my question was valid, I feel like a bitch. A little part of me feels like I'm using him—but of course I know I'm not.

I want to know what he's hiding, because nothing about him being caught with those drugs makes any sense to me. I want him to open up to me. Too bad the direct-attack tactic doesn't work with Grayson. I'm learning that very quickly.

I step up close behind him. “I could never throw a ball that far,” I say softly. “I've watched you play in games and I don't know how you do that, get it all the way down the field with your accuracy.”

“Years of practice. Hours spent on the field, in all weather.” He picks up another football from the ground. “Here, I'll show you how to throw.”

“Oh, I don't know.” I take a step back. “I'll be terrible at it.”

He chuckles low. The sound makes me smile. “You won't be terrible.”

“I'll embarrass myself. I've never been good at sports.”

“I'm going to teach you how to throw a football.” He holds the ball out to me. No argument in his voice. It's a demand.

“Fine. But you'd better not laugh at me,” I say, taking it from him.

“I won't laugh, I promise,” he says as he comes to stand behind me. I'm aware of every inch of his nearness. My whole body is on alert. “Okay, so this is what you have to do to throw a perfect spiral.”

“What's that?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder. He's a lot closer than I had realized. So close that I feel his breath on my cheek as he speaks.

“It's the type of pass the quarterback throws. The ball moves through the air, spinning like this,” Grayson says, as he turns the ball in slow motion. “The whole game revolves around the perfect pass. This is it.”

“Okay.”

“So, hold the ball with a good, firm grip. Place the tips of your fingers on the laces. That's right,” he says, guiding me. “You need a little gap between your hand and the ball.” He moves it into position.

My breath catches at his touch.

“Perfect,” he says. “Now lift the ball high on your chest. That's right. Relax your shoulders and let your arms hang loose.” He presses his hands down on my shoulders.

Having him touch me like this, while standing so close to me…it's torture.

The best kind of torture.

“Okay, now put your feet shoulder-width apart. Good, that's right.” He praises me as I move my feet into position. “Now put seventy-five percent of your weight on the back foot.”

“Seventy-five. That's very specific.”

“I'm a specific kind of guy,” he says, grinning.

I feel that grin like a soft caress between my thighs.

“Now,” he says as his hands go to my hips, “as you move through your throw, shift your weight from the back of your foot to the front.”

He rocks my body forward, demonstrating, and his hips press into my ass.

I feel something very significant prod me in the butt and I have to hold back a moan.

“You got that?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I dare not speak because I'm afraid I'll say something I shouldn't.

He moves to my side. I almost sigh with relief. “Okay. Now,” he says, “when you throw, you'll draw a circle with your elbow like this.” He moves my arm, keeping his hand on my arm while he shows me. “Let the ball roll off each finger, starting with your pinky, so your wrist rotates. Your index finger should be the last thing to touch the ball as it leaves your hand. That's what generates the spin. Got it?”

“Got it,” I say.

“Okay, so come back on your heels. That's it,” he says, standing behind me. “Now, bring your weight forward, drawing that circle with your elbow, and then rotate your wrist as you throw.”

The ball leaves my hand, going farther than I can normally make it go. It's even spinning, though it's a little bit wobbly. I admire my throw, but it's nowhere near as perfect as Grayson's was.

“I did it!” I shout as I turn to face him, beaming.

“You did good,” he says. He reaches up and tucks a stray piece of my hair behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek.

I'm around 99 percent sure that he's going to kiss me again. And I really want him to. But then I hear the ringing of a phone.

Grayson lets out a frustrated sigh. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell.

He frowns at the screen and then answers the call.

“Tyler…wait, what? Hold on. You're where? Jesus Christ, Tyler!” There's a sigh before Grayson says, “I'll be there in ten minutes. Yeah. Yeah. Just wait until I get there.

“Shit!” he curses, slamming his cell back in his pocket.

“What happened?” I ask, touching his arm to bring his attention to me.

“It was my brother, Tyler. He's been arrested,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Drug possession.”