Jesse’s eyes widened as the group voiced their approval. “I don’t think—”

  “Afraid of a little competition? I get it. I would be, too.” I gave him a conciliatory pat on the back, my eyes full of pity. “Better to bow out now.”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “Your attempts at reverse psychology are about as sad as your soccer skills.”

  “Big talk from a little man.”

  “Little?” He sent me a look of retribution. I was pretty sure next Tuesday I’d be donning gloves and scrubbing something horrible. “I’d love to watch you eat those words. Unfortunately, I’m not dressed for it.”

  “You keep a couple changes of clothes in your office,” I said sweetly as he groaned under his breath. “I believe you keep them in the bottom drawer of your desk.”

  “Thank you ever so much.”

  “Welcome,” I said cheerily. “And don’t you also keep a pair of sneakers in there? Hell, the only thing that’s not in that drawer is talent.”

  “I have no idea why people seem to gravitate toward you.” His lips twitched with humor. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Language,” one of the kids shouted.

  “I think he’s stalling,” I said with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think, people?”

  That sent them into a chorus of Come on, Jesse punctuated by loud talking. They sounded like a group of yappy little dogs listening to a doorbell on repeat, and I gave myself an A+ in the art of crowd frenzy. I’d whipped them up better than a Nutribullet.

  Jesse didn’t look as annoyed as I expected him to. I don’t know why I was surprised—I was learning that he could be a good sport. Still, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when he agreed with a little nod and a small smile. The kids went wild with approval. Feral almost, I amended as I caught one right before he bounced into another kid. I briefly wondered how much sugar they’d had and if someone had maybe laced that sugar with blow.

  “Alright, alright,” Jesse finally said over the din. “Let’s not lose our collective minds. I’m going to my office to change.”

  That…was a picture I could do without. I focused before I caught another soccer ball to the gut and busied the kids with getting organized and picking teams. Jesse was back before we’d even finished putting on the blue and red vests. He was in baggy gray shorts, a white tank, and some beat-up sneakers—nothing that should’ve made my dick jump in my pants.

  I realized I was staring and swallowed hard. Then I forced myself to look away. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking at—just anywhere, anything else other than Jesse. My gaze flitted his way again. Did he look…worried? It was hard to look away when he sank his teeth into that plush lower lip. I mean, that wasn’t fair. I hadn’t gotten to bite it yet, so why should he get to do it?

  “What?” I asked.

  He glanced around furtively to make sure no one was paying us any attention and I was even more intrigued. “Should you be doing this?”

  Okay, that was so not what I thought he was going to say. I frowned. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

  “Your knee.” He looked at it anxiously as if he could take an x-ray with his eyes alone. “Maybe you should just be coaching, not playing. The ground back here isn’t even level, you know. I mean, just last week….”

  And he was off. Because if there was anything Jesse did well, it was worry about every single outcome. To be fair, that was kind of his job. Usually, that worry was Rainbow Harbor-centric, though. There wasn’t much that could’ve prepared me for the warm feeling of Jesse Fox being concerned about me.

  “Worried about me, Fox?” I asked gruffly.

  “No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just don’t want hordes of Outlaw fans to blame this center for your slow-ass recovery. Someone might pull his or her donation.”

  I grinned and didn’t call him on his bullshit. “PT says light activity is okay. And I can’t get back on the field if I’m afraid to play with kids.”

  “Some of these kids are like six feet tall.” He shook his head a little despairingly. “You think they’re feeding them something…I don’t know, unusual? Radioactive, maybe?”

  I guffawed. “Height is relative, small fry. Now stop stalling and let’s get moving.”

  “I think I hate you.” He raked a hand through his hair, and it looked even messier than usual. “What team am I on?”

  I promptly held out a blue vest. “Whatever team I’m not.”

  He smirked as he took it and slipped it over his head. “Works for me.”

  I narrowed my eyes because it took very little to activate my challenge mode. He was going to eat dirt and then he was going to hand my team our win. “Let’s do this, Foxy.”

  Within a few minutes of play, I was aware we had a ringer in our midst, and his name was Fox. I was fast, keeping up with him with ease. Unfortunately, there was no tackling him…which was too bad. He was far too nimble for me to get the ball away. From the smirk he sent me, he could sense my growing frustration. When we got within kicking distance of the net, I could already see the writing on the wall. Sure enough, he drew back his foot and sent the poor ball flying into the net so hard, I almost expected smoke trails.

  I glared at our goalie, who gave me a shrug as he tossed me the ball. My poor team straggled behind, winded. “You’ve played before,” I accused.

  “Maybe a bit.” The little thief stole the ball and maneuvered around me again, calling, “Too slow.”

  Okay, that was it. I was a team player, but dammit, I liked to win. And no one here was giving out sportsmanship awards. I came up behind him and lifted him clear off his feet.

  He gave a surprised oof as his middle hit my shoulder, but he was only quiet for a second. He hollered that I was a damn dirty cheater as the kids laughed. Then I had to run around with him on my shoulder for a bit while he spluttered through laughter for me to put him down…as you do. Most fun I’d had in ages.

  When I finally set him on his feet, I was relieved to hear his laughter. I knew I could be a little exuberant sometimes. I spent my days roughhousing with a bunch of guys that could double as big kids. Our barometer for acceptable adult behavior was…a tad skewed. So I tried to rein in the frisky puppy shit.

  Jesse’s laughter faded the longer I stared. A blush colored his cheeks. I wasn’t sure which of us was more surprised when I blurted, “I want you.” I reviewed those words and realized they were a hundred percent, actual factual truth and not just a knee-jerk reaction. I checked around to make sure we were still alone before I got closer. “I want you and I know you want me, too.”

  He stared at me for a few moments, his gaze dropping to my mouth. Was he breathing a little harder? He swallowed hard and then sent me a little grin. “Want is just a word.”

  No, it was a feeling. So was need. And I was kind of tired of getting twisted up in knots by both. When I spoke again, my voice was barely better than a growl. “Go out with me.”

  He played his part of our script to the letter like nothing had changed. “Nope.” And then he was skirting around me with a very un-Jesse-like whoop, the ball between those agile feet. “But it’s so good to have dreams.”

  I chuckled ruefully. “You’ll change your mind.”

  He sent the ball into the net again and stuck his tongue out at me. He didn’t look worried at all. He should be. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. It wasn’t in my nature to give up on something I wanted, and it was becoming painfully clear that I wanted Jesse Fox.

  Game on.

  14

  JESSE

  The last week of October, my luck ran out with my poor Plymouth.

  It was drizzling rain when I left the center, close to six in the afternoon. I had big plans to go grocery shopping and fall asleep on my couch, and I was pathetic enough to be excited about it. I jogged to my car in the drizzle, too impatient to bother with an umbrella.

  That’s when Nina decided she’d had enough of living in general. I sat there in the driver’s seat, just giving luck a minute to drop a GPS pin on me. I reminded Nina of the good times, like when I’d treated her to a container of Turtle Wax and upgraded her with performance windshield wipers. Then I tried to crank her again, and she coughed and died.

  Clearly, my memories of our life together were rosier than hers.

  “Nothing but discount wipers for you from now on,” I vowed.

  I let my head fall against the headrest. The rain drummed against the hood gently in a way that would’ve been peaceful if my car hadn’t pulled a dead raccoon on me, with Xs on her headlights and a tongue lolling out of the engine bay.

  I mentally adjusted my afternoon activities as I watched the rain forming strange patterns on my windshield. I needed to call for a tow and a ride. I had to call my favorite repair place and let them know I’d be leaving the car in their parking lot. Red wouldn’t be surprised. He and my car were on a first-name basis. I should also probably—

  A knock at the window startled me, and I glanced over to find Andrew standing there, cupping his hand against the glass as he tried to see inside my car. The windows were tinted slightly past legal, and I wasn’t removing them until I had to. I already had my open-mouthed look of shock ready for whatever cop informed me that they weren’t street legal. Gasp. Officer, are you sure?

  I opened my door a crack and peered up at Andrew. The rain pelted his shoulders as he leaned in, those broad shoulders blocking me from getting wet…and seeing the damn sky. Good Lord, it’s okay to take a day off from the freaking gym.

  “You okay?”

  “Of course,” I said promptly.

  “You’ve been sitting here a while.”

  “I do that sometimes,” I said sanguinely. “Thinking in my car is one of my favorite activities.”

  “Interesting.” His easy-breezy tone matched mine. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

  Guess he wasn’t buying anything I was selling. Too bad, I was about to offer it to him again. “You don’t know everything I do.”

  “True. But I know when you’re wading in bullshit up to your ankles.” He swiped damp hair back from his forehead and straightened. Without my wall of Andrew, light rain speckled my face. “Let me guess. This hunk of junk finally put itself out of its misery.”

  “She still has a lot of life left in her. She just needs a little tender loving care.”

  “It needs a wrecking ball.”

  I scowled because he was right. Yeah, the car wasn’t exactly in the best shape. If she could be powered by feelings alone, we’d be cruising down Route 66. Unfortunately, she was powered by little things like an engine with over two hundred thousand miles on it and a transmission that slipped more than a big-shoed clown walking down Banana Peel Avenue.

  Andrew tapped my roof. “Get your stuff.”

  “I can handle it,” I said, feeling a little irritated. I’d made a life of being capable and I didn’t need anyone riding to the rescue. I was the problem solver. Just ask any of the people who depended on me daily. “I was just gearing myself up to call for a tow and then Uber.”

  “You can call while I’m driving you home.”

  “I don’t want you to go through any trouble.”

  He smiled crookedly. “If it was any trouble, I wouldn’t have offered.”

  “But—”

  “Driving you home isn’t any trouble, but standing here and getting soaked is fucking annoying.”

  I may be a problem solver, but I wasn’t a stupid man. Turning down a free ride when I was going to have to pay only Satan-knows-what for a repair would indeed be stupid. “Thank you,” was all I said. Begrudgingly.

  He looked way too amused. “That looked like it hurt.”

  “Like a fork in the eye,” I agreed, and he laughed.

  He helped me store my things in his cargo area and we set off. We didn’t talk much as he drove. I gave him the general direction so I could focus on calling a tow yard and Red’s garage. Then there was silence, only interspersed by my directions as we got closer to my neighborhood. By the time we got there, the rain was coming down in sheets.

  He turned on my street, and I could barely see my bungalow through the deluge. It was small and beige with a terra cotta roof and a nice yard. I looked at it with a critical eye as we approached. I didn’t have much extra time to futz about with home repair, and it showed. It could use a fresh coat of paint and maybe the grass needed a cut. But it wasn’t bad.

  Not bad? I stiffened my spine. One second of Andrew McAdams in my driveway, and I was calling my prized possession not bad. It was mine. That was all that mattered.

  I had my seatbelt unbuckled before he could even put the car in park. “I’d invite you in, but I don’t want you to get wet,” I said when he reached for his seatbelt.

  He paused, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve heard of some crazy invention people use to dry themselves off when they get wet. I think they call it a towel.”

  Despite myself, my mouth quirked. “Amusing.”

  “I thought so, yes.” He glanced out at the rain with a frown. “You should wait it out a few minutes.”

  Yes, that would probably be the smart thing to do. Or I could run through the torrential rain like a crazy person to get away from temptation. I eased my fingers over the silver door handle. Yes. Crazy run was the thing to do.

  “Especially since you have all those library books in my trunk,” he added with a glint in his eye. “Wouldn’t want those to get ruined.”

  I sat back in my seat.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him tapping his fingers on his bouncing thigh. I’d been around him long enough to know that it wasn’t a nervous habit—he was just used to moving and using a lot of energy. When he didn’t get in his full, grueling workout, that energy seeped out in weird ways…or at least that’s how he’d explained doing push-ups with one of the kids sitting cross-legged on his back.

  “I like your place,” he said, breaking the silence. “I mean, I haven’t seen the inside obviously, but it seems nice.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure bungalows are all the rage with NFL players.”

  “I’m a simple guy, Jesse. Same as I was before the money.”

  “You’re right. It’s almost stunning how down-to-earth you are.” I sent him a sweet look. “By the by, how’s the Lambo?”

  He laughed. “Touché. And for your information, Molly thought it would be a good idea to drive something else.”

  “That’s good,” I said with a sage nod. “I’d hate to close out your community service file by reporting you got knifed in the parking lot.”

  That earned me another laugh that absolutely did not make me warm inside. “Just because I enjoy the finer things in life doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the simple ones, too, Jesse.”

  I hated it when he said my name like that, all deep and sexy-like.

  I glanced up at the rain, which didn’t seem interested in abating even a little bit. “So. What kind of simple things does Andrew McAdams like?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing all that ground-breaking. Swimming, hiking, biking, running—”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said, staring at him. “Anything that doesn’t involve raising my heart rate past the danger zone?”

  “I do play video games occasionally.” He grinned. “And because I’m not a weirdo, I also watch TV.”

  “What kind of shows?”

  He rattled off a few shows. I let my expression tell him what I thought of his strange taste, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You’re all about educational programming.”

  “Wrong. I like sitcoms. And I can’t help but notice you didn’t mention football on your little list.”

  “You asked for things that I like. Not things I love.”

  “Aw,” I complained. “You’re not going to be one of those stereotypical athletes who complain about getting paid millions to play the sport they love? I was looking forward to hoisting you on your own petard.”

  “Nope. Sorry.” He chuckled. “Although I will say things haven’t exactly been a bed of roses lately.”

  I could guess what that was about. Pressure. He needed to get back on the field. I had a feeling it wasn’t entirely up to him, or he’d already be out there, knee be damned. Then there was the DUI mess. Now that I knew him better as a person, it didn’t seem like something he would do at all. He had his spoiled ways, yeah, but he was conscientious and cared about people. I couldn’t see him risking someone’s life because he just had to drive himself home.

  “You never did tell me how you wound up with a DUI,” I blurted.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me and I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy. “I thought you didn’t need my life story.”

  I flushed at hearing my own callous words thrown in my face. “Maybe I was a little…insensitive saying that.”

  “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot. But I was just coming off of a shitty meeting with a donor who couldn’t give money to a cause that’s so very gay, and your management team expected me to fawn over you and—”

  “I never expected that.”

  “You’re right.” I blew out a breath. “And I am sorry. So if you want to talk, I’m all ears.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Then that bastard actually thought about it. For a while. I occupied myself by stewing and glaring at him every few seconds. I had no idea why hearing the reason was so important to me now, but fuck it, it was. And was he watching the rain?

  I popped him in the arm.

  “Ow,” he yelped with enough drama to wrangle an Oscar nomination.

  I rolled my eyes because surely I’d hurt my poor hand more than the rocks he stored in that bicep. “It’s okay to skip arm day at the gym sometimes, you know.”

  “Hulkamania is running wild, brother.” He flexed a couple of times comically, and I may or may not have snorted with laughter. “I know, I know, my Hulk Hogan impression is amazing. I also do a good madman Randy Savage.”

  “As tempting as that is, I’d rather you tell me the story of how you ended up with a DUI.”

  “I’m still not sure you’re sorry enough for being a judgmental prick,” he said lazily.

 

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