Blitzed (Rules of Possession Book 3), page 4
Brooks jerked his head in affirmation, even though he looked like he wanted to strangle someone. “Whatever. I was just throwing him a bone for old time’s sake anyway.”
“Well, this pooch is taken care of. Keep your bones to yourself.”
Jesse probably didn’t even come up to my shoulder, but I could certainly do worse for a bodyguard. I mean, I always knew there was a reason they’d used Lhasa Apsos to guard monasteries. I pictured his expression if I even dared to relay that analogy, and swallowed down a laugh.
He sauntered off, and I was left alone with my thoughts. Most of those thoughts centered around whether or not I should follow. He’d been pretty clear about things last time we’d spoken. But that was then and this was now.
If I didn’t think he was interested, I wouldn’t even be thinking about it. But he was. I could tell. I certainly hadn’t gotten to where I’d gotten in life by being afraid and not taking any chances. Gretzky had the right of it—you did miss all the shots you didn’t take. And yes, I was fully aware that chasing after someone who tied me up in knots was a bad idea.
Luckily, I loved bad ideas and bad ideas sure as fuck loved me.
I nodded goodbye to a brooding Brooks before heading in the direction Jesse had disappeared.
4
ANDREW
I found him on the balcony off the den, leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, a can of soda in his other hand. My nose wrinkled instinctually, preparing for cigarette smoke that I didn’t smell. And then I realized it wasn’t lit.
He didn’t glance my way until I was standing in front of him. Then he just raised an eyebrow. Our size difference struck me anew. Jesse had such a self-assured personality that it was easy to forget that he was barely five eight or nine. Considering his ex, King, topped even my height by a couple of inches, I wondered how Jesse had even managed to take him. Or maybe I was an assuming asshole. Maybe Jesse was a top.
The thought alone got me hard as fuck. When you were my size and height, guys always assumed I was a top…and not just a top, but the kind who would dominate and throw them around. I always considered myself vers, and I hadn’t been dicked down right in a long fucking time.
I cleared my throat and made a herculean effort to redirect my thoughts. “So what are you doing here?”
“I know Warner’s girlfriend, Lacey. She donates stuff sometimes down at the center and she invited me along.”
“You don’t party,” I accused.
“Maybe not,” he said with a shrug. “I do, however, network.”
“Sounds about right.” I took the cigarette from his fingers and dropped it in his mostly empty can of Coke. “Nasty habit, that.”
“I quit years ago.” A sheepish smile curved his mouth. “I still like the smell, though.”
“That makes one of us.”
“I guess it’s a good thing that I don’t care what you like.” He set the can on the balcony ledge and folded his arms. “If I did, I’d say you have horrible taste in men.”
“I’m attracted to you, though, so….”
He chuckled. “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you, Jesse, for saving my ungrateful ass.’ Loverboy seemed like the type to make a scene.”
“Thank you, dear Jesse,” I said exaggeratedly. When he continued to look at me, eyebrows raised, it took me a second to catch on. I rolled my eyes. “For saving my ungrateful ass.”
“Welcome.” His teeth were a flash of white in the darkness. “What did you ever see in that guy? Were you in love or something?”
It was clear from his tone how stupid he thought that would be.
“No,” I admitted. “But things were okay when we were together. I just thought that…I don’t know. Given time and effort, maybe we could’ve done alright.”
He snorted. “Romantic.”
“I do my best.”
“Well, I don’t know how to break this to you. But you deserve more than just alright.” He colored, suddenly very interested in looking at the view of downtown Miami. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”
Didn’t you? I decided to let him off the hook, mostly because he looked like he was ready to take a header off Warner’s balcony to keep from admitting he liked me even a little bit.
“Sounds like you want to ride my dick, actually.” I waggled my eyebrows. “You wanna get out of here?”
“I do not, in fact,” he said crisply. “So maybe you can try that tired line with one of your ball bunnies upstairs.”
I hid a grin. “You sound jealous.” He gave me a stop the madness look that made me chuckle. “You’re the only one I want to go home with.”
“Is that so?”
I didn’t trust that sweet tone. Not one little bit. “It is.”
He smiled guilelessly even as he tugged on my forearm. The sight of those slender, delicate fingers on my skin had me so distracted that I didn’t know what he was doing until he flipped my arm over. Pink writing glared up at me and I gave him a sheepish grin. Some girl had asked me earlier if she could give me her number, and I’d absently said sure. I didn’t know she was going to pull out some bubble gum pink lipstick and graffiti my body.
As she marked me, she complimented me on how great I’d been in the game yesterday. I forced a smile and let her prattle on. Clearly, someone had told her that I was a professional football player but had left out a few other mission-critical facts…namely that I hadn’t played for half of the last season and this one wasn’t looking promising either.
“I didn’t know you could fit so much on an arm,” I said, touching the smiley face Tess had drawn near my wrist. “At least not without wearing a cast.”
“People have written the Declaration of Independence on a grain of rice,” he said solemnly.
“Thank you, Captain Trivia,” I said with a huff of laughter. “Maybe you can tell me how to get this shit off. I tried, but whatever lipstick she uses must be made of the same stuff they use to paint rocket ships.”
“I think you’ll live.”
I eyed him as he played with the wrinkled pack of cigarettes, but he only returned it to his pocket. The colorful rubber bracelet on his wrist caught my attention. It was rainbow-colored with some words scripted in white across the top. I circled his wrist and held it up so I could see the words better. Rainbow Harbor. I recognized the name as the community center he’d campaigned so hard for at that charity dinner.
He pulled away with a little frown.
Right. I wasn’t supposed to know anything about him and sharing something would actually cause him to turn into a pumpkin, right there on the spot.
“So what are you doing after this?” I asked.
“Dinner, I think. The food was amazing, but I didn’t get much of it.”
I shrugged. “Hey, you’d better be prepared to throw elbows in a room of NFL players…at least, when food is concerned.”
“You think I’d have learned that by now, especially after….” He cleared his throat because clearly the topic of King was verboten. “Anyway, let’s just say I’ve never had over a few bites of a sharing platter.”
When I ate, there was what I ordered and what my companion ordered but didn’t eat quickly enough. “The fuck is a sharing platter?”
He laughed. There was a loud cheer above us and the smooth beat changed into something faster. He glanced at his watch.
I knew better than to ask him to go out to dinner with me. He wasn’t interested in anything other than casual flirtation, and this would end where it started, right here on this balcony. Which was fine. I didn’t even know him, really. I didn’t know what he liked to do with his free time or where he lived. Or what his favorite foods were.
I knew he worked at a community center, of course. I knew his favorite drink was probably a sour amaretto because he always ordered one. Sometimes two. He also drove a classic Plymouth Barracuda. And I knew he was the most intriguing guy I’d met in a long time.
I’d get over it. All I had to do was think positively…and not think about how he’d look down on his knees, his mouth stretched around my cock. Now that just wasn’t helpful.
He pushed off the wall and gave me a half-smile. “Guess I’ll be going.”
“Yeah.” I gave him a jaunty little salute. “See you.”
5
ANDREW
Running through water wasn’t my idea of a good time. That was too bad since my physical therapist, a terror named Reggie, had determined that hydrotherapy was my life now. I sloshed through the water as I jogged, earbuds firmly jammed in my ears.
I preferred my home gym to the rehab facility. It was quiet. Private. The glass wall that revealed a wooded green area and a small lake didn’t hurt, either. I guess it was more of a lagoon since it led out to the ocean, but either way, it was peaceful and beautiful. Another plus? No Reggie watching me like a hawk, just in case I got the bright idea to increase my pace. When I bitched about it at PT, she reminded me that I was lucky to have this easy-rider jog at all. It was my reward for having no pain and swelling two weeks in a row. If that changed, she’d kick me back to a brisk walk.
No incline, she warned. No unexpected movements.
Too bad we didn’t play football in a straight line. I was happy that I was tolerating the activity well, but that meant jack-shit in the scope of my return to the field. What was I supposed to do, get a note from Reggie that read, please excuse your tight end from any unexpected movements today?
Someone touched my arm and I jolted, nearly tripping over my own feet. That was certainly a downside to the HydroWorx—tripping and bumping your head just might result in drowning. They should really put that shit in the manual. I only hoped whoever was responsible would fish me out and start CPR.
I glanced over to see my agent standing there, looking crisp and tailored. Ari Parker was wearing pinstripe trousers, a black oxford shirt, and a black vest. His dark hair was curlier than usual—humidity was our overlord today.
As his eyebrow continued to set all kinds of pole vault records, I took out one of my earbuds and offered a lame, “Good seeing you, man.”
“Mmhmm. It certainly can’t be good hearing me, since you ignored all of my calls.” Before I could even offer an excuse, he held up a hand. “Save it. I’m used to dealing with delicate flowers.”
I scowled. “Excuse me?”
He gave me his best I said what I said expression as he glanced at his Rolex. “I can either soothe your ego or we can just get started. I vote we do the second thing.” He pointed at the lone earbud still in my ear. “Could you take that thing out?”
Frankly, “X Gon’ Give It To Ya” on repeat was about the only thing salvaging this morning. But I took the earbud out and put them in his outstretched palm. “Happy?” I asked exaggeratedly.
“Not in recent memory, no,” he said as he laid them carefully on my weight bench. “I tend to hover between satisfied and mildly content. Happy makes me a tad uncomfortable.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “It shows.”
He started in on his list of grievances, which was hella long. Like the efficient bastard he was, he’d written everything down in his phone—in fucking checklist form—so he wouldn’t forget. At the top of the list was the DUI. It was a bogus fucking charge that I would beat in court. Lower on the list was the fact that I’d fired my assistant and missed a meeting with my attorney. I was also photographed at Warner’s party with a drink in my hand. Apparently, that was a no-no when facing charges based on your behavior after the excessive consumption of alcohol. But I had reasons for all of that.
Most of that.
“It wouldn’t hurt to improve your image a bit, you know.” He sent me a stern look. “No falling out of the clubs with boy toys or strippers. Any relationships need to be approved by me first so we can vet this person thoroughly.”
“Excuse me, what’s wrong with my image?” I demanded.
“Other than the fact that you got a DUI?”
For fuck’s sakes.
“For the last time, I was not driving.” I winced even as it came out of my mouth. That excuse went right up there with the drugs aren’t mine, who put that there, and I don’t usually do this. But in this case, it was fucking true.
Ari didn’t look impressed. “Sure. While we’re on the topic, no more fucking drinking.”
I waited for the “in public” that never came. I widened my eyes but Ari only raised an eyebrow in return.
Fuck. Fine. Whatever. Even though I wasn’t on the active roster, I would abstain. I’d be so alcohol-free that the Amish would ask what the fuck was wrong with me.
Ari eyed me suspiciously as I tried to look trustworthy. If I had to guess, he was probably wondering if ten percent was enough for the hassle that was Andrew McAdams.
I didn’t have a good answer to that question.
“I come bearing gifts.” He reached into his attaché, pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, and held them out to me…like I was going to read that shit. “For you.”
“Er….” I looked at him like he was trying to hand me a baby with a poopy diaper. Or any baby, really. Yet another reason my ill-advised marriage had been doomed from the beginning. “Hard pass.”
“Is doing time in lockup a hard pass? Because I’m sure the Outlaws organization would just love that.” He paused to let that little nugget of doom sink in before he waved the bible-sized stack of papers at me again. “This is the road to your freedom, and it goes through Jonathan Frost.”
“That asshole D.A.? He’s trying to make an example of me,” I said darkly.
“And you’re making it oh-so-easy,” he said starchily. “He wants to show that he’s hard on crime, no matter where the offender comes from. Bottom line? He wants you to do time.”
“Yeah,” I said with a grunt. “And?”
“And I don’t want Frost to get good publicity by throwing your ass in prison for a few years.”
I wiped the sweat from my face with my shoulder. I wasn’t tired, but I was starting to feel the strain in my muscles. I knew my body inside and out, and things had edged slightly over pleasurable burn territory. Sullenly, I lowered the setting a few notches. A fast turtle could keep up with this fucking pace…or pass me, but not before he yelled over his shell that I wasn’t pushing hard enough.
“Did Morgan sign off on this?” I asked.
I wasn’t just stalling for time. Morgan Black, my attorney, didn’t take any shit. If she didn’t think it was a good idea, I wasn’t doing it.
“Who do you think spent half the day hammering this out with the D.A.? We had a meeting afterward that included management, your coach, and the PR department.” Ari was done trying to cajole me as the irritation broke through. “A lot of talking has been going on behind the scenes to unfuck your clusterfuck, AJ.”
I jogged in silence for a few minutes as he watched, arms folded. “Give me the details.”
“Frost is willing to lower the charge to wet reckless driving, no DUI on your record. You can thank your squeaky-clean record and low BAC for us having any wiggle room here at all.”
“My blood alcohol was low because I only had a couple of drinks. Then I decided to sleep it off in my car. I didn’t drive anyplace.”
“The car was on.”
“It’s fucking Florida. They should change our state motto to give me A/C or give me death,” I snapped. “The car wasn’t even in gear.”
“You had physical control of the vehicle. You should’ve called someone to pick you up and we could’ve avoided this whole mess,” he shot back. “Frost also wants you to complete an alcohol class, and wear an ankle monitor for three months —”
“The actual fuck—”
“The SCRAM bracelet can test alcohol through your skin, so you’re about to have a dry, dry future. Not even cologne,” he warned.
I gaped at him. “I’m sorry, I could’ve sworn you said this was a deal.”
“It’s an upgrade from installing a breathalyzer on your car. You also get to keep your license,” he reminded me. “No suspension. There’ll be fines up the ass, but that’s to be expected. Community service is also part of the deal.”
Oh, this just got better and better. “How much?”
“Five hours a week for the next three months—”
“Five fucking hours—”
“Which you can do on Tuesday since you’re already off,” he steamrolled on. “You should be kissing the ground that Frost walks on. And the judge still has the option not to sign off on it.”
“Like they’re doing me a fucking favor,” I scoffed. “I’m surprised this shit show doesn’t end with me being drawn and quartered.”
“It’s a good deal. And I suggest you take it—quickly—before they view your incredible stubbornness as arrogance.” From his tone, I could tell which one he thought it was. “I also fought for the stipulation that you get to pick where you do your community service.”
Like that made it all better. Community service wasn’t my thing. Sure, I was generous with my money and I had pet causes that I enjoyed supporting. But I’d rather donate my money than my time.
When I told Ari as much, he made an exasperated noise. “None of the things I said even remotely go under the subheading of suggestion,” he said. “And will you come out of that contraption?”
“This contraption is my very expensive HydroWorx. And I’m conditioning.”
“You’re irritating,” he corrected. “And you need to take this seriously.”
I lowered the setting a pinch.
“Best I can do.” As his eyes got squinty, I held up my hands in a placating gesture. “I can’t just end my workout without a cooldown, Parker.”
“Just look at the charities, okay?”
He rifled through the sheaf of papers until he found the one he was looking for, and pulled it free with a little ah-ha. I reluctantly took the paper, only to find it filled with charities. Front and back. Because Ari was as thorough as he was persistent, he’d highlighted a few that he preferred. I dismissed them immediately because most of his favorites were animal rescues. I loved dogs, but I wasn’t about to shovel shit.
