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Lainey’s List Chapter 23

 

Lainey

“You look sad today,” Reese comments as we lean against the fence and watch one of the trainers take Cassidy around the exercise pen. Despite my growing up in Texas, Reese is the only rancher I know, and he’s not really a rancher. He’s a hobbyist with a big bank account.

His family settled this huge piece of land over a century ago. But the most recent generation is more interested in the green cash than the green land; so much of the thousand acres or so is leased out and only a few hundred are kept for the family. Cassidy loves the horses. We’re both going to miss this place.

“Really?” But I’m prepared and trot out the excuse I came up with last night. “My mom’s sick. I’m going to visit her next week.”

“I’m sorry, doll. Is there anything I can do?” Reese lays his hand on my shoulder and turns me toward him. It’s not hard to summon up the grief necessary to convince him things are dire.

“No, nothing anyone can do right now. I’ve got it covered.” I rub my cheek against his hand, allowing myself these small comforts.

“What’s going on?” Nick ambles up looking gorgeous as ever.

“Lainey’s mom is sick,” Reese informs him.

“What can we do?” Nick offers immediately.

My heart literally aches at the sight of him. And for once, I don’t make any effort to hide my appreciation of how his plain white t-shirt tightly hugs his leanly muscled form.

My frank gaze is returned with eyes widened in surprise and a warm smile.

“Nothing,” I finally answer. “I’ve got it covered.”

He rubs a finger over his lush bottom lip as he considers my response. “Well, you tell us if you need anything. We’re here for you.”

“I know, and if there’s ever a time I think you can help me, I’ll come to you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He gives a slow nod and then takes a place at the rail next to me. His bare arm brushes mine and I nearly go up in smoke. There’s something nearly magical about being around Nick and not having my guard up, not trying constantly to remind myself that to take up with one of my close friends is madness.

The artificial barriers I tried to erect between the two of us were a constant source of friction. I’d get upset. He’d react in kind. We’d give in to the always-simmering attraction, and then the whole ugly cycle of anger, regret, lust, and action would repeat.

I had hoped if we had some separation, if we stopped giving in, we could find a peace between us. Now I suspect what will grow in my absence is pure heartache. But, it is what it is. I made my bed. No sense in using the short time I have left to chew on all my previous bad decisions. There’ll be plenty of opportunity for that when I’m gone.

Until then, I’m storing away all these memories, these small contacts—and maybe, if I’m fortunate, bigger ones—like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter.

My winter’s going to be long.

“How was practice today?”

They only get Sundays off. One day a week for their families, and then it’s back at the grindstone.

“Good. Glad to have tomorrow off. I’ve been staying late with Plant, Monty, and a couple of the others this past week. I think we’re finally getting our timing down. We’re going to keep at it, though. Quicker I get rid of the ball, the longer my career is going to be.”

“Not to mention, Charlie and I stop breathing whenever you’re hit,” I tease. Although it’s not really a joke. We do clutch each other and hold our breaths until he gets to his feet.

“Wouldn’t want to be the cause of your breathlessness,” he murmurs. The tone’s so low and so sexy that even Reese gasps next to me.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I think this conversation’s about to get too racy for me.” He turns to hail his trainer. “Hold up there, Jose. I’ll take Cass around the pen a few times.”

Nick shifts closer until I can feel the whole hard, wonderful length of his side pressed against mine. I allow myself to rest against him. His eyes bore a hole into the top of my head.

“Your momma must be real sick,” Nick concludes. “Because I’ve never seen you this way.”

Keeping my gaze fixed on the pretty chestnut quarter horse Reese is mounting, I ask, “You want to go for a drink next Saturday? I’m going to see my mom this week, but I’ll be back.”

The air is thick as molasses between us.

“Something’s going on with you, Lainey, and it isn’t just your mom.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m just tired of fighting. I’ve been struggling with things between us for a long time, and it could be cowardly to give in but sometimes you have to take the path of least resistance—for your own sanity.” I straighten up and turn to look him full in the face. I don’t hold anything back. Not my lust and desire for him. Not my grief over our impending separation. Not my anticipation for what Saturday night could bring. “You meeting me on Saturday or what?”

He swallows, and then his whole face tightens with lust. “If I’m not there, I’m dead.”

 

 

The post Lainey’s List Chapter 23 appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter Twenty-Two

Lainey

The bar Chip selected is so dirty and so ramshackle I’m surprised the City of Dallas allows it to have a liquor license. There are four people inside. Two are sitting at the bar and one is serving drinks. Chip is the fourth and he sits in the corner, his cowboy hat pulled low. He’s the only Texan I know who looks awkward in a cowboy hat. Even city boys look like they were born in them.

I hitch my purse more securely to my side and make my way to Chip’s table. As I approach, he kicks a chair out for me.

I take a seat. “What’s it going to take to get you to stop hassling my friends?”

“No ‘hello Chip, how you doing?’” He mocks.

I stare stonily in return.

I have no doubt that other women find Chip quite attractive. He has sunny California good looks—blonde hair, blue eyes. His family is ordinary—middle-class and rather unexciting. His father was a factory worker who quit his job after Chip signed his first contract. Gossip around town varied as to the reasons why. Some said his father had been fired. Others said it was because of an injury. Even the middle class folks in my town, however, were above my family so I didn’t know the truth of it, but I knew from my limited interaction with Chip that the relationship with his dad was strained. Not that that gives Chip any excuses.

His mother is a schoolteacher and he has two older sisters, both of whom are lovely. Everyone is incredibly proud that Chip was an NFL quarterback. That he isn’t any longer doesn’t matter at all. It was enough that he was touching glory for a few short years.

Chip, on the other hand, isn’t taking his forced retirement well.

He throws a small rectangular piece of paper onto the table and gestures for me to pick it up.

Peter Tanner, Esq.

“What’s this?”

“Turn it over,” he says.

I turn it over. The back reads “Specializing in family law.”

I set the card down carefully, my fingers trembling with the need to crush it. I slide it over in front of him.

“So?” I arch my eyebrow. Behind my calm exterior, my heart is pounding furiously, fast and loud. I have to strain to hear him over the fear that roars in my ears.

“I just wanted to see what a professional thinks of my chance of winning a custodial battle.” He pulls out his phone and lays it next to the card. “I recorded him. You want to hear?”

Of course not. I don’t want to hear anything a lawyer has to say—especially one who specializes in family law. “Go ahead,” I say stiffly; hoping it’s a bluff.

When he presses play, I realize it’s all too real.

  “The mother’s past can be important if you can prove she is continuing her negative behavior.”

 “What kind of negative behavior?” Asks Chip’s smooth voice.

The lawyers voice sounds old and moneyed and knowledgeable. I hide my hands under the table and grip them together, fingernails digging into tender skin.

  “If you found evidence that she is using drugs or that she has a drinking problem or that she is exposing her daughter to an unhealthy lifestyle, those are all things that could go toward proving she is unfit.”

  “What if she’s sleeping around?”

  “Is she leaving the child alone? Or is she bringing unsavory people near the child?”

 “It could be all of those things,” Chip suggests.

  “My recommendation is that you hire a private investigator. Have the investigator follow her for a period of time and see what he produces.”

  “And if the PI comes up empty?”

  “There are still ways you can argue to the court that the child is better off with you.” The lawyer pauses. “Although, you do have the five years of abandonment you’ll have to overcome.”

 “I just discovered her,” Chip claims. I nearly choke on the bullshit. “Had I known about her before, obviously I would not have ever left her in the care of a woman who is unstable and unsafe.”

Chip lies so easily. It’s quite remarkable.

The lawyer’s voice changes from cautious to mild excitement. “The fact that she lied about the parentage of her child, keeping your daughter from you is an entirely different story. The court would frown greatly upon that. A family law judge will want to award custody to the individual who is going to foster both parents to participate fully in the raising of this child and the fact that she’s prevented that from happening will reflect poorly on her. What does the birth certificate say?”

  “Father unknown.”

My teeth grind together. That was the primary provision of our agreement. He paid me to not put his name on that damn document.

  “That’s good. Very good. I’d still recommend a PI.”

Chip replies, “Oh I will. I’m covering all my bases.”

Chip reaches over and taps on the screen, ending the recording. He folds his perfectly manicured fingers in front of him.

“I don’t like you around the Mustangs. And I particularly don’t like you around our young starting quarterback. I’d hate for more reporters to hear about the behavioral issues of Nick Jackson. He’s such a promising young player.” Chip clearly hates Nick’s guts. “But if he’s a cancer in the locker room, we both know that any mistakes are going to be talked about all the time in the news. Not to mention some of his teammates are already thinking he’s too big for his britches. Not everyone likes a rich kid playing football.”

“His performance reflects on you,” I remind him but I can’t keep the quaver out of my voice. By the smirk on Chip’s face, I know he caught it. “If you help Nick win, you’ll move up the ladder quicker.”

“I’ll worry about my job,” he replies.

“Charlotte would never date you. She’s in love with someone else.”

“From what I hear, that someone else isn’t around; but between you and me, she’s just another rich bitch and I’ve had plenty of those. I could fuck her and leave her. There are plenty of other hoes in the sea. Besides, a friend of yours has probably been used so much, it’d be like fucking a cow.”

“I’ll defer to your experience with cow fucking.” I shouldn’t poke him but I can’t sit here and listen to him rundown Charlie without defending her. “You’re not fit to eat the dust from her shoes.”

He laughs, an ugly, bitter sound. “Here’s what I know. You’re a piece of trash and anyone who comes in contact with you is going to end up the same way.”

“Why do you even care? I’m not going to say anything.”

“I don’t want you near me.”

Translation—he doesn’t want to see his mistake, Cassidy.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to leave. Go back to Ashton and don’t show your face around here. In exchange, I’ll do everything to make young Nick’s experience as smooth and easy as possible and I won’t hassle Charlie in any way shape or form.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, then I ruin your life, along with Nick’s and Charlie’s. And you know I can. Because I’ve already started it.”

I grasp at straws. “Nick and Charlie have money. You can’t ruin them.”

“The things Nick wants can’t be bought with money. As for Charlotte, my guess is she’d be pretty miserable if Nick fails and if it comes out that her best friend practically sold herself.”

 I was 17! I scream inside. And you took advantage of me. I didn’t know those other people would be there. I didn’t know— I cut off that train of thought. There is no point in belaboring what I didn’t know and what I did. I got myself into this position so many years ago and now I’m paying for it. But I’m the only one who has to pay for it. Not my daughter, not Nick, not Charlotte.

“What assurance do I have you’ll follow through?”

Chip leans back with the all the confidence and good humor of a victor, “You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?”

I stand up. “Someday, Chip, you’re gonna get yours.”

An ugly sneer covers his face. “I got mine. I’m just making sure everyone else is as miserable as I am.”

The post Lainey’s List Chapter Twenty-Two appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter Twenty-One

Lainey

“A reporter stopped you in the hall to ask about locker room issues?” Incredulously, I stare at Nick who nods glumly over the Scotch I poured him. It’s his third drink tonight. The liquor is a testament to how upset he is because usually Nick doesn’t drink during the season. He’s of the my body is my temple line of thinking. Also of the garbage in, garbage out.

“That was after I had the awkward conversation with the coach and after I had to stare down Darnell.” He shakes his head. “Don’t know what the hell happened.”

Nick looks like he got sucker punched. I glance over at the Mustangs who Nick is buying drinks for. Darnell looks happy. He holds up a glass in Nick’s direction and Nick returns the unspoken toast. Curfew is just around the corner, and they’re all enjoying one last drink before they have to be back in their beds.

“You know I’m not a diva,” he continues. His wounded eyes plead for my agreement, which I readily give because, no, he’s not a diva.

“I know. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

He toys with the glass. “The whole thing came out of nowhere, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” As Nick leans against the bar and tries to puzzle it out, I move down toward the cash register on the pretense of ringing up a bill but instead pull out my phone and type out a text message.

Before a response can arrive, the door swings open and in walks Charlie wearing a disgusted look on her face. A few of the players yell her name. She holds up a hand in greeting but doesn’t join them, instead, opting to climb onto a stool next to Nick.

I mix up a whiskey sour and slide it in front of her. “Bad day?”

“Yeah, I just got off the phone with Rydell Griffin. He says he’s cancelling our contract because he heard I’m indiscreet. What the heck does that mean? Does he think I’m taking pictures of his underwear drawer and posting them on the Internet? I’ve never done that.” Charlie’s tone is full of indignation. She takes a long swallow of her drink and slams the glass down so hard that some of the remaining liquid spills over the side.

“Wait till you hear about my day,” Nick starts.

I move away again. I don’t get why it’s so obvious to me what’s going on but such a mystery to Charlie and Nick. I suppose they don’t really have any dealings with Chip. Not on this personal level. He’s never had a reason to take an interest in them like he does me so they don’t know that he’s lower than a snake’s belly.

Oh, Charlie knows he’s Cassidy’s dad. I told her one night when Cassidy had a terrible fever and I was scared out of my mind. Charlie held my hand and then, afterwards, I had to swear her to secrecy. She’s never told anyone, particularly not Nick, because if she had, he’d have never looked at Chip with anything but contempt. For all Nick’s flaws, he loves Cassidy, and he thinks whoever the asshole is who abandoned her is not only dumb as shit but more worthless than tits on a bull. My analogy, not his. His is so profane, I can’t repeat it.

The phone vibrates in my apron. I pull it out and read the message.

Sure we can meet. Hornby’s. Tomorrow. 8 PM.

Of course, he would pick a time that is inconvenient for me. I look down the bar at my two regular babysitters who are staring dejectedly into their early evening drinks. I can’t ask either one of them to take care of Cassidy tomorrow. I signal my waitress, Ruby, and retreat to the back room make a call to a placement agency to get a babysitter for Cassidy.

When I return, it looks like their mutual commiseration has lightened their spirits.

“What are you up to tomorrow night, Lainey?” Charlie asks.

I rearrange a few glasses before responding. Cassidy would tell Charlie the next time they see each other that she had another babysitter so I have to be careful in the story I tell Charlie. “I’m catching drinks with an old friend from high school. No one you know. I don’t really particularly like him, but I feel compelled for old times sake.”

Always go with the closest approximation of the truth. Charlie nods. “Not really in the mood to go out anyway. Maybe this Saturday we can do something together. Take Cassidy somewhere,” she suggests.

“How about Reese’s farm? Cassidy would love that.”

Charlie immediately brightens. “That sounds like a great idea. Do you want to come?” she asks Nick.

Nick raises his eyes to me, seeking approval. I give a terse nod. Before today, I would’ve said no. I would’ve tried to keep my emotional barriers up, but there’s no point in that now. Soon I won’t need artificial barriers and fake excuses.

“I’ll meet you there after practice.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Charlie excuses herself to use the restroom.

As soon as Charlie’s out of earshot, Nick asks, “You sure it’s okay?”

I hardly remember what we were fighting about. “It’ll be great,” I reply. “We both love you, you know.” This time it’s not an approximation of truth, just the truth. The whole truth.

Nick smiles as if I just told him it was sunny and seventy out. And I die a little inside. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

He slips out with his teammates. Charlie gives me a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

And I go home to prepare.

The post Lainey’s List Chapter Twenty-One appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter 21

Lainey

“A reporter stopped you in the hall to ask about locker room issues?” Incredulously, I stare at Nick who nods glumly over the Scotch I poured him. It’s his third drink tonight. The liquor is a testament to how upset he is because usually Nick doesn’t drink during the season. He’s of the my body is my temple line of thinking. Also of the garbage in, garbage out.

“That was after I had the awkward conversation with the coach and after I had to stare down Darnell.” He shakes his head. “Don’t know what the hell happened.”

Nick looks like he got sucker punched. I glance over at the Mustangs who Nick is buying drinks for. Darnell looks happy. He holds up a glass in Nick’s direction and Nick returns the unspoken toast. Curfew is just around the corner, and they’re all enjoying one last drink before they have to be back in their beds.

“You know I’m not a diva,” he continues. His wounded eyes plead for my agreement, which I readily give because, no, he’s not a diva.

“I know. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

He toys with the glass. “The whole thing came out of nowhere, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” As Nick leans against the bar and tries to puzzle it out, I move down toward the cash register on the pretense of ringing up a bill but instead pull out my phone and type out a text message.

Before a response can arrive, the door swings open and in walks Charlie wearing a disgusted look on her face. A few of the players yell her name. She holds up a hand in greeting but doesn’t join them, instead, opting to climb onto a stool next to Nick.

I mix up a whiskey sour and slide it in front of her. “Bad day?”

“Yeah, I just got off the phone with Rydell Griffin. He says he’s cancelling our contract because he heard I’m indiscreet. What the heck does that mean? Does he think I’m taking pictures of his underwear drawer and posting them on the Internet? I’ve never done that.” Charlie’s tone is full of indignation. She takes a long swallow of her drink and slams the glass down so hard that some of the remaining liquid spills over the side.

“Wait till you hear about my day,” Nick starts.

I move away again. I don’t get why it’s so obvious to me what’s going on but such a mystery to Charlie and Nick. I suppose they don’t really have any dealings with Chip. Not on this personal level. He’s never had a reason to take an interest in them like he does me so they don’t know that he’s lower than a snake’s belly.

Oh, Charlie knows he’s Cassidy’s dad. I told her one night when Cassidy had a terrible fever and I was scared out of my mind. Charlie held my hand and then, afterwards, I had to swear her to secrecy. She’s never told anyone, particularly not Nick, because if she had, he’d have never looked at Chip with anything but contempt. For all Nick’s flaws, he loves Cassidy, and he thinks whoever the asshole is who abandoned her is not only dumb as shit but more worthless than tits on a bull. My analogy, not his. His is so profane, I can’t repeat it.

The phone vibrates in my apron. I pull it out and read the message.

Sure we can meet. Hornby’s. Tomorrow. 8 PM.

Of course, he would pick a time that is inconvenient for me. I look down the bar at my two regular babysitters who are staring dejectedly into their early evening drinks. I can’t ask either one of them to take care of Cassidy tomorrow. I signal my waitress, Ruby, and retreat to the back room make a call to a placement agency to get a babysitter for Cassidy.

When I return, it looks like their mutual commiseration has lightened their spirits.

“What are you up to tomorrow night, Lainey?” Charlie asks.

I rearrange a few glasses before responding. Cassidy would tell Charlie the next time they see each other that she had another babysitter so I have to be careful in the story I tell Charlie. “I’m catching drinks with an old friend from high school. No one you know. I don’t really particularly like him, but I feel compelled for old times sake.”

Always go with the closest approximation of the truth. Charlie nods. “Not really in the mood to go out anyway. Maybe this Saturday we can do something together. Take Cassidy somewhere,” she suggests.

“How about Reese’s farm? Cassidy would love that.”

Charlie immediately brightens. “That sounds like a great idea. Do you want to come?” she asks Nick.

Nick raises his eyes to me, seeking approval. I give a terse nod. Before today, I would’ve said no. I would’ve tried to keep my emotional barriers up, but there’s no point in that now. Soon I won’t need artificial barriers and fake excuses.

“I’ll meet you there after practice.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Charlie excuses herself to use the restroom.

As soon as Charlie’s out of earshot, Nick asks, “You sure it’s okay?”

I hardly remember what we were fighting about. “It’ll be great,” I reply. “We both love you, you know.” This time it’s not an approximation of truth, just the truth. The whole truth.

Nick smiles as if I just told him it was sunny and seventy out. And I die a little inside. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

He slips out with his teammates. Charlie gives me a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

And I go home to prepare.

The post Lainey’s List Chapter 21 appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Come visit me at RT

I’m going to be at RT Vegas next month. I’m bringing my blue balls and these awesome USB pen. Jeff from USB Memory Direct sent these to me for free!

The best place to find me will be at the Thursday reader event—Sports Romance Jeopardy. It starts at 2:45 pm and ends at 3:45 pm. Every reader will be getting two books, swag (like my blue balls), and the chance to win one of six grand prizes full of books and other goodies.

Sports Romance Jeopardy!

Can’t get enough of your favorite sport romances? Put your sport and book-boyfriend knowledge to the test in our exciting game of Jeopardy. Experience the fun, win prizes, and meet the authors whose books make you swoon.

Host(s):

Sawyer Bennett
Cora Carmack
Violet Duke
Sophia Henry
Kelly Jamieson
Stina Lindenblatt
Cindi Madsen
Helena Hunting
Aly Martinez
Heidi McLaughlin
Monica Murphy (aka Karen Erickson)
Sarah Castille
Jen Frederick
Lisa B. Kamps
Thursday, April 14, 2:45pm-3:45pm, Amazon O

So please, join us!

The post Come visit me at RT appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter Twenty

 

Nick

Coach’s door is open when I arrive. I knock on it anyway.

“Coach, you wanted to see me?”

He gestures for me to come in. “Yeah, take a seat, Nick.”

He flashes me a smile and a bit of the tension in my shoulders eases away as I settle into the cheap plastic seat in front of his desk.

Training camp is a portable thing. We’re only here for a couple of weeks, so everything we have can be dismantled and returned to the rental companies or put back into storage. At the end of camp, the makeshift headquarters will all be torn down—from the locker rooms to the small offices filled with rented metal desks and cheap chairs. Maybe the temporary nature serves as a reminder of how fleeting our time is in the NFL.

Whether you’re an undrafted free agent fighting for a roster position or a veteran at the end of your career or a seasoned pro trying to find a new home, the knowledge that nothing in this league lasts long lives in the back of your head. Not records, not players, and not coaches.

A coach’s tenure rises and falls on the success of his team and that often rests on the shoulders of its quarterback. Good thing I enjoy that pressure. I want to be the person with the ball in his hands at the end of the game. I want to be the one who can win the game for the team. I don’t want to be standing on the sidelines, and I don’t want to be holding a clipboard. I don’t want to be Chip, cut down in my prime.

“How’s it going?” Coach leans forward, keen to hear my answer.

“Good. Timing’s a little off on the longer routes, but we’re getting there.” If I’ve learned anything during my short time in the league, it’s that you have to project confidence at all times to those who’d question you. You can show frustration or impatience but never doubt. No one wants the general to be unsure of himself. You have to balance yourself on the back of a shark, smile, and be able to tell your teammates that your footing is sure and you’ll be riding the beast all the way to the shore.

“You settling in okay?” He taps the end of his Bic pen, the plastic making an annoying, tinny sound each time it strikes the metal.

“In the starter position or just in general?” I’d like him to cut to the chase.

“In general,” he clarifies. “Everything is going okay in your personal life? Got no problems there?”

“I’m fine there too.” I fold my arms and stare him down.

He makes a face as if talking about this subject is as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. “It’s come to my attention that maybe you’re feeling a little uneasy about your position on the team, and I want you to know my door’s open. We all want to be on the same page.”

He pauses, and I decide to address this head-on. No sense in trying to avoid what I believe is the elephant in the room. “Is this about the locker?”

Coach nods with relief and relaxes in his chair. “Yeah, it’s about the locker. I didn’t realize you were having a problem with where it was situated.”

“I don’t have a problem with it. It surprised me as much as anyone to see the equipment staff working it over. It would never have occurred to me that I could change it even if I wanted to and,” I hold up my hand to forestall his response because I wasn’t done, “I don’t want to change it. I was happy where I was.”

A brief moment of confusion passes over Coach Ross’ face. “Seems to me there’s some communication problem.”

“Maybe so. I can’t for the life of me figure out what brought it on. But that kind of shit is disruptive and I get that behavior can’t be tolerated in the locker room. I’m not a prima donna. You know that,” I remind him, “from when you interviewed me back at the combine and at my pro day. No one has ever pegged me for having locker room issues. I’ve got my faults. I don’t deny it. I’m hardheaded. Stubborn. I like doing things a certain way.” We share a brief chuckle because Coach has been on me to release the ball sooner. “But I’ve always been happy to hear suggestions and critiques of how to make my play better, how to make this a better team, and never demanded special treatment.”

He nods in agreement but then stops when a new thought enters his mind. “Being the starting quarterback is a different animal,” he warns.

“I was a second round draft pick. I was the fourth quarterback chosen in the draft last year. I know that I’m fortunate to have a starting role. And I’m not doing anything to jeopardize it. I think I proved to you last year that I’m worth the start, and I continue to work my ass off for this team every day.”

He squeezes his neck. “I hear you. But if you have problems in the future, come to me.”

That’s my sign to go. I rise, give him a tight smile, and walk out. The frustrating thing about that encounter is I don’t know if he really believes me. Someone or something has planted a seed of doubt in his mind about my role as the leader in the locker room. Which fucking sucks.

Halfway down the hall, I run into Garrett Williams, beat reporter for the Dallas Morning News. “Hey, Jackson, got a minute?”

No. I really don’t, but I force myself to stop. Being nice to the press is good for business. “Sure, what’s up?”

His face is somber but his eyes are lit up like Cassidy’s at Christmas time. I don’t have to be a mind reader to figure out that Williams thinks he’s sniffed out a juicy locker room scandal. “Heard there were some equipment problems in the locker room today.”

“Not that I know of,” I reply with forced joviality. “But it’s training camp. We’re all working out our kinks.”

“Like where certain players’ lockers are assigned?”

“Now, Williams, don’t make us sound like a bunch of middle schoolers. You know we’ve evolved to at least junior high.”

“So the rumors that you’re getting demanding are all untrue?”

I don’t let the easy smile off my face. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, man. Love the team. Grateful for the opportunity to play in this town. It’s a real privilege, and if my locker was in the men’s room, I’d still be on my knees every night thanking God for this chance to play the greatest game in the world.” I slap Williams on the back to signal that the interview is over and move on down the hall.

Chip pops up like a bad zit right at the locker room door. “Hey man, how did it go in there?”

With Williams or Coach Ross? “Fine.” I’m not pretending for Chip.

“You can talk to me if you need to blow off a little steam,” he invites.

I give him a cool look. There’s no way I’m sharing confidences with him.

“It’s all good.” I slap my hand on the door but before I can exit, he grabs my arm.

“Hey, about your friend Charlotte—“

I shrugged out of his grip. “If you’re asking if she’s single, she’s not.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “I didn’t think you two were together.”

“We’re not. She’s like my sister. In fact, she will be my sister someday. You see my brother, the Navy SEAL, views Charlotte as his girl. And I have to tell you that Nate knows a hundred ways to kill a man and ninety-nine of them are undetectable.” The grin that crosses my face at the thought of Nate working ol’ Chip over is a genuine one. “What was it that you wanted to know about her?”

Chip pales a little under his tan. “I thought I might have a business opportunity to share with her.”

Sure you did, asshole. “Next time you have some film for me to look at, I’ll watch it here,” I inform him.

“Why?” His eyes narrow. “Did someone say something?”

“Nope.”

When I get it back into the locker room, everything is in order. My locker is still in the corner. There are a number of my teammates milling around. I make the rounds, complementing each player on their play today. I chat up the rookies, listen to the ribbing of the veterans, and then discuss the timing issue with my receivers. Everyone’s on board with a little extra practice. After shooting the shit for an hour, I clap my hands together.

“Ladies, you’re all looking real fine this afternoon. Let’s go to Mustang’s and get a drink. Tabs on me.”

If I have to buy my way back into the affection of my teammates, it’ll be worth it.

The post Lainey’s List Chapter Twenty appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter 20

 

Nick

Coach’s door is open when I arrive. I knock on it anyway.

“Coach, you wanted to see me?”

He gestures for me to come in. “Yeah, take a seat, Nick.”

He flashes me a smile and a bit of the tension in my shoulders eases away as I settle into the cheap plastic seat in front of his desk.

Training camp is a portable thing. We’re only here for a couple of weeks, so everything we have can be dismantled and returned to the rental companies or put back into storage. At the end of camp, the makeshift headquarters will all be torn down—from the locker rooms to the small offices filled with rented metal desks and cheap chairs. Maybe the temporary nature serves as a reminder of how fleeting our time is in the NFL.

Whether you’re an undrafted free agent fighting for a roster position or a veteran at the end of your career or a seasoned pro trying to find a new home, the knowledge that nothing in this league lasts long lives in the back of your head. Not records, not players, and not coaches.

A coach’s tenure rises and falls on the success of his team and that often rests on the shoulders of its quarterback. Good thing I enjoy that pressure. I want to be the person with the ball in his hands at the end of the game. I want to be the one who can win the game for the team. I don’t want to be standing on the sidelines, and I don’t want to be holding a clipboard. I don’t want to be Chip, cut down in my prime.

“How’s it going?” Coach leans forward, keen to hear my answer.

“Good. Timing’s a little off on the longer routes, but we’re getting there.” If I’ve learned anything during my short time in the league, it’s that you have to project confidence at all times to those who’d question you. You can show frustration or impatience but never doubt. No one wants the general to be unsure of himself. You have to balance yourself on the back of a shark, smile, and be able to tell your teammates that your footing is sure and you’ll be riding the beast all the way to the shore.

“You settling in okay?” He taps the end of his Bic pen, the plastic making an annoying, tinny sound each time it strikes the metal.

“In the starter position or just in general?” I’d like him to cut to the chase.

“In general,” he clarifies. “Everything is going okay in your personal life? Got no problems there?”

“I’m fine there too.” I fold my arms and stare him down.

He makes a face as if talking about this subject is as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. “It’s come to my attention that maybe you’re feeling a little uneasy about your position on the team, and I want you to know my door’s open. We all want to be on the same page.”

He pauses, and I decide to address this head-on. No sense in trying to avoid what I believe is the elephant in the room. “Is this about the locker?”

Coach nods with relief and relaxes in his chair. “Yeah, it’s about the locker. I didn’t realize you were having a problem with where it was situated.”

“I don’t have a problem with it. It surprised me as much as anyone to see the equipment staff working it over. It would never have occurred to me that I could change it even if I wanted to and,” I hold up my hand to forestall his response because I wasn’t done, “I don’t want to change it. I was happy where I was.”

A brief moment of confusion passes over Coach Ross’ face. “Seems to me there’s some communication problem.”

“Maybe so. I can’t for the life of me figure out what brought it on. But that kind of shit is disruptive and I get that behavior can’t be tolerated in the locker room. I’m not a prima donna. You know that,” I remind him, “from when you interviewed me back at the combine and at my pro day. No one has ever pegged me for having locker room issues. I’ve got my faults. I don’t deny it. I’m hardheaded. Stubborn. I like doing things a certain way.” We share a brief chuckle because Coach has been on me to release the ball sooner. “But I’ve always been happy to hear suggestions and critiques of how to make my play better, how to make this a better team, and never demanded special treatment.”

He nods in agreement but then stops when a new thought enters his mind. “Being the starting quarterback is a different animal,” he warns.

“I was a second round draft pick. I was the fourth quarterback chosen in the draft last year. I know that I’m fortunate to have a starting role. And I’m not doing anything to jeopardize it. I think I proved to you last year that I’m worth the start, and I continue to work my ass off for this team every day.”

He squeezes his neck. “I hear you. But if you have problems in the future, come to me.”

That’s my sign to go. I rise, give him a tight smile, and walk out. The frustrating thing about that encounter is I don’t know if he really believes me. Someone or something has planted a seed of doubt in his mind about my role as the leader in the locker room. Which fucking sucks.

Halfway down the hall, I run into Garrett Williams, beat reporter for the Dallas Morning News. “Hey, Jackson, got a minute?”

No. I really don’t, but I force myself to stop. Being nice to the press is good for business. “Sure, what’s up?”

His face is somber but his eyes are lit up like Cassidy’s at Christmas time. I don’t have to be a mind reader to figure out that Williams thinks he’s sniffed out a juicy locker room scandal. “Heard there were some equipment problems in the locker room today.”

“Not that I know of,” I reply with forced joviality. “But it’s training camp. We’re all working out our kinks.”

“Like where certain players’ lockers are assigned?”

“Now, Williams, don’t make us sound like a bunch of middle schoolers. You know we’ve evolved to at least junior high.”

“So the rumors that you’re getting demanding are all untrue?”

I don’t let the easy smile off my face. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, man. Love the team. Grateful for the opportunity to play in this town. It’s a real privilege, and if my locker was in the men’s room, I’d still be on my knees every night thanking God for this chance to play the greatest game in the world.” I slap Williams on the back to signal that the interview is over and move on down the hall.

Chip pops up like a bad zit right at the locker room door. “Hey man, how did it go in there?”

With Williams or Coach Ross? “Fine.” I’m not pretending for Chip.

“You can talk to me if you need to blow off a little steam,” he invites.

I give him a cool look. There’s no way I’m sharing confidences with him.

“It’s all good.” I slap my hand on the door but before I can exit, he grabs my arm.

“Hey, about your friend Charlotte—“

I shrugged out of his grip. “If you’re asking if she’s single, she’s not.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “I didn’t think you two were together.”

“We’re not. She’s like my sister. In fact, she will be my sister someday. You see my brother, the Navy SEAL, views Charlotte as his girl. And I have to tell you that Nate knows a hundred ways to kill a man and ninety-nine of them are undetectable.” The grin that crosses my face at the thought of Nate working ol’ Chip over is a genuine one. “What was it that you wanted to know about her?”

Chip pales a little under his tan. “I thought I might have a business opportunity to share with her.”

Sure you did, asshole. “Next time you have some film for me to look at, I’ll watch it here,” I inform him.

“Why?” His eyes narrow. “Did someone say something?”

“Nope.”

When I get it back into the locker room, everything is in order. My locker is still in the corner. There are a number of my teammates milling around. I make the rounds, complementing each player on their play today. I chat up the rookies, listen to the ribbing of the veterans, and then discuss the timing issue with my receivers. Everyone’s on board with a little extra practice. After shooting the shit for an hour, I clap my hands together.

“Ladies, you’re all looking real fine this afternoon. Let’s go to Mustang’s and get a drink. Tabs on me.”

If I have to buy my way back into the affection of my teammates, it’ll be worth it.

The post Lainey’s List Chapter 20 appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter Nineteen

Nick

“I’m sorry.” I watch Charlie move around the condo with jerky movements. “He’s my coach.” I wish I had a better excuse, but I don’t.

“I know,” she sighs.

I help her clean up, both of us lost in our thoughts. Chip’s not my favorite person. He’s got an attitude of mixed entitlement and belligerence. The entitlement comes from years of being treated like a celebrity because of his skill on the field. Belligerence may be a new thing as he adjusts to the reduced attention being thrown his way. Or he may have always been an asshole.

I’d never choose to hang around him, but I admit to cutting him slack because his injury cut a promising pro career short and because I need him. That is the shittiest part of this whole scenario. I need him.

I’m only a few weeks into camp. Preseason gears up in ten days. There’s so much pressure on me to win this year, I wake up at night sweating.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted. An opportunity only a chosen few receive and if I can win—which I know is within my capabilities—I’ll have accomplished something.

It’ll never be like what my brother Nate does—saving people. But it’s what I’ve dreamed of. What I’ve worked hours a day for. When my college classmates were out drinking and partying, I was tucking myself into bed at ten at night.

Some of my teammates could pound a keg before a game and still be spry. Not me.

And if achieving my dream means working with people I can’t stand, I’m going to do it. But I don’t have to bring Chip around anymore and I tell Charlie that. “I’m not going to have him over again.”

“I hope not. I hope Lainey’s okay.”

“I’ll talk to her.” The way Chip treated her? Fuck, it made me want to put my fist through his face. I need to make it up to her in some way.

Charlie frowns. “I thought you two were done.”

“We’re friends. I love her and Cassidy. They’re still important to me.”

“Bring flowers then.”

“For Cassidy?” I joke because we both know Lainey won’t be as easily appeased.

“Maybe buy the whole shop.”

***

I call Lainey that night before I go to bed but she doesn’t answer. In the morning, there aren’t any messages from her either. Only from my nutritionist and the trainer.

I’ll have to go over to her apartment after practice. I put it out of my head and have a decent day. No interceptions but a few missed targets.  We’ve got to work on our timing. I wonder if I can convince the wide-outs to stay late tonight. I’ll have to discuss it with Chip, unfortunately.

On the way back to the makeshift locker room that houses our temporary lockers during training camp, the Mustangs’ owner, Bob Trask, stops me.

“Nick, how is everything going?” Trask is seventy but looks about sixty due to some good plastic surgery. He’s on his fourth wife. They get younger every time I see him. I’m hoping he hangs on to this one because otherwise, he’ll have to start trolling nearby high schools for wife number five.

“Great. Team looks real sharp,” I tell him.

We shake hands, and he slaps me on the back. “I’m real happy you are part of the Mustang family this year. I know we didn’t pick you first round, but you’re turning out to be a real steal.”

“You got Darnell Woodley first round. He makes my life easier.” Woodley is a monster defensive end and went number two in the draft. He eats quarterbacks for breakfast and snacks on tight ends after lunch. I’m glad he’s on my team.

“He’s panning out real well,” Trask agrees. “Sounds like the two of you are getting along.”

“Absolutely.” Although to be honest, Darnell and I haven’t hung out much together. We’ve grabbed a few beers, shared a few team dinners on the road, but he’s been married since college. Going out to bars when he could be seeing his two young kids isn’t real high on his to do list.

“Good. Good. There’s nothing on your mind?” Trask is still shaking my hand.

“Ah, no.”

“Because we all need to work together to field a winning team,” he reminds me.

A ping of worry strikes me at the base of my neck. This is a strange conversation to be having with Trask. Have I done anything to give him the impression I’m not happy with the Mustangs? “Agree a hundred percent, sir.”

“If you have a problem, I hope you know my door is open.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I see a real future for you here.”

Since I have no idea what this is about, I smile and nod. He finally releases my hand and, with one more pat, ambles down the tunnel.

Inside the locker room, I see a bunch of commotion over in the corner near my locker. Darnell is standing with a group of the defensive guys to the side watching the equipment staff, who appear to be dismantling a section.

“What’s up guys?” I ask, thinking of Trask’s unstated suggestion that I spend more time with Darnell.

He turns to me with a frown. “You gotta a problem with your locker location?”

“What?”

He jerks his head toward the corner. “Those guys are moving your locker. Why’s that?”

I blink in surprise. “Shit, Darnell. I’ve got no fucking clue. I—“

Before I can find out what’s going on, Chip comes up. “Coach wants to see you.”

“About what?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Darnell gives me a hard stare. “Maybe it’s about your locker sitch.”

Chip merely shrugs. “Don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leans around. “Shoot, you’re having your locker moved? Was the stench from Leo’s jock too much for you? Suck it up, princess. This is football, not ballet.”

“Wait a second—“ I reach for Chip but he’s already walking away. With frustration, I turn to Darnell and his guys. “I never asked for the locker to be moved. Why would I do that? It’s fine where it is. Hey,” I yell to the equipment guys. “Leave the locker. I don’t want it moved.”

Craig, the head equipment guy swings around. “We already got it dismantled. Now you’re saying you don’t want to move?”

“I never asked for it to be moved in the first place,” I say between gritted teeth.

Darnell shakes his head. “Rich boys, always wanting things without earning them,” he mutters but not so quietly that I, and everyone else, can’t hear him.

“Don’t forget that Coach wants to see you,” Chip yells from across the room.

Goddammit.

The post Lainey’s List Chapter Nineteen appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter 19

Nick

“I’m sorry.” I watch Charlie move around the condo with jerky movements. “He’s my coach.” I wish I had a better excuse, but I don’t.

“I know,” she sighs.

I help her clean up, both of us lost in our thoughts. Chip’s not my favorite person. He’s got an attitude of mixed entitlement and belligerence. The entitlement comes from years of being treated like a celebrity because of his skill on the field. Belligerence may be a new thing as he adjusts to the reduced attention being thrown his way. Or he may have always been an asshole.

I’d never choose to hang around him, but I admit to cutting him slack because his injury cut a promising pro career short and because I need him. That is the shittiest part of this whole scenario. I need him.

I’m only a few weeks into camp. Preseason gears up in ten days. There’s so much pressure on me to win this year, I wake up at night sweating.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted. An opportunity only a chosen few receive and if I can win—which I know is within my capabilities—I’ll have accomplished something.

It’ll never be like what my brother Nate does—saving people. But it’s what I’ve dreamed of. What I’ve worked hours a day for. When my college classmates were out drinking and partying, I was tucking myself into bed at ten at night.

Some of my teammates could pound a keg before a game and still be spry. Not me.

And if achieving my dream means working with people I can’t stand, I’m going to do it. But I don’t have to bring Chip around anymore and I tell Charlie that. “I’m not going to have him over again.”

“I hope not. I hope Lainey’s okay.”

“I’ll talk to her.” The way Chip treated her? Fuck, it made me want to put my fist through his face. I need to make it up to her in some way.

Charlie frowns. “I thought you two were done.”

“We’re friends. I love her and Cassidy. They’re still important to me.”

“Bring flowers then.”

“For Cassidy?” I joke because we both know Lainey won’t be as easily appeased.

“Maybe buy the whole shop.”

***

I call Lainey that night before I go to bed but she doesn’t answer. In the morning, there aren’t any messages from her either. Only from my nutritionist and the trainer.

I’ll have to go over to her apartment after practice. I put it out of my head and have a decent day. No interceptions but a few missed targets.  We’ve got to work on our timing. I wonder if I can convince the wide-outs to stay late tonight. I’ll have to discuss it with Chip, unfortunately.

On the way back to the makeshift locker room that houses our temporary lockers during training camp, the Mustangs’ owner, Bob Trask, stops me.

“Nick, how is everything going?” Trask is seventy but looks about sixty due to some good plastic surgery. He’s on his fourth wife. They get younger every time I see him. I’m hoping he hangs on to this one because otherwise, he’ll have to start trolling nearby high schools for wife number five.

“Great. Team looks real sharp,” I tell him.

We shake hands, and he slaps me on the back. “I’m real happy you are part of the Mustang family this year. I know we didn’t pick you first round, but you’re turning out to be a real steal.”

“You got Darnell Woodley first round. He makes my life easier.” Woodley is a monster defensive end and went number two in the draft. He eats quarterbacks for breakfast and snacks on tight ends after lunch. I’m glad he’s on my team.

“He’s panning out real well,” Trask agrees. “Sounds like the two of you are getting along.”

“Absolutely.” Although to be honest, Darnell and I haven’t hung out much together. We’ve grabbed a few beers, shared a few team dinners on the road, but he’s been married since college. Going out to bars when he could be seeing his two young kids isn’t real high on his to do list.

“Good. Good. There’s nothing on your mind?” Trask is still shaking my hand.

“Ah, no.”

“Because we all need to work together to field a winning team,” he reminds me.

A ping of worry strikes me at the base of my neck. This is a strange conversation to be having with Trask. Have I done anything to give him the impression I’m not happy with the Mustangs? “Agree a hundred percent, sir.”

“If you have a problem, I hope you know my door is open.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I see a real future for you here.”

Since I have no idea what this is about, I smile and nod. He finally releases my hand and, with one more pat, ambles down the tunnel.

Inside the locker room, I see a bunch of commotion over in the corner near my locker. Darnell is standing with a group of the defensive guys to the side watching the equipment staff, who appear to be dismantling a section.

“What’s up guys?” I ask, thinking of Trask’s unstated suggestion that I spend more time with Darnell.

He turns to me with a frown. “You gotta a problem with your locker location?”

“What?”

He jerks his head toward the corner. “Those guys are moving your locker. Why’s that?”

I blink in surprise. “Shit, Darnell. I’ve got no fucking clue. I—“

Before I can find out what’s going on, Chip comes up. “Coach wants to see you.”

“About what?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Darnell gives me a hard stare. “Maybe it’s about your locker sitch.”

Chip merely shrugs. “Don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leans around. “Shoot, you’re having your locker moved? Was the stench from Leo’s jock too much for you? Suck it up, princess. This is football, not ballet.”

“Wait a second—“ I reach for Chip but he’s already walking away. With frustration, I turn to Darnell and his guys. “I never asked for the locker to be moved. Why would I do that? It’s fine where it is. Hey,” I yell to the equipment guys. “Leave the locker. I don’t want it moved.”

Craig, the head equipment guy swings around. “We already got it dismantled. Now you’re saying you don’t want to move?”

“I never asked for it to be moved in the first place,” I say between gritted teeth.

Darnell shakes his head. “Rich boys, always wanting things without earning them,” he mutters but not so quietly that I, and everyone else, can’t hear him.

“Don’t forget that Coach wants to see you,” Chip yells from across the room.

Goddammit.

The post Lainey’s List Chapter 19 appeared first on Author Jen Frederick.

Lainey’s List Chapter 18

Lainey

As I’m packing up, Charlie reappears. Her pretty face is flushed with anger.

“That man is such a jerk,” she fumes and then immediately turns to Cassidy who is waving her princess wand at the television. “Sorry, baby, don’t ever repeat that word until you’re like 18.”

“She’s not listening, and if ‘jerk’ is the worst word in her vocabulary, I think she’s going to be all right.” I brush a hand over my baby’s hair. “Cassidy, run into the kitchen and get your tiara, okay? Mommy needs to talk to Auntie Charlie for a minute.”

“’Kay.”

We watch Cassidy scamper into the kitchen before Charlie turns to me. “I don’t know how you deal with that.”

“I don’t. I don’t see him or talk to him. This is the most time I’ve spent with him in years so it’s fine.” I give a tiny shrug. “Not gonna lie. There were moments during dinner when I wanted to shove my steak knife into his throat but as long as he stays on his side of the city and I stay on mine, it’s all good.” I shoulder Cassidy’s toy bag and grab my keys.

Charlie makes an unhappy noise. “I hate that you’re leaving. Can we try again tomorrow?”

“Sorry. We have ballet lessons.”

“Mommy, I need to use the potty,” Cassidy interrupts.

I bend down. “All right. Run to the bathroom and then we’ll leave.”

“Can you come with me?” She twists a foot into the rug.

I exchange a surprised glance with Charlie. Cassidy’s pretty independent and the fact that she wants me to go with her to the bathroom is worrisome.

“Sure, baby girl.” I hand the toy bag off to Charlie and follow Cassidy into the hall bathroom.

Cassidy doesn’t actually go potty. Instead, she burst into tears.

I scoop her up. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I ‘barass you?” she cries, her bright blue eyes sparkling with tears.

“No, baby. Of course not!” I cradle her head against my shoulder and jiggle her a little, just like when she was a little baby.

“I knocked the man’s glass over,” she sobs.

“So what? That’s no big deal?”

“But we’re leaving now and it’s my fault.”

Oh Chip. Goddamn him. I hate him so much but storming out of here and slamming my fist into his face—no matter how personally gratifying that would feel—isn’t going to make Cassidy stop crying.

“It’s nothing. We all spill. Remember the other day when I dropped the bowl of yogurt and it splashed all over?” She nods, rubbing her wet face in my neck. Each pass of her little wet nose against my skin ratchets up the anger I have toward Chip. I suppress it as best I can. “We cleaned that up and got another bowl out of the fridge and it was no big deal, right?”

She nods again. I continue to rock her and rub her back until her thin body stops shuddering. Outside the bathroom door, I hear noises and then a slammed front door.

A knock on the bathroom is followed by a soft voice. “It’s me, Charlotte. Chip left.”

And it’s time for us to go too. Cassidy’s tired. I set her on the edge of the sink and wipe the tears off her face. “See, baby. The bad man left. It’s time for you and mommy to go home.” I rub my stomach dramatically. “I am so hungry for french fries.” Her little stomach contracts as I poke it. “Your tummy says it’s hungry, too.”

She gives me a watery smile.

“Okay, do you still need to use the potty?”

“Yeah.”

I help her down. “Do your business and then come out and say goodnight to Auntie Charlie.”

“And Uncle Nick?” she asks, as she waddles over to the toilet.

“And Uncle Nick.” I close the door behind me and look up to see Uncle Nick leaning against the wall, his arms folded, ankles crossed, and an unhappy expression marring his perfect, masculine features.

“Lainey, I’m sorry. He’s just not a fan of kids.”

“Oh really?” I say sarcastically. “I swear I heard him say he wanted two of them.” Nick’s face twists up but I decide to let the guy off the hook. My quarrel isn’t with Nick. We have our own problems but none of them are related to Chip. I wave my hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I’m tired. Cassidy’s tired. You have film to watch.” Suddenly, I do feel exhausted.

“I suppose so.” He tucks a few fingers into the tops of his pockets and looks down at the tops of his shoes. He’s embarrassed by what happened at dinner, caught between his coach and his friends. And I don’t like being the source of his discomfort.

Without another word, I retrieve Cassidy. After she gives her hugs and kisses goodbye, I take her hand and we walk down to the parking lot. She helps me buckle her in and happily accepts my phone with Imagination Movers cued up. I shut the car door, and when I turn around, Chip is there.

I jump back, hand over my heart. “Good gracious. You scared me.”

He steps forward, into my space, until the toes of his expensive loafers are nearly flush against the tips of my ballet flats. “You have a nice little set up being friends with Charlie and Nick. How’d trash like you get hooked up with a quality pair like those two?”

I’m so grateful for the night that disguises the heat on my cheeks. “Go to hell, Jonathan.”

His face grows angrier at my use of his birth name. He likes being called Chip, although I have no idea why. It’s a snack food, for Christ’s sake.

“You’re nothing but camp pussy—a whore that goes from player to player. Except you have a particular fetish, right? Quarterbacks?”

I glance back at Cassidy hoping to God she can’t hear him through the glass of the car door. “Seriously, move the hell away from me.”

He doesn’t move. If anything, he leans closer.

“What do you think your precious Charlie and Nick would think about the fact that you got pregnant during an orgy? That you weren’t even sure who the father of your kid was? Do you think they would want you to hang around? A slut like you?”

My cheeks burn with shame. Charlie doesn’t know the specifics of how I became pregnant, and I would die before Nick ever found out. I try not to let Chip see this though. I try to not give him another weapon over me. “You know this kid is yours. And I would never have been in that situation if it weren’t for you.” I was seventeen and at a party with a bunch of pro players where drugs and liquor were being passed around. What chance did I have?

“But you were. And I’ve got the pictures to prove it. Anytime I want, I can pull those pictures out and smear your name all over this city. By the time I’m done, there wouldn’t be a judge alive who would let you keep your kid.”

I curl my hands into fists and fantasize about pummeling Chip until his jaw is broken and he can’t spew this filth.

“You don’t want a child. You said that. We agreed that you would have nothing to do with Cassidy. That I would never make a claim on you.”

“Because I paid you a hundred grand,” he spits.

“Right. That’s Cassidy’s college fund.” I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for taking his blood money. If anything, I regret not trying for a higher amount although the nest egg is growing nicely. By the time my girl is eighteen, there’ll be enough for her to go to any school in the country. Grad school, too. She won’t be like me, taking any kind of job there is to put food on the table.

He laughs. “You’ve probably stuck half of it up your nose. Whatever, none of my business. I don’t really care. But what I do care about is your skanky ass hanging around the Mustangs. And you definitely don’t belong near Charlie.”

“Nothing in our agreement defines who my friends are,” I say, and am surprised at the evenness of my tone, despite the fear and anger raging inside of me.

“Charlie and I are about to become real close. So my suggestion to you is to find a new circle of friends. Or one of these days someone might see that picture of yours.”

“I was seventeen, and you drugged me,” I hiss.

He rocks back on his heels, still smiling his smug-ass grin. “Really? An NFL quarterback with more pussy than I can handle is drugging some teenage cunt? I don’t think anyone is going to believe that. Isn’t that why you didn’t go to the police? Because you knew no one would buy your story?” He leans so close I can smell the onions and beef on his breath. I turn my face to the side. “Rethink your options. You leave or I humiliate you and take away your kid. Leave or your friend, Nick, is going to have a real tough year. I’m his coach. He’s barely out of his rookie year. The franchise could easily look for a new quarterback if he doesn’t pan out.”

He reaches out, and I flinch. He tweaks me on the nose. “It’s all in your trashy hands, Elaine. What are you going to do?”

He tucks his hands in his pockets and walks off whistling. It takes three tries before I can get my door open, my hands are shaking so bad.

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