Be Mine Page 10

  “No way. You can’t do that!” he protests.

  “Why?” I stick my chin forward. “What’s wrong with her staying in the condo tonight and watching Cassidy?”

  “She’s not nanny material,” Nick insists but shakes his head at me when I don’t back down. “I’m telling you, she’s the wrong person for Cassidy. Mark my words.”

  Ha! He just wants to get into Dani’s dress. And for reasons I’m not willing to explore in any detail, I decide that is not going to happen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Fuck!” I curse in frustration as I watch our Pro-Bowl safety snatch another ball out of the air. This interception can’t be blamed on the rookie wide receiver running the wrong route, as was the case with the first interception of the day.

  “That was a pick six,” Coach states with a frown “Do I need to remind you that you’re supposed to be throwing the ball to the offense?”

  “Is that what I’m supposed to do?” I motion for the assistant on the sidelines to toss me another ball. I palm the leather ball, squeezing it tight, shaping it in my hands. I’ve got big hands. Large enough to palm a basketball, yet this damn football has been sailing out of my hands all morning.

  Every time I put a touch on the thing, it’s floating instead of falling into a receiver’s waiting hands. I replay the last throw in my head. Was I gripping the ball too tight? Were the laces on the ball misaligned?

  “Rook, you keep throwing me those sweet balls,” the safety yells from his position ten yards down the field. I sigh. Seems like “Rook” is going to be my nickname even though I’m the starter and this is my third year.

  I flip him off before settling down behind Darnelle.

  “Told you not to ball out your first week of camp. Now everyone’s ’specting you to MVP it every day,” Darnelle admonishes over his shoulder.

  “That’s helpful.” I crouch down. “Everyone’s being so goddamned helpful today. Must be why we have training camp.”

  “Must be.”

  He turns around, and we get into position. I yell out the call, “Blue Forty-Eight, Blue Forty-Eight, Red Hut, Five, Hut HUT.” We go on the third hut. Both lines crash into each other, and I scramble back.

  To my left, I see the safety coming in for a blitz. I yell for the fullback to block him and roll to my right. There’s a giant hand in front of me, but just beyond him is my favorite target. John Marshall Plant can catch anything within a six-foot radius. I throw it to him and as it leaves my hand, I know it’s a perfect pass.

  The ball flies over Plant’s head by ten yards. Motherfucker!

  Coach Zupp drives his clipboard into the grass and gestures for me to come over.

  “What the hell is going on with you, son?”

  “I’m having a bad day.” My concentration is shit. Lainey’s not listening to me about the nanny. Nate still hasn’t told Charlotte he’s coming to town. I feel on edge about everything.

  “If you keep playing like this, we’ll be lucky to win a game in this goddamned division. The Eagles corners are going to eat you alive.”

  “We just need to work on our timing on those deep routes.” I give the equipment boy a nod of thanks as I take the Gatorade bottle full of water from him. “We’ll work out the kinks.”

  “Y’all played like dried horse turds this past weekend and the regular season is a week away. We don’t have time for you to work out the kinks. It needs to be done now.”

  “I’ll get it done.”

  “You damn right you will. That’s why I brought in some help.” He motions behind him, and to my surprise, Chip Holt steps forward. “Chip’s going to serve as an assistant quarterback coach this year. You did good last year, but we need more leadership in the locker room and Chip’s just the guy to do it.”

  Chip’s all-American face smiles at me from over Coach’s shoulder. After I won the Super Bowl, Chip got traded three times before announcing his retirement. I didn’t know where he went after that. It’s a tad awkward to face the guy I replaced, but probably worse for him. I won the big one and he didn’t. For that reason, I suppress my protests and hold out my hand, determined to be welcoming for the sake of the team. “Nice to have you back,” I lie.

  He shakes it hard—almost too hard, as if he’s trying to prove something. “My team looks good this year.”

  “Your team?” I arch an eyebrow.

  Coach laughs. “Old habits die hard, right?” He pats Chip across the back. “It’s good to have you back, Holt. You can help whip these young ones into shape so we can repeat.”

  "Absolutely,” Chip agrees. He finger guns my shoulder. “I noticed that when you were dropping back, you gave a shoulder twitch before you threw the slant route. Try to get rid of those tells or the defense will be crushing both you and your receiver.”

  “Didn’t realize.”

  “I’ll send you some film.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Or I can bring it over,” he offers.

  I think about who’s home tonight. Probably Charlie, unless she’s out with Reese and/or Lainey.

  “Look, man, I’m not trying to step on any toes. Like Coach said, we’re all in this together.”

  “Nah, it’s fine. Come on over.”

  “And over is where?”

  I give him the address to my condo.

  “You there alone?” He quirks an eyebrow up.

  A trickle of sweat rolls down my spine, and I shift restlessly. What’s with the twenty questions? I want to shower and hit the road, but Coach is standing five feet away grinning like the Joker, so I’ve got to deal. “I live with a friend.”

  “You still hooking up with that trust fund girl?”

  I sigh. No guy ever seems to believe that I view Charlotte as my sister, not a bangable ass. “Never hooked up with her in the first place. She’s just a friend.”

  Chip smirks and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I got those friends too.”

  “Nah man, she’s like my sister. I’m more interested in her actual friend,” I find myself confessing.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Lainey. Maybe you know her? She used to wait tables over at Stacks and now is managing it? About so high.” I raise my hand to my collarbone. “Brown hair.” Hot as sin.

  He rears back. “What the fuck!” he nearly shouts. “I thought she was gone.”

  I lean back in mild surprise at his overreaction. Had the two of them had something? There’s a tickle at the back of my memory. I try to think back. “Charlie ran into her down in San Antonio and convinced Lainey to come back and run Stacks.”

  “No fucking way,” he repeats.

  “Yeah. It’s nice now. There’s good food. The floor’s clean. The tables aren’t sticky. I don’t have to drink warm beer.”

  “Jesus. Stay away from that dumb bitch. She’s a pussy trap. The eighteen years kind of pussy trap. Good thing I came back, Coach.”

  Coach bobs his head like a doll.

  I bristle in annoyance. “Lainey’s not like that. She’s hardworking—”

  “Got a kid, don’t she?” Chip interrupts.

  “So?”

  “So, she tell you who the baby daddy is?”

  “No.” Lainey is very tight-lipped about that, and given that the dickwad hasn’t once come around in the year I’ve known her and Cassidy, I can see why. “Guy’s an asshole. Total deadbeat.”

  Chip rolls his eyes. “Not everyone wants to be hooked for life to a chick who pokes needles in a condom.”

  “I didn’t know Lainey when she was eighteen, but I highly doubt she sabotaged a guy’s condom. Raising a kid by herself hasn’t been easy.” I shrug out of Chip’s grasp and start toward the makeshift training camp locker room. His words are making my blood boil, and clocking my new quarterback coach isn’t the way I want to launch my first full year as starter for the Mustangs.

  He trails behind, still prattling on. “Is that the line she’s selling to you? Because I wondered how she got her hooks into the trust
fund babe the last time she was here.”

  “Let’s just agree to disagree on this, ’kay?” My throat hurts from swallowing all my irritation. As it is, I think I’m going to have to go to the dentist and get caps put on, because if I stand here talking to Chip another minute, I’m going to grind my teeth to dust.

  When I get home, Charlie is in the kitchen preparing a pitcher of margaritas. I look at the table set for four, the tequila and limes, with mixed feelings. What if Chip mouths off while Lainey is here? I’ll probably pour the pitcher over his head and shove the limes in his mouth. That’d go over well with my coach.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I announce. I toe off my athletic flip-flops and toss the gym bag near the front door. Charlie shoots a disapproving gaze at my sloppiness, but if she can invite people over without telling me, I figure I can be a slob.

  Speaking of surprise guests, I tell her, “By the way, Chip Peters is stopping by.”

  She stops dead in her tracks. “Chip Peters? Why?”

  “Because he’s got some film for me to watch.”

  “Why is he sending you film?”

  “The front office brought him in to be my QB coach for leadership reasons.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does, and I don’t know how it’s going to help. With the retirements and trades, there’s a boatload of new people. I don’t think we need Chip to help us get our act together. We just need more time.” But, like the coach pointed out, we only have two more weeks before the season starts. Shit, maybe he’s right and Chip will help.

  “Can’t Peters just email you the film?”

  “Probably, but he’s going to deliver it in person.” I pat her shoulder as I walk by on my way to the refrigerator. Inside, a Mountain Dew tempts me. I shove it aside and grab a jug of water. “Why’d I buy the soda?”

  “For the same reason we have a giant container of cheese puff balls in the pantry. Because in the grocery store, you have the impulse control of a toddler.”

  “Don’t insult Cassidy like that,” I joke.

  “When is Chip coming over?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Can you call him and get him to come over now before the girls arrive? I don’t want to spring a strange man on Cassidy.”

  “I can try.” I take my jug of water into the living room and grab my phone off the side table. “Chip’s not all bad. He can be a jerk at times, but the guy's got a lot going on in his life." I’m not sure how I’d feel if I only got to play six years in the pros before being taken out by a massive injury. Resentful, jealous. I’d definitely not be in the mood to celebrate every day. When I look at Chip, I see how easily my career could be over in an instant. So yeah, I’ve got a lot of sympathy for ol’ Chip.

  "You know he tried to get in my pants multiple times the last two years,” Charlie informs me.

  I give her a sharp look. "Do you want me to do something about it?"

  In the past, Charlie's always been touchy about me putting my nose where it doesn't belong. Her dating life is her business, she says. Which is true to a certain extent. I've gotten fairly good at picking out which guys have potential for being decent long-term boyfriend material and heading them off before they can make a connection. It's for the guy's sake, really. Because as much as Charlie might want to deny it, she's still in love with my brother, and any guy she hooks up with is always going to play second fiddle to Nate.

  It's best that I tell the lost boys to scram before she breaks their heart. She ruined a couple of my college teammates, not on purpose, just through sheer obliviousness.

  “Can you?”

  I scratch my head. “Yeah, I can say something to him. I get that he's got a big ego, but he's been a pro quarterback for six years. You have to have a big swinging dick to play at that level. Sometimes that bleeds over into off-the-field stuff."

  "You're not an asshole," Charlie points out.

  "Because I have you and Lainey telling me I'm not worth more than two grubby cents." I'm only half joking.

  Charlie gives me a “who cares” shrug. "Someone's got to do it."

  "Do the two of you have to enjoy it so much?"

  The buzzer from the doorman interrupts whatever smart-assed comment Charlie was going to zing back at me.

  She peers into the screen. "Damn, it's Lainey. At least I’ll have time to warn her. Actually, maybe we'll just go out for dinner while you and Chip meet."

  “What? No!”

  She jerks back at the unintentional volume in my voice. I strive for a more reasonable tone. "I want to see Cassidy," I explain.

  Charlie gives me another arched look that says I'm not fooling her one bit. Fortunately, I'm saved by the bell. Literally.

  I don’t even have to work at summoning up a civil smile because Cassidy’s dressed up in her Cinderella costume, complete with her fairy godmother star wand. The girl is so danged cute.

  “Uncle Nick!” she shouts as I lift her off the ground. She waves her wand and nearly pokes me in the eye.

  “Hey doll face.” I give her baby-soft cheek a kiss.

  “I’m Cinderella.” She rubs her hand along my stubbled cheek. “You’re scratchy.”

  “Didn’t know you were coming or I would’ve shaved for you.” Cassidy has made it clear on more than one occasion that she likes my face smooth. I’m not sure what Lainey’s preference is, although I did look up Erik Estrada on the internet. I’m not growing a ’stache like that. Cassidy would probably cry every time she saw me.

  “Ow, Uncle Nick. You’re hugging me too tight.” Cassidy wriggles in my arms.

  “Sorry, pumpkin. Want to show me what’s in your purse?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. Mom says my purse is private.”

  “Okay then.” My eyes involuntarily seek out Lainey’s and we share a brief moment of joined humor over this cute little button.

  Cassidy pushes at my arms again. I set her down reluctantly.

  “Come here, baby,” Lainey says and pulls out a coloring book and pencils. “Why don’t you sit at the table while I help your Aunt Charlie with dinner.”

  Cassidy obediently follows her mother’s order. She pats the seat next to her with a small but imperious hand. “Come sit and color with me.”

  “Sure.” I take a seat, but it’s not long before my gaze drifts back toward Lainey and Charlie, their two heads close together whispering something. Likely about Chip coming over. My eyes linger on Lainey’s heart-shaped ass, showcased by her tight yoga pants. Every woman seems to wear them, but none like Lainey. I lick my lips thinking of all the times I’ve imagined my mouth on those curves. It’s criminal how little control I have when it comes to Lainey. I pick up a crayon and focus on Cassidy.

  “Mind if I color?” I ask.

  She gives me a sweet smile of approval and I shade in a leaf, carefully because Cassidy’s particular about coloring outside the lines.

  My best defense here is another woman, but I’m in the middle of training camp and the season starts in two months. It’s not like I have time for that shit. The pressure builds up at the base of my neck. I reach back and squeeze it.

  “It’s different this year, isn’t it?” It’s Lainey’s voice.

  “Do I look tense?”

  “A little,” she says and hands me a glass of water. A few orange slices and a couple of cranberries are now in the pitcher that I’d had in the refrigerator.

  “Thanks.”

  “Charlie is saying she needs to do a refrigerator cleanse.”

  “Did she also say I need to stay away from the grocery store?”

  Amusement dances in Lainey’s eyes. “Something like that.”

  “I’m going to be so fat when I retire.” I lean back and rub my belly.

  Cassidy giggles and copies me. “Me too.”

  “You two are so silly!” Lainey exclaims. She leans forward and kisses Cassidy on the neck. The two squeal and giggle.

  My throat tightens at the sound. Someday I’m going to hear that
sound all the time—not just on the days that Lainey decides to visit. It’s going to be every day, all the time.

  “Don’t use blue,” Cassidy orders when I try to distract myself with the coloring book. “Leaves aren’t blue.”

  “You sure?”

  She gives me a look I know she picked up from her mother. One that says I should know better or, in Cassidy speak, duh. I drop my blue crayon and pick up an orange one. “How about this?” I propose. “Leaves turn orange and red in the fall.”

  She ponders this seriously for a minute, as if trying to figure out if I’m pulling one over on her. Finally, she nods her head. “Okay, but not blue.”

  “No blue leaves. Promise.”

  “And stay inside the lines,” she reminds me, before bending down to apply herself with careful precision to the flower petals on the coloring book.

  I can’t help seeking out Lainey’s eyes to share how precious I find this little one, but she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are fixed on the back of Cassidy’s head. The look of pure, motherly love I see on her face causes my heart to squeeze. Lainey runs a hand down Cassidy’s shiny, dark hair until it stops, right above the arm I have flung across the back of Cassidy’s chair.

  I hold my breath, waiting for her to drop that hand a mere inch until we’re touching. Cassidy’s head is bent. Charlie’s puttering with something on the counter, her back turned. Do it. Do it. Give me a sign. Anything. I need—

  The intercom rings, and Lainey jerks away. Crap. Perfect timing, Chip. Not. His shitty timing was one of the reasons he never came back to the field after his injury. I allow myself two seconds to enjoy the unspoken insult and then slap my skull.

  “Why’d you hit yourself?” Cassidy chirps, her little head tilted to the side.

  “Because I was being dumb in my head, and if I don’t give myself a head slap now and then, the dumb stuff comes out of my mouth.” I open my mouth wide.