With a Hitch Read online

  He stands and slings an arm around my shoulders to tug me in close until I’m enfolded in his arms. He places a quick kiss on the top of my head. “You know it’s because I love you.” His gentle tone eases the tension in my spine.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter but give way to the smile itching to break free. He’s always been a hugger. And his hugs seem to rid me of worries or serve as a soothing balm whenever I’m sad.

  “I just worry about you,” he whispers softly.

  “I know.” I keep my tone quiet because the last thing I want is for my sister to overhear our conversation and cause her to worry in any way. Especially now. With my cheek pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt, I murmur, “I worry about you, too. When’s the last time you dated?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Cole,” he warns, but it’s without any heat. “And it wasn’t that long ago.”

  I lean back to peer up at him in surprise. “Really?”

  He wrinkles his nose. “No, not really. It’s probably been over a year.”

  My jaw drops. “Leif!” I swat at him.

  “What?” He steps away and waves a hand at me in exasperation. “If you’re a workaholic, that means I have to be one, too.”

  Well, shit.

  He bursts into laughter. “I’m kidding, Darce. It was a few weeks ago.”

  “Not cool, Leif. Not cool at all.” I turn and stack my papers and organize my file.

  “Hey, Darce?” he offers softly.

  Without looking up, I answer, “Yes?”

  “Promise me you won’t ignore your own match when you find it?”

  I jerk my head around in surprise. Something in his words—in his tone—unsettles me. As though he’s aware of something I’m not privy to. It makes me hesitant to answer, but when I finally do, my words are slow and tentative. “I promise.”

  Long after he leaves, I’m still unable to shake the feeling that I made a promise I might not be able to keep.

  6

  Dax

  I back my truck into my parents’ driveway, wondering what in the fresh hell my mother found for me while perusing garage sales. She called earlier to tell me to come by to get “the surprise.”

  As I exit the vehicle, I take a moment to smooth down my shirt—a gaudy Hawaiian button-down, of course. Over the past year, Mom’s taken it upon herself to supply me with a vast number of these shirts, telling me they complement my dark skin.

  The truth is, they’re mostly hideous, but I love her and the fact that she thinks of me. She’s still oblivious to how much I make each year—plus endorsements—and hasn’t gotten the memo that she doesn’t have to buy me secondhand clothes anymore. So I endure the fashion faux pas because she’s my mother, and I’d sooner cut off my own arm than disrespect her or hurt her feelings.

  I stride up to the open garage, where my dad’s puttering around. He’s constantly rearranging the space due to all the “treasures” my mother brings home.

  “What am I in for this time?” I ask with a knowing smirk.

  My dad turns around and laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, before he shakes his head. “Oh, son. She had the owners haul this down the street just for you, then worked out here for a few hours to disinfect the damn thing.” He says this as he walks over to a large object covered by an old bedsheet. He sets his hand on the top of the sheet, and his eyes flick to mine. “Ready to see your new piece of furniture?”

  By the slight wincing grimace on my father’s face, I’m not feeling particularly ready, but I nod.

  As soon as he lifts the sheet to reveal it, I’m caught between a laugh and a groan.

  Sweet Jesus, have mercy. I can’t even form words while my father and I stand in the garage and simply stare at the large… piece of—

  “Oh, honey! I’m so happy you’re here! Do you like it?” Mom rushes into the small garage, light brown eyes bright with excitement. She claps her hands together with a wide smile.

  My lips part and then close. I dart a glance at my dad, who gives me one of those you’re on your own with this one, kid looks.

  Stellar.

  “It’s great.” I force out the words.

  “I thought it was such a comfy-looking reading chair.”

  Sure, I could definitely use it when I read. If it were an actual reading chair, that is. But it’s not.

  What my mother thinks is a comfy reading chair is actually a sex chair.

  My mother bought me a fucking sex chair from a garage sale.

  She smooths a hand along the leather that, thankfully, doesn’t look like it was put to much use—gag—and beams. “I cleaned and disinfected it like I always do when I bring things home from garage sales. The owner said the leather is specially treated to resist bacteria, which I thought was unique.”

  Unique. Bacteria resistant.

  God help me.

  “You could put this in your living room since it matches your other furniture there. That way, you can relax in it and read or even nap.”

  My dad takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest to peer at the chair thoughtfully. “It actually looks comfortable.” His tone is begrudging, and I can’t lie because it does look like it would be comfortable to lounge in.

  Except that people probably already used it to have sex on.

  “Well, don’t just stand around, you two.” Mom gestures for us to get moving. “You’ll want to load the chair in the truck and head home to get situated before you leave for your football camp.”

  “Right,” I murmur. Because having a sex chair “settled” in my house before I leave for Gainesville is definitely a priority.

  A few minutes later, Dad and I have the chair loaded, and man, that sucker’s heavy as shit. Damn thing is solid wood beneath the leather. I shove the tailgate closed without bothering to use ratchet straps on the chair. Its weight alone will prevent it from sliding around in the back and getting damaged.

  I turn around with a sigh and force a smile for my mom. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

  She beams. “Of course, sweetie pie. I always think of you and Ava.”

  “Well.” I glance at my watch. “I’d better head home and get this, uh, chair in my place.”

  “Of course. Have a great time in Gainesville, honey.” Mom takes my face in her hands and steers me down so she can kiss each of my cheeks. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  She steps aside, and Dad hugs me briefly. “Drive safely.”

  I wave before I slide into the driver’s seat and buckle in. Then I make the drive back to my place.

  With a damn sex chair in the back of my truck.

  He’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing.

  Fucker.

  “Would you hurry the hell up? I want to get this thing inside before the neighbors see it and start thinking I’m some damn perv.”

  Becket remains bent at the waist, hands on his knees, as he hoots with laughter. “Sex… chair,” he breathes out before his body shakes with more laughter.

  For fuck’s sake. I roll my eyes and hoist myself into the truck bed. Carefully, I leverage my weight in order to guide the heavy-ass chair toward the tailgate.

  Becket straightens finally and presses his fingertips to his cheekbones. “Shit. My face hurts from laughing so hard.”

  I shoot him a warning glance. He nods, pressing his lips thin. “Okay. Composure. Com-po-sure,” he repeats with quivering lips.

  “Just help me lift the damn thing out,” I mutter.

  “Got it.”

  A few minutes later, we have the chair settled in my living room, off to the side of the sectional couch.

  We both step back and stare at the new piece of furniture.

  “Huh,” Becket mutters thoughtfully. “It honestly looks pretty comfortable.” He peers at me. “Your mom cleaned the shit out of it like she normally does?”

  “Of course.”

  He nods and turns his attention back to the chair. I’m abou
t the thank him for his help when he steps forward and slides onto the plush leather, draping his long legs over the curved hump on one end.

  Surprise etches my friend’s features as his eyes meet mine. “This is actually really comfy, man.” He shifts his position slightly and tips his head back. His eyes fall closed, and he rests his linked fingers on his abs. “Good for napping.”

  I can’t help it. I just stare at him.

  At my friend who’s about to take a nap in my new-used sex chair.

  Jesus. The guys are going to give me such shit when they come over.

  “The guys are going to give you so much shit when they see this.”

  Becket’s in my damn head now, too, apparently. A smirk plays at his lips, but his eyes remain closed. “I can practically hear them now. Especially Tank.”

  I scrub a hand over my face wearily. Shit.

  Becket’s eyes flash open with a mischievous glint in their depths. He pats the leather lovingly. “Care to join me, Mr. Under Armour?”

  I flip him the bird.

  “This would come in handy when you read.”

  I stare at my friend incredulously. “Mom said the same thing to me. Except she has no clue what this”—I gesture to the chair—“actually is.”

  He appears serious. “Well, it’s clean and everything. Why not use it as a plain old reading chair? Nothing wrong with that.”

  He has a point.

  Still, it’s weird as hell.

  Becket hauls his large body off the chair and stands. He clasps a hand on my shoulder and winks. “I’m heading out now that you have your sex chair situated.”

  I squint at him. “Thanks,” I reply drily.

  He grins wide. “Anytime.” With a wave, he trails down the hallway to the door, leaving me to stand here and stare down at the chair. “Oh, hey, D?”

  “Yeah?” I answer.

  “Don’t get too crazy with that thing and get injured.”

  I snort. “Like that’s happening anytime soon.” I’d have to have a woman to make that possible.

  Becket laughs. “Don’t stop believin’, you wild stallion, you.” With that, he shuts the door behind him.

  7

  Dax

  University of Florida campus

  Youth Football Clinic

  FIRST SESSION

  Late May

  Gainesville, Florida

  “Yo, D!” A loud male voice jerks me from my thoughts. “You done staring off into space, daydreaming of my stellar arm?”

  Damn quarterbacks. Always thinking it’s all about them.

  When I reach up and scratch the side of my head with my middle finger, Kyler Watson just throws his head back with a hearty laugh.

  All the kids have been picked up by their parents, and most of the equipment is stowed away for the day. I huff out a long, slow exhale of relief. It’s not that I don’t enjoy taking part in the designated community service projects required by the Jags owner. Quite the opposite. I appreciate being able to return to my alma mater and donate my time to others. God knows, I learned a great deal from this program years ago.

  It’s been a little over two years since Beck retired, and I find being here bittersweet. As fucking cheesy as it might be, I miss the hell out of being on the field with him.

  We went through college together, proudly wore our University of Florida orange and blue uniforms, and were lucky enough to wind up on the same NFL team. As the quarterback and wide receiver, we had to be in tune with one another. We’d become more than teammates—had passed that point far before the NFL—and grew into best friends. Family.

  Being here without him seems almost… wrong. Like I’m cheating on him or something.

  Watson strides up to me, slinging the football from one hand to the other with fluid ease until he draws to a stop a foot away. My teammate’s younger by a few years and looks as though he’d be more comfortable wearing a pair of board shorts and riding a surfboard than throwing a football down the field like a bullet.

  He slides his sunglasses up to rest on his blond head and eyes me with an odd expression. Frustration lined with hurt, if I didn’t know better.

  “Listen. I get it.” He continues tossing the ball casually. “I know I’m a poor man’s Jones. But I need you to trust me to get the ball to you.” His easy tone is at odds with the tension radiating from him.

  Fuck. I feel like a complete asshole. Here I thought I’d been successfully hiding my feelings.

  “I’m sorry, man.” I drag a hand along my jawline. “I trust you. It’s nothing personal—”

  “But it is.” His expression turns even more intense. “I’ve been fighting to get you on board ever since I got promoted to starting QB. To let me in on whatever you need me to do to get that magic you and Jones had. But there’s still some sort of barrier.”

  His expression darkens like an impending storm. “This past season was rough, and I don’t want a repeat.” With a deep breath, he drives home simply stated, granite-hard words. “We need to get our shit straightened out before training camp.”

  Then he throws out the zinger of all zingers.

  “Coach always spouts off those motivational sayings, right? And, you, our team captain, reiterate their importance. Well, you should take them to heart. Especially the last one.”

  I know exactly which one he’s referring to. “Don’t try to be better than anyone else. Be better than you used to be.”

  I exhale slowly and nod. He’s right. As captain, I should’ve recognized long ago how my attitude affected not only my quarterback but my teammates as well. “I’m sorry, man.”

  God knows, I’d run off the last guy who’d been promoted following Becket’s retirement. In my defense, we just didn’t have the chemistry. He was, well… Honestly, he was a dick. No two ways about it. I think the entire team breathed a sigh of relief when he left.

  “Yeah?” His features appear less tense, and his tone holds a tinge of hopefulness.

  “Yeah.”

  His mouth spreads into a wide smile. “All right, then.” With a nod, he starts jogging backward. “Get ready, big D.”

  I roll my eyes. God, that nickname needs to die already.

  “I was born ready.” I clap my hands, and when he tells me to go deep, I start rushing.

  We practice, going over strategies and possible routes, pausing here and there to discuss some tweaks, until we’re drenched in sweat. Once we’ve exhausted ourselves, we settle on the empty field, the coarse texture of the hybrid Bermuda grass beneath us, and chug our waters in silence.

  The sun beats down on us in unrelenting waves of heat, and I remove my sweaty shirt and mop my forehead with the small portion that’s not completely soaked with sweat.

  “Can’t resist taking off your clothes in my presence.” Watson grins smugly. “Happens a lot.”

  “Shut it.” I cut him a stern look but end up mirroring his grin. “Kids these days,” I mutter. “So damn full of themselves.”

  He lets out a hearty laugh. “You talk like you’re ancient.”

  “Feel like it somedays.” I lean back on the field, tucking my shirt beneath my head and closing my eyes. “My damn hips ache sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I feel you.” Watson’s tone is subdued. “I wonder, sometimes, about what will happen if—”

  “Don’t.” My tone comes out sharper than I intended, and I immediately soften it. “Can’t let your worries take over. Just remember to heed the signs of your body.”

  “Like Jones did.”

  I make a noncommittal sound. He falls silent, and I detect he’s mirroring my relaxed position.

  “D?”

  “Hmm?” The warmth of the sun feels so damn good, relaxing my muscles.

  “Do you, uh, think you could hook me up with a good financial planner?”

  I turn my head and squint over at him. “Aw, pumpkin. You need Daddy to help you?”

  He rolls his eyes with a grin. “Don’t be a dick.” A hint of embarrassment crosses his
face. “But… yeah.”

  I hold out my fist for him. He bumps his own against mine. “Got you covered.”

  As we lie here on my alma mater’s field, I can’t deny that I miss Becket.

  But right now, I’m pretty damn glad Watson’s in his place.

  Relaxing in my hotel room after a shower, I’m listening to ESPN SportsCenter’s debate concerning the latest sexual misconduct scandal when my phone vibrates with a notification.

  I glance over to find an email from Darcy. Curiosity has me quickly swiping the screen and reading it. Apparently, she wants to set up a time to discuss a few things. I flick my eyes up to note the time. 7:45 p.m. Damn.

  I quickly type out a response.

  Me: I’m down in Gainesville this week for the youth football clinic. I’m due back late on Friday. Let me know what might work with your schedule.

  As an afterthought, with a smile curving my lips, I add to it.

  Me: Also, it’s 7:45 p.m. I really hope you’re not pulling long hours because of me. Trust me, I’m overrated.

  I hit send just as a knock sounds on my hotel door. I’d ordered food delivery because I was still hungry after grabbing dinner with Watson earlier. I thank the delivery guy and sign an autograph for him, grateful I’d already added a tip when I placed the online order. Carrying the food inside, I slide into the chair at the small table in the corner of the room.

  My phone vibrates again, and curiosity has me darting over to grab it before I return to my seat and dig into my massive burrito.

  Darcy: We can go over everything in person, or if it’s easier for you and you’d prefer, I can send over the information via email. It will be encrypted, and access to it will expire after a certain amount of time to ensure no one’s information is compromised.

  I take another large bite of my burrito before I type my response.

  Me: Sounds like some 007 spy stuff. If you’re available on Saturday, I usually finish up at the gym at around 7 a.m., so I could meet you. And I promise I’ll shower before we meet.