“Well, darlin’, I’m delighted to see you back.” She taps my textbook on the table between us – one she co-authored. “See you in class.”
Though I’m smiling as she leaves, the anxiety that’s become a new but silent trait of mine over the past year or so is having an absolute field day with my heart rate.
When I make it to class, I slip into the lecture theatre by the bottom door and try to take a seat near the front without making eyes at anyone. I don’t know my fellow academics because my college friends are now working and starting their real lives.
There’s giggling somewhere over my right shoulder, whispers over my left, and though I can’t make out what the words are or what the joke is, I suspect it’s all about me.
The student who got knocked up to a football star who wants nothing to do with her. The girl who fell for her brother’s best friend. The woman riding on the shirt tails of her famous sibling and will stop at nothing to clinch some of his fame.
That narrative couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’m the girl who fell for a guy I thought cared about me, too. A man I couldn’t have conceived would turn his back on me when I accidentally fell pregnant. A woman trying to graduate to make her own way in life and stop having to take handouts for tuition and childcare from her brother. A girl who hasn’t asked for a dime from her extremely wealthy ex.
2
PACE – SEPTEMBER
Horchata Never Tasted So Sweet
Our pre-season training camp is in full swing. I’m going long for Lamar Taylor’s pass, running as flat out as a man of thirty-four years can to catch it. It’s a bad pass from our new starting quarterback and I could, should, let it go, but I’m trying to make the kid feel less intimidated by the enormous boots he’s got to fill this season.
I sprint hard, loosely aware that I’m reaching the edge of the training field, focused on the spinning pig leather. Until the afternoon sun replaces the ball and blinds me.
Holding my arm up to shield my eyes does just enough to allow me to make the catch but as I connect with the ball, I clatter backward over the guardrail.
There’s a high-pitched scream as I hurtle into a watching fan. But I have too much momentum to stop the imminent collision.
I curl up as best I can to protect myself and whoever I’m careering toward, and I land backside first in the grass. Unfortunately, the sheer mass of me knocks said fan off her feet and my head lands squarely between…
A pair of damn fine legs. Smooth golden thighs frame my face, a pair of cowgirl boots dangling around my torso. Something white and sweet with a tinge of cinnamon splashes across my lips, dripping onto my tongue, and a whole lot more liquid covers my chest.
As I lick my lips, a groan escapes me, not because that fall hurt but because I think I’ve landed on the other side of heaven. The drink that’s spilled all over me is sweet as pie and when the woman whose legs are entangled with my upper body leans forward across me I notice that,damn, she’s pretty. Long waves of dark hair fall across her shoulders and her checked pearl snap shirt – not to objectify or anything, but I respectfully note – frames an absolutelyperfectlyrounded rack. Her lips are full and glossed, sparkling under the day’s light, and when she lowers her shades from her eyes, they’re big and brown and…
Familiar.
Shit.
Wincing, I come up to sit, blinking as I take in the fact I can’t possibly be in heaven. I know because God would not be so cruel as to land me between the mighty fine legs of my wide receiver’s kid sister.
Panicking, I hold up my hand which is still grasping a training ball, thankful that I didn’t make an auto-playboy move on Colton Quinn’s sibling.
“Caught it,” I say, accidentally winking.In the event of an emergency, default to instinct.My instinct – which is to ask this woman if I could spend a night tasting more of whatever she spilled all over me – is precisely what I need to suppress.
“Tanner Pace! Take your head out from between my thighs before my brother breaks whatever limbs you haven’t already.”
Dang, she’s feisty. I fight against what I know is my signature smirk playing on my lips as I unravel myself from her and offer a hand to help her stand.
She stares at my big bear paw, then dusts off her denim skirt and rises without my aid.Fair,I did knock her off her feet.
“Quinn,” I say in greeting.
“Jackpot,” she confirms.
“Annie Quinn.” Not a random hot girl I can flirt with.
I’ve seen Annie a few times over the four years Colton has been with the Bears, after games, dinners occasionally, that sort of thing. The last time I saw her was spring. The guys and I were helping on the Quinns’ ranch, where they run a non-profit respite offering for kids and families. Annie had a six-month-old baby strapped to her most of those days and today…
“You look… different.”
