Dirty Player(4)

It was too similar to what I’d recently walked away from to enjoy fully. I had tried, but after the sweet, tart taste of a Red Bull and vodka and then the scowl from the barely dressed waitress when I’d ordered a beer from the tap—anything, because I didn’t care as long as it was cold—I gave up on the idea of getting stupid drunk.

A slight buzz was all I needed anyway, and after a while—the murmurs of conversation going on at the high-top table around me, Beaux lost in getting to know his new teammates—I caved to my creativity that had begun its seductive whisper.

Ideas were racing through my mind. Floor plans. Set up tables. Bracelets. Necklaces and charms with matching earrings. Stamped metal designs paid pretty well, especially depending on the types of metal I used. I had started in college, making a few pieces here and there for myself and then selling them to girls in sororities. Everyone wanted something one of a kind—made for them and their personalities. While they’d been having their fun, partying away the best four years of their lives, I’d still been running Beaux around to practices, helping him with his homework, and making sure he made varsity. When he grew older and could drive himself, I still went with him on college visits to tour campuses and talk to scouts and football coaches—all while trying to take care of our ill mother.

When she passed away before she could see Beaux graduate college, the entire burden of the house and the bills and life had fallen on my shoulders. What I wouldn’t have given during those years to be one of those sorority girls with wallets as deep as their dads would allow and no worries in the world other than finding a new fashionable accessory and being the first to own it.

I had envied them. I wanted to live that life now, but responsible and cautious weren’t character traits easily shaken.

Plus, I hadn’t had decent design ideas in months, but the historic and rugged look of the building Beaux had rented for me, lease fully paid for a year, had lit a spark.

Or perhaps that was the freedom of knowing I could finally do what I’d always wanted.

Perhaps Beaux was right. I’d earned every bit of his success right along with him. I didn’t begrudge him for it. I was proud of him. There was also something to be said for having a piece of life that was all yours—although I fully intended to pay him back for every cent he’d already spent.

A large hand slammed down over the napkin I was currently doodling on.

“You are not spending the night with a pen in your hand and your face to the table.”

I shrugged off Beaux’s scolding tone and scrunched my face. “I finally have ideas, though.”

I looked down at the designs he’d covered with his hand. Six interlocked bracelets, able to be undone, put back together, worn in six different patterns. Complicated, but replicated with different types of metals, or using one for the whole thing, I could make eight different designs and they’d all look unique.

“Well, tell your brain to shut up for the night. It’s on vacation. You need it.”

Before I could protest, a tray of golden-colored shots was presented and set on the table. A bowl of limes next, and a shaker of salt.

I glared at Beaux. “You’re kidding me.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “They’re not all for you.”

“Is she always this greedy?”

I turned toward the new voice and grinned. I’d been standing next to Kolby Jones for most of the night. He seemed more enamored with the celebrities in our midst than I was.

But then again, he’d only had three months since the draft to get used to this new life. A wide receiver drafted in the first round, seventh pick, he’d gone to Raleigh lower than originally anticipated. His speed and ability to snag the ball out of anywhere in the air as long as it was within five feet of him, regardless of how many defenders he had on him, had helped lead Alabama to three national championships in a row.

He was way too young for me, but his light mocha skin and bulging muscles and kind smile made him easy on the eyes. He was also a single dad to a three-year-old girl, and more down to earth than anyone I’d ever met.

Of course, there was still time for that to change.

“I’m not greedy,” I replied while I snagged a tequila shot.

“Don’t let her fool you, Kolby. She’s a viper.”

I snorted and licked my wrist. “Right. I’m a regular siren.”

Beaux caught the defeated tone in my voice and kicked me under the table.

“Your problem,” he said, reaching for his own shot and sliding one to Kolby, “is that you tried for years to be good enough for some limp-dicked prick, and never once realized that you were too good for him to begin with.”

“Ah, guy trouble. That’s what the tequila is for.”

I shot a glance toward Kolby and tapped my glass to his. “The tequila is for fun.”

Screw it. I didn’t need Beaux’s reminder or pep talk.

Kolby sent me a smirk and our glasses clinked together before we shot the liquor.

The burn hit my tongue, my throat, clawing its way down to my stomach. I pressed my lips together and took the lime Beaux offered, thankful for the sour to help.

I still couldn’t hold back the face I pulled as I took one last swallow. Nothing evaporated it until Beaux handed me another shot.

“After three it doesn’t hurt so much.”

“Fantastic. Once I can’t feel anything then it will taste good.”

“Yup.” Kolby and Beaux slammed another shot with me before Kolby slid his glasses and limes into the center of the table.

I took my third without hesitating. “Where’s your daughter tonight?”

Kolby took a sip of his water glass. “With my ma. They’re at home, unpacking.”

He shook his head, his eyes filled with that same awed look Beaux had for the entire first year of playing for the Vikings. The “how did this become my life?” look.

I still saw it spark in Beaux from time to time, but a few years in, the wealth and shock was diminishing and being replaced with a new normal.

“You moved your mom up here, too?”

A muscle popped in his cheek and I sensed I’d touched a topic he didn’t want to discuss. “Ma’s the only one I trust to watch Mya.”

I didn’t understand the love a parent had for their child—not personally—but I’d seen my mom sacrifice in order to try to give us everything. It was that memory, of my mom coming home from work only to have time to shower and go to another job, that made me slide my hand around Kolby’s shoulder and squeeze. “You’re a good dad, Kolby.”

“Let’s hope she thinks so.”

“She will.”

“Need more shots?” Beaux asked, his hand already in the air and waving down the waitress.

The burn of the liquor in my veins made my cheeks and chest warm. I was feeling relaxed and tipsy.

I shook my head. “No. One more beer and I should be good.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “So much for drunk and stupid.”

“Oh, there’s still plenty of time for stupid.”

“Right,” Beaux teased. “Of course.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. We both knew me. I had never been a partier and with the drinks and the warmth and the dim lights, I already wanted to get to the apartment and start cleaning the shower and floors so I could move in.

I had too much of my mom in me, and not enough of Beaux. I blamed the fact that we had different fathers.

Where he let everything roll off his back, never worrying and stressing, I had a hard time relaxing, always planning and preparing. We couldn’t be any more different.

Conversation drifted then to Beaux and Kolby getting settled in Raleigh, the things they’d seen in the last few months since they’d moved out here. What they wanted to do next, their thoughts about the upcoming preseason game.

I wasn’t involved in most of the conversations, so my eyes drifted along with my thoughts. Thoughts of a surly, rude tight end who had yet to appear. Disappointment uncurled in me and made me frown.

I didn’t want to see him, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him either. The interaction earlier was more unpleasant than most I’d had in my life. Yet I couldn’t lie—along with probably millions of other women in the country, I had pictured Oliver starring in my fantasies at some point since he began in the NFL.

Admittedly, as soon as Beaux was traded, thoughts of meeting Powell were first in my mind.

Yet as much as I teased my brother about making out with his teammates, I wouldn’t do that to him. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of possible tension for him in the locker room or on the field. When he was playing, my job was to support him, not make it more difficult.

With a heavy sigh, I slid out of the booth.

Beaux’s gaze caught me with a questioning look.

“I’ll be right back. I just need some air.”

“And then a dance with me,” Kolby said, flashing me a wink.

The kid was cute. I could admit that, too. He was also harmless. Safe.

“You know? I think my restroom trip can wait. Want to?”

“Hell yeah. Sexy cougar woman in my arms? I’ll have to beat the men away from you.” He frowned, a teasing glint in his eye as he wiggled his fingers. “On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t. Can’t get these hands broken in a bar fight.”