Once Upon A Half-Time 1(2)

“Lachlan, before you say anything, I know I haven’t called you back.” I didn’t look at him or give him a chance to deter me from this apology. “And that was a horrible thing to do, but it was for the best. Now that you’re drafted and signed and training camp is starting, we should talk about what happened at the scouting combine, but we should never, ever do it again.”

Lachlan didn’t say anything. Hell, he didn’t move.

Well…that was a problem.

What was worse? Our first-round draft choice getting hit by a car…or the Rivets’ soon to be offensive superstar knocked-out cold during the world’s worst rescue attempt?

“Lachlan.” I poked his chest. “Are you okay?”

Nothing.

No blood had spilled. I took that as a good sign. Still, this man was about to spend his first full-day at training camp getting rolled by hulking monsters, intimidating coaches, and hundreds of pounds of free weights. Who’d have thought the street would be more dangerous than a football field?

Now it was official. I really shouldn’t have been at the practice facility.

But I couldn’t escape now, not with Lachlan potentially hurt. This was a disaster. I’d be caught.

Peter, the head photographer, was the only other Rivets’ employee with a key to our office. He’d see that I’d tampered with the computer. He’d know the SD card was gone.

He’d fire me.

My career would be over, but God only knew what would happen to the Rivets’ reputation if the media ever found those pictures.

First I’d taken every scrap of incriminating evidence I could find. Then I rendered unconscious the one player Jack Carson specifically petitioned the coaches to draft.

Banner day for me.

I patted Lachlan’s cheek. “Charming…can you hear me?”

He grunted. Good sign. But his eyes stayed closed. Not great.

The street had emptied of cars, and no players crossed the parking lot. At least I was still technically in hiding, but I couldn’t leave Lachlan, groggily fading in and out of consciousness.

Hell, that was how I left him the last time we were together. At least then he was freshly-fucked and exhausted after our one-night stand.

Though…it had been more than one night. I probably should have called it a one-weekend stand, though some head-stands were involved too. The alcohol stole most of my memories, but the remaining flashes were shamefully explicit and astoundingly lewd.

Also good. Very, very good.

But I was never doing anything like that again. Like a camel crossed with a puritan, I’d store up my sexual inhibitions in those couple humps we had.

The day I’d returned, missing all of my panties as well as every photograph I’d taken of the rookie scouting combine, I’d vowed never to think of, speak of, or indulge Lachlan Reed ever again.

Until the moment I’d knocked him out.

“Come on, Charming.”

I couldn’t easily move his bulk, so I straddled him in the middle of the sidewalk, my knees on either side of his hips.

An all-too familiar position.

“Let’s get you up.”

An all-too familiar saying.

“Don’t make me blow a whistle, pretty-boy.” I sharpened my voice. “Huddle up!”

Lachlan’s eyes opened, and the sea-foam green intensity of his gaze crashed through me like white caps against a jetty.

God, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful this man was.

Almost.

Every part of him angled hard—his cheekbones, his brow, the fierce strike of his nose, the solid authority of his jaw. But what might have seemed severe was warmed by the playful quirk of his lips. Lachlan always donned a panty-melting grin. The charming, wicked kind that lured girls like me a little too close.

He packed a smirk for every party, a laugh for every fight, and a sleeve of condoms for luck.

And he got lucky.

A lot.

Those green eyes blinked once, twice, and unfocused once more. I sat back, puffing the hair from my face. Maybe the new bump on his blonde head would blend in with the old lumps he suffered from practices and games?

But he seemed to be coming around. A little. He licked his full, dangerous lips and hissed a word. I couldn’t make it out. I leaned close just as he sat up.

Mistake.

Lachlan seized me, tangling his fingers in my hair and pulling me close.

I squealed. “What are you—”

His kiss blindsided me.

Soft.

I’d forgotten how soft his kisses could be. Either he was tearing through my clothes with his teeth, or he kissed warm and sweet, little nibbles of dew-dropped gentleness that shivered me in all the right places.

My heart lurched into my throat, skipping a couple of beats and deciding then and there to skip town, skedaddle back to Vegas, and lose myself with Lachlan in the best suite the Bellagio could offer.