Hearts in Overtime: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (15 page)

It’s a good thing I don’t have to drive past the training facility on my way to the expressway. Even so, my eyes fill with tears as I steer the car away from Ryan, as I drive away, closing the chapter on the most thrilling, the most intense, and the most wonderful experience of my entire life.

I drop down into a solid starting position and then I charge at my target. I throw my entire body weight at the padded metal contraption and when I hit it, the thing shakes from the impact. It’s times like this that I actually love being a pro athlete. There’s nothing like a tackle sled to take out your anger and frustration on.

Today has been weird. News got around fast. When I showed up at the practice field at 8:00, it was obvious that all the guys were already aware of what’s going down. I got a whole shitload of sympathetic smiles, claps on the backs and “sorry, bro” type sentiments.

Except from Todd Weston, of course, who gave me a shit-eating little grin. I remember last week when he and I were trash-talking each other and he said something about me having been some pathetic little street urchin. He’s acting all smug now because what he said wasn’t that far from the truth. Fucking asshole.

Coach made like he was going to give me a hug when I came out onto the field, but I nipped that in the bud with one look. I wasn’t so lucky when it came to Annette Washington. I didn’t think anything of it when I saw her walk onto the field when we were in the middle of the Oklahoma Drill. Coach called me over, which was weird; naturally, I assumed she was there to see her husband, Cody. Anyway, I went over there and she handed me this big ass glass dish full of macaroni and cheese.

“Here you go, hon,” she said. “I figured you could do with some home cooking. Made it myself. It’s my grandma’s recipe, and it’s to die for. I guarantee you it’s the best baked macaroni and cheese you’ll ever have.”

“Uh…” I stared at the casserole and then back up at her, still not sure what to make of the situation.

“I’ll take care of that for you, Blake,” said Coach. He handed the casserole over to his assistant with instructions to pass it along to the housekeeping staff at the residence hall and have someone put it in my fridge.

“Come here, honey.”

I stood there, stiff as a board as Annette put her arms around me and pulled me into a hug. None of this made any sense to me. At all. My brain just couldn’t compute the notion that Annette, with her $3,000 hair extensions and her $2,000 shoes would actually bake me a fucking casserole and then drive all the way out here from Manhattan to deliver it.

Before I could even gather my wits sufficiently enough to thank her, she pulled back and said, “It’s already cooked through, so you can just cut yourself a slice and zap in the microwave for a minute or so. Now, you take good care of yourself, Ryan, and I want you to know that Cody and will always be here for you. I mean it. Speaking of the old ball and chain, I’ve got to remind him about the party we’re going to tomorrow night. Bye, hon.”

She patted me on the arm, and with that she was gone, teetering across the field in those impractical shoes.

After a couple more moments of being stunned speechless, I shook it off and rejoined my teammates on the field.

Later, as I’m doing throwing progression drills with Alex, Coach summons me yet again.

“Blake!” Coach calls. I whip my head around to face him, but he’s looking the other way. “Weston! I want both of you over here right now! Front and center!”

With a heavy sigh, I toss the ball to Alex and start heading to the edge of the field. What is it now?

Coach looks pissed. Really pissed. His arms are folded across his chest and his face is all red like it gets when he’s about to rip somebody a new asshole. Johnny’s on his right, and Fred, the team manager, is on his left. Both of them look every bit as agitated as Coach does. I don’t even want to contemplate what happened. I wouldn’t know where to start.

“Blake, you go with Johnny. Weston, you go with Fred,” Coach instructs.

Okay…

Coach then turns and walks away from us with his arms wrapped around his head like he’s preparing for a crash landing. I don’t know how things could possibly get worse, but it looks like that’s exactly where we’re at. I turn to Johnny.

“Walk with me,” he says.

I fall into step next to him, and neither of us speaks for a while. I don’t have the energy to try to draw anything out of him. What’s more, I’m not sure I really want to know what’s up.

We walk off the field and head down the path towards the main building.

“So I have good news and bad news,” Johnny says.

“I could really use some good news right about now.”

He smiles. “I’ll bet you could. Okay, here goes. Charlotte Marshall had nothing to do with leaking the conversation the two of you had last night.”

I halt in my tracks and turn to him.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“How?”

“We’ve got footage.”

“Footage?”

I’m so confused. We already know there’s footage. The news channels have been running it all day long.

“What are you talking about, Johnny?”

“We’ve been going over the building’s security tapes. Turns out we’ve got about twenty minutes of footage that shows someone hooking up an elaborate surveillance system in the room where you and Ms. Marshall met. And we’ve got another ten minutes or so that show this same person unhooking it all late last night.”

“Are you telling me there were cameras in that room even before some bastard planted more?”

With an arch of an eyebrow, he says, “Yes, Ryan.”

Oh, fuck.

I bury my face in my hands. How many people watched the footage of Charlotte and me going down on each other? Oh, great. This is just great.

“And no. We’re definitely not happy about you getting it on with your biographer, but right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Fucking fuck. There’s so much shit swirling through my head, I don’t know where to start. If it wasn’t Charlotte who planted the cameras, who? And if Charlotte didn’t plant the cameras, then that means I lashed out in the meanest, cruellest, most despicable way imaginable at the woman I love. She must have been so frightened! I have to make this right—or at least I have to
try
to make it right—but before I do, I have know who’s responsible for all this shit.

I turn to Johnny and open my mouth to demand he tell me, but before I utter a word, I know.

Todd Weston.

“Weston,” I spat.

“Ryan,” Johnny says in his most cautious voice. “You need to stay out of this and let us handle it. Trust me; this situation is being dealt with.”

Fuck that!

I spin around and take off back towards the field with Johnny’s shouts of protest fading as I put more and more distance between us. Within seconds, I’m back on the field, but Weston is nowhere to be found.

“Blake!” Coach shouts. “Blake, get over here right now. That’s an order!”

“Where did Todd and Fred go?” I call to my teammates on the field.

“They’re heading for the residence hall, I think!” Derek calls back.

I spin around and start pounding the earth as fast as I possibly can.

“Don’t do it, Blake! We are handling this!” Coach calls after me. “We’ve got things under control! Do you hear me?”

No way am I holding back. This is something I’ve got to do.

I glimpse Todd standing a few feet away from the residence hall, arguing with Fred.

That fucking bitch.

I run faster.

Fred and Todd both look over when they hear me approaching, and Fred wisely steps out of the way. Todd holds up his arms to block me, but he hasn’t got a prayer. I tackle the motherfucker and send us both flying to the ground. Like me, he’s got all his protective gear on with the exception of his helmet, so as soon as I get the wind back in my lungs, I start punching the smug bitch in the face.

“You motherfucking piece of shit!”

I start things off with a nice slug to the jaw.

“Get off me, you motherfucker!”

“You pathetic, candy ass backstabbing bitch!”

There’s a satisfying cracking sound when I break his nose.

“Blake! Let him go right now! I mean it!” Fred shouts.

No way.

I get in a half dozen more strikes, each one of them more satisfying than the last before a couple of teammates manage to pull me off of that bitch ass punk. I’m sure I’ll get disciplined for this, but it was well worth it. And I don’t want to assume anything, but Coach and Fred might decide to let me off lightly, considering the situation. Talk about just cause… 

“Wait a second,” says Derek, one of the guys who pulled me off Todd. “Does this mean he’s the one who fucked you over? Is he the one who got the footage and posted it online?”

“Yeah.”

I flex my fingers and shake out my arm. My hand fucking hurts.

“Shit, man,” Derek says, shaking his head at Todd, who is still sitting on the ground like a pansy ass little bitch. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to pull you off of him.”

I laugh and give him an elbow in the ribcage.

“Thanks, man.”

It’s a nice feeling—knowing that there are people who have my back.

“Blake. In my office. Now,” Fred says, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Can’t now, Fred. Sorry.” I start heading for the door to the residence hall.

“What?” His voice is so cold I could almost swear I felt a chill.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I have to go now,” I tell him, even as I’m walking away. “There’s something I have to do.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he says.

I give him an apologetic shrug before entering the building. I figure it shouldn’t take me more than five minutes to change out of my practice uniform, grab my shit and go.

Turns out I’m ready in three. It’s true that I’m not looking my best. I’m all sweaty and grimy from practice. And then when you factor in the streaks of dirt and blood and shit from fighting with Todd Weston…yeah. I’m a little worse for wear. I briefly contemplate jumping in the shower real quick, but I decide against it. I don’t want to waste even one second.

Heading out of my suite with my keys jingling in my hand, I dial the number of my assistant, Pete.

Fuck. I hope he answers. He’s on vacation in Ft. Lauderdale until Thursday. Lucky for me he answers after the third ring.

“Ryan, hey. I’ve been meaning to give you a call. I saw the news. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. But I do need you to do something for me.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I know you’re on vacation and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t absolutely have to, but it’s important. And if I know you, it won’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “What do you need?”

“I need you to get me the home address of a woman by the name of Charlotte Marshall. She’s a writer and she lives in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, all right. I’ll text you the address when I’ve got it, and if I have any trouble finding it, I’ll give you a call.”

“Thank you. Thanks a lot, Pete. I appreciate it. I’m going to come up with some awesome way to repay you for this, I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. I’m serious though. I’m going to get the kid a new tech gadget or some kickass tickets or whatever else he wants.

Three minutes later, just as I’m exiting through the back door of the residence hall to avoid Coach, Fred and everyone else, my phone lights up with a text.

Pete came through. I’ve got Charlotte’s address right here in my hot little hand.

Oh, I’ve missed this. It’s good to have my baby back in my arms.

Bertie is curled up in my lap, kneading my stomach like he’s making biscuits, and I’m curled up in my overstuffed armchair, stroking his fur. It’s a good thing Tracy works from home like I do. The first thing I did after I got back to Brooklyn and dropped off the rental car was to go by her place to pick Bertie up.

She was surprised to see me, and of course she was dying for details about my fling with Ryan. I hated to deny her, but I just couldn’t process it with her. Not then and not now. I’m still so numb.

I can’t believe everything that’s happened. I know my name will eventually be cleared since I had nothing to do with leaking the story. I’m not worried about that, but it breaks my heart that Ryan was so quick to assume I would betray him. I thought he knew me well enough to know I would never do something so heartless, never in a million years.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? We’ve only known each other for a week. And you don’t have to be a professional psychiatrist to tell that Ryan has major trust issues with women that undoubtedly stem from his murdering mother.

What a shame that such a wonderful and gratifying fling had to come to such an agonizing end.

I reach under Bertie’s chin and run my finger up and down his throat. He closes his eyes, leans his head back and amps up his purring.

Well, at least I still have one amazing little man in my life…

The shrill sound of my door buzzer makes me jump, and poor Bertie leaps out of my arms in terror. I sigh. Who could that be? Surely it’s not the press.

I’ve had plenty of voicemails from reporters, but so far nobody has shown up at my apartment. I hope this isn’t about to change. It could be the UPS guy or something. I’m not expecting a package or anything but since my neighbors all work in Manhattan, I usually buzz the guy in to deliver their packages.

Guess it couldn’t hurt to see who it is. I go over to the buzzer and press the intercom button.

“Who is it?”

“Charlotte, it’s Ryan.”

I gasp. Ryan? Here in Brooklyn? At my apartment? My heart starts pounding with fear. I replay the poisonous words he used with me on the phone this morning and I feel frozen with shock.

“I owe you an enormous apology,” he says. “I hope you’ll buzz me in so we can talk face to face, but I will understand if you don’t want to.”

And just like that, my fear fades. The shock, however, sticks with me, rendering me speechless. I go ahead and buzz him in.

My building is small, so I only need to open my front door to show him the way. I step out into the hallway just as he’s reached the top of the stairs. Our gazes lock. He comes straight at me with his arms outstretched, and I do the only thing that feels natural; I fall into his arms and bury my face against his shoulder as he strokes my back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He kisses me on the forehead and then lifts my chin so we can look into each other’s eyes. His gorgeous blue eyes are filled with pain and regret. Seeing that raw emotion makes me more certain than ever that I made the right choice in hearing him out.

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with setting me up, Charlotte, and I am so, so sorry that I lashed out at you like I did. Do you think you might be able to forgive me?”

I inhale a deep breath and as I let it out, I nod.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He cups my face with both hands and leans in to give me the sweetest, most gentle kiss imaginable. God, I’ve missed this.

After we pull apart, I take his hand and give him a smile.

“Come on in, Ryan.”

To his credit, he doesn’t react when he enters my cramped studio apartment, even though I know it must look like a hovel compared to the sort of places he’s used to. I don’t have a sofa, so I lead him over to the pair of armchairs by the window.

We each take a seat in one, but only moments later, he says, “Well, this isn’t going work.”

He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me out of my chair and onto his lap. I laugh as I wrap my arms around his neck, and he holds me tight with his arms circling my waist. We exchange a giggle and a kiss and a smile. This feels good. It feels natural.

“So…” I begin. “The leak… Did you find out who…?”

I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time getting the words out.

“Yeah, we did.”

“That’s good.” I nod. “But how are
you
doing? Are you okay?”

He tilts his head and gives me the sweetest smile before he says, “I’m all right. But I didn’t come here to talk about the leak or the repercussions or any of that stuff. It’s not important right now.”

“Okay…”

Now it’s my turn to tilt my head in confusion.

“Charlotte, I love you.”

That sounds so absurd, so utterly ridiculous; I can’t help but burst out in laughter.

“Um…that’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he says with a bewildered smile.

“I’m sorry!” It takes a bit of effort, but I manage to quell my laughter so I can respond. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sure you
think
you love me, but come on. Deep down, you must know that you don’t. Not really.”

“And why is that?”

I roll my eyes. “Come on. You’re a super sexy star athlete who plays for the NFL, for god’s sake! I’m a struggling writer with too much junk in the trunk.” I add a laugh here, to keep the mood light, or so I hope.

“Are you kidding? You have the perfect amount of junk in your trunk.” He slides his hands down to my ass cheeks to give them a good squeeze. And then his smile fades a bit as a look of intensity shines through his eyes. “Babe, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful, you’re sexy, you’re witty and you’re sharp. But I think what I love most about you is how caring and compassionate you are. Your heart is full and you’re generous and you’re as loving as you are loveable. Does clear things up for you?”

I can only stare back at him without blinking. I can hardly even breathe, much less string a sentence together.

“I love you,” he murmurs as he pecks me on the lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs as he takes my hands in his and kisses all ten of my fingertips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, gazing deep into my eyes.

“I love you, too,” I murmur, my heart bursting with gratitude.

His lips widen into a massive smile and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer to him. With my head resting on his shoulder, I close my eyes and thank my lucky stars for bringing this amazing man into my life.