Don't Tell (Don't 1)

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go home.”

He exhaled. “Shit, Em. Don’t scare me like that.”

He pulled me against his chest and my hands wrapped around his back.

“I don’t ever want to leave. I swear. I’m sorry I’m scared. I’m sorry.”

He tipped my chin toward his lips. His mouth brushed over mine with the kind of tenderness that sent a rush of heat down my spine.

“Let me take you back to bed.”

I nodded as he scooped me in his arms, lifting my legs from the floor. My feet dangled as he carried me to the bedroom. I felt light in his hold. As if he would protect me from all the nightmares. From the dreams. From reality if he had to.

“Are you all in?” He laid me on the bed. “I need to know.”

“I’m all in. I don’t have any doubts about us. About you. I swear.”

As he peeled the shirt from my body, it was true—I had no doubt this was where I wanted to be. It didn’t mean I wasn’t scared. It didn’t mean that I didn’t need time to let the bruises on my heart heal.

I knew he had me. I knew there was only going forward.

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Violet Paige Newsletter

Sidelined

1

Sam

It was the game that popped the cherry on the season. Monday night football. The night. The one that gave millions a taste of what they had been waiting for all summer. And we were headed to Austin to play the fucking Warriors.

I got it. I knew that the schedules were arranged ahead of time. But we were Super Bowl champions. The Wranglers shouldn’t be in Austin for this game. They should have come to us. The hatred between our two teams was palpable and an overnight trip into Warrior territory was an insult to what we had accomplished.

I sat next to Stubbs on the plane. He kept his earbuds in for the twenty-minute flight from San Antonio.

I tried to stretch my legs, but even on the Wranglers’ private jet there wasn’t enough leg room. At six-five, airplanes were uncomfortable as shit. At least I wasn’t in the back with the linemen. Those guys had nowhere to go. I shifted again, banging my knee into the tray table.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

The flight attendant stepped forward in the aisle, handing out bottles of water. Coach Howell had given strict instructions that we weren’t supposed to drink the night before the game. He couldn’t regulate everything we did, but he sure as hell tried.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had told the flight crew to only stock water on this flight.

I smiled at the brunette as I took the bottle from her.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“I think I’m good, darlin’.” I twisted off the cap and took a sip.

The season started tomorrow night and even though it was only my second year with the team, I had a strict policy once the first snap was taken. No women.

I’d made that mistake in college and it messed with my head. I didn’t broadcast it. I didn’t discuss it, but she had done a number on me and almost cost me my senior season. She could have ruined my chances in the pros. I’d never make that mistake again. I had a million-dollar contract, and no woman, no matter how great she fucked, was worth losing that.

I was the highest-rated tight end in the American Football Association. I had a Super Bowl ring and my agent had recently finalized a bonus contract for this season. I couldn’t let some pretty girl get in my head. Wasn’t happening. There was a prize for me come February worth about two million dollars.

I looked out the window as Austin came into view.