Parker (Face-Off 1)

Alex presses his hip into mine, causing my heart to speed up, as he reaches around me for the detergent. My breath hitches when he doesn’t pull away from me, his mouth only a few inches from mine, our eyes locked, as we’re completely aware of the sexual tension between us. I start to panic internally, unsure of how to handle this situation.

I’m Coach, deal closer and miracle worker to the athletically gifted, yet when Alex’s bicep brushes up against my skin, the heat spreads from my cheeks to my chest, his touch making my toes curl, and my entire body tenses up in nervous anticipation.

I think he wants to kiss me. The crazy thing is, I would kiss him back, and if that were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. But I have rules.

Rules are also meant to be broken, an evil voice in my head screams.

I want to break them so bad right now.

Alex unscrews the top from the bottle of Tide and pours the liquid into the cap, and now, both of his hands are around me as he’s doing this. My ovaries are ready to explode along with my heart and my chest because I can feel him growing hard against my thigh.

It’s so fucking hot, a soft moan escapes my lips. I refuse to make eye contact, not when I already know he’s smirking, clearly pleased with himself for what he’s done to me. The last time I had sex was eighteen months ago, and it’s not because I don’t want it, but because I don’t have time for sex. Most days, I forget to eat lunch or dinner, too engrossed in whatever contract I’m negotiating or new client I’m trying to sign to have room for sex, which also means finding a man who’s not a client. Anymore, that almost seems impossible, considering the rate we’re signing new clients at DMG.

Alex finishes whatever magic he has been working behind my back and then steps backward so that we’re far enough apart for him to extend the jersey to me. The spot is almost gone, needing nothing more than a quick soak.

A cocky smirk tugs at his mouth, and I can’t stop thinking about his lips and how I’d like them to explore my body along with his tongue. It’s been far too long since I’ve had sex, and now, I feel trapped in a tiny room with a very large man who is doing things to me that do not make sense because he’s barely even touched me.

“You s

hould probably go change your panties before your boyfriend finds out how wet I’ve made you.”

Embarrassed, I slap my hand over my mouth, forgetting I have Rico’s jersey in my hand. I can taste the laundry detergent, which makes this moment a lot more humiliating than it needs to be.

I want to shout that Jamie isn’t my boyfriend or say something that would prove otherwise, but I’m a coward and too used to using Jamie as my crutch. While Alex is not my direct client, he’s still a client of DMG, and that alone is a good reason why I need to forget this ever happened and act normal.

So, I do what feels right and walk out of the room without another word.

Alex

For the third night in a row, Charlotte has nightmares so terrifying that her screams pull me from my bedroom and into hers. The shrill sound of her voice and the way she calls for her father are so painful to hear, as if someone is murdering her in her sleep, that I crawl into her bed and pull her into my arms, cradling her like a baby.

As she sobs, I lean back against the headboard and tell Charlotte it will be all right, running my hands down her arms to soothe her. I’ve had nothing more than what most would consider long naps since I moved into the spare bedroom across the hall. Between getting up at the asscrack of dawn to drive over to New Jersey for practice and sitting with Charlotte until early morning, I barely shut my eyes before the alarm goes off. Now, I’m still up from the day before from a migraine that’s been rattling my skull, refusing to go away. I’ve had it since I woke up in Charlotte’s apartment and made the deal to stay with her for one week.

It’s worked out well that we have a string of home games this week. That won’t last long because, on Monday, we’re leaving for Los Angeles, playing along the West Coast until we make our way back to Philly. Away games are the hardest with moving between the bus and different hotels, the constant shuffling to various cities and living out of a duffel bag. In all my years in the league, I never really settled into a home. I never found the point in buying a house, only to pack up and go six months out of the year. But it feels nice to be in bed with a woman who makes me want to stay in one place for more than a few days.

Charlotte’s tears soak my bare chest, and she clings to me for dear life. Her grip around my waist is so tight, I have no doubt, she’ll leave her fingerprints on my skin. I swipe the sweat-matted strands of her caramel hair out of her face and lean down to plant a kiss on her forehead. Seeing this side of Charlotte, I want nothing more than to protect her from the pain, from the nightmares that keep waking her from a sound sleep.

My hands are still shaking like I have a medical condition because I guess I technically do. I am lucky no one on my team knows me well enough to spot the signs of withdrawal. I’m not addicted though, and I like to think that I can beat this on my own. But I’m weak, and if I go back to my apartment, it won’t be long before I get bored and anxious enough to run to the store for a six-pack. The thought of having one sip of alcohol to take off the edge becomes more appealing as the hours pass.

Except now I have Charlotte, who’s beautiful and strong yet fragile and sad, and she needs me. After crying for twenty minutes, she opens her eyes and wipes the tears away with her thumb.

“Alex,” she whispers, looking up at me, her voice unsteady, “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I don’t know why the nightmares are coming back. It’s been years since I’ve had one.”

“Shh, shh.” I stroke her hair and twirl the ends around my fingers. “I want to be here with you. You can’t control what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

She cracks a tiny smile, brings her hand to my face, and runs her fingers along my jaw. “You don’t look so hot. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be okay. Right now, let’s focus on you.” I peel her hand from my face and bring it to my lips. With Charlotte, this level of intimacy is beyond sex, and while I’m dying to get in her pants, what we’re doing here is something I have never really done before—connecting on an emotional level.

Since she doesn’t speak, only nods her head in acknowledgment, I continue, “I dated a girl who was obsessed with tarot cards, zodiac signs, and interpreting dreams. She swore that dreams had a deeper meaning and that they could help you solve your problems. Back then, I never remembered any of my dreams. I thought she was a crackpot, but she was hot, so I put up with her craziness.” That remark gets a snicker and an eye roll from Charlotte. At least she finds it amusing. “After my dad died, I kept seeing his face in my head. It was the worst highlight reel I’d ever watched, and it wouldn’t stop playing. I couldn’t forget how he looked in that hospital bed with all those wires and tubes connected to his face and arms. Instead of recalling the last thing he said to me, all I can think about is how he didn’t look like himself anymore. He was sedated, so I never got to say good-bye.”

Choking back her tears, she says, “What was the last thing your father said to you? It’s important you remember that. For me, it was a promise from my father that he wasn’t able to keep. People always leave. They always let you down. That’s what I took away from my father.”

“Before game one of the finals, my dad stopped by the locker room to give me his usual pep talk full of obscure sports quotes and references.”

“That sounds like your dad,” Charlotte says, running her fingers down my bare thigh.

I was lying in bed, watching TV in boxer briefs and no shirt, before I heard her screaming. I didn’t even think to put clothes on, and now that she has her hands on me, the heat from her touch is going straight to my balls, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate. But this isn’t the time to start thinking about Charlotte in inappropriate ways, not when we’re sharing so much of ourselves with each other.