Full Contact Page 3

  It’s my fault we arrive at Whiskey Jacks a full thirty minutes late. I took my time getting ready. For some screwed-up reason, I wanted to not only feel good but look the part as well. It took me nearly an hour to scan through my closet trying to decide what to wear.

  I ended up settling on a pair of black leather shorts, a light blue halter top, and my new pair of black stilettos my mother sent along with Dad for me as a gift for getting Liam to sign.

  After seeing my angry dad off at the airport hours after the big meeting, I called her to not only thank her but to ask her how she knew he would.

  At first, she claimed it was because of who I am. Who my blood is and the fact I’m a combination of two very determined people. Then she went on to tell me that it’s easy to hide guarding your heart with an impenetrable shield because no one can see or feel it except you, but the outside of a person is what everyone sees. And just like I knew all along, my family, especially my parents, saw right through me when it comes to my feelings for Liam.

  We talked the entire drive home. I poured my heart out through tears that made it hard to climb out of my car when I pulled into my garage. I admitted how I’ve never gotten over him, how every man I’ve tried to date since never came close to the man he is. Not a one of them has what he does. My heart.

  Somehow, I managed to get out of my car and hang up, with her promising not to tell my dad I lost it. If she did, he would be right back out here shadowing my every move or punching Liam in the face. Which he wanted to do when he demanded everyone leave the room.

  I miss her. I miss everyone in my family. Even my pesky little brother. I’m counting down the days until they all fly out here for the first preseason game.

  I jump when the door of the car slams and brings me back to the predicament I’ve gotten myself in. I look at my date and bite my lip to hold in my laugh as he strides around the front of his car with a skip in his step. He is like a flea. Constantly going from one question to another without giving me ample time to answer. A nice guy, just not my type.

  There’s only one man who has ever been my type. He doesn’t walk with a skip. He walks with a powerful stride that starts with his firm legs, moves up his thick thighs, and connects with a firm ass that leads into a rippling stomach, broad shoulders, and hands that are rough and big. I noticed everything physical about Liam Blake the day he put me in my place with his eyes boring into my scarred soul.

  It’s been nearly three weeks of non-stop meetings since he signed the contract. I’ve been finalizing sponsorships, setting up press conferences, flying all over the country, and avoiding Liam as much as he’s avoided me.

  The same night he signed the contract, I lay awake for hours thinking this whole situation through while running my hands across my lips. He tasted like anger, resentment, and memories.

  His dark eyes, his face that stopped me in my tracks has been driving me out of my head since he walked away, leaving me turned on and so pissed off that if I didn’t want to set things right between us, I would have called one of my bodyguards to lock him in a room, so I could slap the shit out of him. The man has some nerve to leave me unsettled after kissing me while covering my body with his, his hard cock pressing into my thigh, and walking away leaving me breathless and rooted to the table.

  I accepted the feelings I still had for him a long time ago, and I knew with all that I am he wouldn’t feel the same. I guess I never realized just how much he really hated me until he stared me down.

  He had fire shooting out of his eyes, steam billowing out of his mouth with every word he seemed to struggle to get out, and an attitude that needs a major adjustment. It’s deserved, but I had my reasons, and he damn well knows that.

  He doesn’t know the real reason because you’ve kept it hidden.

  “Thanks, Ned.” I grab my bag, step out of the car, and try to wiggle my fingers free when he takes hold of my hand. I should never have agreed to go out with this man.

  I only did because he’s my secretary’s cousin. Sage has been riding my ass to go have some fun since the day I hired her. She’s gone on and on about the excitement and nightlife of downtown Boise. I’ve heard about bands playing in the streets on summer nights and all the quaint bars nestled along Main Street.

  I haven’t had the time. I’ve been driven to make this team succeed and secretly plotting to get a certain dark-haired man to move here. One I’ve accomplished; the other is defeating me every day.

  “It’s about time,” Sage comments as we approach the table. I take a look around; the place is packed. Wall to wall bodies everywhere. You would think after being raised in New York, where every night of the week is a party, that I would be used to this. I’m not. In fact, the crowded place doesn’t do a thing to calm my nerves. It’s the complete opposite of a nightclub in New York, yet just as high energy with a friendly vibe.

  “I’m sorry, it was my fault,” I say and smile when Ned pulls out my stool for me to sit. “Hi, Jeremy,” I acknowledge Sage’s boyfriend. I can’t stand the toad. He treats her like shit and hounds her for season tickets daily. I might be inclined to give him a set if he’d keep a job. The man is as lazy as they come.

  “How’s it going? Have to tell you, Justice, I wasn’t digging the idea of bringing on Liam Blake as our quarterback at first. The man’s career was over with that neck injury, but he seems to be coming back. Must be all the money you're paying him.”

  What a fucking idiot.

  “I agree with you,” Ned adds.

  Make that two idiots.

  I turn my gaze to Sage, my eyes secretly telling her she better do something before my temper dances across the ceiling and I dust the floor with her boyfriend’s slicked-back head of hair. She isn’t taking my bait.

  “He didn’t almost die. He was blindsided, and it flared up his shoulder and neck. I hate to burst your little boy bubbles, but the man’s pay is none of your business. I brought him on because of his talent. While I appreciate the tacky compliment you gave him, he’s a great asset to our team. As valuable as everyone else.” Asshole little peasant fuckers, anyway.

  I will not start my evening out by sitting here with these two who think they can attack a man they know nothing about. Let alone their attitudes in trying to tell me how to run a football team. They would know the man is in the best shape of his life if they paid attention to our daily radio and local sports channel reports. Losers.

  It’s not my first encounter with this mentality, and it won't be my last.

  “Hey, settle down. Jesus, we were complimenting you and him. Babe, I think your boss needs something stiff to drink.”

  “I don’t need a drink, thanks anyway.” What I need is to get away from them. Or better yet, go home and grab my softball bat and break their damn knees. I’d be very good at that. After all, it’s in my blood. Although, I don’t want to think about what my family does tonight either.

  “Here, buy you and Ned a few shots. We’re going to dance.” Sage tosses two twenties on the worn table. Ask for a job while you’re at it, too.

  I sigh in relief. Thankful Sage finally reads my mind.

  “Don’t say a word,” she mentions, grabs my hand, and drags me to the dance floor before I have the chance to tell her once again that she can do better than that fuckface who has no morals whatsoever.

  “Well, I’m going to say more than a word. Jeremy might want to shut his mouth before I show him my mafia blood.”

  “No, you won’t. If anyone makes him bleed, you can have Alex or Jonathan fly out here and bust his head open. You need to let it go. Relax and have fun for once. And as far as Ned goes, he can fuck off with Jeremy. I’ve meant to break it off with him, and that comment pushed me over the edge. They are both assholes.”

  Well, good for her. Hell, have to give her bonus points for calling out her own cousin. I’m glad someone is finally taking the chance and jumping off the edge. I’ve been dangling there for years.

  “I love this song,” I holler. For the
first time in weeks, I feel my body start to relax when New Rules by Dua Lipa starts playing.

  Lifting my arms over my head and swaying my hips seductively to the music, I let the lyrics run over my skin. This song is about a woman needing to forget about her ex, to try and move on, set new goals, new rules in her life.

  The thing is, I don’t want to forget about mine. I want Liam in ways I’ve never wanted another man. I’ve regretted what I did to us since the day I walked out his door. At the time, I thought I was doing him a favor by not exposing him to my family. I wasn’t doing him or me a favor at all. What I did do was set myself up for more pain than I thought was possible. A lifetime of it.

  It was easy to ignore everything about Liam when I was out of the country. It was next to impossible when I returned. I felt sick every time I would see the ever-changing beautiful women dripping from his arms. He was always spotted with one, whether it be walking the streets or on the red carpet.

  I sigh. It seems sighing is all I’ve been able to do lately.

  “You look pretty damn convincing to everyone around you, but you can't fool me. I work alongside you every day. I know all about you and Liam, and you, my friend, are hurting. Maybe you should set some new rules on how to win him back.”

  I stop moving and open my eyes. “You’re full of shit if you think he’ll allow me to set rules with him. He’s made it perfectly clear he won’t come near me by sending Coach Wiley or his agent to talk to me when he wants to know something. To me, that’s a clear indication he wants nothing to do with me other than playing for my team. I’m not the type of woman to play games with him, Sage.”

  She lifts her brows, a wide smile spreading across her face. “I’m not talking about playing games. I’ll leave that to him and the team for the field. Think about what you just said. This is your team, Justice. For whatever reason, fate brought this entire football team to you. Don’t waste any more time. Show him who's boss and go after the other half of what brought you here. You and I both know your family didn’t force you to take this job. You took it to be closer to him and the sport he loves.”

  “You’re not telling me something I don’t already know,” I yell over the music that has now turned slow.

  “Yes, I am. You had intentions beyond getting him here. Look, you’ve admitted to me that you would have sought him out before he was injured, and now that he’s here, you’ve done nothing but sulk and fly around the country doing things that you as an owner don’t need to do. I get you want to be hands-on. But for shit’s sake, put your hands on him. You can believe what you want, but I see him watching you when you stand on the sidelines during practice. The man isn’t over you any more than you are him. Get off your pity cloud and go after him.”

  I pin my friend with a jaw-dropping stare. Only I don’t drop my jaw; I take what she’s saying straight to my soul. I contemplate hard on what she means and what I can do to at least get Liam to talk to me. I meant it when I said I’m not the type to play games. Not when it comes to him or getting what I want.

  The song changes again; an upbeat old and yet still popular dance song strums through the speakers. The crowd starts singing along. I begin to move again, my mind spiraling out of control on what to do or where to even start. I’ve just gotten into the groove of shaking my ass when big hands grip a hold of my hips. I grind my ass up against him, and when I turn around, it’s not the man I want. It’s Ned, and he wastes no time at all in smashing his lips to mine.

  4

  Liam

  I’ve canceled my date for the evening. Natasha something or other. Hated to do it to her after meeting her at the gym and promising her she could show me around town.

  I don’t need her or anyone else showing me around. Well, maybe one person, but I can’t seem to pull my head out of my ass to try and apologize to her. I’m afraid I’ll say something I’ll regret again, and in my position regret needs to stay as far away from me as I’ve been of Justice.

  I step into the crowded bar called Whiskey Jacks. The few locals I’ve talked to say it’s the happening joint in downtown Boise, even on weekdays. The scene is not my usual. Especially at the moment, since half of the people in here have stopped talking, mouths dropping to the floor when I walk by.

  My mood is shit, so I nod and smile. Shake a few guys’ hands and keep moving.

  I came here to play football and seek revenge. It seems revenge has a funny and twisted way of blowing back on me. I’m experiencing it firsthand with every glimpse of the only woman I’ve ever loved. She’s everywhere.

  Thoughts and dreams on the field. Hell, she’s even in my bed at night when I have my hand wrapped around my dick.

  Seeing her is gutting me. It draws back so much pent-up frustration that there are days when I wished I hadn’t let my injury get as far as it did. If it didn’t, I might not be here right now, might not have admitted that my feelings for her are still alive and burning inside of me.

  I knew my shoulder was causing me issues before it gave out on me. Little did I know that a flare-up of bone spurs caught in between my muscles would trigger my shoulder to freeze.

  It happened so fast when I threw the ball down the field that I had no time to react before I was slammed into from both sides, heard it crunch with the impact from the ground. It shattered and ripped all the way up my neck. It fucked me all up.

  Enough to where I had two surgeries within three months, multiple therapy sessions, and a backup quarterback who finished out the season and took our team to the playoffs. The guy respectively ended up taking over my position.

  I was let go during negotiations. I knew I would eventually heal, but there was no way in hell I was sitting on the sidelines watching someone else do my job. It’s not in my DNA. Football is the one true love that’s never let me down. I get a natural high every single time I step on the football field. My mom always reminds me how I carried around footballs since I was one.

  “Shit,” I grumble to myself, shaking my thoughts free. Justice Bexley has poisoned everything in my life. Now even thoughts of football take me right to her.

  I suppose they should, being that she’s technically my boss and the sight of her gets my dick hard and raises my blood pressure to the roof the few times I’ve caught her watching us practice. She’s going to be involved in my life more than she was when we were dating.

  The thought of her owning me in a way has me wanting to prove to her more than to myself that I’m ready to help this team, her family, and the fans bring us to the top.

  “What can I get you, number eleven?” The busty redhead leans over the bar more than necessary, giving me quite the cleavage show.

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek to bait the nasty words I want to spew back at her. Ever since the first press conference announcing my arrival, shit like this happens everywhere I go. After Justice left me, I loved it; hell, I welcomed it. Now, it’s old and quite pathetic.

  Even the way some of the female reporters act drives me nuts. I’ve rolled my eyes more than I’ve answered their questions.

  “Shit,” I mutter. My mind taking me to the press conference coming up. If I thought the first meeting was hell, then this one with her will be hell on damn steroids. Playing nice with the camera all the while sitting next to Justice. Her scent making me drunk and hard as fucking stone. Yeah, not a good sign for the press. No doubt in my mind they won’t feel and see the tension. Wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they aren’t circling around us like sharks just waiting to ask about our past either.

  That ought to be a goddamn stampede gone wild.

  “Crown and coke. Double.” I turn on the barstool pretending to study the crowd, hoping the woman behind the bar remembers she’s here to do a job and not pick me up. This will be my last drink for a long time. Hell, shouldn’t even be having it in the first place, but I’m only human, after all.

  “Here you go, handsome.” She slides the clear tumbler full of dark amber liquid my way.

  I pull out
a twenty and slide it across the bar before going to another barstool in the corner. I take one pull of the drink feeling the whiskey burn all the way down. In an odd way, the fiery liquid calms my already hyped-up, fueled nerves.

  That is until I see a flash of blonde hair shaking her sweet ass on the dance floor. My spine stiffens along with something else when my eyes stay glued to her backside. Fucking hell.

  Once I focus in on the vision, I swear out loud to everyone and no one at all. “Son of a bitch.”

  Those damn leather shorts are tight as hell, and those legs of hers that go on for days have always been my greatest weakness. Back then, she knew it and would expose them all the time. Justice is fit athletically. That sweet body of hers is combined with curves that were created to drive men wild. I stare at her long, exposed legs rocking with the song. “Hey, Blake.”

  I hear a distant voice but ignore it, choosing to watch Justice dance with another woman. The friend's face is familiar. I know I should be able to place it, but I can’t focus on a damn thing except for that tight little ass.

  Fingernails run along my shoulder, forcing me to look away from the dance floor. A petite little brunette this time. A damn gorgeous one at that. Voluptuous body and a face to match, but she does nothing to my rock-hard dick desperately trying to punch a hole through my zipper.

  I’m so damn distracted I offer up a weak smile and glance back to the dance floor to see a man walk up behind Justice and grab her from behind. His hands are touching my favorite thing I’ve ever held in my hands. Her.

  I see every single shade of red. It’s one thing to have to be around the woman, but it’s something totally different when another man is involved. Justice spins around, and the soon-to-be dead man wastes no time putting his mouth on hers.

  Hell to the motherfucking no.

  It’s the final straw that snaps me in half. A broken man seeing white-hot flashes scatter all around and not thinking rationally isn’t a good combination, but it’s a force so torrid I lose all sense of control.