The game against the Arizona Red Devils kicked my ass. In fact, on my ass is where I spent too much of that game. I swear their defensive coordinator had one scheme: blitz, blitz, and blitz. Forget about blocking. It was all I could do to put myself in the way of their linebackers as they blew through our O-line and into our backfield almost before Dally dropped the ball in Patterson’s hands after Patty called “Hike!”
In the second half, I managed to run a couple of clean routes and even caught a pass for a teeder, but the final score showed that we played flat while the Devils brought their A game. At 42-35 it wasn’t a thrashing, and we were in it until the last two minutes, but as Coach reminded us in the locker room, on the bus, and again in film, a loss is a loss. One point or one hundred points, it doesn’t matter on our record. The loss dropped us from sole possession of first in our conference to tied with our rivals, the Eastern Idaho Panthers.
It didn’t take a genius to know I’d be spending a fair amount of time in practice with the blocking sleds. Clearly, I also needed to up my game in the weight room. At 6’5” and 240, I’m not a small man. But the way Arizona’s linebackers manhandled me, I may as well have been a guy half my size. Walking into the locker room after the final whistle pissed off and more than a little embarrassed was not an experience I cared to repeat.
But when I parked my truck and discovered Jamaica waiting for me in the lobby of her dorm, all that anger and disappointment melted away.
“Hello, Hotshot. How are you?”
“I feel human.”
She arched a brow. “As opposed to what?”
“A walking ouch.” I reached my hand out to snag hers. “Come here.”
Wrapping my other arm around her, I hauled her in for the kiss I’d needed since I’d walked out of her dorm three nights before. As always, those pouty lips molded perfectly to mine, her greedy little tongue licking and sucking mine in that hot, passionate way that set my body on fire. The sizzling way she kissed me told me she’d missed me too.
Nearby someone cleared their throat, and with a groan, I pulled out with a series of soft presses of my lips to hers. Past Jamaica’s shoulder, the desk clerk winked and nodded in the direction of a group of girls openly watching me with my woman.
“Sorry, Callahan. I might have been carried away for a minute.” She put a sliver of daylight between us. “Even though you said you feel human, after that game, I’m sure you’re sore.”
Lowering my voice for her ears only, I said, “That groan was for a different pain, Island Girl.” In case she misunderstood, I waggled my brows for clarification.
“It’s only been three days,” she hissed.
“Judging by that kiss, it’s been three weeks for you too.” The side of my mouth tugged up at her contrary snort. “Come on, babe. We can talk about how much you missed me over dinner. I’m starving.”
Before she could shoot me a snarky retort, I headed for the glass double doors with her hand still grasped firmly in mine. Opening the driver’s door on my truck parked in the circular drive in front of her dorm, I gestured for her to hop in. She was still sliding across the bench seat when I climbed in behind her. Slipping my hand beneath the curls at the nape of her neck, I stilled her for another kiss I couldn’t resist.
When at last I let us up, her unfocused gaze told me all about how my kisses affected her too. A couple of blinks returned those gorgeous greens to the present from the wonderland of her kissing me back. “Um, I thought you were starving.”
“I was, so I enjoyed an appetizer.” It took work to keep my face impassive as I turned the key and fired up my truck.
As she clipped her seat belt on, she clarified, “Starving for dinner.”
“I’m starving for that too.” This time I couldn’t keep the smirk in check. But in the rearview I caught her secret smile.
Deciding to take care of the unpleasant part of the evening on the drive to the restaurant, I asked, “What did you think of the game?”
“You mean other than the final score sucked?”
“Yeah.”
She rested her hand on my thigh, giving me the barest squeeze. “I’m still learning the game, but it looked like you were overwhelmed by their double teams.”
Beneath her touch my muscles went rigid.
Lightly running her palm down and up my thigh, she added, “But then you’d break free and run a perfect route and catch a pass. That touchdown you made was epic.”
I relaxed. “For someone who’s still learning the game, you talk football pretty damn well, Island Girl.”
With a shrug, she said, “It’s a big part of who you are. If I want to figure you out, I need to learn about what takes up the majority of your time.”
I tossed her a side-eye. “You want to figure me out?”
She kind of slid down in the seat. “Maybe.”
“I’m an open book, babe. Anything important you want to know about me, you already know.”
“Is that right?” she drawled.
“I enjoy school, and like you, I’m good at it. I love football, and I’m good at that too.” I covered her wandering hand with mine, mostly because I didn’t want to earn a driving award for speeding. “When it comes to dating you, I’m all in.”
“What about your family?”
“What about them?”
“You haven’t told me much. I’m curious.”
Letting go of her hand, I wheeled us into the parking lot of the fancy steakhouse where I’d made our reservations. As we climbed out of the truck, I laced my fingers with hers and led her to the door when she acted like she wanted to drag her feet.
The hostess smiled as we entered. “Hello, Mr. O’Reilly. Let me show you to your table.”
Jamaica’s brows went up. “Mr. O’Reilly?” she mouthed.
Grinning, I ushered her in front of me to follow the hostess to a quiet booth near the back.
Once we were seated with our menus, she said, “Is the hostess knowing you on sight one of the perks of playing for a winning team?”
“That and I do ads for this place, which means you don’t have to hold back on what you order. Choose whatever you want.”
“So you’re not some Richie Rich whose family can afford dinner at a place like this.” It was a statement rather than a question as she toured our opulent surroundings with her eyes.
Answering the implied question, I said, “Standard family. Dad, Mom, my younger sisters Cassie and Cora, and my older brother Callum. Oh, and Archie, our cat who’s the size of a small car, and Theo, our rescue mutt who thinks it’s his job to make sure Archie exercises every day.” I chuckled.
Following her lead, I glanced around the room, catching the understated dove-gray of the walls that set off the deep burgundy in the thick, patterned upholstery of the booths and the pads of the heavy wooden chairs at the tables. The quiet elegance of crystal and china place settings waiting on reserved tables reflected the soft glow of candlelight with a quiet elegance.
“If not for my ad deal with this place, I’d probably never step foot in it except if we won a championship or something. Then my dad would probably suck it up and make a couple of credit card payments to bring the family here.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly from her ears. “Not rich then.”
“Solidly middle class, babe. Dad owns a plumbing company and Mom takes care of his books.”
She continued her perusal of our surroundings. “I’ve never stepped foot in a place like this.” Glancing down at herself, she whispered, “I’m not even close to dressed for it.”
When I’d texted to let her know what time I’d pick her up, I’d asked her to wear a dress. The clingy long-sleeve number that stopped a touch above her knees looked stunning on her. The riot of colors in its floral design was pure Jamaica. Paired with thin black leggings and a sweet pair of black ankle boots, she looked sophisticated and hot. I clocked more than one guy eyeing her as we wound our way through the tables to our booth.
“You look gorgeous.” I slid around to sit beside her. “Trust me. You fit in here just fine.” Beneath the white tablecloth I slid my palm along her thigh, giving her an encouraging squeeze. With my other hand I flipped open the heavy leather-bound menu. “I’m in the mood for steak tonight with prawns on the side. Unless the special is truly special. What looks good to you?”
“Callahan,” she whispered. “The appetizers cost more than I make in a shift at the sweet shop.”
Giving her thigh another soft squeeze, I said, “Don’t worry about the prices. Like I said, I get a deal.”
Her downturned expression worried me.
Sliding my fingertips beneath her chin, I drew her attention to my face. “I brought you here to impress you. Dinner tonight is one hundred percent my treat. I’m not loaded, but no matter what you order, I promise you won’t break the bank. Not even close.” For a long minute I held her eyes with mine. “Please, babe. Let me impress you. Relax and enjoy yourself.”
She gave me a tiny nod. From the little she’d shared with me, Jamaica didn’t come from much, which was why I wanted to treat her to the fanciest restaurant in town. I thought it would make her happy. Instead I’d made her self-conscious. Fuck.
When the server arrived to take our order, she killed me when she asked for water instead of a drink and ordered the chicken pasta—the least expensive item on the menu. But I let it go and ordered the steak and prawns—my favorite—and a beer. At least she relaxed a bit once the server had taken the menus away.
“Um, not to rub salt in the wound, but you guys lost the game last night. What are we celebrating?” she asked.
I slid my arm around her shoulders. “I have a Saturday night and a full Sunday completely free. That’s always a reason to celebrate.”
With a thoughtful tilt of her head, she said, “With your schedule I guess you would want to celebrate the odd Sunday off.” The side of her mouth tipped up. “It’s good your open weekend happened to fall on my one open weekend of the month.”
“See? You get it, what with your on-call responsibilities and whatnot.”
“Kinda. Strangers don’t recognize me on sight and want to sleep with me because I’m an RA.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The hostess.” She bumped her shoulder into my chest. “Come on, Hotshot, don’t tell me you didn’t notice the way she devoured you with her eyes when we walked in.”
“You mean like the way half the men in this place were undressing you with theirs when we walked through?”
Bubbling her lips, she blew off my comment. “Everyone in this place was watching you.” Her gorgeous greens teased me. “With your size and your athletic grace, you command a room. But that’s not news to you.”
“With your sassy walk and gorgeous curves and all that luscious hair, you draw all the attention.” I ran a finger along her jaw and would have stolen a kiss if the server hadn’t chosen that exact minute to deliver our food.
As we enjoyed our dinner, I finally took the hint at the way she kept stealing glances at my prawns and offered her one. Though her expression was both mischievous and adorable when I forked one onto her plate, the way she took her time savoring it broke my heart. My girl truly wasn’t used to such luxury as an expertly cooked meal.
“You said it’s only you and your mom. Any cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles?”
Her focus studiously remained on her plate as she slowly chewed and swallowed a bite of shrimp, chasing it down with a sip of water. “No. My grandparents pretty much disowned my mom when she dropped out of college after one year to have me. She has two older brothers, but she doesn’t talk about them, and I’ve never met them.”
“Fuck, Jamaica. That sucks.” Thoughts of my own extended family with fifteen cousins and two sets of grandparents who called after every game to tell me how proud of me they were flashed through my head.
“It’s no big deal. Mom made sure I had everything I need, and she never passes up an opportunity to tell me how much she loves me.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s hard to miss what you never had.”
In the past couple of months since we’d started dating, I’d figured out most of her tells. When she slipped into that shell of feigned indifference, I knew not to press.
After signaling the server over to our table, I asked for a dessert menu.
“Seriously?” Her laughter washed over me like a summer rain. “You ate half a cow, and you still have room for dessert?”
Shooting her a look from beneath my brows, I said, “What part of ‘college athlete’ did you miss? It takes calories to keep my motor running, Island Girl.”
When the server returned with the menu, I laid it on the table between us. “What looks delicious to you?”
Her eyes saucered, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Slapping my hand on the menu, I covered up the prices.
“Now, answer the question. What would you like for dessert?”
“I’m pretty full.”
“No one is too full for dessert.”
When the server returned, Jamaica still hadn’t decided. Deliberately, I suspected. So I took care of it for her.
“We’ll have the chocolate-hazelnut mousse and the cherry cheesecake. And two glasses of dessert wine,” I said as I handed the menu back to the guy who’d had trouble keeping his eyes off my girl every time he arrived at our table.
“Callahan—”
“This is only first dessert.” Leaning in, I whispered in her ear, “We’ll have second dessert in private.” Then I brushed a kiss over the corner of her jaw and grinned at the tiny shiver that rippled through her at my touch.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“You’re delicious.”
I brushed a second kiss over her jaw as I idly played with the curls at the back of her neck.
“We’re in public. In a ritzy place, no less,” she hissed.
“I’m keeping it PG when all I want to do right now is slide my hands under your dress and run my fingertips all over your satiny skin.” Caging her in my arms, I ran my nose along her jaw while I toyed with the hem of her dress across the top of her thigh and delighted in the way she clamped her thighs together.
She remained still as though if she even took a breath we might lapse into an R-rated make-out session. Considering the half-hard state of my cock at the moment, that wasn’t entirely out of the question.
A throat clearing beside the table alerted me the server was waiting with our dessert. With one last peck on her cheek, I let her go and gestured for the server to set the mousse in front of her and the cheesecake in front of me. In the end, we traded bites of our treats, sharing them down to the last scrapes of syrup on our plates.
When the check came, I turned my back to her to keep her from seeing the tab, slid my credit card in the wallet, and tipped the server for the full price of the meal rather than for the forty percent charge that was my discount. With my hand at the base of her spine, I ushered her ahead of me out of the restaurant and did my best to ignore the appreciative stares of some of the male patrons—until one in particular caught my eye.
Tory’s dad, Cecil “Buzz” Miller, sat at a table in the corner behind the hostess stand. He was an alumni donor, nothing more, no matter how much control he thought his money commanded over the guys playing for the Wildcats. Still, his narrow-eyed glare at Jamaica as we walked by soured the lingering taste of dessert in my mouth.