The Southern Nights Series Page 16

  Kam exhales. He’s mustering his drive.

  “I’m going to miss you.” He rests his hands on my hips.

  I lean over and whisper seductively in his ear, “It’s only two days, and when you get home, we’ll have a good time of our own.”

  Kam emits a little growl as he digs his fingertips into my waist. I smile to myself, my All-star is coming around.

  We share an elongated, steamy kiss that fogs the bedroom windows and leaves me winded.

  “Are you sure you want to wait until I get back?” Kam asks with his eyes closed and breathing labored. I can’t help but respond, and just as I go to climb on top of him, our intercom buzzes.

  “Shit. That’s Rodney.” Kam falls back onto our shiny, sparkly comforter I insisted on having.

  “Better get that.” I pat his chest.

  “Yeah,” he huffs, disappointed.

  “Oh, stop,” I scold him. “Go. Please have some fun. Crush it on the golf course. It will feed your competitive appetite.”

  “I guess.” He sits up and steals one more emotive kiss before the buzzer goes off again. “Fucker.”

  I laugh before running to get the door. Our condo isn’t huge, but it’s definitely spacious enough with its large, modern, eat-in kitchen, living room with views of the Hudson River, and double-port entryway. I swing open the front door to a smiling Rodney. Rodney Pines is a running back for New York but a big ol’ country boy at heart. He and Kam hit it off right away.

  “Hey, Lanes! Is the man ready?” Rodney strolls in wearing a tight black T-shirt and worn out Levis.

  “As I’ll ever be.” Kam appears in a very similar outfit, but his jeans are cut a bit more modern and hang lower on his hips. The man wears clothes like a damn model, but it’s the fitted baseball cap that gets me. He’s adorably hot when he’s not even trying.

  “What are you grinning at?” Kam asks as he drops his bag at my feet.

  “My Mister Perfect.” I dot a kiss on his lips.

  “You know I’m not perfect.” His tone is distressed.

  “You know that’s not true,” I disagree. “You’re perfect for me.”

  “Awww, you two are so nauseatingly cute. Let me take a picture.” Rodney pretends to snap away.

  “You and your pictures.” Kam swipes at him.

  “Everyone needs a hobby.” Rodney picks up Kam’s bag. “I also think I threw up in my mouth a little.”

  “Don’t be jealous, Rodney,” I tease him.

  “Trust me, I’m not.” He’s somewhat serious. “We’re gonna be late. I don’t want to hear a plane full of complaints.”

  “I’m with ya.” Kam slides an arm around my waist. “What are ya gonna do while I’m away?” He kisses my neck.

  “Think naughty thoughts about you,” I announce just to make Rodney uncomfortable.

  “Aww, jeez. Maybe I’m a little jealous now.” Rodney slings Kam’s bag over his shoulder.

  “I’ll meet you at the car.” Kam chases Rodney away.

  “You got five minutes.”

  “Plenty of time.” Kam presses me against the wall, a wicked look in his light blue eyes.

  “Not nearly enough time,” I dispute.

  “Seriously, dry heaving here,” Rodney yells from out of sight.

  Kam and I both crack up. It’s good to see him smile. Genuinely smile.

  “Lemon, don’t send me away knowing you’re going to be all hot and bothered.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Taking care of you is my job.”

  “And you do it exceptionally well.” I lean in and press my lips to his, slipping just the tip of my tongue into his mouth.

  “Don’t tease me, Laney.”

  “I’m not. I’m sending you away with expectations.”

  “Very dirty expectations.”

  “As dirty as you want them to be,” I promise.

  “Jesus, I love you, woman.”

  “I’m one of a kind,” I toy.

  “That is the fucking truth.” He crushes me against the wall with another heart-stopping embrace. “Are you sure five minutes isn’t enough time?” Kam presses his raging erection against me.

  “Definitely not. I don’t want Rodney pulling you off me right in the middle.”

  “A fucking herd of wild horses couldn’t pull me away while I’m inside you.”

  Kam’s phone rings. And there is reality returning.

  “Go,” I encourage him. “Sunday night I’m all yours.”

  “You’re all mine for the rest of your life.” He steps back, adjusts himself, then takes my hand and kisses my engagement ring.

  “I’ve been all yours since the moment we met,” I reluctantly admit.

  “Don’t I know it.” Kam grins triumphantly. Such a cocky shit. But that’s why I love him. His confidence shines like the sun, and his heart is as big and as deep as the ocean. He’s one of a kind.

  Kam pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “I’m comin’.”

  He hangs up then groans. It’s sexy, even though it’s a frustrated sound.

  “I’m going to start a wedding registry with my mom later today,” I reveal my real plans. “I’ll pick out a few things, and then we can pick out the rest together.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Your mom will like that. Quality time.”

  “Yeah. She’s all about this wedding. It’s pretty nice having her around.”

  “I can tell how much you like spending time with her.” Kam swipes the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip.

  “I am overly blessed with amazing people in my life.”

  “Lemon, it’s us who’re blessed. Trust me on that.” Kam swipes his lips over mine this time. The sweet, loving contact makes my scalp tingle. “Make sure you put a sterling silver grill set on that registry. I’m planning on some big family cookouts in the future.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll make sure to register for a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, too.”

  “Long as it’s pink,” Kam cracks.

  “Done.” I giggle. I plan to find one with ruffles, too. That image would go viral, no doubt.

  Kam’s phone rings again, and we both acknowledge it’s really time for Kam to go.

  “Be good. Miss me a lot.” Kam steals one more kiss.

  “You know I always do.”

  “Me, too, baby. Me, too.”

  Kam

  I CLIMB THE stairs of the private jet right behind Rodney. We’re the last to arrive, and as soon as we step inside the luxury liner, we’re showered with boos and pelted with balled-up napkins.

  “It was his fault!” Rodney throws me under the bus as he shields himself from the spray of white paper bullets. “He was all huggin’ and kissin’ on his girl.” He wraps his arms around himself and makes kissy faces. I shove him.

  “He’s just complaining ‘cause he’s jealous.”

  “Just my dick is jealous. You have one fine piece of ass.”

  “Don’t make me punch you for calling Laney a piece of ass.”

  “You won’t have to, Q, she’ll punch him herself!” Stone, one of the lineman, contributes to the conversation from the back of the plane.

  “This is true,” I agree with him. My girl is as rough and tumble as she is smart and feminine.

  The whole team is stuffed into the rented plane for Telly’s bachelor party. His wedding is next Saturday, so we are celebrating his last weekend of freedom. The alcohol is already flowing, the music is pumping, and there is a party vibe infecting the small space. Usually, I would jump right on the band wagon, but even though there is a smile on my face, my heart just isn’t in it. Because all I see when I look at my fellow teammates’ faces is failure. I failed them. I failed myself, and I failed New York’s fans. Letting that win slip through my fingers tortures me every second of the day. I hear it, I see it, I feel it no matter where I am. Watching the ball sail into the hands of the opposing team’s defender, an action which essentia
lly relinquished the winning touchdown, will haunt me for the rest of my fucking life.

  The rest of my fucking life.

  Rodney and I sit in the last two open seats. They’re white leather and sleek as hell. Telly didn’t spare one expense. He went all out with the private charter, five-star hotel in Myrtle Beach, and a round of golf at the most high-end course in the area. We are going to be smokin’ Cubans and sippin’ Cognac all weekend long.

  I want to embrace what Laney said, to have a good time. And I want to be in good spirits for Telly, too, but the black cloud of disappointment and defeat is pouring down on me constantly. I barely have enough air to breathe, but I keep pushing forward, hoping the storm will break. But blue skies aren’t anywhere in sight.

  “Drink, Q?” Robert, my center, asks with a head nod. “We got beer, beer, and more beer for the plane ride.”

  “Hmmm . . .” I contemplate. “I think I’ll have a beer.”

  Rob launches a can at me. “Hey, keep up that show and you’ll be QB next year.” I crack it open, and it squirts a bit.

  “Shit, please.” He snorts. “Ain’t no one can walk in the great Kamdyn Ellis’s shoes.”

  Great. Yeah, right.

  I don’t entertain a response. I just smirk and sip my beer. It’s ice cold and goes down way too fucking easy.

  I feel Rodney scrutinize me, but I ignore him, pretending to enjoy myself like everyone else around me.

  Dinner last night was delicious, and the Bloody Mary’s on the course this morning are even better.

  It’s a beautiful, bright day. The sun is shining, the clouds are white and puffy, and the climate is perfectly comfortable.

  I haven’t had a chance to play golf in months, so I’m looking forward to swinging the clubs.

  I tee up on the first hole and whack a beauty seventy-five yards. It drops right next to the green.

  “Nice shot, QB.” Telly clasps me on the shoulder.

  “Thanks. Maybe if my football career doesn’t work out, I have a future in golf.”

  “Man, you got jokes.” Telly places his ball on the tee. He is wearing the loudest checkered pants known to man and the ugliest lime green shirt on the planet. Why golfing attire is so horrendous, I will never understand. And why men embrace it is an even bigger mystery.

  “Yeah, jokes.” Rodney gives me the same look now as he did on the plane. When I pointedly ignored him.

  Our foursome consists of Rodney, Telly, myself, and Landon Knobs, a rookie from the Midwest who apparently has zero golfing experience. He can run like hell down a football field, though.

  “Everyone take a step back,” Rodney announces as Landon tees up.

  “Shut up, dude. I got this.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Rodney vibrates. “I saw you at the driving range this morning. It was ugly.”

  “Fuck off.” Landon swings, and the ball soars into the trees.

  “That wasn’t even in the general direction of the green!” Rodney explodes.

  Landon turns around with a red face.

  “Cut me some fucking slack. I’ve never done this before!”

  “Obviously. That was just insulting. Bagger Vance is rolling over in his grave right now!”

  Me and Telly can’t help but snicker from the cart. This round is going to be comical if Rodney keeps riding Landon like this.

  Three holes later, Landon is about ready to strangle Rodney. Or beat him to death with a club. He hasn’t let up on him for a second, and the tension is running high.

  “These two be acting a fool.” Telly shakes his head as Rodney tries to direct Landon while he putts.

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” I laugh as I remove my sunglasses to clean them. Just then I hear “Fore!” and before I know it, I’m choking and sputtering for air on the ground.

  “Jesus Christ! You only call ‘fore!’ when you drive!” Rodney roars as the three of them hover over me. “You’re a menace to society holding a fucking golf club.”

  I clutch my neck as the throbbing pain blinds me.

  “Here.” Telly comes and goes in a flash before pressing a handful of ice to the side of my neck. He must have grabbed it from the cooler on the cart. “Can you breathe, Q?”

  I suck in a few deep breaths as my vision clears. “I’m good. Get me up.”

  Telly and Rodney haul me off the grass as I press the melting ice to my jugular.

  “Q, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Rodney just pissed me off, and I fucking swung.”

  I hold my hand up. There feels like a lump forming in my throat. “It’s okay,” I assure Landon. “Karma, I’m sure.”

  All three of them look at me oddly.

  “Did the ball hit your throat or your head?” Rodney asks.

  “Throat. For sure.” I drop my hand, and they all grimace.

  “Shit, that looks like the most painful hickey on Earth.”

  “Crap.” I pull my phone out and switch the camera view. Jesus. My neck is an angry black and blue, and if you look close enough, you can even see indentations from the divots on the golf ball.

  “Keep some ice on it, Q. You,”—Rodney points to Landon—“I’m confiscating your clubs. You’re a cerebral hemorrhage waiting to happen.”

  I wince, unpleasant memories from high school flooding me. I actually suffered from a cerebral hemorrhage and almost didn’t live to tell about it.

  “That’s bullshit. If you would just lay off and let me play . . .” Landon rushes him, and Telly gets between them.

  “Yo, chill. This is supposed to be fun. It’s my bachelor party. Things are just kicking up. I don’t want you at each other’s throats all weekend.”

  “Me neither,” I second the motion. “Especially if there will be casualties involved.”

  “Sorry. His swing is just so insulting.” Rodney rakes his hands through his hair.

  “Your fucking face is insulting,” Landon mumbles under his breath, but we all hear him perfectly clear.

  Telly breaks the tension with a loud belly laugh. “Stop playin’ already. I want to finish this round. I’m kicking all your asses.”

  “We’re letting you win,” Rodney gripes.

  “Sure, you are.” Telly rolls his black eyes, the large square diamonds in his ears glinting in the sunlight. He gives it a second thought. “Maybe Kam is.”

  “Definitely not.” I snort. I would never give up any kind of win. Ever.

  I walk over to the golf cart to take a load off and grab some more ice. Fucking thing stings.

  A minute later, Rodney joins me, leaving Landon and Telly to putt. Well, Telly is putting. Landon is stewing.

  Rodney takes a seat behind the wheel and reaches back for a cold one. He cracks it open, takes a sip, then stares me down. What the fuck is his problem now?

  “What?” I bite.

  “Want to tell me what all that karma bullshit was about?”

  “Huh?” I play dumb.

  “That comment about you getting hit being karma. What the fuck is the universe pissed at you about?”

  I roll my eyes and divert my attention away from him. I really don’t want to get into this.

  “Hey, I asked you a question.” He nudges me.

  “Are you wearing your asshole underwear today?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  I turn my head to look at him. “Yes.”

  “So, want to tell me what’s going through that thick noggin of yours?” He taps my head annoyingly, and I bat him away. “You’ve been acting weird lately.”

  “Just got shit on my mind.”

  “Is everything alright with Laney? The wedding?”

  I nod. “Everything is fine with us . . . it’s me . . .” I trail off.

  “You?” he probes. “You having cold feet?”

  “I have loser’s remorse.”

  “What in the hell is that?” he questions before he realizes. “You feel guilty? Because we lost?”

  I grit my teeth. “Because I’m the reason we lost.” There
, I said it. I’m the reason. I cost the entire team every second of their blood, sweat, and tears. Their time away from their family and all their faith in me. I’m the reason we lost it all.

  “You really are an egomaniac,” Rodney accuses.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we play football as a team. There is no one person who gets the blame when we win or lose.”

  “I threw a fucking interception. How am I not responsible?” I argue petulantly.

  “Allen fumbled, twice. Brice missed a block, and you were sacked repeatedly. The way I see it, we all had a hand in that loss.” He drains his beer then crushes the can against his forehead. I didn’t think anyone over the age of seventeen did that, but then I met Rodney and was proven completely wrong.

  “Hey, guys! Come get a load of this!” he shouts to Telly and Landon. “King QB thinks he’s the sole reason we lost the Super Bowl.”

  I could kill him right now. Like literally split his skull open with a sand wedge and leave him on the green to die.

  “Last time I ever confide in you,” I mumble irritably.

  “No, it’s not. I’m about to fix your noggin.”

  “You like that word, don’t you?” I ask, perturbed.

  “My pop uses it. A lot,” he admits.

  “What are you two over here jabbering about?” Telly leans on his putter, Mr. Smooth and Cool.

  “Kam thinks he’s the reason we lost. He’s carrying around ‘it’s all my fault’ baggage. What a damn ego. Take all the glory for the wins and all the blame for the losses.”

  “Isn’t that how it works? Quarterbacks, pitchers, centers. We are in the spotlight and get the gas and the fire.”

  “That is media bullshit. Team means together. No one person carries it all on their shoulders,” Rodney reasons.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t see it that way.”

  “Then look at it like this. You led us to the big game. We’re conference champs. Winning the Super Bowl just would have been gravy on top. But we are all proud,” Telly chimes in. “We have the best QB in the league, and it’s not just because you can throw a great pass. You’re a great leader. A great role model. A great friend. Losing that game sucked, but there is no one else I want to play for. You lose, we all lose. You win, we all win. And do you know what will be even sweeter?”