“I hate preseason,” Jack muttered. “Sitting on the bench makes me twitchy.”
My smile came easily even though we’d lost our first game because I did too. We weren’t supposed to say it out loud—telling our fans and the media that the practice was essential, that seeing the younger, more inexperienced players out on the field gave us a chance to watch how they performed.
But as the starting quarterback, I was forced to prowl the sidelines uselessly, feeding my backups play calls through a headset while watching them with a burning under my skin to be the one out on the field. It was clear enough why I couldn’t be, the risk of injury in a game that didn’t matter was too great, but that didn’t stop the drive for me to sprint out there anyway.
Instead of inflating Jack’s tirade, which had lasted our entire drive to the damned photoshoot and interview, I punched him in the shoulder. “Necessary evil, and you know it. They’ll never get rid of it.”
We’d decided to drive together since they really only needed us for the interview portion. Ava texted me earlier that we were combining the shoot and the interview because of Allie’s idea for behind-the-scenes footage, which meant we’d have to look like we weren’t complete slobs.
“I hate interviews,” I told him. “Since we’re in a sharing mood.”
Jack snickered. “You say that like anyone doesn’t know you hate interviews.” He started ticking off his points on his fingers, which I was not allowed to break, unfortunately. “Everyone on the team knows you hate them. The front office definitely knows you hate them. And I don’t know? Do you think the media knows you hate them? Yeah, let’s count them twice.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “You can’t blame me.”
Considering how much younger Jack was than me, he may not have been on the team when I was forced to deal with the fallout of Cassandra’s story, followed by her accident and the glorification of “single dad QB,” but he was old enough to remember it happening.
“No, I guess I can’t.” From the passenger seat, he glanced at me quickly. “Did you catch a lot of shit from PR about the article about Allie being a distraction?”
“A bit,” I told him. That was all I planned on telling him, too.
By now, that whole thing had blown over, the happy byproduct of a media with a predictably short attention span. But the night I saw the article—receiving an ear-blistering phone call from Ava and stemming a panic attack from Allie in my backyard—was one I did not care to repeat. For numerous reasons.
Seeing her staring at me the way she had when she couldn’t breathe, those big ocean blue eyes full of panic and fear and the sheer overwhelming size of what she was at the center of, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly felt ashamed about something I’d done. Not just what I’d said to the idiot journalist, who’d twisted my words exactly the way I’d feared he would, but also everything leading up to that moment.
Allie had no reason to trust me. In fact, showing me that soft underbelly of what she was going through should have lit every warning bell in her head. If I was a lesser man, a weaker man, it would be so easy to use it against her. Manipulate her into quitting, selling, going back to the undoubtedly easy life she had before Robert died.
The shame was tangible enough that I was showing up early at the address Ava had texted me, ready to do what I needed to do for this whole song and dance with SI. It was the realization that leadership took on humbling forms from time to time. Doing things that I wasn’t comfortable with, that I couldn’t control, was just another opportunity to show my teammates that I warranted they respect they gave me every single week out on the field, during the week in practice.
“This it?” Jack asked, leaning forward to squint out the windshield at a nondescript gray building covered with gray brick. There were a few cars and a large white work van in the parking lot, and a small plant in a square black planter next to the door, which was painted bright red.
“I guess so.”
Jack paused before he got out of my car. “Listen, I’m up for doing some shots with her for the cover because I think it would be bad as hell to have a Sports Illustrated cover under my belt, but I know they want us both.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Your point?”
“Just have an open mind about it. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
Except it was worse.
It must much, much worse.
Which was saying something, considering after said panic attack, I’d had a dream about a scantily clad Allie and then had to live through the little pool set up by my darling daughter.
We were shown down a long, brightly lit hallway by a smiling assistant, ushered into a massive room filled with lights under white canopies, solid color backdrops draped strategically from the industrial style ceiling. The black backdrop was sitting empty ignored, but there was an ornate gold chair in the middle of it. Through the milling bodies of photographer’s assistants, people with clipboards, Ava in the corner on her phone by a rack of clothes, and a hair and makeup setup that had me yanking on the collar of my shirt, there was Allie.
Jack and I froze when she came into view.
“Holy hell on earth,” I said under my breath.
Pointed at her was a fan, making her teased, curled hair blow across her face. Sex hair. That was what it looked like. She never stopped moving, no matter how the camera clicked or the flashes burst in bright, fast succession. Some of the people in the room watched her, but most were going about their business, completely used to a beautiful woman moving the way Allie was moving for the camera.
But I wasn’t used to it.
She was wearing black leather leggings, slicked tight to her long legs. On her feet were dangerously spiked red heels that matched the color of her lips. Moving slowly over her skin, pushing her hair out of her face and sliding against her bare stomach were her hands. Her hips pivoted back and forth in small, incremental movements. It registered somewhere in the back of my mind that there was music playing—something heavy with bass, a slow, pulsing beat with a guitar, and a rough, raw singing voice.
Allie hadn’t seen us, so immersed in what she was doing, and I couldn’t look away. Moving the way she was, eyes open and then shut, mouth curved in a smile and then set in a fierce line, she looked like a dancer. There was so much grace in every line of her raised arms—above her head, pushing her hair back—that I was completely entranced.
With tight fists, she gripped the sides of her black leather jacket, which was covering a white and red T-shirt that I recognized from some of the team’s licensed merchandise, and pulled it open, her head tilted down to the side and her lips open in a visible inhale.
Yeah, I recognized the T-shirt all right. In block red letters across her chest spelled Wolves. But unlike the version in our shops and website, hers was cut in a ragged line just underneath her breasts as if it had been sawed off with rusty scissors. All it left beneath it was the tight, toned skin of her stomach and the perfect circle of her belly button. With the jacket pulled open like it was, she looked like every straight man’s wet dream.
Who the hell thought that was a good idea?
Who dressed her? Shouldn’t she be wearing a power suit? Maybe a turtleneck?
A muumuu. That would be best. Didn’t we have a black and red muumuu, for the love of all things holy?
Jack snapped his fingers in front of my face, and I jumped.
The asshole was smirking at me, so I shoved his chest and walked over to Ava.
“Whatcha staring at, Piers?”
“Go screw yourself, rookie,” I muttered. Great. Now I sounded like a petulant child who got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
Yesterday, it had been Faith. Today, it was Jack. There were few things I liked less than being caught truly unaware, and it seemed to be happening more and more around Allie.
Moments when I didn’t question who could see me because all I could see was her.
“Great, Allie,” the photographer yelled from behind the constant click of his camera. A group of people huddled around a computer screen, commenting over whatever was popping up on the display. “Face front, spread your legs. Why don’t you prop your hands on your hips to hold back the edges of the jacket. Yes, perfect. Perfect.”
Click.
Click.
Click.
“A bit more of a smirk. Yes, exactly.”
But I didn’t look. Once he told her to spread her legs, my eyes stayed on the freaking concrete floor.
“Hey, guys,” Ava said with a small smile, eyes never wavering from her phone. “If you want to have a seat over there, they’ll fix your hair and make sure you don’t look like shit for the behind-the-scenes stuff. We’ll shoot that first, then answer some questions with the three of you. Allie already did most of her interview.”
“How did it go?”
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Jack coughed into his hand, a lame attempt at covering his laughter. Ava gave me a curious look before she answered. “Great. She had him eating out her hand in about five minutes. She should give you lessons on how to handle journalists.”
“They didn’t …” I swallowed and tugged at the neck of my shirt. “They didn’t ask about the crap with me?”
Ava’s eyes softened slightly in understanding. “No. They want to highlight her, highlight the buzz around her, not knock her down a few pegs.”
I nodded, still not convinced that this wasn’t an elaborate trap. Especially with the way she was dressed and how sexy she looked. “Listen, I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like a complete dick.”
Jack hooted with laughter. “Since when has that worried you?”
Ava hid her smile like she professional she was. “Yes, Luke?”
I scratched the side of my face and gestured toward where she was still shooting, now without the leather jacket. Sonofabitch why was her jacket gone?
It must be eight million degrees in this room, but there was no reason for her jacket to be gone.
“Isn’t this a bad idea? I thought … I thought she’d be more … umm … covered.”
Ava searched my face and glanced over at Allie, mulling over her words before she spoke. “We were pretty strategic in what we picked. What concerns you?”
Even though it felt like my face would betray me, betray how much this entire thing made me uncomfortable, I turned and watched Allie again. Now she was sitting on a black stool, one heel hooked over the bottom rung with her hands braced on her leather clad knees. The leather jacket was back on and zipped closed now, so only a few letters on her T-shirt were visible. For the first time since I walked in, she looked in our direction, locked eyes with me, and I felt it over every inch of my body.
I swallowed roughly, and she noticed. Her blood red lips curled.
Click. Flash.
“Hot! That was hot, Allie.” Again, from the photographer, a grizzled, slightly older gentleman whose gray hair was tied back underneath a worn ball cap. “A few more here and we’ll be done, I think. Spread your legs out a bit, like you’re pushing on your knees with your hands. Yes.”
“You don’t think they’re like … objectifying her?” I heard myself ask.
Without a sound, Ava stood next to me, watching Allie move like a seasoned pro. After a few more clicks and a few more shifts of Allie’s face, shoulders, legs, Ava finally spoke.
“You know The Body issue?”
Of course, I knew what it was. Athletes posed nude for SI every year; strategically placed hands and legs and arms and whatnot covered the necessary things that needed covering. Instead of answering, I kept watching Allie. After every few clicks, she’d seek me out.
As if she was checking in.
I kept my face impassive, but one particular tilt of her head reminded me of her sitting on the top step of my pool while she listened to Faith talk. Against the incongruous memories, I had to blink because they clashed in my head violently. Rarely did I ever have to struggle to figure something out, never to this extent.
Rich girl.
Determined.
Flighty.
Sexy.
Smart.
Thoughtless daughter.
Kind.
Centerfold.
Thoughtful.
I couldn’t figure out if she was all those things or none of them, or which ones matched up with ease and which ones felt like contradictions. All I knew, standing where I was with dozens of strangers around me, was that I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Do you think those athletes are being objectified?”
That gave me pause because no, I’d never thought that. The shots were tasteful, powerful even. “No,” I said without looking at her. It was like once my eyes made the decision to latch onto Allie, I didn’t have the power to look away. She was her own force of gravity.
“Allie is a beautiful woman. No matter what she wears, there’s no hiding that. She has no desire to hide the fact that her beauty is, by society’s standards, considered a sexy beauty. It’s in her curves and her hair and her lips.” As she spoke, my eyes tracked to each physical feature that Ava pointed out. “To try to ignore that would be foolish. So while we did do some shots wearing more sedate clothes, she’s comfortable in this too.”
Ava gauged my reaction before she kept talking. “And there’s something powerful in the fact that she can own that side of her. It doesn’t remove the power she holds in her position, and it doesn’t take away the respect she’s earned from those of us who have gotten to know her because she knows exactly what she’s doing. And if she wanted to pose for the cover wearing baggy jeans and a jersey, we would’ve done that too.” Ava shrugged. “But she didn’t. This is her.”
I’d never thought of it that way. But then again, I’d never been in the same position. I’d never had to think through how to present myself to the world like this. All I had to do was show up and throw the ball, not get sacked.
Maybe this was Allie, but I also remembered what she’d said to me when panic blew her filter to a million pieces. Remembered what she said to Faith about being sent away to school. Allie had been alone a lot, it seemed.
No matter what she did, she was alone in this position. Alone in thinking about how she presented herself to me, to the team, to the front office. And what I’d told her was that we supported our own. We supported our team.
The photographer had stepped aside to look at a computer screen, and Allie waited on the stool, her posture more relaxed now that he wasn’t shooting. Her flawlessly made-up face was turned down, and her cheekbones caught the light in a way that made her look as if she couldn’t possibly be real. As if she’d been carved by an artist or brought forth from the imagination of some master painter.
When she looked up, it was straight at me as if she knew I was still watching her. Because I wasn’t embarrassed, I didn’t look away. I didn’t pretend I wasn’t paying attention to every shift of muscle in her face. I didn’t pretend I wasn’t thinking about every word I’d said to her in my backyard while my hands curved over her shoulders. Had I meant those words or not?
Of course, I’d meant them.
However, I didn’t mean to touch her like I did. It was an unconscious motion, my muscles acting on some instinct that I refused to name. Memorizing the way her skin had felt under my hands had been pure intuition. Moving closer when I should have backed away had felt like second nature. A reflex I didn’t know I’d honed, after going so long without a woman to soothe, to comfort, to touch as I’d touched her.
Not with passion but with intimacy.
So yes, I’d meant what I told her.
There were a lot of things Allie had to do alone, making the decision she’d made, but this wasn’t one of them. If she wanted the support, that was it.
Instead of asking Ava or the photographer, I tipped my chin and addressed Allie. “Do you still want some shots with us?”
The whole room went quiet.
The photographer shot his hand up. “I do.”
Allie smiled at him, then stood from the stool. She walked over to Ava and me, and Jack, who was now hovering at my other shoulder.
“Why’d you change your mind?” she asked me.
I folded my arms over my chest, pretending I didn’t see dozens of pairs of eyes trained right on us. “Just trying to mean the things I say.”
Her lips didn’t move, but I saw the smile in her eyes. She nodded. “Let’s do it.”
“Hell, yeah,” Jack exclaimed, thumping me on the back. “Wait, I didn’t bring anything else to wear.”
Ava lifted a finger. “There are jerseys for both of you on the rack, or shirts to match hers if we want to go that angle.” She looked at the photographer. “Any preference?”
He looked us over, fuzzy gray eyebrows low on his forehead. “T-shirts on them, have her wear a jersey over the leggings.” Then he clapped his hands. “Come on, let’s make it happen, people.”
The room sprang to action. Jack got pulled one direction, me in another, and someone took Allie by the elbow and directed her behind a changing shade. It covered her just past her chin with the heels she was wearing, but she turned away and pulled the tattered t-shirt over her head, her blond mess of hair falling down her back.
Before it did, I saw two knots of bone at the top of her spine underneath her golden skin.
An assistant handed her two jerseys, one black and one red.
Ava walked up to Jack and me, tossing us plain white t-shirts with Wolves stamped in red across the chest, a mirror image of what Allie had been wearing.
“Just had these laying around, huh?” I asked wryly.
“I don’t suck at my job,” she said with a tiny shrug. “But if I hadn’t prepared for the contingency that you’d decide to do some shots, then I would suck at my job.”
With one hand, I pulled my shirt off over my head, catching Allie’s profile as she looked away quickly. I wasn’t the most muscular guy on the team, my position demanding that I be tall and fairly lean. But if they’d asked us to pose without shirts on, I definitely wouldn’t have embarrassed myself.
A flash of how Allie’s eyes had trailed down my chest by the pool made me breathe deeply.
I slid the Wolves shirt on, not surprised when it was tight across my chest and biceps. Jack was grinning like a fool as a blushing woman in a headset brushed some powder over his forehead and cheeks. She came at me with that same brush, her smile falling as she looked at the grim set of my face.
But I closed my eyes and let her sweep it over my skin.
“It just … cuts the shine from the lights,” she said as if she was apologizing for doing her job.
“It’s fine,” I told her gruffly. I opened my eyes when she was done, giving her a small nod. Those cheeks pinked up again. Leave it to me to be an asshole to a young kid whose only job was to powder noses. Ava was behind the privacy screen with Allie, using her hands to turn her around, then she looked over at Jack and me.
“The red, I think,” she said quietly. Allie nodded, giving me a quick, searing glance before she peeled the black jersey over her head and tossed it away. Like she was checking to see if I was watching.
Did she want me to watch?
My stomach clenched at each flash of skin that I saw, each line of her neck or shoulders when she turned and allowed someone to pull the jersey down her body, covering the magnificence that I knew was underneath it.
I made my way to Jack, so I wasn’t tempted to look anymore. Someone cranked up the music again as Jack and I stood in front of the white backdrop so they could test the lights.
The photographer gave us a brief handshake when he came to move the stool between us. Then he shook his head. “Can I get another stool? I think I want them sitting and her standing.”
I took a deep breath. Maybe I’d had a brief psychotic break for suggesting this. It was the only plausible explanation.
My eyes caught Allie’s as she came from behind the screen, and I knew I’d lost my mind. When she told me she’d try to make it enjoyable, I was quite certain neither of us had anticipated this.
They’d clipped the red jersey behind her so that it was snug around her hips, showing off the curve of her waist. It was a dummy jersey, a bright white number one on the front. Maybe something they’d had specially made for her. Wherever they’d gotten it, it worked.
A makeup artist touched up her lips and swept more blush on her cheeks while someone ran a brush through her hair so that it looked sleeker than when we first arrived. With the deft twist of her hands, the stylist had Allie’s hair curled over her shoulders, looking every inch the bombshell that she was.
When I first met her, I’d have bet a whole truckload of money that she preferred this. The lipstick, the face full of makeup, the team of primping people. But she looked so different to me now because every time I saw her at home, she was bare-faced and casual. Stunning in her simplicity because that was how deep her natural beauty ran.
It was as if someone took a jar of everything I’d thought to be true and threw it into a paint shaker until everything spun so fast that I couldn’t remember what it looked like before. I’d crack the lid and see something completely different.
This was still the Allie who smashed the cupcakes against my shirt. But she wasn’t.
Would she say the same thing about me?
The photographer eyed Jack and me. “You two need to loosen up. Shake your arms out, do some jumping jacks, something.”
Jack actually did it while I just let out a deep breath and stood with my arms crossed over my chest. Allie walked between two assistants and stopped when she was facing me.
Her eyes traced the letters on my shirt, which were just below eye level for her. She mimicked my posture and smirked up at me.
Click. Flash.
I flinched, glaring out at the harsh lights. The photographer wasn’t visible behind the lens of his black camera, but I could sense his instant excitement.
“Do that one more time,” he commanded. “Allie, pop your hip out just a bit more. Yes.”
With a small toss of her hair, she did as he asked, facing me again. This time, it was harder to feel like we were enemies because she was smiling. Her movements were small, not like before. Little turns of her head toward the light, angling her chin up at me, lips curved and then straight, gaze always locked on mine.
I stayed perfectly still as if I’d scare her away if I started trying to mirror what she was doing.
They’d done something to her eyes. Lined them with too much black. Made her lashes too long. It was too much because of how it made her face look. I felt as if I was trying to stare into the sun again, the jewel brightness of her face almost otherworldly, like a light bulb behind wavy blue glass.
“So, uhh, do you need me here or what?” Jack asked.
Allie laughed over her shoulder at him.
Click. Flash.
“Guys,” the photographer said, “you sit in the stools. Cross your arms just like that, Luke. Same for you, Jack. Both look straight at the camera, no smiles. Good, good. Allie, you stand between them and just work your hands and arms a bit for whatever feels natural.”
Jack and I did as directed, but the knot of tension twisted and turned under my skin when she stood between us. She started with her arms crossed like ours, then the music got louder, the bass heavier, and her body moved again. She never stopped her slow, smooth movements.
At the first touch of her hand on my shoulder, I managed not to jump out of my skin. On the back of my neck, I could feel the tips of her nails. Her hips canted in an angle, and the pressure of her fingers against my skin increased as if we were propping her up.
Click. Flash.
Those fingers slid across my shoulder, gentle and slow over the cotton of the shirt, and I kept my eyes forward, my face stern.
No smiles? Not a freaking problem.
What might be a problem was that if I stood, the entire room would see that our bombshell boss had just given me an inconvenient boner.
Breathe in, I told myself. Breathe in and breathe out.
Was she touching Jack this way?
I risked a quick glance to the side, and no, her wrist was resting casually over his shoulder, but staying firmly in place even as her fingers trailed over the line of my neck.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
My hands tingled, and my blood roared. This was unfettered, unencumbered attraction. And I’d forgotten how incredibly powerful it was.
“Great. This is great, guys.” His finger snapped away. How many freaking pictures could you take of one stupid pose? “Now stand up slightly behind her. Someone grab a football, okay?”
Jack stood first. I recited my dead grandma’s name in my head, over and over and over, until I felt like I could stand without embarrassing myself.
When I finally did, Allie was staring at me with a quirked eyebrow. I shook my head and went behind her. As I rolled my neck, it occurred to me that we’d exchanged two sentences since I walked in the door. That was it. And for some reason, I felt like she was the one in the room who knew exactly what I was feeling.
With that disconcerting thought, I waited patiently while they arranged for her to hold a football against her hip with one hand as she faced the camera. I propped my hands on my hips, as did Jack. When I inhaled too deeply, the front of my chest brushed against her back, and I saw Allie suck in a deep breath.
“Good. Jack, move to the left a bit.” He looked around his camera and squinted. While he got situated, I cleared my throat. Allie glanced up at me over her shoulder, and I kept my face even, but inside, I burned.
Inside, where I could smell her, where I could feel her heat just in front of my chest, where I knew without checking that I could span her ribcage with one hand, I burned with a violent heat that I’d never felt in my entire life.
She blinked and looked back at the camera. So did I.
Click. Flash.
“And that,” the photographer said in a satisfied tone, “is our cover shot.”
