he said. “You’re concentrating. You’re in great shape. You’re not hiding in your sunglasses cause you have a raging hangover. You understand now? You’re ready to lead this team the way it should be led, and you’re becoming the man you were supposed to be three years ago. I don’t know what changed, but something flipped that switch in your head. It’s going to bring us to victory.”
I didn’t change. Nothing changed. Christ, people were so fucking desperate to see connections and stories in my behavior. Nothing happened unusual.
Nothing except Leah.
Nothing except pretending to be in a relationship with a cocoa-skinned goddess. A woman of class, grace, and absolute sensuality who wanted nothing more than for me to take her again and again until I seeded her with my child.
I guessed that was different.
Coach Thompson waddled onto the field to yell at the defense. Coach Wallace, the quarterback coach, winked at me. He patted my shoulder before grabbing a playbook to consult with Matt.
“Jack, you are playing better. Considerably. Don’t you feel it?”
Yes. “I guess.”
“Then I’d keep doing what you’re doing regardless of who it pleases. So long as you get the results, what the hell does it matter if it keeps the league and Coach Thompson happy? Keep that good luck charm or the new exercise routine. It’s working.”
Except it wasn’t luck or me.
It was Leah.
Holy shit, they were right. It wasn’t just my image. It was Leah.
I grabbed another bottle of water and sprayed off the sweat. My eyes searched the crowd. Enough people and press, kids and fans crowded around the outdoor practice facility. Training camp was a big event, and a lot of people came to watch the open practices.
Today, I knew where to look. Leah promised to stop by during her lunch. I scanned the faces in the crowd until I found her. She took my advice and waited beside the field, beyond the ropes cordoning off the fans from those who had clearance to be close to players.
God, she was beautiful.
And smiling.
And fanning herself in the heat as she sought the shade on the sidelines. She twisted her visitor’s pass and used it to cool her face. Her wave was half-hearted, and she stumbled.
Backward.
My stomach pitted as she wobbled again. I shouted, sprinting across the field and pushing through my teammates. I hopped over the equipment set up next to the sidelines. My legs pumped harder than I ran for the forty, and I was certain I broke my own goddamned records to rush to Leah.
I didn’t reach her in time.
Leah fainted before I made it, but she woke as soon as her butt slammed into the ground.
“Kiss!” I scooped her from the turf and carried her to the nearest bench. I pointed at a trainer. “You! Get your ass over here!”
Leah waved me away, rubbing her head. She sweated, but she managed a weak smile.
“I’m just hot,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. I’m hot.”
Well, good for fucking her. I was chilled to my core.
“Sit here.” I searched for the trainer. “Bring her some fucking water!”
“Language.” Leah pointed to the kids nearby, as well as the sport reporter chasing us across the field to get a picture. “Gotta be careful.”
“Fuck being careful. Are you okay?”
The trainer hurried to our side—a nosy little redhead who busted the guys’ balls and had a bad habit of ferreting out concussions. She edged me away and offered Leah water and a cool towel.
“Miss?” The trainer felt her pulse and gave her a drink. “It’s very hot today. Were you in the sun for too long?”
“Look at her—she’s well done.” I forced a joke. It didn’t ease the twisting in my gut.
Leah smirked as I poked her dark skin. “I’m just hot.”
“You might have some heat cramps, maybe exhaustion. Do you have a headache?”
“No, I got dizzy.”
“Nausea?”
She glanced over the growing pack of fans and press. My teammates and coaches also started to crowd, checking on why the star quarterback freaked the fuck out and ran fifty yards to help a girl off the ground.
If nothing else, the pictures of me scooping her up and helping the trainer would give me that prince charming image Leah so desperately cultivated. Lately she had leaked stories of dining and dancing and long stemmed roses delivered to her work. That wasn’t a line for the media. I sent her a dozen roses as an apology after every morning of fucking that made her late to work.
She was starting to like getting