CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WALKER

I didn’t get to make good on my promise to Riley. After the long meeting with Matteo, I helped Riley unpack boxes and inventory T-shirts, posters, banners, and all the other marketing aspects for the 5K.

I felt bad leaving in the middle of the ramshackle mess we made of her office, but I had to get to the stadium for team film at four. I didn’t even get to give Riley the longest, deepest, wettest kiss I’d been imagining because her office was like Grand Central Station with volunteers coming and going asking questions and checking in.

I’d have loved to fuck her on the conference table again, or draped over her desk, but both were piled high with boxes and swag. We couldn’t even make a path to a wall to fuck against because of the stacks of stuff. But it was better that way because I want to do more than fuck her up against a wall.

We have some communication issues to work through. Not my specialty. In fact, I suck at it. I can’t name one person in my entire life that I’ve ever confided in. Ever connected on an emotional level with. Ever talked to about my hopes, goals, and dreams, unless it was a coach, and we were talking career goals.

Hell, I don’t even know what my hopes, goals, and dreams are.

“You going to Buck’s tonight?”

“Probably not.”

“Why? Got a hot date?”

I could have a hot date, if Riley didn’t already have plans with her father. Since he’s on the road a lot, and they aren’t very close, it isn’t often they get together. It seemed rude and selfish to ask her to put off her father so I could bury myself inside her.

I know all too well how important family relationships are. Or rather, the lack thereof.

“Tell Buck I said thanks for the invite.”

The only other guy on the team who turns down as many invites as I do is Nash Humphries. He’s a single father and doesn’t go out much and keeps to himself more than I do, and he’s been on the team for two years. I don’t know the details of his personal life and haven’t asked. It’s not my thing. Asking questions opens the door for questions to be asked of you.

My usual response to homestead visits is a polite, “Thank you for the invite, but I can’t make it.”

Dec, however, hasn’t learned to read a room. I’ve turned down the last three invites to Buck’s house, and I haven’t partied with the team once. I’m used to the rumors of me being a recovering alcoholic, a monk, or in a religious cult. My favorite is that I live in a brothel and don’t want to share my women with the team. The rumors will keep going until I make my first public outing. That’s when they see I can drink alcohol and not get shit-faced wasted and act like an idiot. And when I agree to go home with a woman, the monk rumors dissipate.

Since I’ve never invited anyone—woman or teammate—back to my place, the brothel rumors the guys in San Francisco concocted became a team favorite. I didn’t mind since I knew most of the guys were kidding around.

I’ve only been in Boston for three months, so they’re all still feeling me out, but my reputation traveled with me.

Dec slaps me on the back. “Enjoy your brothel. Maybe one day you’ll share with the rest of us.”

I give him a sly grin. “You wish, rook.”

“Hell, the least you could do is take me out for breakfast tomorrow morning and share your secret skills.”

“Busy.”

“Bullshit. We have a team meeting in the locker room at noon. No way in Hell you have breakfast plans.” Dec smiles so wide I can see his wisdom teeth poking through the back of his gum line. “Unless you don’t know how to satisfy a woman and need recovery time at night and go for round two in the morning.”

“Little one.” I squeeze his shoulder. “A gentleman never tells.”

“Thank fuck I’m no gentleman.”

I chuckle. “No brothel plans tomorrow. I’ll be at a 5K.”

“Coach will kick your ass if you run a 5K before a game.”

“I’m volunteering for a few hours.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.” I toss my duffel over my shoulder and head out to my car.

“Can I come with you?” he hollers across the parking lot.

I let out a snort. “If you can get your scrawny rookie ass out of bed early enough. I’ll be at the Boston Strong volunteer tent at six-thirty.”

“Fuck, man. That’s early.”

“We old folks have a hard time sleeping in.” I settle behind the wheel and fire up the engine.

Sleeping in is a luxury. One I’ve only taken advantage of when I’ve had Riley in my bed, which hasn’t been often enough. I still have a ways to go to prove to her I’m not the asshole I presented myself to be the night of her and Jackson’s almost wedding. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be this hard to win her back.

Part of me is proud of her for not falling so easily. It means she’s not after my money or the notoriety that goes along with dating an NFL player. The other part—my cock—is sadly disappointed it’s been so long since it’s been buried deep inside her.

The following morning, I’m up before my alarm, eager to surprise Riley. I should be more excited about volunteering and helping so many kids get the physical therapy and training they can’t afford on their own, but my personal life is taking precedence over the rest of my life.

There’s a first time for everything.

I do enjoy volunteering. Hell, the entirety of my free time and ninety-nine percent of my social life centered around volunteering and my organization I founded in San Francisco.

I’m gonna accept the oxygen mask analogy. While it’s important to give back and help others, you have to take care of yourself first. Something I never did. Until now. Making Riley my priority is taking care of myself.

I scramble a couple eggs and eat three slices of peanut butter toast and wash it all down with a tall glass of milk, then jog a mile through the city streets to the volunteer tent. I signed up online last week and didn’t tell Riley about it. There’s a chance she saw my name on the list of volunteers, but if she had, she would have texted me about it. Maybe.

The element of surprise has me grinning like a lovesick fool as I pull my baseball cap lower down my forehead and check in with a woman wearing a bright yellow and blue volunteer shirt.

When I’m all checked in and given my assignment of unloading cases of water bottles from a box truck to another tent area, I tug my new shirt over my plain white T and scan the area for Riley.

There has to be at least a hundred people milling around, setting up, laughing, flipping through their papers on their clipboards. Twenty minutes later, I’m breaking a sweat and still no sign of Riley.

“There he is.”

I turn around, shocked as hell to see Dec. “What are you doing here?”

“Figured I’d call your bluff.” He gives me a cheeky grin and takes off his Revolutions T-shirt, making no rush to cover his naked torso with his volunteer shirt.

“Dude. There’s no one here to play hero worship with you. Cover your string bean chest.”

“Oh my God, are you Declan Anderson?” A woman rushes over to us and glances at me and freezes. “And you’re Walker Bankes?”

“I am and he is,” Dec says with a flirtatious smile. It doesn’t matter that the woman is old enough to be his mother, he lays on the charm thick and heavy to anyone who gives him attention.

“Wow. This is so, just, wow. Aren’t you leaving this afternoon for your game in North Carolina tomorrow afternoon?”

Impressed that this woman follows our team and not just our faces, I hold out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Have you been volunteering with Riley for a while?”

And, yeah, I may be impressed she knows football, but I’m not going to miss my opportunity to ask about Riley.

“It’s my third 5K with her. Each year is better and better. The media will be here this year. Oh, is it because you two are here?”

“I mean—” Dec starts, but I cut him off.

“No. We were last minute volunteers. I’d rather the media focus on the contributions Boston Strong is doing for kids in the community than making it about us.”

The woman sighs and gives me puppy dog eyes. “You are a big, soft sweetie, aren’t you?” She squeezes my forearm and clucks her tongue. “Well, it was nice meeting you boys. I need to get back to my station.”

The woman jogs off without even introducing herself or telling me where I can find Riley.

“Ouch. I’ve never felt so snubbed.” Dec rubs his hand up and down his sternum.

I rip his spare shirt from his hands and snap it at him. “Doing volunteer work isn’t about stroking your ego, rook.”

“I’m kidding, old man.” He snags his shirt back and attempts to whip my hip with it.

I may be a decade older, but I’m faster than him. I jump to the side and stumble into a woman, nearly knocking her on her ass. I wrap my arms around her waist and haul her into my chest, and citrus and vanilla hit me before I realize my luck.

“Fancy running into you here,” I whisper in Riley’s ear.

“Walker?” She pushes back slightly and tips her face up to me. “What are you doing here?”

“Volunteering.” I give her a wink and lift my shoulder so she can see my shirt.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

My fingers dig into her hips and I lower my chin and my voice. “I wasn’t sure if you were ready for me to...come.”

Her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink and she blinks her eyes a million times. I can see her brain running a million miles a minute before she shakes her head and lets out a slow sigh.

“Don’t you have football stuff to do today?”

“This afternoon. I’m only here for the morning session and to see the runners off. I’ll have to head out soon after.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, stroking my chest with her fingers.

“You’re welcome. We figured you could use the muscle.” Dec worms his way into our tight cocoon and drapes his arms over our shoulders.

Riley smiles up at him. “You brought friends?” she asks me.

“The little runt followed me here. He’s like a rash you can’t get rid of.”

Dec snorts and lowers his head between us, bringing us into a huddle of three. “Just trying to stay out of the spotlight like Papa Bear suggested.”

“As if. You live for the spotlight.”

He looks over his shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. “Tell me when she’s gone.”

Riley looks past him and frowns. “That’s Rebecca Smart from Channel 8. She’s super sweet and is covering the event today.”

“Yeah. Well, uh, your man here said it’s best for us to fly under the radar.”

Dec’s the last guy who wants to fly under the radar. If he’s not the center of attention, he has no problem doing or saying something foolish to get himself there. He thrives on media attention but has a way of not making it all about him. Yeah, he’s a cocky son of a bitch, but most young athletes in the limelight are.

I glance at the reporter. A little older than Dec, she’s pretty. Petite, blonde, spunky. And then it clicks.

“You little shit. You hooked up with her, didn’t you? Number one rookie rule is never hook up with the media.”

“Seriously? That’s your number one rule for rookies?” Riley snorts.

“It’s not like we list them out, but it’s up there.” I shake my head and break our huddle, keeping one hand around Riley’s waist.

“I was young and stupid.”

“You still are young and stupid.”

Dec does a quick look over his shoulder and relaxes when he sees she’s gone. “Come on, man. I was backup and got zero ball touches. Had to get my two-hand touch somewhere else. To be fair, I didn’t know she was in the media. We met at a bar. It was a mutual one-night stand. Don’t tell me you’ve never had one of those before.”

Riley clears her throat and steps away from me. “I appreciate your help today, guys. I have a ton I need to do and people I need to check in with before we open for registration.” She gives me a soft smile before spinning on her heel and taking off toward the registration area.

“Didn’t know your brothel ladies were so dignified.” Dec sniggers a laugh and jogs away from me.

“Bastard.” If I really thought he was insulting Riley, I would have chased him down and ripped his throwing arm from its socket, but it’s not her he’s poking fun of. It’s me. And I’m actually okay with it.

Joking around means I’m fitting in. And I plan on sticking around for the long haul.

After another hour of doing the “muscle” jobs, as the volunteer coordinators have dubbed them, Dec and I are welcoming the kids and signing autographs. Not what we signed up for, but when an eight-year-old girl noticed Dec, he went full speed ahead with his charm and entertained a growing group of kids.

It’s not like I could say no to fans either, so I got down to kid level and tossed a few balls around. I don’t mind the adult fans, but I’d rather spend time with the kids. They’re less judgmental and more innocent with their requests.

When the race is about to start, Rebecca Smart and her Channel 8 team take the stage off to the side of the starting line. Riley and her team stand to their right, and when I expect Smart to talk about Boston Strong, she instead calls attention to Dec and me. With an emphasis on Dec. There’s no doubt she wants a repeat of whatever happened between them back when he was a sideline backup.

Dec, however, doesn’t seem remotely interested. I’d laugh at how he tries to hide behind me, but I get it. Sort of. Not exactly.

“Thank you to star of the Boston Revolutions, quarterback Dec Anderson for being here today and signing autographs.”

I don’t hide my cough. “Star? Rook, your dick is not made of gold. What kind of promises did you fill her with?”

“The only thing I filled her with was my c—”

“Fuck, man.” I close my eyes and wince. “Don’t even go there.”

“And thank you to Walter Bankes for coming too.”

Dec snorts. “Fucking Walter . You da man.”

I’ll cut her some slack since she’s not a sports reporter and has no clue who I am.

“Who wants our very own Boston Revolutions players to get the 5K started this morning?”

The crowd erupts and Dec moans. “She’s a clinger, man. Don’t make me go up there.”

Thousands of pairs of eyes are focused on us, and it would be rude and embarrassing for the team if we denied her request. I hate that the attention isn’t on Riley and her organization anymore.

The crowd starts chanting for us, and we reluctantly work our way through the throngs of runners to the stage. They’re all decked out in costumes, having the time of their lives. I glance at Riley, who has a frozen smile on her face. To anyone else, it looks real. Genuine. But I’ve been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a real Margaret Riley smile. Granted, if I called her by her full name, the smile would surely disappear.

When we reach the podium, Rebecca holds the microphone out to Dec. He stares at it like it’s made of vipers. I’m not big on public speaking, but for Riley, I’ll do just about anything. I take the microphone and clear my throat.

I look out among the crowd, most of whom have their cell phones out taking pictures and videos. While I don’t like the attention being on me, on us, this morning, I can use it to my advantage. Or rather, to Riley’s.

“Morning, Boston.” They go fucking ecstatic, like I gave the most inspirational, moving speech.

“You all know why you’re here today, right?”

They cheer, but I doubt many do. The Channel 8 camera is rolling, and if we’re live, I want to make sure all of Boston and its surrounding cities know about Riley and Boston Strong.

“We’re here today for you.” I point to the grouping of boys and girls wearing special Boston Strong shirts that single them out as past, present, and future recipients of Boston Strong programs and scholarships.

“These kids are why we’re here. If it weren’t for Riley, the owner and visionary for Boston Strong, we wouldn’t be here today. And if it weren’t for all of you and the amazing sponsors, these children wouldn’t have the physical therapy, specialized athletic training that only the wealthy can afford, or scholarships to help them reach their dreams.”

I wait for the cheers and applause to die down and cast Riley a quick look. Her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth, and she stares at me with gratitude.

“She makes sure our children, the future of our city, our state, our country, our future professional athletes, doctors, lawyers, electricians, contractors, and teachers, have an equal opportunity to do what they love to do. Many of these children come from families that don’t have insurance to pay for physical therapy. None of them have extra funds lying around to pay for advanced athletic training. Boston Strong supports as many kids as they can financially to help them reach their dreams. Your donations mean they can help even more.”

I hold out my arm for Riley and beckon her to me with my hand. Her eyes grow wide, but she reluctantly crosses the stage to me. I put my hand on her shoulder in a friendly manner, not around her waist, claiming her in front of this city like I want.

“This woman works tirelessly around the clock, three hundred sixty-five days a year, wearing every hat a small business and non-profit organization needs so she doesn’t have to hire out and spend money that could be used to support another child. Let’s give her and the other hundred volunteers here today a round of applause.”

I wait while the crowd claps and cheers.

“Thank you for supporting my favorite Boston charity. While the 5K raises the bulk of the scholarship money, they need donations year-round. You can trust that one hundred percent of your donations go towards the kids and not to payroll. I’ve sat in on a meeting with the organization’s accountant—who works pro bono, by the way. Riley even found a way to save money there.”

I glance up at the countdown clock and realize I talked way too long. There’s only sixty-five seconds to warm up.

“I’m gonna pass off the mic to my friend Dec now and let him get you guys warmed up. Good luck, Boston!”

I step to the side, bringing Riley with me, and keep my eyes on Dec and my hands in my pockets, or I’m afraid I’ll do something crazy like grab her ass and haul her into my chest and kiss the hell out of her pink lips that have been trapped between her teeth for the past five minutes.