CHAPTER SIX

WALKER

Seeing Riley yesterday morning has only made me want her even more. Somehow, I survived six hours of meetings with my agent, coaches, and lawyers. They’ve given me a lot to think about, but not so much that it blocks out the way Riley’s ass filled out those painted-on leggings.

After another round of meetings today, I was tempted to go back to Boston Strong and sign up for a membership, but figured working out in the hotel gym was a better idea. I’m still not a hundred percent confident Riley’s on the same page as me.

To say she was surprised to see me yesterday is an understatement. Sure, we were supposed to be a one-night stand. Which turned into a sleepover. And instead of an awkward morning after, it turned into another round of steamy sex. I mean, who wouldn’t want to do that again? I’m game.

I add another plate to each end of the barbells and situate myself underneath. Without a spotter, I’m not going for a personal best. Still, three-fifty is a good chest workout.

I pump out ten reps, rack the barbell, and reach for the sixty-five-pound dumbbells on the floor next to the bench. Sitting up, I curl the weights until my biceps strain, then drop them to the mat.

After I run through my chest and bicep blocks two more times, I finish my workout on the treadmill. My playlist runs the gamut between Eminem, hairband metal, and Fall Out Boy. While Patrick Stump belts out Sugar, We’re Going Down , my phone signals a new text. I slow down to a brisk jog and pick up my phone.

My face contorts into a goofy ass grin when I see the text from Riley. Thank fuck no one is in the gym to razz me.

PERFECTION: I’m not exactly sure who I’m texting right now. Is this you, God?

I bark out a laugh. Or rather a snort. Once again, grateful for being alone.

ME: Who do you want it to be?

PERFECTION: Well, according to my contacts, I’m talking to God. Correction, Oh God.

ME: I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me by Walker or God since you called out both names just as equally during our evening together.

PERFECTION: Do I dare ask what I’m saved as in your phone?

ME: Exactly what you are.

I watch as three dots appear then disappear. A minute later they appear and disappear again. Not wanting to scare her off, I take over.

ME: I’m hoping you’re texting to tell me you’re looking forward to dinner tonight.

Nothing.

She’s ghosted me. I curse myself for pushing her. Just because I want a replay of our night together doesn’t mean she does. I’ve never been insecure around a woman before, mostly because I’m never on the prowl. When women approach me, I either politely brush them off or I accept whatever they’re willing to give for the night.

Correction. Not night. Hours. A few hours of my time. It’s not because I’m an asshole, it’s because spending time with a woman requires conversation, and conversation leads to getting to know each other. Opening myself up to someone, anyone, opens doors I’d rather keep shut.

I don’t let people in, which is what has gotten me this far. I’m close with my teammates, but we don’t have the tight bond they have with each other. I go out with them on occasion when it’s in a large group, but I don’t have a close confidant. A best friend.

Some call me standoffish, but those who make the effort to get to know me accept me for who I am: A football player who’s more than one hundred percent focused on the game. It’s my life. Not friends. Not family. Not that I don’t want them, I just don’t know how to have them.

I’m a therapist’s wet dream, if I were to ever see one. No need when I can keep it together. I’m focused and respected by my coaches and teammates. That’s all that matters.

But for whatever reason, Riley captured my attention. I like that she doesn’t know who I am. That she doesn’t see me as a meal ticket or someone who can put her in the spotlight. That she’s funny, genuine, and fucking hot as hell is an added bonus.

Feeling the rejection of her silence, I end our conversation with a friendly send off. It’s what I do. Despite my lack of communication, I’m not a dick.

ME: No pressure on dinner. It was great seeing you again. I fly back to San Fran in the morning. If you’re ever in the city and need a tour guide, send Oh God a text.

I add a few emojis to lighten my tone and drop my cell in the cup holder, then crank up the speed on the treadmill. I crank out four more miles before my phone vibrates.

PERFECTION: Sorry. Minor crisis at work. Left my phone in my office while I dealt with it. If you haven’t had dinner yet, I’m leaving in about an hour and can meet you wherever.

My stupid grin is back. I power off the treadmill and hop off, wiping my face with a towel and the treadmill with sanitizing wipes before replying. I don’t want to come off as too eager by texting immediately.

I grab my things and head to the elevator. The doors haven’t even closed before I’m succumbing to the need to respond.

ME: Sounds good. I can pick you up at work unless you want to go home first. I can meet you there.

Meeting at her apartment could go one of two ways. One, lust takes over and we rip off each other’s clothes and say screw it to dinner. Not a bad scenario. Or I could pick her up and we head to a restaurant and have a nice leisurely dinner and I stare at her gorgeous chocolate eyes and wide smile while she tells me stories of her childhood. Of her job. Of her life.

Yeah. Both options sound pretty fucking perfect.

PERFECTION: I can meet you at the restaurant.

Message read. She doesn’t want me to know where she lives. I get that. I respect that. I already shocked the hell out of her by showing up at her work.

ME: Perfect. I can Google places to eat, but do you have any recommendations? The only food I don’t like is... scratch that. I love food. No allergies. No dislikes. What about you? I know you like burgers and fries. ;-)

PERFECTION: Thai?

ME: Place and time?

PERFECTION: Where is your hotel? I can find a place close to you. Boston can be tricky to navigate.

Hm. She’s either asking out of kindness or it’s her way of wanting to know where I’m staying. Either way, my dick hardens. I text a reply with my location, not minding one damn bit if she decides to make a surprise visit. Hell, I’d give her my room number and key card if I didn’t think it would freak her the fuck out.

I decide not to tell her I chose a hotel that was closer to Boston Strong than it is to the stadium where my tour and meetings were taking place.

She sends me the name of a restaurant, and I tell myself I’m not disappointed about not learning where she lives.

As soon as I’m in my room, I strip out of my sweat-soaked clothes and drop them on the floor of the bathroom. The water isn’t even lukewarm when I step into the shower. There’s no rush. It doesn’t take me more than ten minutes to get ready, so I tell myself to slow down.

I tip my head back and let the water spray my face, remembering the shower Riley and I shared in Rhode Island. Shower sex had never been a fantasy of mine, mostly because it meant a woman was spending too much time at my place or hotel room. If she wanted to clean up before leaving, she was more than welcome to use my bathroom, but I never joined her.

It was too intimate. Getting dirty with a woman, sure. Getting clean? Not interested.

Until Riley.

Eventually, I want to learn everything there is to know about her, but I’m not ready to offer her the same opportunity. She’s athletic. She’s around athletes all the time. She hasn’t recognized me yet, and I’m okay when and if she does, but I want her interest in me to be because she likes me and not the NFL player.

I’m pretty sure the only reason I’ve been able to fly under the radar in Boston, and even Rhode Island, is because San Fran and Boston are in different divisions and rarely play each other. I’ve been able to avoid this city while playing for Arizona and San Fran.

I thought avoiding everyone and everything that has brought me pain in my life for the past fifteen years was the only way to cope with the fuckery of the family I’d been born into. But I’m thirty-two fucking years old. I’ve pushed away relationships of every kind for too long.

Eventually, I’m going to retire from the NFL, and then what? It’s not like I’m looking for a wife, and I have no desire to bring kids into this world. Not with my family history. But being alone is getting...well, lonely.

All it took was one night with Riley to realize how alone I’ve been. While the sex was phenomenal, talking and laughing with her was...nice. Comforting. Natural. Once she loosened up and wasn’t so nervous about going back to my room, we just clicked.

I get that she’s confused right now, with the one night hook up that you didn’t expect to ever see again showing up at your work and wanting to get together. Hell, if any of my past hookups showed up at my doorstep, I’d panic.

Fuck . I rinse the soap off my body and shut off the shower. If I want something more with her I need to slow the fuck down.

Dinner. We’ll have dinner and conversation, and if she lets me, I’ll walk her back to her place. I won’t push. Ball is in Riley’s red zone.

With limited clothing options, it doesn’t take me long to dress. I look up the Thai restaurant she suggested and see it’s super casual. My clothing options are two suits, workout clothes, and jeans. I shrug on the jeans I wore on the plane and a navy blue, nondescript sweatshirt.

With forty minutes to spare, I respond to an email from my agent and scroll through the real estate app I recently downloaded. At quarter of, I check my pocket for my wallet, hotel key, and phone, and head out to meet the woman who’s held the starring role in my dreams for the past three weeks.

It takes me less than five minutes to reach the restaurant. Could be because of my long legs or it could be because I practically ran here. When the hostess greets me with a warm smile, I glance around the restaurant.

There’s only one room with no private nooks, and a quick look tells me she’s not here yet. Good.

“There will be two of us. Is it okay if we take that table?” I nod toward a small table near the back that’s semi-private.

The hostess responds with a smile. “Sure. Follow me.” When we reach the table, she sets two menus across from each other at the square four-seater table. “Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?”

“Two waters for now. Thank you.” When she leaves, I move the other menu to the seat next to me.

Usually, I like to sit where I’m not as conspicuous. I don’t mind the fanfare and autographs, but I prefer my privacy when eating, whether alone or with my teammates. And sometimes a woman.

Since I’m not as known in Boston, I’m not as concerned, but I take the seat that keeps me out of view anyway. I keep looking over my shoulder for Riley. When I see her, I stand and cross the restaurant like it’s on fire, wanting to be the first to reach her. It’s not like I’m worried someone else is going to snatch her away from me, but I can’t help it.

“Hey,” I say as calmly as I’m able. “I got us a table already.”

“Okay.”

I place my hand on her lower back, and even through the thickness of her sweatshirt and puffy vest she’s wearing, I can feel her heat. Okay, maybe it’s my imagination, but my imagination has been getting an intense workout these past few weeks.

Pulling the chair out for her, I offer to take her vest. She shrugs out of it and I drape it over the empty chair across from her. Once she’s seated, I settle next to her. Our knees brush up against each other just as I envisioned.

Her cheeks turn my favorite shade of nipple pink and I pick up my menu, pretending not to study every perfect feature on her face. “Anything in particular you recommend?”

Those wide, chocolate eyes framed by long lashes stare at me, and I concentrate on the menu, not reading a single word, cursing my dick for twitching behind my zipper.

Riley picks up her menu and I steal a glance at her. She sucks in her bottom lip and blinks at the menu in her hands. If I’m not mistaken, she’s not reading the words either.

“How was your day?” I ask like we’re a normal couple having a normal dinner. In my dreams. Because I’ve never wanted this as a reality.

“Um. Good I guess.”

“Crisis averted?” I set my menu down and fold my hands over it.

“Crisis?” She closes her menu as well and picks up her water glass, taking a sip.

I don’t like how she’s nervous around me. I’d hoped we were beyond that. “This afternoon? You said you had to deal with something at work?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders drop and she finally relaxes. “A double-booking of clients. Ruthie is a bit...extra. She’s quite particular about who trains her, and she wasn’t happy about it being Lisa and not Brad.”

I’m still not thrilled about her being nervous. Almost like she’s hiding something or expecting something bad to happen. “What’s wrong with Lisa?”

“Nothing. She’s amazing. But she’s not Brad.”

“And what makes Brad so great?”

“His looks and personality.” I bite back the jealousy that runs through my veins. “He’s married. And faithful to his wife. He dropped Ruthie as a client after she continued to hit on him and grope his muscles.”

Muscles. I’ll show Riley muscles. The only thing saving Brad from me is his faithfulness to his wife. At least I don’t have to worry about him hitting on Riley while I’m away.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Not really. Ruthie’s a marathon runner. We met at a half-marathon we both ran a few years ago. She’s been a member of Boston Strong ever since. When I hired Brad a few months ago she requested to work with him instead of me. Her reasoning was the importance of trying out different trainers so her body wouldn’t plateau with the conditioning exercises I’ve been writing for her.”

“While there’s some validity to her argument, it’s a slap in the face to drop you.”

“Not really. I’m so overworked right now. The only reason I still teach Pilates twice a week is to help get my own workout in. I’ve had to drop most of my clients, hence the hiring of Brad.”

The waitress comes over and takes our order and asks what we’d like to drink. I stick with water, as does Riley. When we’re alone again, I ask, “If you’re not working with many clients, what is it that keeps you busy?”

“Hell. Where do I start? I have an associate’s degree in business management, but it’s only helped me in half of what it takes to run the facility. Since I’m still getting it off the ground, I’m playing the role of HR, business manager, marketing exec, accountant, payroll, and sometimes cleaning crew. My staff are awesome about helping when and where they can, but funds are tight. The more fundraisers we run the more we take in, but that just adds another job to my already full plate. It’s a catch-22. To bring in revenue, I need to work more. I can’t hire more staff until I bring in more revenue.” She finishes her water and sets her empty glass down. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump that on you. Work has been stressful, and I don’t get out much.”

“No need to apologize. I asked you out to get to know you better. Understanding your career and the stress you’re under is part of getting to know you.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me either. Hopefully, I can take your mind off your job for a few hours.”

Her cheeks turn pink again and she curls her bottom lip between her teeth. Fuck, she’s cute.

“Dinner, conversation, and maybe a walk around the city if you have time,” I clarify. While sex is abso-fucking-lutely on the table, I want her to understand that’s not the only reason I want to spend time with her. “If you need to get back to work, I understand.”

“A walk sounds perfect. It’s one of my favorite things to do around the city, but I haven’t had time lately.”

“I’ve never explored, so you can play the role of tour guide. Or we can stroll leisurely with no destination in mind.”

Our waitress delivers our food, and we continue talking and laughing while we eat. Conversation flows easily and we keep the topics light. We argue over what makes a good movie, agree on the best workout playlist—a mix of hairband metal, 90s rap, and a few pop songs—and I surprise her with my love of books.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she says as I help her into her vest and we leave the restaurant. “But I can’t picture you as a reader.”

“Hm.” I hold the door open for her and we’re greeted by a dark, cool night. “And why is that?” I follow her lead as we turn left at the corner and walk down the sidewalk.

“You’re...big. All muscles and...stuff.”

I bark out a laugh. “Are you insinuating I’m a dumb jock?”

“I didn’t say that.” She hip-checks me and I loop my arm around her waist, tugging her into my side.

When she doesn’t resist, I release her hip and slide my hand down her arm until our fingers are interlocked. I bring our joined hands to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. Her gasp catches in her throat and I carry on like holding her hand and walking down the street doesn’t make my heart thump erratically in my chest and is no big deal.

“I took a horror literature class in high school and was hooked. Nice escape from reality. From there, I read through Stephen King’s backlist. Devoured James Patterson, Dean Koontz, and now my reading app knows me well enough to recommend books I’ll like. I’m a one-click sucker but prefer paperbacks.”

“I can’t imagine the shelf space King, Patterson, and Koontz take up.”

“I’ve kept a few favorites, but mostly, I donate them to shelters and youth groups.”

“That’s generous of you.”

Ignoring the compliment, I ask, “What do you like to read?”

“You’ll make fun.”

“More than the dumb jock comment hurt?”

She giggles. “I didn’t call you a dumb jock.”

I squeeze her hand. “Implied.”

“Whatever.” I can practically hear her eyes roll. “Not that I have much time to read, but if I do, it’s usually something light. Romantic comedy. Beach reads.”

“You read on the beach a lot?”

“I wish. I can’t remember the last time I went or had the time to lounge around. Beach reads are fast-paced, fun, and flirty books.”

I could offer to fly her somewhere warm and tropical and spoil her with a stack of books while I rub suntan lotion all over her body, but Riley doesn’t seem like the type of person who wants or appreciates handouts. Still, I’d have fun spoiling her if she’d let me.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

My phone chimes in my pocket and I ignore it.

She must have heard it because she asks, “Are you ever going to tell me what name you saved me under in your phone?”

Teasing her is too much fun. “Nope.”

“Let me guess. Booty Call. Hotel Ho. One Night—”

I stop in my tracks and yank her into my chest. Tipping her chin up with my fingers, I stare into her wide eyes and slowly shake my head. “Don’t.”

Don’t cheapen what happened between us, I want to say, but I’m still not sure if it will scare her away. To me, tonight is about seeing where things could go between us. For her, I’m still not sure. Friends? She’s too sweet to kick me to the curb, but that doesn’t mean she wants to hook up anytime I’m in town.

Needing to lighten the mood and erase the tension on her face, I give her a hint, “It isn’t anything I haven’t called you before.”

She scrunches her brows and I release her from my hold, keeping our hands locked.

We walk for another hour until I feel her fingers turn cold. “How about a hot drink?” I pull open the door to Dunkin and the aroma of rich coffee and sugary sweets wafts over me.

“I could go for a hot chocolate.”

When I’m paying for our drinks, Riley presses her front to my right side and slides her hand in my front pocket, and I freeze. I hold my breath as my cock turns rock hard. With both hot chocolates in my hands, I turn my head to her and watch as her mouth turns up into a wicked smile.

A second later, I feel her tug my cell phone out of my pocket. There’s no way she’ll guess my screen lock code, and I can shield my face with the cups to prevent her from unlocking.

Riley giggles and moves away from me and I follow her out the door. She has her phone in her hand as well and types away. My cell phone buzzes with an incoming text and my jaw drops at her resourcefulness. I’m impressed.

With another giggle, she shimmies her shoulders and gives me a, I tricked you grin. I watch as her eyes drop to my phone and she reads what must be the notification from her phone. Her confident smile freezes, then drops as she stares at my phone.

When she lifts her gaze to mine, I lift one of the cups of hot chocolate to my lips and take a slow sip, not breaking eye contact.

Riley does that lip thing I fucking love, and I wish it were my teeth clamping down on her.

“Perfection?” she asks in a whisper.

I lift my shoulder in a relaxed shrug and hand her one of the cups. She returns her phone to the front pocket of her vest and takes the hot chocolate before handing me back my phone. I tuck it away and reach for her hand again.

“Sure,” I say, blowing it off like the word doesn’t mean what it does. “You called out to God—me—when I gave you orgasms, and I called you perfection.”

It’s not exactly the same. I didn’t call her that, I said her body was perfection. That was only partially true. Her entire being is perfection. We walk in silence for a few blocks, but Riley doesn’t pull away. If anything, her body is closer to mine, occasionally bumping into me as we make our way down the city streets.

Too soon, we’re in front of my hotel. This is it. This is where I prove my dick doesn’t rule me. In my thirty-two years, it’s never been the boss of me. But it likes Riley. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.

But I like her a lot a lot as well, and I’m not going to ruin what could potentially be a good thing by scaring her off with my dick. Not that my dick scares her. She had a great time with it a few weeks ago.

I clear my throat and stop to the side of the entrance so we’re not in anyone’s way. Releasing her hand, I take our empty cups and toss them in the nearby trash can before turning to her and framing her face in my palms. She gasps and retreats, and I drop my hands.

“Sorry.” She scrunches her nose in that adorable way again. “Your hands are cold.”

I chuckle. “Sorry. My bad.” I blow on them and run them through her hair instead, cupping the back of her neck but not drawing her in to my body, afraid the wood I’m packing might frighten her. “Thank you for the tour.”

“I didn’t exactly show you around. Thank you for the walk.”

She’s right. She didn’t point out any of the museums I barely noticed as we passed them. We didn’t hit the Freedom Trail or visit Faneuil Hall. Yet it was the most perfect evening. Boston is quickly becoming my favorite city and it has nothing to do with the city itself, but everything to do with who lives here.

“I had a good time tonight, Riley.” My fingers make lazy circles on her neck and I watch as her eyes droop. “Thank you for giving up your evening to spend with me. I wish there was something I could do to help with everything you have going on.”

I could, but she needs to want my help.

“You have. You made me forget about all the stress I’m dealing with, if only for a few hours.”

I can make her forget all night if she’ll let me. Hoping my hands are warmer, I slide them to her jaw and cup her face, lifting it to mine. I place a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, nothing like the kisses we shared before, and release her before my dick takes control of the rest of my body.

“Anytime, Riley. I enjoy spending time with you, whether it’s eating, walking, or...” I quirk my lip, letting her fill in the blank. Praying she fills it in for me.

I watch as she swallows and clears her throat. “It’s, um, getting cold out.”

Hoping I hide my disappointment, I drop my hands from her face and take a small step back. “Can I call an Uber for you?”

“I, uh.” She twists her hands together in front of her and takes a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could, um...warm up in your hotel room.”

Fuck. Yeah. My dick, my heart, my smile, they’re all about to explode. Instead, I play it cool. “Sure.”