CHAPTER 26 JOLENE

I'm not sure why I go to the Complex.

The parking lot was completely empty when I parked my car in the lot, which means everyone has gone home for the night. The lobby is dark except for the one emergency light still illuminated, but I'm over in the shadows, sitting on a chair outside the media room.

Maybe I came here because the media room is home now, a place I'll be spending a lot of time this season in my new position.

Or perhaps it's because I assume he'll show up, and I have this pressing need to talk to him. I'm ready to confront him with what Sam and I talked about the other night.

I hope he shows up.

It probably has more to do with the fact that I saw him kiss some woman at my bar than anything else, and it's total bullshit that he chose the Gridiron of all places on Earth to meet her.

He did it to shove her in my face. He didn't know I'd be there, but he certainly had to think there'd be a chance. Or maybe he didn't and my ego is just overinflated.

Either way, I'm right. He shows up and uses his keycard to enter the front door, and he freezes when he spots a figure sitting by the media room.

"What are you doing here?" he demands, his hand moving to his chest like I startled him.

I push to my feet and take a few steps over toward him. "Hoping to run into you."

I can't help but study him for a beat. His dark eyes follow my every move as I close the gap between us until we're within arm's reach. It's too close. I shouldn't be this close to temptation, especially not when that familiar smell hits me.

I can't help it. I draw in a breath, and when I open my eyes, they flick to his lips for just a beat. Scruff outlines his mouth and jaw, as if he couldn't be bothered to shave for the last few days, and I hate that someone else's lips were on his.

I hate that other women have been beneath him.

That was supposed to be reserved for me…and now, it's not. It can't be.

And I'm not innocent. I have a son. Clearly I didn't save myself for some reunion when it's been very clear to me for a number of years that any reunion between the two of us would not be a happy one.

He glances back at the door he just unlocked to get in before his eyes return to me. "How'd you get in here?"

"I have a keycard." I hold it up to show him.

"But…how?"

"It doesn't matter."

He grunts a little, conceding. "I guess you're right. Why were you hoping to run into me?"

He cuts right to the chase, and I should, too.

Instead, my stupid mouth takes over. "Who was that woman?"

His brow quirks. He seems surprised by my direct question, but he masks it quickly. "At the bar?"

"At my father's restaurant," I grit out.

"None of your business. Is that why you're here? To ask me about my personal life? Because that doesn't seem very professional, Ms. Bailey."

"Neither did cornering me in the break room and bringing up my child, Mr. Nash."

He sighs, glancing away from me. "I shouldn't have done that. You're right, and I'm sorry."

My brows shoot up. "Whoa. Did you just admit…you were wrong?"

He offers a wry chuckle. "I suppose I did."

Silence spans between us, and I'm not sure how to bridge the gap that lies there.

He clears his throat and says, "Listen—" at the same time I say, "Lincoln—"

We share a bit of an awkward silence, and I hold up a hand indicating he should go first.

"She's an old friend who was in town and wanted to get together for a drink," he finally says. "I assume that's not for a story?"

"I'll keep it off the record unless there's something else about your personal life you'd like me to highlight."

He shakes his head. "No. I'm good."

"How are we going to do this?" I ask quietly.

"We fight whatever's going on inside and we act professional." His voice is low, nearly a confession as he speaks his words.

"What are you fighting?" My stomach flips as I ask the question.

His eyes flick to my mouth before moving back to my eyes. "The same thing you are." His voice is low and raspy, and my thighs clench together.

"Spell it out for me, Mr. Nash."

He clears his throat. "Why don't you tell me what you're fighting first?"

I shake my head, and I force my eyes away from his. "It's too dangerous."

"You think I don't know that? I just came from a weekend with my family where my father took the time to remind me how I need to stay away from you."

I reel back a little like he struck me even though he didn't. It wasn't a physical blow, anyway. "Twenty years later and you're still doing what he tells you," I murmur.

"What do you want me to do, Jolene?" he roars at me, his voice thundering through the lobby.

I don't have an answer to that.

"I didn't have a choice back then, and I don't have a choice now!" He's still yelling, and seeing him get all fired up is somehow…sexy as fuck.

I want him. It's forbidden. It's wrong. It's the worst thing I can do. We'd be putting both our careers in jeopardy, and our families would never understand the absolute and total betrayal.

But I can't help how I feel.

I never stopped loving him, and I'm so goddamn tired of pretending like I have, particularly when my new job requires me to be in close proximity to him.

He turns to walk away, and I stop him with my words as my own temper grabs hold.

"Does it matter what I want, then? You've already made up your mind!"

He freezes in place and turns slowly around, his eyes finally landing on me. But now they're hard and fierce, nearly black in the dark lighting in here. "What either of us wanted back then—what we want now…no." He shakes his head, his voice low again but filled with despondency as his eyes shift down to the ground. "It's never mattered."

"What do you want, Lincoln?" I whisper as heat pinches behind my eyes.

His eyes lift to mine again, and he takes a step toward me. "You." He closes the gap until he's standing right in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him. I think he's going to take advantage of the opportunity he missed in that break room when he didn't kiss me when he says, "It's always been you. But it can't be. There's too much at stake now."

We face off in the dimly lit lobby, and I'm shocked when he reaches out a hand and grips onto my bicep. He yanks me toward him until I nearly fall into his chest, and I tilt my head up as I stop myself with my hands on his chest.

His rock-hard, solid chest.

Holy hell.

Was he that solid back in high school?

He certainly is now.

His hand moves from my arm to my hip, and the other one moves up into my hair.

"What are you doing?" I murmur.

"What I should have done in the break room. What I've wanted to do since I saw you out the window when I was here for my interview." With those words, his mouth comes crashing down to mine.

A rush of heat tears up my spine as his mouth opens. His kiss is rough and desperate as we both give into this need we've had for two decades. I grip onto his shirt as I kiss him back, and eventually my hands move up toward his neck and then into his hair, where I grip onto the silky strands there. I find myself lost in this new world that feels so familiar as our tongues dance viciously together, our bodies pressed together as all the pent-up emotions rise to the surface.

But reality is quick to kick in.

As much as I want to give into this kiss and into him, there's just too much at stake.

He was right when he said that.

Our jobs, our families…it's a lot to risk on something we've been fine without over the last twenty years.

Except…

Have I really been fine?

Or is the piece of me that was missing all this time right in front of me again, held in the hands of the man who is kissing me?

It's the conflicting thoughts that finally force me to push him away.

He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, his mouth red and raw from our kiss, and he looks nearly insulted that I pulled away first.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "I shouldn't have—"

I cut him off. "No. I wanted you to. It's just—"

He shakes his head. "You don't have to say anything more. It's out of our systems now, and we can move on. Goodnight, Jolene." He turns to walk up to his office, effectively dismissing me, but my big, dumb mouth opens up again.

Mostly because I'm offended that he said it's out of our systems when I know Lincoln Nash will never be out of my system.

"Why'd you stop playing?" I ask, and he freezes at my question before he turns to face me again. He looks a little out of sorts—as if he's getting whiplash from this back and forth, and frankly, I am, too.

"I injured my knee." His voice is firm and direct, as if he's recalling the same old tired excuse from memory.

"Bullshit. Why'd you stop playing?" I repeat.

His eyes move away from mine. I could always see through him, and this is no different.

"I injured my knee, and a post-op infection kept me from being able to play again."

I narrow my eyes at him. "How many surgeries did you have on that infection?"

"A few. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I don't believe you."

"I don't care if you don't believe me. Facts are facts, Jolene." He folds his arms across his chest, and I wish I hadn't gone this direction with the conversation right after he kissed me, but here we are.

I snag my bottom lip between my teeth for a beat. "I just can't quite figure out why Lincoln Nash, part of the Nash family football dynasty, would choose to quit playing and move into coaching instead."

"It's ancient history. Nobody cares why. I've built a great career out of coaching, and I will not let some reporter fuck it all up for me."

I ignore the some reporter line. For now.

"So you're saying there's a story there, then." I realize I'm being aggressive, but maybe that's how I need to work it with him.

"I'm not saying anything. I'm saying get the fuck out of my building before I have you arrested for trespassing."

There is definitely a story here. He's lying, and the entire world believes it.

Whether it's for some reporter like me to uncover remains to be seen, but breaking a story like this could be huge for my career. It could catapult me from local news team correspondent to a major news channel, which has always been my end goal.

I just have to figure out whether it's worth it to break it at Lincoln's expense.

"I'm sure your boss would love to come bail me out of jail since he's the one who gave me this key." I hold it up and shrug.

He presses his lips together. "Look, I have a lot of work to do. Is there anything else?"

Yeah. Another kiss would be great. Perhaps a quick fuck over on the lobby counter so I can see what skills you've picked up over the last twenty years.

I don't say any of that.

Instead, I shake my head. "There's a lot more, Lincoln. But I guess we'll have to save it for another time."

"Fine." He turns to leave, and this time I let him.

I gather my laptop bag over on the chair where I was sitting before he came in, and I head out the front door. It's late, and while it's a relatively safe area, I still don't like being a woman alone at night in a dimly lit parking lot.

And that's why a voice just outside the door scares the hell out of me.

"Looking awfully cozy with Coach Nash," the voice says, and when he emerges from the shadows, I see Ryan Rivera standing there.

"Jesus, Ryan. You scared the shit out of me." My hand flies up to my chest as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He flashes me a photo of the two of us kissing in the lobby from a few moments ago.

"I'm sure Marcus would love to know just how you're going about getting those exclusives with the new coach," he says, and there's a threatening element to his tone that I don't like at all.

"It was nothing more than a mistake." I grab the strap of my laptop bag and turn to leave.

"Nothing, huh?" he asks, taking a step toward me, his eyes glinting in the light. It feels…threatening, and it scares me. "So interesting because I did a little digging and found out pretty easily you two have a history together. You think you can make out with the coach and it won't have any consequences?" He shakes his head as he sneers at me.

I take a step back as I try to come up with something, anything, to say, but I'm at a loss.

"I'll do whatever it takes to make sure Marcus knows what's really going on around here," he says. "You never deserved this job, and we both know the only reason you got it."

His words make my stomach twist violently. I know Rivera is an aggressive reporter, but I have no idea what he's capable of when push comes to shove.

As I slip into my car and start the engine to drive away, I know that my life has just become a whole lot more complicated.

But one thing is clear: I need to stay far away from Lincoln Nash.

I'm just not sure how to do that when I'm desperately in love with him.

TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 2, PLAY CALL