Page 41 of First Down Promise

He nods and dips into the water up to his chin. “Yeah, sophomore through senior year. Got us a state championship. But when I got to A&M for college, the coach there thought I was built more like a tight end and had me try it, and I ended up liking it more.”

“So, you were almost the Pete of the Stallions?” I ask, and Josh just chuckles.

“No, fuck no. I was never as good as him, but fortunately, A&M couldn’t resist giving a football scholarship to a tall kid from West Texas.” His grin fades a little. “It got me out of there…” he adds a little softer.

“I want to hear more about where you came from someday.” Josh moves closer to me, and I lean against the side of the pool. The concrete wall presses into my back, and Josh rests his hand on the side next to me. His other finds my hip.

“Not much to say. Just a lot of dust and oil,” he jokes.

“Still. It’s part of who you are now. I want to know everything,” I say as he presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “Everything you’re willing to tell me.”

“And I will. But some of that shit is heavy.”

The sadness behind his eyes. The loneliness. I always knew he was more than a golden retriever in man form, but instead of dwelling there, he leans down and kisses me like he’s probably been dying to all morning. I put my hands on his hips, running my fingers up his broad back. His large hand cups the back of my neck, and the other settles on the small of my back.

“I want to do everything to you,” he murmurs in my ear. Tingles rush from my toes to between my legs, and I close my eyes as he kisses my neck again.

“Ugh, he added another thing to my agenda for New York next week,” Pete’s voice says from around the corner. My eyes shoot open, and Josh’s hands release me. I dip under the water and swim away from him. I pop up a few feet away from Josh and lightly wipe the salt water from my eyes. “Hey, you actually got in.”

I unclip my dripping hair to redo it. “Yeah, sure did.”

Josh is still where he was, and they resume their basketball game like he wasn’t just making out with Pete’s sister. I swim toward the stairs before I get splashed. As I step out of the pool, I feel Josh’s eyes on me, and when I look over my shoulder, he abruptly turns his head back to Pete.

“Done?” Pete calls out to me.

“I need some water.”

And a week alone with Josh.

Chapter Sixteen

Pete

“Let’s go!” my phone sings on the nightstand. I used to love this rap version of Crazy Train, but setting it as an alarm has conditioned me to fucking despise the song now.

I rub my eyes and check the time. Five thirty in the morning. On the first day of bye week. God damnit.

I turn the alarm off as I’ve never been one to hit snooze too much, especially when I’m needed for early workouts and practices. It was easier to get up instead of risking oversleeping. I sit up, and last night’s game is apparent in my back. I got sacked by a giant defensive player, and my ribs are flared up again too. Josh is probably feeling where the same defensive player knocked him on his ass, but he gets a week of chiropractors, massages, and physical therapy. Lucky bastard.

Groaning with my hand over my sore ribs, I walk through the broad archway to my bathroom. My toiletry bag is sitting half-full on the vanity, waiting for my morning essentials. I showered multiple times last night after the game, so freshening up for this morning’s flight is a breeze. Throwing my deodorant and toothbrush in the bag, I remember Abby saying I needed to wear more SPF.

A car is picking me up at six sharp, but my suitcase is zipped closed by five fifty. I throw on the matching sweatsuit, courtesy of one of the brands I’m shooting ads for this week, and step into some sneakers. They’re not the kind I’d wear to work out or jog in, just casual with a cushioned sole to support my aching feet.

Wheeling my suitcase down the hall behind me, I tap my bent index finger on Abby’s door and open it slightly. “Ab, I’m leaving,” I say.

Her groan from her bed is audible from the hall as she mumbles, “Have a safe flight,” and surely flips back over with her head buried in her pillow.

“Thanks,” I reply, but she probably didn’t hear me.

I softly close her door, grab the top handle on my suitcase again, and carefully move down the steps. Each step down sends shocks through my sore back, but I can muster through a little post-game soreness.

The black SUV is already waiting for me outside, so I grab a banana and my backpack and head out the door. It’s a crisp morning with a refreshing chill in the air, and the sun is still down. Abby doesn’t particularly love the cold weather despite our Midwest roots, and while I don’t love the dead-winter kind of cold, autumnal chilliness is alright.

The driver opens the back passenger-side door for me and takes my bags while I settle into the backseat. This was also organized by a brand I’m working with this week in New York.

I scroll on my phone for the twenty-minute drive to the private airport, only lifting my attention when we get off the interstate. Nashville International is already bustling with traffic and early morning drop-offs, but the driver continues past the main airport. I haven’t forgotten my years of general boarding and waiting in line for TSA, but for security reasons, flying private is safer and less complicated.

We pull up in front of the separate, private terminal, and the driver helps me with my bags again, which is a formality. I thank the driver and head inside for security. It’s not the usual TSA, but my bags and I are still screened.