On the Shore (Cottonwood Cove, #3)(11)

You set me up with her.





Drew



Don’t shoot the messenger. She was a friend of Deb’s Pilates instructor. How the hell were we supposed to know she was a stage-five clinger?





I rolled my eyes and leaned back on the couch. I enjoyed sex as much as the next guy, but I hadn’t had great experiences with relationships. So, I preferred to keep things casual most of the time. My life was complicated enough at the moment anyway.

I’m done talking about my dating life, or lack thereof. I do just fine with the ladies. Don’t you worry about it. Talk to you tomorrow.





Drew



Deb just said that her manicurist is single and that her short stint in prison was just because her ex-boyfriend made her sit in the car when he robbed a gas station. I can’t make this shit up, brother.





I laughed and dropped my phone on the couch as I stared out at the water.

For whatever reason, those dark brown eyes flooded my thoughts. The way her chest rose and fell when she hissed at me. The way her long waves fell around her shoulders. And don’t even get me started about her plump, pink lips.

Hell, I probably did need to get laid. I had a few hookups I could reach out to, but that would mean inviting them here.

Since everything went down with Jaqueline, I was cautious about that. I preferred to go to hotels and keep things surface-level.

I enjoyed being in control of every situation in my life, and sex was no different.

My mind wandered back to the woman who’d just kicked me out of the restaurant.

I didn’t give a shit if Brinkley Reynolds took the job or not.

I’d done my part.

I could rest guilt-free now. She’d turned it down, and that was her choice.





I’d gone for a run every day this week, and I loved how quiet it was in the mornings here. I wasn’t swamped by reporters, and nobody bothered me in Cottonwood Cove. I’d been to a few restaurants since I’d arrived here, the grocery store and the coffee shop, and people waved and said hello. A few asked for my autograph. But they were respectful. They weren’t asking where I was going to play or what my plans were. It reminded me of the early days of my career when attention from the fans felt like an honor and not an obligation. I missed those days. Maybe I’d become too jaded. Built up too many walls to protect myself.

I was heading down the main road just as the sun was starting to come up, and a woman was running toward me. She was pumping her arms, running a similar pace to mine, from what I could tell. Her long strides hit the pavement as she hauled ass in my direction. She wore a black sports bra, black leggings, and a white baseball cap. As we closed the distance, running toward one another from opposite directions, I realized who it was.

Brinkley Reynolds.

Her dark gaze locked with mine as she moved past me, and for reasons I can’t explain, I turned around.

Ran after her.

When I pulled up beside her, she startled for a second and tore the earbuds out of her ears.

“Do I need to get a restraining order now?” she huffed as she continued striding at a good pace.

“I didn’t know you’d be out here, so that would be a bit ridiculous, yeah?”

“What do you want?”

I continued running alongside her and glanced at her profile. Her skin was golden, her exposed abs were feminine yet defined, and her long ponytail swayed from side to side.

I silently warned my dick not to respond to the fact that I couldn’t stop looking at the way her tits bounced just the slightest bit with her movements. They weren’t big, but they were perky, and my mouth watered at the thought of seeing them beneath the black fabric.

Of wrapping my mouth around them and tugging her long ponytail as I kissed my way up the column of her neck.

Jesus, dude. Pull your shit together.

“I want to know why you aren’t taking that job.”

We continued running in silence for another two blocks before she came to an abrupt stop in front of a house.

“Why do you care?” she said over her labored breaths as she leaned over her knees and calmed her breathing.

“You’re being stubborn. Take the fucking job.” I rubbed a hand down the back of my neck as my labored breaths slowed.

“Ah… you feel guilty?”

“I don’t feel guilty,” I lied. “It’s your actions that led to the events that followed. You did follow me into the john. I was pissed. But I’m not the devil. I wouldn’t want to take your livelihood from you. I wanted you escorted out of that press conference. End of story.” I shrugged.

“As if that wasn’t humiliating enough.” She glared at me, wiping the sweat from her forehead. The sun had just come out, and it was shining down on her. Pops of amber and gold danced in her dark gaze.

“Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like to be hounded by the media? To not have a second to breathe without someone shouting questions at you? To be loved one minute when you play well and hated in the brief moments that you fuck up?” I said, surprising myself with how much I’d just shared.

“Cry me a river. You’re the best quarterback in the league. People want to know where you’re going to play. They want to know your story, which, by the way, you’re the most closed-off athlete that I know. You make millions of dollars doing what you love. You just won a goddamn Super Bowl. You don’t get to play the sympathy card. There are bigger issues in the world than you being hounded by reporters. You’re a public figure; you signed up for this.”