But at least she was all smiles now. They finished their treats and went back to the Escalade, music cranked for the ride home. Once they were back in the cool and comfortable paradise of their expansive brick home, Emma got started on homework while James worked on dinner. He planned to keep it simple tonight with some grilled chicken and vegetables, and while he was out on the back patio getting the grill lit, he called Daisy.

  “Hello?” She sounded breathless when she picked up.

  “What’s going on, Coach Daisy?”

  “Oh, you know.” She grunted softly then, and he swore he could hear a thwack in the background. “Just letting off some steam.”

  His gut knotted again. “Still working through it?”

  “Oh, it’ll probably take me a year or two to fully get through this one,” she cracked. There was another thwwwump in the background. “Might even need to hire a therapist.”

  “What’s taking the place of a board-certified counselor for now?”

  “Racquetball,” she said, then let out an anguished cry. “Shit, this is hard to do one-handed.”

  He chuckled. “I know some other ways you can blow off steam.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve got a lot to blow off. I made the mistake of reading through probably eighty percent of what the internet had to say and, well…yeah. Worst decision I’ve ever made.”

  He winced. “Ouch. Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know. And more importantly, I want you to forget.”

  “I can never forget.”

  “Babe…come over tonight. I’ll make you forget. I promise.”

  She laughed weakly. In the background, he heard a racket clatter to the floor. “I’ll take you up on that offer. Because I need to forget.”

  Daisy came over while Emma was in the shower. He didn’t make a big fuss about it, just quietly backed her up against the front door and kissed her face off like the world was going to end. An intense make-out session emerged, full of tongues, teeth, and pulling at T-shirts. James caged her against the door with his arms, unwilling—maybe just unable—to break the kiss long enough to move elsewhere.

  “This is quite the greeting,” Daisy murmured once they finally broke for air. She smelled fresh, like she’d just taken a shower, and judging by her flimsy shorts and off-the-shoulder tee, she’d probably come straight here after her workout.

  “Just making good on my promise,” James said, grinding his hips against hers. “You wanted to forget. Have you forgotten yet?”

  “I’m on my way,” she said, walking her fingertips up the front of his team shirt.

  “Okay. I need to work harder. Roger that.” He grinned, slipping his hands over the apples of her ass before hoisting her into his arms. “But in order for you to truly forget, we need to take this party elsewhere.”

  She giggled, hooking her arms around his neck as he easily carried her deeper into the house. Emma would be getting ready for bed soon, and if they stayed downstairs, tucked into the den, there was no risk of bothering Emma or being overheard. He stepped into the carpeted room, flanked with couches and coffee tables and all manner of football memorabilia on the walls, and eased her onto the overstuffed recliner.

  “Stay there,” he said, pointing at her with mock severity. “Until I come back.”

  Daisy sent him a defiant look, her dark hair shiny in the golden light of the den, as he headed for the staircase at the front of the house. He took the steps two at a time, finding Emma already in her PJs in her room.

  “All right, Emma girl. You ready to hit the hay?”

  “I’m gonna read for a little bit—is that okay?”

  “Sounds good, but not for too long.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Night, honey.”

  She snuggled into her covers with a paperback Babysitters Club book in hand, and he turned off the overhead light, leaving her bathed in the golden light from her bedside lamp. She’d be content there until she fell asleep reading, which gave him the green light to have his fun in the den.

  James raced back downstairs, his steps thumping against the staircase. Daisy was lounging just as he’d left her, scrolling through her phone. He pulled the walnut pocket door closed behind him, locking them into their haven.

  “All right, Coach Daisy,” he said, taking long strides to reach her. She bit at her bottom lip, setting her phone on the table beside the recliner, as he came to his knees in front of her. “Are you ready to forget?”

  “More than ready,” Daisy said, her eyes burning with curiosity as he yanked at the waistband of her workout shorts. He pulled them down over her hips, grabbing her panties in the process, and guided the clothing down over her legs. He undid her shoes quickly, then tugged everything off, tossing the articles aside. She giggled. “I wonder what you could be planning.”

  “Just some routine girlfriend maintenance,” he teased, pushing the heels of his palms up her thighs. When he made it to her waist, he gripped the tops of her hips and surged forward for a kiss. ”You don’t have to do a thing.”

  He coaxed a few more kisses out of her as his hands crept north, smoothing over the warm skin of her belly, the dip in her waist. When they broke for air, he slid down so that his mouth met her mound. He pressed slow kisses over the tiny patch of hair there, loving the way she squirmed beneath him. He spread her thighs apart with his hands as his mouth moved lower, closer to the sweet core of her.

  James took his sweet time. Kissed her lazily, randomly, enjoying every wriggle and sigh that escaped her. Finally, he gave her a little of what she wanted and pressed his lips to her clit. She gasped, tensing beneath him, one of her hands finding the top of his head and knotting into his hair.

  Hell, his intention was to tease her, to draw this out as long as humanly possible. But when she was spread eagled in front of him like this, it was hard to move slowly. No, he wanted her peaking as much as she wanted it. He flattened his tongue against her clit, drawing slow, deliberate patterns back and forth over the needy nub. Her knees locked around his head, her face screwing up into an expression of torturous pleasure. James snaked one hand between her legs to join the party his tongue had started, and without warning he eased his middle finger into her.

  She was dripping. Juicy. So wet it made him mindless with desire. He pressed a second finger into her, starting a rhythmic thrust with his fingers while his tongue danced and played with her. Daisy arched hard, gripping at his hair with her hands.

  “Oh my god,” she groaned, clutching onto his head like she’d float away otherwise.

  James made an unintelligible noise as he continued suckling her and pumping his fingers in and out of her dripping core. Her pussy tightened around him, as though warning him: Do not leave.

  “Mmmm, Daisy.” He rubbed his nose over her swollen clit, then dipped down to replace his fingers with his tongue. He slurped at her, tasting her, loving the sweetness and the heat. She whimpered, bucking against his face.

  “Oh god, please, James,” she begged. “I’m so fucking close.”

  “I know you are,” he murmured, dragging his lips over her swollen folds as he pushed his fingers back inside her. “And I’m gonna make you come here, and then again upstairs in my bedroom.”

  James covered her clit with his mouth once more, massaging the stiff peak with his tongue while she writhed and bucked beneath him. It wasn’t long before her thighs went tense and that death grip on his hair returned. A shivery moan slipped out of her as her belly went tense and her pussy quaked around his fingers.

  He continued making lazy patterns over her throbbing clit while the aftershocks wracked her body. Once he pulled back, he found her red-faced and grinning. A low chuckle escaped her.

  “You are too good,” she said, her voice husky.

  “Mission accomplished?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Oh yeah. The original mission plus a few others.”

  James pushed up onto his palms on either side of her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He liked the sound of that. Because it meant that this thing between them wasn’t just working, it was growing.

  Maybe too fast, or maybe too much. Either way, it was happening, and he had no intentions of stopping it.

  13

  Sunday evening, after yet another narrow victory for the Sharks, James could hardly bring himself to get out of the shower and face the crowd of reporters waiting for the team.

  His body ached terribly, but that was just the physical side effects of the high-adrenaline game. What ached even more than his body was his mind.

  James hadn’t been able to stop beating himself up for some stupid mistakes he’d made at the start of the game. And despite his fifteen-year career with this sport, and all the different tips and tricks he’d learned as one of the longest running NFL stars in history…he still couldn’t get the hell over it.

  “Sullivan. We’ve got five minutes,” Maxwell called into the locker room shower. James was the last man rinsing off, and he heaved a sigh before snapping the water off and grabbing his towel.

  In the back of his mind, James knew that a lot of the worries came from his own inner critic. And sure, the Sharks had won. But that didn’t exempt him from analyzing all the things he personally could have done better.

  James dressed quickly, trying to prepare himself for the familiar round of questions and interrogations about the game. Maxwell urged him to hurry as he was tying his shoes, and James trotted behind Maxwell and Mark on their way to greet the reporters.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I just don’t want to fucking deal with the questions today.” James sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.

  “You pass whatever question you don’t want to answer to me,” Mark told him, which made Maxwell laugh.

  “And when they ask Sullivan what it’s like to be quarterback? What are you gonna tell them?”

  “That it’s the best job in the world,” Mark said with a sly grin. “Right, James? That’s what you’d say after almost two decades.”

  “Two decades.” James scoffed. “Make me sound like I’m at death’s door, why don’t you?”

  “My math skills aren’t wrong,” Mark said cockily as they filled in the back of the room where the reporters were gathered, letting the rest of the team field the questions for now. “You’re closer to two decades than one.”

  “Only if you round up,” Maxwell interjected.

  James had to laugh. Mark’s rookie spirit was endearing, but his lighthearted ribbing only reminded James of what was coming—that was the worst part. The pointed questions and the assumptions lurked around every corner in this sport. What had been of particular interest this year was the length of his career. Will you play another year? Do you have what it takes to make it past the fifteen-year mark? What about those fumbled balls—you think that’ll earn you a spot in the history books?

  His bad mood rooted into place before a single question had been thrown his way. James crossed his arms over his chest, listening as his teammates fielded the usual questions about what had just happened on the field. His frustration swirled the longer he stood there, and he thought about all the other things he could be doing. Namely getting home to see his daughter after he’d had yet another grueling day on the job. One by one the questions circled around, until one reporter called for him by name specifically.

  “James Sullivan!”

  James stepped up to the front, not bothering to hide the sour look on his face. His entire body was tense, waiting for what might be noted about his performance first. Maybe he really was too old for this shit anymore—he could hardly stand to confront the media anymore.

  “In the first quarter, when you fumbled the ball…” The reporter launched right into the heart of James’s insecurity, not missing a beat. James rubbed his thumb back and forth over his knuckles as the man recounted where James had stumbled, and what it had meant for the first half.

  “You know, I think that’s where having a winning strategy in place really helps solidify the team,” James said, feeling like a robot, falling back on the canned responses that could serve in almost any instance. “If I stumble, we’re still good.”

  “But you’re the quarterback, if you stumble, the entire team stumbles.”

  “Everyone stumbles once in a while,” he said, hearing the clipped tone in his voice.

  Another reporter stepped forward. The cameras focused on him made his skin sizzle. “James, when it came to halftime, it was noticeable that you and other players looked more winded than usual. People are wondering if this is due to your training regimen.”

  “Our training regimen is just fine,” James said.

  “It was announced in previous weeks the massive overhaul your team underwent in adopting the new strength and conditioning curriculum. Would you say that it’s been helping or hurting the team to uproot that foundation mid-season?”

  “It’s risky. There’s no doubt about that. But my performance today is not a reflection of the regimen.”

  Another reporter elbowed in. “Would you say that the Sharks are being pushed too hard or not enough?”

  “Listen, we’ve got top-notch instruction from all angles,” James said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. This was the last question, no matter what Coach Scooter said to him afterward. “If it were up to me, I’d take a more conservative regimen over one that pushed us too hard. Thanks for your questions.”

  James tore himself away from the crowd, hands on his hips, reminding himself to keep his cool. He went back into the locker room to gather his things so he could officially get the hell out of there and begin to decompress. He’d never tolerated personal failure very well. It was one of the reasons he’d ruled out dating for so long after he and Mary had split. He’d felt like a loser for a long time after the papers were signed. And today felt like much the same. Making rookie mistakes, fifteen years into his career.

  He grabbed a ball cap from his locker, pushed it down backwards over his wet hair, and then slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. It was time to get the hell out of here and get home.

  And on tonight’s agenda was only one thing: veg time with Emma. He was in such a bad mood that even Daisy couldn’t cure him. He just needed time to sulk, a space to fume, and a full night of sleep to get the fuck over this spell.

  Then he’d be ready for Monday morning…and to start the process all over again.

  On Monday, the Sharks enjoyed a light workday, thanks to their narrow win. Daisy was nowhere to be seen, though part of James was worried she too might have something to say about his performance. Since he was off early that day, he was able to pick Emma up from school himself. As soon as she slid into the back seat of the Escalade, her backpack slung over her shoulder, he could tell something was amiss.

  “Emma girl,” he said cautiously. “How was school?”

  She pouted, staring straight ahead. “Is it true?”

  “What?”

  “That you and Daisy are breaking up?”

  He blinked through the mirror at her, stunned. A car behind him honked, reminding him that he needed to evacuate his prime spot in the pickup line. James pulled ahead, trying to make sense of the question.

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I know how to read,” Emma said, her voice cracking. Shit, she was close to tears. “I saw the articles they posted about your game yesterday.”

  “Well, I haven’t, so you’ll have to enlighten me,” James said, trying to force a laugh, though only dread swirled inside him.

  “It says you two are breaking up because the training is bad,” Emma said, looking utterly devastated. “But I thought Daisy did a good job. Maddie said that her dad saw the same thing, and that he thinks—”

  “Honey. Stop there.” James raised a hand, wanting to nip the speculation and school gossip in the bud before it could completely overtake their lives. “I don’t need to know what Maddie’s dad thinks about all this. I’m going to look into these articles when we get home. And let me reassure you right now—we’re not breaking up.”

  She expelled a breath. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Daisy and I just talked last night. We’re fine.” It was only partially true. He’d sent her a goodnight text, which she’d responded to with an emoji. But it was as much as he could give yesterday, and besides, he knew they’d connect today. He’d hoped he’d run into her in the morning, but on Mondays, it was common for them to not cross paths.

  Emma still looked a bit heartbroken, which only made him feel worse. “Listen, I don’t want you looking stuff up on the internet about me or Daisy, okay?”

  “I didn’t look,” she blurted, “I only thought to search because Maddie said—”

  “I’m not angry,” James said, reaching behind to pat her knee. “I just don’t want you to keep finding the wrong information out in the worst way possible. You understand? When you want to find out the truth about a horse, where do you go—the mouth or the butt?”

  Emma giggled.

  “The internet is the butt in this equation. You never go to the internet. I know you’ve been following up with me, but there’s no point in you getting so upset in the meantime about things that aren’t true. So next time, before you check the internet about something—come to me first, okay?”

  Emma nodded, smiling at him. “Okay, Dad. I will.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” The rest of their ride was pleasant, full of light conversation about school and plenty of rock music. But something unwelcome—and unhelpful—cycled through him, cranking his anxiety back up.

  Back at the house, Emma skipped inside to take up her regular place at the dining room table to get her homework out of the way. James stepped out onto the back patio, enjoying the shade and the fragrant scents mingling in the warm fall air. He eased onto a lounge chair and pulled out his phone to call Daisy.