Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) Read online

  Our record this year was fucking with my head.

  Naked women cheered me up.

  The strip club had naked women.

  The shit was pretty damned simple.

  But if I went, I was staying late. If I went, we were popping bottles, because I was Jordan Johnson, and why the hell wouldn’t I? If I went, I wasn’t gonna be in there acting like I was broke, either. The women were gonna be well taken care of. But then, the money brought attention, and suddenly my simple visit to see Cin was a wild-ass, loud-ass, expensive-ass party that I hadn’t intended, but certainly wasn’t about to shut down.

  Because… it was another distraction.

  My phone went off in my pocket, and I thought about ignoring it. Looking at the time gave me a pretty good idea of who it was. About twenty minutes had passed since I would have been finishing up my meeting with Chloe, and if I knew Nicki – and I knew Nicki – she’d called Chloe after to check in.

  And now, she was calling me to go off.

  I wasn’t interested in playing verbal punching bag though, not tonight. I was about to watch last Sunday’s game over and over until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and then take my ass to bed.

  The question of if I wanted to listen to the commentators while I watched was still playing in my mind when my phone started chiming again. This time, I pulled it out to check the screen, and actually smiled before I tapped the button to answer it with my thumb.

  “Jess, baby girl! What’s going?”

  “Hey big brother,” she said, and I could already hear her smiling through the phone. “Guess what happened?”

  “You finally grew those extra four inches you’ve been praying about since you were sixteen.”

  On the other end of the line, Jess giggled. I’d been teasing her about her height since we were kids, but at 5’8”, she wasn’t a short woman by any means – just not tall enough to follow her supermodel dreams. My baby sister had the looks, but not the inches. So instead of being a model, she dressed them.

  “I wish,” she sighed. “But, I sent a dress to Nubia Perry, and she wore it to lunch today! Somebody asked her on Instagram where it was from, and she mentioned me by name, even tagged me. My social media has been blowing up today!”

  I grinned. Jess had idolized Nubia growing up. “That’s what’s up, baby girl! Did you get to talk to her yourself?”

  “No, but I’m hoping she asks me to make her something. Could you imagine?! Custom work for friggin’ Nubia Perry?! As it is now, I only got that dress to her because a friend of a friend of a friend works in the building where her offices are. I pulled a huge favor to make it happen.”

  “But it paid off.”

  “Yep.”

  “Without any help from dad.”

  “Yep. So obviously he’s going to hate it.”

  “Obviously,” I grinned.

  Greg Johnson was a very his way or no way type of man. Growing up, our home – however polished we looked on the outside – had been a constant battleground. Him against our mother. Me and Jessmyn against him, while he tried his best to mold us into his image of what a football legend’s kids should look like. Be model members of Jack & Jill, attend his alma mater, greek life for Jess, and football for me. And we’d done that. Just… on our terms.

  Jess was about as opposite of a pearl-wearing debutante as she could be. She rotated between a couple of assorted facial piercings, had a different hair color every week. When she dressed, she committed to a “look”, without a single shred of thought given to modesty. She wasn’t quiet, refined, or “classy”. But she was bubbly, kind, and cool as hell, and didn’t let anybody play her. So, the best little sister I could imagine having.

  But of course, our father was holding out hope that she would cover up, quiet down, and get married. And he hoped that I would… hell…. I wasn’t ever sure what he wanted from me. I got the right football scholarship, went to the right college, got drafted onto the right team, finished my degree during the off-season, and yet there was still a problem.

  I wasn’t him.

  Greg Johnson was serious. In bold strokes, and capital letters. I wasn’t bubbly like Jess, but I liked people, like to joke and have fun, get a little tipsy, dance, laugh, whatever. All the shit my father considered “clowning”, and according to him was the reason we’d only collected Super Bowl rings once in the six years I’d been on the team.

  Never mind that one of those years, I’d been down because of an ankle injury. Never mind that we’d lost our best quarterback, and had been dealing with a subpar team and fucked up coaching staff since even before then. Never mind that when I was on the field, I fucking dominated. Every game, play after play, I was giving my this-shit-is-going-in-the-highlights best. I was racking up yards, making impossible catches. Keeping my team alive, making sure we weren’t a complete embarrassment.

  But all he – and everybody else, apparently – wanted to talk about was “clowning”.

  The shit was exhausting.

  “So what’s next?” I asked, focusing back on Jess, and redirecting the conversation. “You need anything? Your bills covered?”

  She sucked her teeth. “Yes, my bills are covered JJ, I’m grown!”

  “You’re 23. That’s not that grown.”

  “You’re 27. That’s not that grown either. But… thank you for making sure I’m good.”

  “Always. I don’t want you having to ask Mama or our father for shit. So you don’t need anything?”

  “Well, I didn’t say that. If the next time you decide to imply your dick is gonna put somebody’s eye out, you could be wearing a Jessmyn Johnson original graphic tee…. That would be perfect.”

  I closed my eyes, pushing out a harsh breath through my teeth as I sat back. “Did you have to bring that shit up?”

  “I didn’t have to, but you asked. It’s gone viral now, JJ. Think of how many eyes could have been looking at a Jessmyn instead of a… whatever the hell that was you had on.”

  I frowned. “It was a plain ass tee shirt.”

  “Exactly. My brother is supposed to be fly at all times. In Jessmyn Johnson Signature.”

  “Bye Jess,” I chuckled, shaking my head.

  “Byeeeee,” she sang. “And hey… you know I love your big head ass right?”

  “You and everybody else.”

  “Oh whatever. But seriously, you’ve been a little different lately, so I wanna make sure you know.” Her voice changed a little, going from playful to a serious edge that hinted at her worry. “I don’t really claim you in public like that, but I’m proud of you, and I love you.”

  I leaned forward, running my hand over my face as I tried to shake off the tightness in my throat. “Thank you baby girl. I love you too.”

  “Aiight,” she said softly, still in that concerned tone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I wished I’d picked up something stronger than a damned beer. I knew it wasn’t her intention, but that conversation had dredged up shit I’d rather not think about.

  I tossed my phone down on the couch and went back to the kitchen, grabbing another beer before I returned. When I sat down, I noticed that my phone was blinking again. I ignored it for a few minutes, expecting it to be more of Nicki cursing me out. I watched the first few plays of the recorded game, and then finally curiosity won.

  It wasn’t Nicki.

  There were very, very few people in the world I considered friends. Not associates, not people I partied with, not people who wouldn’t fuck with me anymore if the money ever ran out. Real friends.

  Trent Bailey was one of them.

  “JJ… what’s up, man? What happened with you and that reporter? –TB”

  I sighed, then read the message again. And then a third time.

  What had happened?

  It was taking the easy way out to say that Kendra Fulton had purposely pushed my buttons to create a story. She went too far, she was just getting under my skin. But that wasn’t what hap
pened.

  “I lost my cool. I don’t like being a loser, bruh. This shit is getting to me.”

  God’s honest truth, to somebody who would give me the same respect. Trent had never been anything except real, so I wasn’t about to play him by bullshitting.

  “It would get to anybody. You’re human. But you gotta stay focused. I know better than anybody how dirty the media can be, how they spin shit however they can for a story. Don’t give them shit. Make them work for it. Stay focused. – TB”

  I sat back.

  He wasn’t lying, at all. I’d watched my friend get dragged through the mud, no mercy. Arrest, trial, conviction, jail time. Getting put off the team. TB had been through some shit – shit that made my little problems seem trivial in comparison. But he survived it, and was still able to be cool when he needed to. Coming from Trent, the shit wasn’t just a platitude. It was gospel.

  Stay focused.

  “Bet.” Was all I sent back. I hit the “ignore” button on another call from Nicki, then turned off my phone and picked up the remote. Tonight, the only thing I planned to do was watch my performance in this game, and figure out where I could improve. Then watch everybody else, and figure out how to work with and around their shit.

  It was all about being focused.

  I knew who had walked into the locker room before I even turned around, from the chorus of greetings that went around the room. Because of who she was – or rather, who her father was – they were much more respectful than most other women would have gotten.

  The demandingly soft sound of her clearing her throat behind me made me grin, and I kept that grin on my face as I turned around to feast my eyes on Nicole Richardson.

  As usual, she had her hair pulled back, and black framed glasses perched neatly across her nose. If I had to guess, she thought the bun and glasses made her less desirable. If only she knew the truth – that the sexy librarian vibe she was giving, in her neat, tucked-in button up, pencil skirt, and heels, was having the exact opposite effect on a room full of testosterone.

  I mean, I got it. As a woman in a male-dominated field, she wanted to be respected, not ogled, or fantasized about. But with a face and body like that – luminous copper skin, full lips, high cheek bones, slim waist, fat ass – there wasn’t much she could do to stop it.

  The team respected her plenty though, because she didn’t give them a choice. She was great at her job. They took her seriously. They just… also wondered what she looked like under her clothes.

  “We need to talk,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I sucked in an exaggerated breath. “Ooh. I’ve heard that before. Never been good.”

  “And today is going to continue that trend. Can you come to my office?”

  Shrugging, I pulled off my towel, then used it to dry behind my ears. “I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, Nicki. Just talk.”

  Her gaze drifted down to where my towel had been, then back up to my face before she rolled her eyes. “Can you put some boxers or something on please?”

  “My eyes are up here anyway, Ms. Richardson.” I grinned as I pulled out my boxers and put them on while she stared up at the ceiling, waiting for me to finish.

  “What happened to you meeting with Chloe?” she asked, once I pulled my sweats on over my boxers.

  “No time. I needed to focus on the upcoming game.”

  Her top lip curled. “Really? That’s the excuse you’re going with, after you’ve been to the strip club twice this week?”

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. Didn’t you just tell me the other day that downtime was for winning teams? Well, here we are. We lost, so I don’t have any damned downtime.”

  “Jordan, you need an agent. You need PR representation. These things aren’t optional, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, I do. So, I’ll meet with Mrs. McKenna on my off day, Tuesday… if we win.”

  Nicki narrowed her eyes. “You get off on being difficult with me, don’t you?”

  I grinned. “I’ll only admit that when you admit that you get off on me being difficult with you. I keep things interesting around here for you, don’t I?”

  “If interesting and agonizing are synonyms, then sure you do, JJ. Just make sure you have representation before bye week, please?”

  I bit my lip. “Anything for you, Ms. Richardson.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She turned to walk away, and everybody who’d been pretending not to pay attention turned in her direction for the show that was her ass in that skirt.

  “Oh,” she said, turning back to face me, and it was comical how the other guys tried to act like they hadn’t been looking. “I meant to tell you… you looked good out there at practice today. Good work.”

  In response, I simply nodded, then turned back to my locker to finish getting dressed. I didn’t really know what to make of how pleased I was to know that she’d been watching me at practice. Nicki was fine – Nicki was fine as hell, but that wasn’t a road I need to go down.

  One time should be enough times to know when not to fuck with a woman – especially when that woman was the owner’s daughter.

  three.

  “Your brother is in your office.”

  My steps faltered, and I paused before angling my head toward Presley’s desk. “Excuse me?”

  Anxiety crossed Presley’s face as she leaned to the side of her chair – away from me. “Uh, Nate? Nate Richardson…”

  The girl looked so petrified that I tried to fix my expression into something less murderous. “I know who my brother is, Presley. I’m asking what he’s doing in there. What does he want?”

  “He didn’t say. But he looked happy.”

  I let out a loud, admittedly rude exhalation. “Of course he did. Hold my calls please.”

  She nodded, and I took the last few steps to my door, hesitating for a second to collect myself. This was becoming way too common – me needing to mentally prepare before going into my own damned office. It seemed like every time I hit this door, there was a man I didn’t really want to talk to on the other side.

  Today, it was my brother.

  He was at the window when I walked in, but turned at the sound of my footsteps on the floor. His mouth quirked into a grin, and he moved towards me in confident strides, hands outstretched to greet me.

  “What do you want?” I asked, dodging his embrace. He chuckled, and pulled me into a hug anyway.

  “A man can’t come and say hello to his sister?”

  “A man might, but you…”

  Nate laughed again. “See, here you go. And I really was coming to check on you. That mess with your boy Browning… that’s a tough break.”

  I narrowed my eyes, looking Nate right in his face – a face that matched mine more closely than I preferred when he was pissing me off. Same copper skin, same warm brown eyes, same thick lashes. The only things that saved Nate from looking like a girl were his sculpted chin and carefully groomed hair.

  “Ah, there it is. You’re here to rub that in my face, as if I don’t have enough on my plate right now.”

  He shrugged, trying to look sheepish, but his smug grin wouldn’t stay concealed. “I’m not rubbing it in. Why would I do that? I mean, sure… the quarterback you were supposed to be helping succeed got arrested for distributing child pornography, but you’re my blood. I wouldn’t do you like that.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes, really. Just because my offensive team members are keeping their noses clean, both literally and figuratively, doesn’t mean that I’m better at this than you.”

  “Okay, that’s enough Nate,” I said firmly, holding my hands up for emphasis. He shut his mouth, but kept smirking, and I wanted nothing more than to smack that look off his face. But that would just be playing into the whole “women are too emotional” thing that I didn’t need plaguing me in the workplace too.

  Even if the coworker was my brother.

  A love of sports was one of the th
ings Nate and I had in common, so it wasn’t surprising that we would both choose to immerse ourselves in it for our careers. We even took the same path – college, law school, and then the best position we could get on a team that had been in our blood since birth – the Connecticut Kings.

  I was confident that favoritism hadn’t been the only thing behind us getting our jobs – we were as qualified as any other candidates, but had the advantage of a long, personal history with the team, and had been reading playbooks and football contracts since we were old enough to understand them.

  But, while nepotism may not have been the only thing to get us hired, there was no doubt in my mind that my father’s influence had absolutely played a part in the positions we held.

  I, Nicole Richardson, was Assistant Director of Player Success, responsible for half of the players on the Connecticut Kings’ offense.

  My brother was responsible for the other half.

  He thought it was the funniest thing in the world, pitting me and Nathan against each other to be the one who would eventually get to scratch the “assistant” and just be “director”. So far this season, Nate was winning.

  “Okay, so maybe that was a little too far,” Nate conceded, holding up his own hands in a soothing gesture.

  I rolled my eyes as I made my way to my desk. “How could you tell?”

  “Call it “twintuition”.”

  He dropped into the seat in front of me, making himself comfortable, much like Jordan had. I quickly brushed away the thought of him, before my mind traveled back to that little moment in the locker room. His broad, sculpted chest and shoulders, still damp from his shower. And when he’d dropped that towel… shit.

  “It’s pretty messed up though, seriously,” Nate said, and I latched onto his words, needing the distraction from what was happening in my head. “I never would have thought quiet ass Todd Browning would be into anything like that.”

  I scoffed. “I did. I wasn’t surprised at all when the FBI stormed this place for him. Relieved, honestly. I knew something wasn’t right about him, I just couldn’t pin it down.”

  Nate leaned forward, concern in his eyes. “What?! Did he—”