DIRTYFILTHYBOY

CHICAGOOUTLAWSBOOKONE

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C H A P T E R 1

Chicago

EarlyOctober

HE SECOND I STEP ON THE PRACTICE FIELD, I'm besieged by fans. Young, old,
women,men.

Agap-toothed,tow-headedboywearingmynumber10jerseystandsatthefrontof

the line, Sharpie in hand. "Ty, sign my shirt. Pleeeease." Gotta give the kid credit, he
cameprepared.

"Sure."IwriteTyMathewswithmytrademarkflourishattheend.EventhoughI've

signed thousands of autographs, I still get a kick out of seeing the excitement in a
child'seyes.Ofcourse,someofthemaren'tkids.Andsomeofthemhaveaskedmeto
signsomethingotherthanshirts.Tits,asses.Idrawthelineatpussies.Yeah,I'vebeen
asked. After I sign a few more shirts and photos, a staff member waves off the fans,
promisingI'llsignmoreafterpractice.

Ifmyarmholdsout.
Myshoulderthrobsfromyesterday'sgruelingsession.I'veicedit,haditmassaged,

butitstillhurtslikehell.Attwentyeightyearsold,Ishouldn'thurtsodamnedmuch.
Thesmartthingwouldbetogiveitarest,butwe'refacingSanFranciscothisweek,and
therearesomemeansonsofbitchesonthatteamwho'djustassoontearmyheadoff.
SoIbetterbereadytogetridoftheball.Besides,I'llbedamnedbeforeIaskforalight
workoutfromCoach'NoPain,NoGain'Gronowskiwhoplayedwithabrokenfootata
clutchmatchduringhisNFLdays.Ican'tfaulthisattitude.Lastyear,wewentallthe
way to the AFC playoffs, only to lose the championship game to our conference
nemesis,theTexasRoughriders.Idon'tintendtofailmyteam.ThisyearI'mtakingthe
ChicagoOutlawsallthewaytotheSuperBowl.

As I'm tying my shoulder pads, I notice three of my teammates gesturing at

something, laughing hard enough to split a gut. I throw on my practice jersey, and,
curious,Iwalkup."What'ssofunny?"

Oneofthelinebackerspointstowardthesidelinewherearedheadwithhairdown

to one luscious ass is interviewing our number one wideout, Ron Moss. The breath
whooshesoutofme.She'swearingamicroskirt,shortenoughformetoalmostseethe

promised land. Her blouse, unbuttoned down to there, displays a truly impressive
cleavage.

My cock, which hasn't gotten any action for two days, swells painfully against my

cup.Itugtogiveitroom.Wherehasthisreporterbeenhidingout?Ihaven'tseenher
before.Andbelieveme,Iwouldhavenoticed.

ThewomankeepstouchingRon,hisarm,hishand.Problemisthemoreshedoesit,

the more stone-faced he becomes. No wonder the linebackers think it's funny. Ron
doesn'tdrink,doesn'tsmokeandhecertainlydoesn'tlikeaggressivefemaleswhichthe
reporterappearstobe.I,ontheotherhand,likeallkindsofwomen,especiallythose
builtlikebrickhouses.

When Ron twitches away from her, she glances toward the three amigos with a

questioninglookonherface.BeforeIhaveachancetowonderwhatthat'sallabout,
oneofthethreemakesasqueezingmotion.Fuck.Iknowwhatshe'sgoingtodo.Yep.
Sureenough.OneofherdaintyhandsslidesoverRon'sassandsqueezesitforallshe's
worth.

Predictably,Ronsays,"Excuseme,"andstartstowalkaway.
"Whereareyougoing?We'renotfinished,"Redprotests.
Thewideoutturnsbacktoher."Ma'am.Idon'twanttoberude,butIdon'tcarefor

womenwhograbmybuttocks."That'sRon.Politetotheend.

"Buttheysaid."Shepointstothethreechuckleheadsnexttomewhoarelaughing

theirheadsoff.Butit'stoolate.Ron'salreadystalkedoff.

Lips tight, cheeks flushed pink, she stomps to where we stand. "You set me up."

Smoke'spracticallystreamingfromherears.

They'reguffawingsohardtheycan'tgetawordout.ButIcan."What'sgoingon?"
"They told me that if I wanted to get a great interview from Mr. Moss, I should

'flauntwhatmyMamagavemeandgrabhisass.'SoIfreedacoupleofbuttons,hitched
up my skirt. And I . . . touched his heiney." As she talks, she wiggles her skirt down,
rebuttonsherblouse,slipsintothejacketshe'dbeenholdingoveronearm.

My cock doesn't know whether to toss confetti at the erotic dance or curse the

coveringup.I,ontheotherhand,knowanexplanationisinorder."RonMoss'saborn-
againChristian.Hedoesn'tcarefor,err,boldwomen."

"I'mnotbold!"Sheshootsmeascathingglance,hotenoughtoleaveaburn.
"Sorry.Itcertainlyappearedthatway."
Givingherskirtonelasttug,sheturnstothelinesmen."Youguysarebigfatjerks.I

neededthatinterviewformyjob.Hopeyouallfryinhell."

"Sorry?"Oneofthethreebigfatjerkssayswithoutanounceofremorseinhisvoice.
"Go stuff yourself." That's the best she can come up with? In the world of curses,

that'saboutasmildasitgets.Obviously,thehard-coreonesarenotinhervocabulary.
ShestormspastLarry,MoeandCurlytowardthegatethatopenstotheparkinglot.You
have to get through security to get into the Chicago Outlaws' complex, but inside,
everythingisprettyaccessible.Onlyawaist-highlinkfenceseparatesthefieldfromthe
parkinglot.

"Whatdidyouguysdo?"Iask.
"Man, you should have seen her," the outside linebacker says. "She showed up all

buttonedtightinaskirtdowntoherknees.Youknow,theschoolmarmlook.Wetold

herRonlikedhiswomenabitmorelively."Hesnickersagain.

The sad thing is Ron would have gone for the schoolmarm look, but now . . . My

gazefollowsherasshereachesajunker.Thatthing'sgottabeatleasttenyearsold.She
drops her notebook, wipes something off her face as she picks it up. Is she crying? I
curseandgorunningafterher.WhenIcatchup,she'sjugglinghercarkeys,talkingto
herself."Stupid,stupid,stupid."Hernotebookhitsthegroundagain.

"Hi."
Shestabsmewithaglance.Notears,though."Don'tyouhavesomebrayingtodo

withthosejackasses?"

Hereyesarethecolorofcrushedbluebells.Ishouldknowbluebells.Theygrewall

around the run-down shack I lived in back in east Texas. The only spot of color in a
drearylandscape."I'mnotwiththem."

"Oh?" Her eyes scrunch as she gives me the once over. "You're wearing the same

uniform."

"I'monthesameteam,yes,butIdidn'tplaythisprankonyou."
"Prank?"Shekicksthenotebookwithherhighheeled,opentoeshoe.Ifshekeeps

thatup,she'sgoingtohurtherself."Youcallthataprank?Igothandedthisassignment
atthelastminute,andthiswasmychancetoimpressmyboss."Herfacecrumbles.

Issheabouttoturnonthewaterworks?"Hey,hey."Ipathershoulder."Don'tcry."
Sheswatsoffmyhandandhiccups."Idon't"—hiccup—"cry.Inevercry."Shetakesa

breath,holdsitin."Idiot."Shemumblesout.

Smiling,Icrossmyarmsagainstmychest."Beencalledworse."
Hereyesflashbluefire."Whatareyoutalkingabout?"
"Youjustcalledmeanidiot."
"Iwasn'ttalkingaboutyou."
Ijerkathumbbackwards."Them,then.You'reabsolutelyright.Theyarelow-class

worms."

"Iwastalkingaboutme.Idiot."
Isitmeorhershe'stalkingaboutnow?Herexpressionhasn'tchanged.Gottabeher.

"Whywouldyoucallyourselfthat?"

"I knew it was wrong. Knew it. But I did it anyway. First week on the job, and I

wantedtoimpressmyboss,sowhentheysuggestedIloseafewbuttons,showsome
leg,Ididit.Stupid,stupid,stupid."Witheach'stupid',shenailsthenotebook.Withits
spineloose,gutsspillingout,thedamnthing'sonlifesupport.

Betterchangethesubject."Wheredoyouwork?"
"TheWindyCityChronicle."
Neverheardoftherag.Poorkid.Probablyherfirstjobtoo.Iscratchthebackofmy

head. Maybe I had nothing to do with the nasty trick the three stooges back there
played,butIfeelbadforher."Doesithavetobehim?"

"Whatdoyoumean?"
"DoesithavetobeRonMossorcanyouinterviewsomebodyelseontheteam?"
She shrugs. "Guess it could be anyone." She looks back toward the practice field.

"Whatdoesitmatter?Nooneelsewillgivemeaninterview.NotafterIallowedthose
jerkstomakeafooloutofmeinfrontofeveryone."

Don't have to turn around to know we're probably drawing attention from the

players. You think women gossip? Got nothing on professional football players.
Busybodies,everylastoneofthem."Well,there'sonepersonwho'dbegladtotalkto
you."

"Who?"
"Me.TyMathews."Istickoutmyhand.
"MacKennaPerkins."Herdaintyhanddisappearsinmyoversizedone.WhatcanI

say?I'mbigallover.AndImeanallover."Wouldourreadersbeinterestedinreading
aboutyou?"Shegazeshopefullyupatme.

"Youmightsayso.I'mthequarterback."Ileanforward,hopingtoimpressuponher

theimportanceofmyposition."Thestartingquarterback."

"Thestartingone,huh?Thatsoundsimportant.Isit?Important?"
Ifightbacktheurgetolaugh.Givenherrecentexperience,Idon'tthinkshewould

takeitwell."Youreallydon'tknowmuchaboutfootball,doyou?"

"No. Sorry. I'm interested in social issues. Poverty, women's topics, politics. The

importantmattersoftheday.Sportsdonotseemthat...important."

Didshejustinsultmeandmyprofession?Man,she'sgotalottolearnaboutkissing

up.Giventhatshe'snewatthis,though,Idecidetocuthersomeslack."Sportswereall
thatmatteredwhereIcamefrom."

"Whereareyoufrom?"
"Texas."BeforeIcanexplainfurther,someonebellowsmyname.
"Hey,Mathews,youplanningonjoiningussometimetoday?"
"Umm,gottago.Practiceforthatnon-importantjob."Igrin,andaddawinkforgood

measure.

Shegivesmeasheepishsmile."Okay."
"Icanmeetyouanotherday,andwecantalk."
"Tomorrow?"
This time I can't hold back the laugh. "No, tomorrow is Sunday. Game day? How

aboutMonday?"

Shepausesasecondandthennarrowshergaze."You'renotbeingnicetomejustto

getinmypantsareyou?"

Goodtoseeshehassomeprotectiveinstincts."WouldyoubelievemeifIsaidno?"
"Notreally.Youlooklikethetype."
She'sgotapoint.Idowanttogetinherpants.Butthen,whatred-bloodedAmerican

malewouldn't?Shehasmassesofauburnhair,world-classtits,andlegsthatgoallthe
wayup.Aman'sdickwouldrisefromthegravetoridethatrodeo.Butthetruthisshe
gottheshaftfromthethreeamigos,andthatdoesn'tsitrightbyme."Wecanmeetina
public place, if you like." Why am I almost begging here? I never have to work this
hardtogetawoman.

"Nothere?"
"No."Forpersonalreasons,Inevergiveoutprivateinterviews.SoIdon'twantour

pressofficetofindoutaboutthisbeforethearticleappearsinherpaper.Ifsomebody
asks afterward, I'll say I did it to avert a public relations disaster. Not that any one's
going to question my motives after I explain what those three did to her. "There's a
dinerdownthestreetfromwhereIlive.Wecouldmeetthere."Irunintothatplaceat
leastonceaweekandamprettysureshecanconductherinterviewwithoutusbeing

interrupted.

"Okay." When she bends down to pick up the hapless notebook, I almost swallow

my tongue. My cock twitches at the thought of clutching those hips, sinking into her
hotpussyandpoundingherallthewayto...

"Whereisit?"
Where is what? Oh, the diner. "The Honey Bee's on Beach Drive. Let's say ten

Mondaymorning?"Ifighttheneedtotugmydamncupwhichseemstohaveshrunk
twosizes.LastthingIwantistomakeheruncomfortable.

"Seeyouthen."Allsmilesnow,shegivesmealittlewavebeforesheslidesintoher

piece-of-shit car. She turns on the ignition, and the damn thing knocks for awhile
beforesomethinggrindsandthecarlurchesforward.

Likeaprizeidiot,Istandthereandwatchherdriveoffbeforegivingmydicksome

breathing room. It's only when she's out of sight that I jog back to the practice field
wherethequarterbackcoachwaitsforme.

"Five more minutes and you would have been late for practice. An automatic

$10,000fine."

"Sorrycoach.Won'thappenagain."$10,000isalotofmoney,buthonestly,ifIhad

topay?MacKennaPerkinswouldbeworthit.

C H A P T E R 2

MacKenna

ERKINS? GET IN HERE!" Horace Bartlett, my boss and the editor of our small
newspaper, yells as soon as I walk in the door of the Windy City Chronicle. A

grizzled veteran from the old newspaper days, he calls everyone by their last name.
Thankstohishardworkandbusinesssavvy,he'skeptthenewspaperafloatintoday's
fast-paced,social-mediacrazedworld.

"Howdiditgo?"hebarksassoonasIstepintohisoffice.
I'mnotaboutto'fessupthatImadeafoolofmyself,soIfudgethingsalittle."He

wasnotavailabletointerview."It'sthetruth,isn'tit?RonMosswalkedoutonme.

"Knewyou'dmessitup."RandyBrennan,nephewofthenewspaper'sownerandall

aroundpainintheass,yellsfromhiscubbyholewhichsitsrightoutsideMr.Bartlett's
office.

Mr.Bartlett'sbushybrowsthunderdownwhilebitingdownonthecigarhechews

on more to express his feelings than smoke. "How can that be? That interview was
confirmedaweekago."

"Somemiscommunicationwiththepressoffice,maybe?"God,I'mgoingtohellfor

this."ButthegoodnewsisIgotanotheronelinedupforMonday."

"WithRonMoss?"
"No.TyMathews."
Randy's head pops out of his cubicle, like one of those whack-a-mole games at a

carnival."TheGodAlmightyquarterbackoftheChicagoOutlaws?ThatTyMathews?No
fuckingway."

HappythatTyMathewswastellingthetruthabouthisfame,Icalmlyturntohim,

andgivehimmymostbrilliantsmile."Way."

The word barely makes it out of my lips before Mr. Bartlett slams shut the door.

"Damneavesdropper."

Yeah,prettymuchwhatI'mthinking.
"How did you manage that? Ty Mathews doesn't give out private interviews." He

pins his famous Bartlett inquisitorial stare on me, the one known to make seasoned
reporterssquirm.

I'mnotimmunetoit,whatwithmebeingawet-behind-theearsrookiereporter,soI

fidgetaboutabit."Hedoesn't?"

"No.Whichmakesmewonderwhatyouhadtodo,orpromisetodo,togetit."
One thing about Mr. Bartlett, he's a straight arrow. He doesn't cotton to reporters

providingfavorstoanyoneinexchangeforaccess."Henoticedmydisappointmentand
volunteeredasaninterviewsubject."

"Justlikethat,huh?"Morecigarchewing.Attheratehe'sgoing,thatnastythingwill

beinshredssoon.

"Yes,sir."I'mnotlying.TyMathewsdidvolunteer.AndIdidn'tdoanythingwrong,

atleastnotwithhim.RonMoss,however,isanothermatter.Ifhecomplainsaboutmy
behavior,I'mtoast.Imakeamentalnotetocontacthimandexplainwhathappenedso
thingsdon'tspinoutofcontrol.

"Perkins,Ihiredyouonthestrengthofyouracademicsandtheexposeyouwrote

for your school paper on the women's shelter. You might be a natural for the social
issues,butTyMathewsisanotherkettleoffishentirely.He'sbrash,cocky,winsgames
for the Chicago Outlaws. And he's a hard nut to crack. Nobody knows his real story.
That'snotbyaccident.TheonlyinformationheandtheOutlawshaveeverdivulgedis
thathecamefromTexas,graduatedfromNebraskaState,andtookhiscollegeteamto
thenationalchampionship.Therestisonegreatbigmystery."

"Howisthatpossibleinthisdayandage?"Nowadaysyoucanfindoutanythingon

theinternet.

Hejerksthesmellycigarfromhismouthandwagglesitatme."Yougettheanswer

tothatquestionandeverymediaorganizationinthecountrywillbepoundingonyour
doorwantingtohireyou."

"I'm not looking for another job, Mr. Bartlett." It's true. I like working for a small

paper where I can hone my journalistic skills without the pressure of a big
conglomerate.

Heholdsupahandintheuniversalstopsign."Iknowyoujuststartedworkinghere,

butyou'dbeafoolnottosetyoursightshigher.Andaninterviewwithaquarterback
whosepastisshroudedinmysterywouldgetyouthere.Butthingsmaybedemanded
youmaynotwanttogive.TyMathewsplayshardbothonandoffthefield.Yougetmy
drift?"Anotherdownboomofhisbushyeyebrows.Thosethingstakeupenoughreal
estatetohavetheirownzipcode.

Icrossmyarmsagainstmychestandgivehimasteadystareofmyown."Helikes

women.Igetit."IwouldhavebeenblindnottonoticethewayTyMathewslookedat
me.LikeIwasagreatbigoleturkeysandwichandhecouldn'twaittogobblemeup.
ThingisI'vebeenogledmywholelife.BeenfightingoffboyssinceIturnedfourteen
andgrewinto36Ccupswiththehipstomatch.Grantednoneofthoseboyshadbeena
famousfootballplayerwithenoughcharmtomeltthepantiesoffanyliving,breathing
female, but Ty Mathews does not impress me as the kind who won't take no for an
answer. And, believe me, I won't be saying yes. No matter how much he flexes his
musclesatme."Don'tworry,Mr.Bartlett,Icanhandlehim."

He must be reassured by what he sees because he drops the cigar into an ashtray

anddropsintothechairbehindhisdesk."Sowhenandwheredoesthisinterviewtake
place?"

"Monday,atadinerclosetowherehelives."

"In a public setting. That's good. Have your piece on my desk no later than

Wednesday.Ifitpassesmuster,I'llincludeitintheSundayedition."

"Yes,sir."Ismile,thrilledaboutthepossibleinclusionofmyfirstpieceintheSunday

edition.

IfloattowardmycubbyholeinacloudofgloryonlytogetthestinkeyefromRandy

when I pass by him. I don't know what he's got against me. He reports on the street
beatscene;Icoverthesocialissues.Maybehe'supsetaboutthefootballinterview.He
shouldn'tbe.Mr.BartlettaskedmetotalktoRonMossbecausethesportsreporterand
hisbackupbothcamedownwiththeflu.Iwastheonlyreporterintheofficewhenhis
call.IfRandyhadgottentoworkontime,maybeMr.Bartlettwouldhavehandedthe
assignmenttohim.Sohe'sgotnoonetoblamebuthimself.

By now it's late afternoon and beyond my quitting time, so I head home to my

minuscule apartment in the Avondale section of the city. Not the best of
neighborhoods,butit'sallIcanafford.AssoonasIwalkinthedoor,mycellringswith
the special peal I've programmed for Marigold Thompson, my best friend and ex-
college roommate. She's a school teacher who, just like me, is working her first job.
We've been so busy, she teaching second graders, me at the newspaper, we haven't
gottentogetherfortwoweeks.Butit'sSaturdaynightandshewantstocutloose.

An hour later, she shows up, wearing a tight, micro skirt, a see-thru white blouse

with a black bra underneath and a pair of long, sparkling earrings. Not exactly the
schoolmarm look she sports during school hours, but it's pure Marigold. Since I live
onlyashortdistancefromoneofthemostpopularclubsintown,wedecidetowalk,
ratherthancabit.Ontheway,Ifillherinonthedetailsoftoday'sfiasco,leavingout
thepartaboutmetouchingacertainportionofRon'sanatomy.

"Can'tbelieveyoudidthat."She'snotbeingjudgmental.Afterfouryearsincollege,

sheknowsmeonlytoowell.Ineverwearanythinglowcutorhighrise,soyeah,today
wasoutofcharacterforme.

"Iknow.Iwasanidiot."
"Giveyourselfabreak,MacKenna.Youfellforapracticaljoke,that'sall."Shecurls

herarmthroughmyelbowinashowofsupport."Sowhowerethey?"

"I don't know. They didn't introduce themselves." And afterward, I'd been too

embarrassed and angry to ask their names. But next time I see Ty Mathews, I'll ask
him.I'llgetevenwiththoseclownsifit'sthelastthingIdo.

"Sowhatdidyourbosssay?Areyouintrouble?"Clearly,sheexpectstheworst.
"Well,anotherplayervolunteeredtobeinterviewedsoIthinkI'mgoingtobeokay."

Iwrapmyshawltighteraroundme.ItmightbeearlySeptember,butwiththebreeze
blowingfromLakeMichigan,theair'sturnedcool.

"Who?"
"TyMathews."
She comes to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "Shut-up!" Her screech

almost deafens me. "The star quarterback of the Chicago Outlaws?" Marigold is what
youmightcallafootballfanatic,somethingshegrewtoappreciatefromtutoringhalf
thecollegefootballteam.

"Yeah."
She clamps her hands on my shoulders and shakes me. "Girl, you just won the

lottery.Henevergivesprivateinterviews."

"SoIheard."Isquirmbeneaththepressureofherhands.Forafive-footnothing,the

girl'sgotamightygrip."Mar,letgo."Onceshereleasesme,Iflexmyarmstogetthe
bloodflowingagain.We'vereachedthecorneracrossfromthenightclub,soIpushthe
buttontogetthewalklight.Asbusyasthisintersectionis,we'dberiskingourlivesif
wemaddashitacrossthestreet.

"Hetalkstothepressattheendofeachgame,buthedoesn'tdooneonones.Sothis

islikehuge.Biggerthanhuge.It'slike...What'swrong?"Shemusthavenoticedme
chewingmylip.OnethingaboutMar,she'stunedintotheuniverse.Comesfrombeing
raisedbynewageparentsandlivinginacommune.

The 'Walk' light comes on. Not trusting Chicago drivers, I look both ways before

crossingtheboulevard."Doyouthinkheofferedbecause...youknow?"

"Hewantstodothenastywithyou?Ithinkthere'sabigchance,yeah."Ratherthan

walk,shebeebopsherwayacrossthestreet.

I come to a dead stop on the island in the middle of the intersection. "You're

supposedtomakemefeelbetteraboutdoingthisinterview.Notworse."

She tugs at me. "Come on. We gotta get across." As we make the other side, she

dismissesmyobjectionwithawaveofherhand."Yougotnothingtoworryabout.He's
gotwomenlinedupallovertownbegginghimtoscrewthem.Thatboy'saplayah.And
heneversleepswiththesamewomantwice."

"Hedoesn't?"
"Yep.Sohedoesn'tneedtoscrewadewy-eyedvirginfromthemiddleofnowhere

Iowa."

"I'm not a virgin!" Granted, I've only done it three times, but once is all it takes to

loseyourV-card.Right?

"Guaranteehedoesn'tthinkso.Notwiththatpurer-than-driven-snowvibeyouput

out.Honestly,MacKenna,yougottagetsomeandpronto."

Tired of being thought of as a goody-two-shoes, I blurt out. "I touched Ron Moss's

ass."

"Youdid?Nowonderhewalkedoutontheinterview.Thatwidereceiverisaboutas

straightastheycome."

Marigoldknowsherjocks.Comesfromtutoringsomanyofthemincollege."And

TyMathewscalledmeaboldwoman,"Isaywithanoteofprideinmyvoice.

"Woot!"Shehighfivesme."MacKennaPerkins,theremightbesomehopeforyou

afterall."

Herebullientspiritsmakemefeelbetteruntilweturnthecornerandrunintothe

block-longlineinfrontofPlatinum.We'renotgettingin.Noway.Nohow.

C H A P T E R 3

MacKenna

OTALLYDISAPPOINTED,Iwhooshoutabreath."We'renevergettingin."Ididn't
realizehowmuchIwantedthis,neededthis,untilnow.

"O, ye of little faith," Marigold says, dragging me to the front of the line where a

mountain of a man stands, a foot taller and a mile wider than us. Parking herself in
frontofthebehemoth,shegreetshimwitha,"Hey,you."

Asmilebreaksoutonthemountain'slips."Marigold."Hepicksheruplikeshe'sa

toydoll,and,withherfeetdangling,bearhugsher.

Shebopshimontheshoulder."Oomph.Putmedown,Beast."
Beast?Itsuitshim,thatname.
With the greatest of care, he returns her to the ground. "How are you, Mar? Long

timenosee."

"Good.GraduatedinJune.I'mteachingsecondgradersatMayerElementarynow."
Awrinkleformsacrosshisbrow."That'sadangerousarea."
"Don'tworry.Iknowhowtotakecareofmyself."
"Don'tIknowit."Herubsthetopofhishead."Istillhavethebruisefromthenookie

yougavemewhenIdidn'tdomyEnglishhomework."

Marigold knocks elbows with him. "That was just tough love, Todd. Listen, any

chancewecouldgetintotheclub?"Shepointstowardme."Myfriendhere'sjustdying
toseetheinsideofPlatinum."

"Isshe?"Hegivesmetheonceover.NottheleerIusuallygetfromthemen,butthe

lookasecurityguywoulddo.

"Marigold,meetToddGryzinski.Todd,MacKennaPerkins."
"Nicetomeetyou,Todd."Istickoutmyhandandshakehispaw.
"Apleasure,MacKenna."Hisgripissurprisinglygentleforsuchahugeman.
Unable to leave well enough alone, Marigold pipes up with, "She's a newspaper

reporter,lookingtodoapieceonPlatinum."

"Mar."Iwarnherbeneathmybreath.Idon'tdothestreetbeatscene.That'sRandy's

job,andI'mnoteagertosteponhistoes.

"Welcome to Platinum, ladies." Unclipping the black velvet rope holding back the

masses waiting to get in, he turns to the man standing two feet away at the club's

entrance."Bruce?"

OnlyslightlysmallerthanTodd,themini-mountainanswers."Yeah?"
"Theseladiesaremyveryspecialguests.Pleaseseethattheygetagoodtable."
Brucetwo-fingersalutesMar'sfriend."Surething,boss."
"Thanks, Todd. You're the best." Marigold pulls him down for a quick kiss on his

cheek.

Oncehestraightensout,heputshispawsizehandoverhisheart."You'veslainme,

merrymaiden."

"See,thatShakespearehomeworkcameinhandyafterall."
Hewinksather."Youdon'tknowthehalfofit.Theladiesloveallthatpoetrymush."

Henodstowardtheclub'sentrance."Brucewillseeyouright.Haveagreattime,Mar.
Nicetomeetyou,MacKenna."

AsshewavesgoodbyetoTodd,Marhooksherotherarmthroughmine.Together,

we head toward the Platinum door, a black garish monstrosity with silver blinking
lights.There'samomentarylullwhiletheguardholdsaconversationwithyetanother
bouncerinsidethedoor.Boy,thisplacehasmoresecuritythanFortKnox.Theytruly
don'tletjustanybodyin.

Whilewewaitforthegoahead,IturntoMar."Thatwasprettyimpressive,kiddo.I

thoughtwewouldn'tgetin,notwiththatline.Whendidyoututorhim?"

"My sophomore year. He was a junior and pretty well known around campus.

Studentsfellalloverthemselvestotalktooneofthecollege'sstarfootballplayers.SoI
tutoredhim at our apartment,rather than the library.Otherwise, we'd never get any
workdone.Youdon'trememberhim?"

I shake my head. "No. Not really." Busy as I was with school, a part-time job, and

volunteeringatthewomen'sshelter,Iwasinourapartmentonlylongenoughtograb
somethingtoeatandfallintobedexhausted.WheneverIranintooneofthefootball
playersshetutored,Ineverpaidmuchattention.Theyalllookedprettymuchthesame
—big,bulky,missingacoupleofchromosomes."No."

Sheshrugs."Ifithadn'tbeenforme,hewouldhaveflunkedhisLiteratureclass.He

neededatleastaCtostayonthefootballteam."

"Andnowhe'sabouncer?"
"Don'tjudge,MacKenna.He'spartowneroftheclub."
"Sorry."Oneofmyconstantsins.Itendtomakequickdecisionsaboutpeoplebefore

gettingtoknowtherealthem.Thatdoesn'tjivewithbeingajournalist,Iknow.Butit's
the reason I became one. Because I wanted to get to the truth. I've gotten better
throughtheyears,buttherearetimeswhenIslipback."You'reright.Butwhyisn'the
playingfootball?"

"Hisfirstyearinthepros,heblewouthisknee.Theyhadtolethimgo."
"Helooksokay."
"Okayisnotgoodenoughforprofessionalfootball.Youhavetobeintiptopshape."
Bruce gives us the high sign and we follow him inside. The club is wall-to-wall

people.Aband'ssupposedtoplaytonight,butatthemoment,aDJisspinningmusic
whichblaresfromspeakershangingfromtheceiling,poles,eventhefloor.Themusic
issoloud,mybodyvibrateswithit,whichIguessisentirelythepoint.

Smoke machines are hard at work throughout the club. Guess they add to the

mystique of the place. Or maybe they use it to cover up the bumping and grinding
going on. We follow Bruce to a section that offers a prime view of the dance floor.
Miraculously,atableopensuprightinfrontofusandBrucegrabsitbeforesomebody
elsedoes.Theminiroundsareonraisedplatformssothatyoucannotonlycatchthe
goingsononthedancefloorcrowd,buttakeinthewholescene.

"Thanks,Bruce."Marigoldblastshimwithhermostbrilliantsmile.
"You're welcome." He hands Marigold a card, and, over the loud music, he yells,

"Freedrinks,allnightlong."

"Thanks!" Mar doesn't drink much, and neither do I. But, hey, free drinks are free

drinks.AfterItellherwhatIwant,MarmakesherwaytothebarwhileIholddownthe
table. A couple of guys come hit on me, but I ignore them. Eventually, they get the
messageanddriftaway.BythetimeshereturnswithanAppletiniforme,andaMojito
forher,thebandhastakenthestage.

"They'requitegood,"Iyell.
"Yeah, that's why I wanted to come tonight," she screams back. "They just cut a

recordandthey'regettinggreatbuzz."

Before I get a chance to comment, a commotion erupts by the front door. People

cramming the entrance swerve back in a great big wave. At first I can't figure out
what'scausingallthebrouhaha.Butthenthecrowdparts,andIseeHIM.Myjawdrops
as my mouth waters at the sight. God, if he was gorgeous all sweaty on the football
field,he'sahundredtimesmorestunningnow.Dressedindarktrousers,darkshirtand
blackleatherjacket,heexudesheart-poundingsexappeal.Nowonderwomenflipover
him.He'stallerthanjustabouteveryoneintheclub,butnottallerthanthemountains
aroundhim.SomeofhisChicagoOutlaws'teammates,Ibet."Gah."

"What'swrong?"Marasks.
Inodmyheadtowardthefrontentrance.
"Well,well,well,smallworld,huh?"
"What?"
"Whatacoinkydink.OutofalltheclubjointsinChicago,TyMathewshadtowalk

intothisone."

"Misquoting Casablanca now? Really, Mar." And then I catch the man standing

behindhim."Oh,God.RonMossiswithhim."Itrytocrawlunderthetable,butthere's
nowheretohide.

"Where?"She'ssoshort,shedoesn'tspotRon.
"BehindTyMathews."
She grabs the edge of the table and boosts herself up. "Oh, yeah. I see him now."

Droppingbacktothefloor,shesays,"What'shedoinginthisdenofsin?AlthoughIdo
rememberwhenhewasn'tsouptight."

Mygazeswervestoher."Youknowhim?"I'dneverheardaboutthis.
"Yeah.Wewenttothesamehighschool.Iwasafreshman,hewasasenior."
GivenmydisastrousinterviewwithRonMoss,Ineedtoaskherabouthim.ButI'm

sofocusedonTyMathews,Ican'tthinkaboutanythingelserightnow."Shouldn'tthey
be,Idon'tknow,restingupforthegametomorrow?"

"Oh,honey."Shepatsmyhand."Thisiswhattheydoto'restup.'Iftheypartytoo

much,they'llhaveplentyoftimetorecuperate.It'saSundaynightgame."Shesipson

herAppletini."Ican'tgetoverRonniebeinghere.Thisisnothistypeofthing.Notthese
days."

"Maybehewantstofeellikehe'sapartoftheteam?"Ivolunteer.
"Yeah,maybe."
Someone shows up to escort the Chicago Outlaws to the VIP section on the other

sideoftheclub.WhenRongoesalong,notonceglancingourdirection,Ibreatheasigh
ofrelief.Rondidnotcatchsightofme.

After the excitement by the front door dies down, a guy I've never met before

comesuptoourtable.TurnsoutMarknowshim.Afteraquickcheckinwithme,she
goesofftodoherboogything.Soonshe'sonthedancefloor,lettingherfreakflagfly.

AstrangerI'venevermetwalksuptothetableandasksmetodance.Eventhough

he's polite about it, I give him the brush off. Mar's the dancing queen Me? I like to
observe.Hopeless,Iknow.

WhileIsipmydrink,mygazewanderstowardtheVIPsection.Locatedupaflightof

steps, it's not so high I can't tell what's going on. And what's going on is plenty. The
Outlaws are spread out over several open booths. On the left, two of the players are
putting on quite a show, groping, open mouth kissing a couple of blondes, and a
brunette. On the right Ron Moss sits with a couple of other players, but no women.
Well, except for the waitress who's bending forward flashing a pair of impressive
breasts at him. Honey, that's not going to work. Sure enough, he says something,
squeezesoutoftheboothandheadstowardthebackoftheexclusivearea.NowthatI
knowhimbetter,Ifeelbadforhim.Thishastobehardforsomeonewhodoesn'tenjoy
thesetypesofrecreationalactivities.MaybeIshouldgotalktohimandapologizefor
whathappenedtodayonthefield.

WhileI'mdebatingthewisdomofdoingthat,mygazewanderstothemiddleofthe

VIP section where Ty's holding court, front and center. The blonde on his right is
rubbing his chest, kissing his jaw. When she tries to kiss him on the mouth, he jerks
awayandsayssomething.Shepoutsbeforetakingonanewtackandnibblinghisear.
Thebrunetteonhisleftsmirks,presumablyattheblonde'slackofsuccess.Shepushes
herbreastsrightagainsthisbicepandwhisperssomethinginhisear.Whenhenods,
shecrawlsunderthetable,betweenhisknees.

It's so smoky in the place at first I have a hard time seeing what's going on. But

suddenlythemistdissipateslongenoughformetocatchaganderofwhatshe'sdoing.
Herhead'sbobbingupanddownrightbetweenhislegs.Holyshit!Isshegoingdown
onhim,righthereinfrontofGodandeveryone?

He bares his teeth as his hips move in tune to her rhythm. Is anyone else seeing

whatI'mseeing?Yep.ManyattheraisedtablesaroundmehavetheirgazesgluedtoTy
and his floozy. He'll get into trouble, won't he? Anyone could complain to the cops
aboutthelewdPDA.Buttheaudiencedoesn'tlookshocked.Goingbythesnickersand
thelaughter,they'retitillated,excited,butnotshocked.Theycametoseeashowand
they're getting one. Besides, who'd be stupid enough to report the god almighty
quarterbackoftheChicagoOutlawsthenightbeforegameday?

Likeamagnetunabletofighttheattraction,mygaze'sdrawnrightbacktoTy.His

gorgeous face tight with passion, his sensual mouth huffing breath after hard breath.
Myfaceflusheswithheat.Mypantiesgetwet.AllofasuddenIimagineit'smedoing

thattohim.Mymouthonhisshaft,mylipswrappedtightaroundhim.Whenthecrisis
hits, his head rolls back. I can almost hear his moan of ecstasy from clear across the
space. The woman takes a second—to wipe her mouth? to zip him up?— before she
climbsbackintothebooth.Shemakesabigshowofswipingherlipsagainbeforeshe
drinksfromherglass.Butwhenshetriestokisshimonthemouth,heturnshishead,
justlikehedidwiththeblondebefore.

"What'sgoingon?"Marasks.
Whendidshegetback?Didshecatchthepeepshow?Orworse,myreactiontoit?
Inapanic,Icometomyfeet."Wehavetoleave."
Hot and sweaty from dancing, she stops blotting the perspiration from her brow.

"But we just got here. Wait. Something's wrong, isn't it?" Her darn spidey sense has
pickeduponmydistress.

"Idon'tfeelwell."It'strue.Mystomachroilswithnausea,excitement,something.
"Youdolookalittleflushed."
"Yeah,IthinkI'mcomingdownwiththatbugthat'sgoingaround."Mygazedriftsto

theVIPsection.TyMathewsisstandingup,throwinganarmaroundeachcompanion.
Oh,God.He'scomingdownthestairs.

IgrabMar'shand."Wegottago.Now."Iruntowardtheexit,butbeforeIgetthere,

likeLot'swifeIlookback.Andjustlikeher,I'mpunishedwhenhisgazefindsme.

For an infinitesimal second, he smiles, not the least hint of embarrassment on his

face.

Horrified,IdragMaroutthedooranddon'tstoprunninguntilIreachhome.

C H A P T E R 4

ONDAYMORNING,IWAKEUPGROGGYFROMLACKOFSLEEP.Afterthegame,
we'd gone to the downtown Chicago hotel where the Outlaws regularly hold

victorycelebrations.ApairofblondesmademeanofferIcouldnotrefuse,andwe'd
movethepartytomyhotelroomwhereweengagedinsomeseriousmenageaction.
Aroundfourinthemorning,I'dcaughtmyridehome,andstumbledintomyownbed
atfive.Alone.Ineverbringwomentomyhouse.

Iblinkatthedigitaldisplayonmynighttable—12:06p.m.Inormallydon'tsleepthis

late, but we don't practice the day after a game. So, it's my day off. I have all day to
recuperate,andI'llneedeveryfuckingsecondofit.Thecocksuckerlinebackerofthe
Texas Roughriders almost took me out of the game. But I got him back. After the
referee called a penalty for roughing the passer, I threw what turned out to be the
winningtouchdown.Mybodydoesn'tfeelmuchlikecelebratingthismorning,though.
Toomanyhits,toomuchalcohol,toomuch...No,there'snosuchthingastoomuch
sex.

Itrudgetothebathroomtorelievemyself,and,afteramuch-neededshower,grab

some OJ to rehydrate. Something tugs at my consciousness, something I should
remember.Andthenithitsme.Theredheadreporter.Shit!Iwassupposedtomeether
atteno'clockatTheHoneyBee.It'sfucking12:45now.Damn.Ifuckedup.Royally.No
way is she still there waiting for me. Can't call her. I don't have her number, but our
press office must have her contact information. No reporter can interview a player
withoutprovidingittotheOutlaws.Protectionfortheplayer,theteam.Thereporteras
well.

IcalltheheadofPRwhohastheinformationIneed—MacKenna'sbusinessnumber,

the address where she works, and a whole lot more. A phone call's going to get me
nowhere.She'llprobablyhanguponmewhichmeansI'llneedtodrivetoherjoband
apologize.SoIplugintheaddressintomycar'sGPSandheadout.

WhenIarriveathernewspaper,thefrizzy-hairedreceptionistsquintsupatme,not

ahintofrecognitiononherface."MayIhelpyou?"

"UmmisMacKennaPerkinshere?"
"I'llhavetocheck.What'syourname?"

HerfailuretorecognizetheOutlaws'quarterbacksurprisesthehelloutofme.Not

onlyisthecityfootballcrazy,butI'mitsbest-knownplayer."TyMathews."

Shepushesabuttonintoherconsoleandannouncesme."MacKenna.TyMathewsis

heretoseeyou."

Afterashortconversation,thereceptionisthangsup."She'llberightout,"shesays

beforegoingrightbacktosortingpapersonherdesk.

I barely get out a thank you before MacKenna is there in all her glory. Masses of

auburn curls cascade down her back, a soft contrast to the fuzzy blue sweater she's
wearing.Mydickhardensatthethoughtofpoundingintoherwithmyhandwrapped
tightaroundthatmagnificenthairofhers.

"Hello,Mr.Mathews."Shedrillsoutthroughthinnedlips.
Ooookaaayyy. She's obviously pissed, not that I blame her. "Can we, uh, go

somewhereandtalk?"

"Sure.HowabouttheHoneyBeeDiner?"
She'snotmakingthiseasy."Look.I'msorry."
"Uhhuh."Shecrossesherarmsunderneathherlusciousbreasts,callingattentionto

herhardnipples.

Lord,havemercy!Thosethingscouldtakeaman'seyesout."Ioverslept."
"Iwaitedanhour."
"I'dlikeachancetomakeituptoyou."
Fromoutofnowhere,anoldermanemerges,beefyhandstuckout."Mr.Mathews.

Howdoyoudo?I'mHoraceBartlett,editoroftheWindyCityChronicle."

Ishake."Hello."
"Ms.Perkinstellsmetheremighthavebeenamisunderstandingaboutthetimeyou

weresupposedtomeet."

Smartman.He'scomeupwithawayformetosaveface,withoutflatoutcallingme

ajerk.

"Misund—"MacKennaspitsout.
Butbeforeshecancompletetheword,herbossinterrupts."Ms.Perkinsisavailable

nowifyouhavethetime."

Irockbackonmyheelsandgrin."Asamatteroffact,Ido."
"Well, I don't." As sparks fly from her eyes, MacKenna wiggles her foot. Probably

itchingtokickmeinthebehind.

"Perkins."Thewayhecommandshertosilencewithasinglewordandalook,I'm

liking this guy better and better. "Why don't you take Mr. Mathews into one of our
interviewrooms?Canwegetyousomethingtodrinkoreat?"

"Actually,Ihaven'thadachancetoeat.WouldMs.Perkinsbeavailableforlunch?"I

addressthequestiontoherboss.I'mnotstupidenoughtoaskher.

"Nope."
"Absolutely."
"My treat, of course. L'Herron is just down the street." L'Herron is a high class

French restaurant. By the time we get there, it'll be two o'clock, and their lunch rush
should be over. Should reduce the number of autograph seekers while she conducts
herinterview.

After she shoots me one more dirty look, MacKenna excuses herself to get her

things. Soon, Horace Bartlett is waving us out the door, his face wreathed in a smile.
Don'tknowhowhemanagesthatwithacigarstuckinhismouth.

MacKenna'stightlipsreflecttheconflictbattlingwithinher.Shecan'tletmehaveit,

not with her boss watching from the newspaper's front door. But she's holding on so
tighttohertemper,shemayverywellexplode.

To my surprise, she manages to keep it together until we reach the restaurant.

There, we're shown to a booth with a clear view of Lake Michigan. Disregarding her
"I'm not hungry" remark, I order the Chateaubriand Bouquetiere for two—roast
tenderloinofbeef,accompaniedbyanarrayoffreshvegetableswithabéarnaisesauce
—andabottleoftheirbestredBurgundy.

Aftertheserverleaves,shejamsherarmsacrossherchestwhilegivingmetheevil

eye.

Obviously,shestillhasitinforme.Asimpleapologydidnotwork.Andseemingly,

neitherdoesthefancyluncheon.Don'tknowwhyIcareaboutturningherupsweet.
She'sarookiereporter,forheaven'ssakes.It'snotlikeIdon'thavewomenclamoring
formytime.Rightnow,atleastthreeofthemareeyingmefromacrosstheroom.But
somehow,MacKenna'sgoodopinionmatterstome.SoIdecidetopuntwhileItryto
comeupwithaplantochangerherviewofme."You'renothungry?"

"Iatebreakfast.Atthediner.OnceIgottiredofwaitingforyou."
Iwalkedrightintothatone,didn'tI?Stupidofme."Iapologize.Again."
"WhereIcomefrom,Mr.Mathews,actionsspeaklouderthanwords."
Metoo.But,ofcourse,she'snotgoingtobelievethat.Notnow.Ihavetogetherina

better mood. If for no other reason than I screwed up. "Please call me Ty. You must
have eaten four, six hours ago." She probably weighs a buck twenty soaking wet. So
shedoesn'thavethesamecaloricneedsmysixsix,250poundsofhardmusclerequire.
Still,sheneedstoeat."Howaboutsomebread?"Ipushthebasketather.

Shegrabsaroll,tearsoffapiece,and,withouttakingabite,dropsbothhalvesonher

plate.

Okay.Soshe'snotabreadlover.I,ontheotherhand,loveit.Igrabthelastaromatic

Frenchmini-baguetteandslatheritwithfreshbutter.Withoutbeingasked,thewaiter
replacestheemptycontainerwithafreshbatch.

"Would you like to ask some questions while we wait for the entrée?" I ask, after

wolfingdownhalfthebaguette.

Her eyes flash at me, and not in the good way that usually goes with, 'Oh, yeah,

baby,baby,baby.'

"You'd like me to start the interview? Fine." She fetches her recorder from her

purse, grabs her notebook, slaps it down on the table. "Tell me, Ty, is the reason you
oversleptablondeorabrunette?"

Ichokeonthebread."What?"
"Howdoyouliketodoit?Iimaginemissionarymustbeprettyboringforyou.I'm

bettingdoggiestyleismoreyourthing.Orperhapssomethingmoreexotic?"Damnif
shedoesn'twrite'HowTyMathewslikestodoit'inhernotebook.

Whatthefuck?"We'resupposedtobetalkingfootball."
She dismisses my statement with a wave of her hand. "Most readers don't care

aboutsuchthings.Theywanttoknowaboutyoursexlife.Sotellme,theblondeand

the brunette at Platinum Saturday night, did you take them home and do the nasty
withthem?"Hereyessparkwithemotion—anger,forsure.Butthere'ssomethingelse
there.Somethingmuchdarker,moreprimal.Excitement.Lust.

Somemenmightbecluelesswhenitcomestowomen.Yeah,I'mnotoneofthem.I

knowexactlywherethey'recomingfrom.MacKennaispissedIstoodherup,butshe's
alsoangryaboutwhatshewitnessedattheclub."Yousawme.AtPlatinum."

"Yes,thatwasquiteashowyouputon.Halfthepeopletherecouldnotkeeptheir

eyesoffyou.Soforourreaders,Ty,tellme,whydidyouallowthatwomantoblowyou
inapublicplace?"She'ssoworkedup,herbreathfailstowardtheend.Andthenshe
goesandlickshermouth.

Inaninstant,I'mhardasstone.
Fightingtheurgetoputthatsoftmouthofherstogooduse,Iorder,"Turnoffthe

recorder." The Texas twang I've fought so hard to get rid of creeps into my voice.
Somethingitdoeswhenmyemotionsgetthebetterofme,likenow.

Sheturnsoffthemachine,stashesitinherpurse."There.It'soff.Nowtellme,why

doyoudosuchathing?"Sheshouldbedetachedwhenitcomestoaninterview,and
yet, she's not. Although she's trying very hard to hide it, her voice's quivering with
emotion.

ThelastfewmonthsI'vegrownboredwithmypersonallife.Ihavenothingtolook

forwardtoexceptmoreofthesame.Butnowthisspitfiresitsnexttome,allwet,pouty
lips,and red-hair down toone luscious ass, challengingme, sparking my interest like
noonehasdonebefore.Andthewarriorinme,theonewhovanquishesdefenseswith
hisgoldenarm,crawlsout,achingtoconquerthisfemale.Readytofuckingownher.

"Thequestion,littledarling,isnotwhyIdidit.You'resmartenoughtofigurethat

out."Ileanintoher,brushafingerdownhercheek.It'ssoft,justasIimaginetherestof
heris."Themoreimportantquestionis,whydoyougiveadamn?"

C H A P T E R 5

MacKenna

WALKEDOUT.WhatelsecouldIdoafterImadeafoolofmyself.Again!GrantedI
haveeveryrighttobeupsetafterhestoodmeup.ButthereasonI'mangryhas

nothingtodowithhimblowingmeoff,butwiththereason.OrwhatIthoughtwasthe
reason.TheentirehourIwaitedforhimatthediner,Ipicturedhimhavingsexwith
theflooziesfromPlatinum.AndthelongerIthoughtaboutit,theangrierIbecame.

So when he breezed into the Windy City Chronicle, expecting all to be forgiven

because he's the Chicago Outlaws' golden boy, the fire I'd been stoking all morning
burst into flames. He didn't help matters when he railroaded me into going to lunch
with him. Sure, I went along. What else could I do with my boss pushing us out the
door?ButwhenhesuggestedIshouldstarttheinterviewlikehe'ddonenothingwrong,
Iwentofflikeafirecracker,notstoppingtothinkabouttheinappropriatenessofsuch
questionsortheconsequencesofmyaction.

AfterthestuntIpulled,I'msuretolosemyjob.DoubtMr.Bartlettwillkeepmeafter

failingtodelivernotone,buttwointerviews.HowcouldIhaveactedsoirresponsibly?

Hopingtoescapehisnotice,Icreepintothenewspaperoffice.ButassoonasIstep

inthereceptionarea,myname'scalled."Perkins.Getinhere."Nohelpforit.I'llhaveto
facethemusic.I'mnotgoinggentleintothatgoodfiring,though.I'mgoingtotakeiton
thechinwithmyheadheldhigh.IwalkintoMr.Bartlett'sofficeandshutthedoor.I'll
bedamnedifIletthatlittlepipsqueak,Randy,witnessmydefeat.

"Backsosoon?"Mr.Bartlettasks,chompingonhiscigar.
"Yes,sir."
"Howdiditgo?"
BeforeIhaveachancetoanswer,hisphoneinterruptsus,andhejabsthespeaker

button."Yes."

"Chief." Dotty, the receptionist. She likes to call him chief. "Mr. Mathews is here

again."

"Tellhimtocomeonback."
"Rogerthat."DidImentionsheusedtobeinthemilitary?
Secondslater,TyMathewswalksinMr.Bartlett'sdoor,hairallwindblown.Hemust

haverunallthewaytogetoverheresofast."Thereyouare.Ithoughtyou'dwaitwhile

Ihadthemboxourlunchtogo."

Huh? No idea what he's talking about. But it's a reprieve from getting fired, so I

snatchatthelifeline."Sorry."

"Igetit."Hesmackshisforehead."Youweresoeagertogetyourboss'sapprovalto

covertheOutlawsvisittotheBoysandGirlsClubthatyourushedbacktoyouroffice."
HeglancesatHoraceBartlett,flashingabrightsmilethatwouldputthesuntoshame.
"It'sapromotionevent.SomeoftheChicagoOutlawswillbetossingafewballstothe
kids."

"Andthepressisinvited?"Mr.Bartlett'svoiceriseswithexcitement.Ofcoursehe's

thrilled. It's the kind of feel-good, human interest story our subscribers eat up with a
spoonandgobackforseconds.

"Ofcourse."
"Whenandwhere?"
"Fouro'clock,theLamontBoysandGirlsClub."
Lamont is an inner-city neighborhood where some of the poorest residents of the

citylive.

Mr.Bartlettpicksuphisphone,punchessomenumbers."Peter,youdoinganything

this afternoon?" A couple of seconds' pause. "Never mind that. The Chicago Outlaws
willbeattheLamontBoysandGirlsClubthisafternoon.Getoverthereandsnapafew
pictures.Startsatfour."Hehangsup."ThephotoswillgogreatwithPerkins'sarticle."

What article? There isn't going to be an article, not after the way I embarrassed

myselfattherestaurant."Aboutthat,Mr.Bartlett."

Mr.Bartlett'sphonebuzzes.Again.Hepunchesthespeakerbutton."Yeah?"
"There'sadeliveryguyhere,"Dottysays."He'sgotsomefoodforMr.Mathews."
Tyrubshishandstogether."Great.I'mstarved.Horace?Youdon'tmindifIcallyou

Horace,doyou?"

Thecockyquarterbackissuretosufferasetdown.I'veheardnotevenMr.Bartlett's

wifecallshimbyhisfirstname.

"OfcourseIdon'tmind,"Horacesays.
Myjawdrops.
"Great.Well,MacKennagotthegreatideatoconducttheinterviewhereratherthan

therestaurant.Thatplace'sgreat,butit'stoopublic.Peoplearealwaysstoppingbyto
get my autograph." He curls a massive arm around his best bud's shoulders. "You
understand,don'tyou,Horace?"

"Absolutely."Beamingawidesmile,Mr.Bartlettthrowsopenhisofficedoor."Feel

freetousetheinterviewroom."

"Willdo."Tygesturesmeout."Afteryou."
WhatelsecanIdobutfollowhimoutthedoor?Hesavedmybacon,afterall.Itag

alongwhilehegrabsthefoodfromDotty,takingthetimetowinkatherbeforeturning
tome."Leadtheway."

"It's,uh,backthere."Withhimhaulingthebagsoffood,wemakeourwaythrough

the space. He might be big and and wide-shouldered, but he maneuvers his way
throughthenarrowaisleswithsurprisinggrace.

"Whichone'syours?"Hischingesturestowardthecubicles.
"Thisone."Ipointtoitaswewalkby.Mycubbyholehousesanoldbeatendesk,a

ricketyofficechair,anancientfilecabinetandastate-of-the-artlaptop.Thenewspaper
mightskimponfurniture,buttheelectronicsarefirstrate.

When we arrive at the glass-enclosed interview room, he plops the bags on the

table.Itrytohelphimunpack,buthewavesmyhandaway."Igotit."Helaysoutthe
chateaubriand,veggies,andbreadrolls.ThearomaoftheFrenchcuisinepermeatesthe
room,andmystomachgrowls,remindingmeithasn'tbeenfed.

Asmirkpopsuponhisface."Nothungry,eh?"
Ifrown.Ifhewereanykindofgentleman,hewouldn'thavementionedit.
From a tall container, he retrieves a bottle of wine that the restaurant was nice

enoughtodecant.Allhehastodoispulloffthestopper.Theyevenincludedtwowine
glasses.Grantedthey'replastic,butstillitwasanicegestureontheirpart.

Can'tbelievehe'sbeingsuchagentlemanafterthewayIbehaved,though.Which

means I need to apologize. "I'm sorry for . . . the way I acted. Those questions were
entirelyinappropriateandunprofessional."

Heflashesmethatsame,brightsmile,whilehepoursthewine."MacKenna.MayI

callyouMacKenna?"

"Yes,ofcourse."
"Youwereupsetaboutmestandingyouup.Sothequestions,whilesurprising,were

a way for you to let off steam. How about we start fresh? You forgive me for not
showingupatthediner.Iwon'tpenalizeyouforthequestions.Whatdoyousay?"He
sticksouthispalm.

Mymotherdidn'traiseafool,soIshakehishand."Deal."
For the next while, we dedicate ourselves to the meal. One thing your learn at a

farmistoeatwhenfoodisputinfrontofyou.SomethingIforgotattherestaurant.But
I'mnotstupidenoughtopassuponthisfeastasecondtime.Ichowdownuntilhalfof
myshareisgone.WhenIcomeupforair,hisplateisempty,andhehasahappysmile
onhisface.

"Nicetoseeawomanenjoyherfood."Hesalutesmewithhiswineglass.
"Oh,Ieatplenty."Can'thetellbytheextracurves?"Comesfromworkingatafarm."
"Whereareyoufrom?"
"Iowa. My dad's a farmer. I used to milk the cows, feed the chickens. The farm

handsdidtheheavywork,butIhandledtheegganddairybusiness."

"Didyouenjoyit?"
I sip the last of my wine before I answer. "I couldn't wait to leave. Our land was

milesfromthenearesttown.Formonths,theonlypeopleI'dseewerethefarmhands,
closeneighbors,andthekidsatschool.Wintersweretheworst."

"Sowhenitcametimetogotocollege,youchoseoneinabigcity."
"Yes.IgraduatedinMayfromtheUniversityofChicago."
"Butyoudidn'tstartworkinghereuntillastweek."
He'd paid attention when I told him it was my first week on the job. "Mr. Bartlett

hiredmebeforetheschoolyearended,butthejournalistIwastoreplacedidnotretire
untiltheendofthesummer."Hecouldn'taffordtopayusboth,andIcouldn'tafford
rentwithoutasalary.SoI'dmovedinwithMarigoldandwaitedtablesuntiltwoweeks
ago.Byworkingthroughthesummer,Isavedenoughforasecuritydepositandfirst
month'srent.

Mr. Bartlett pokes his head out of his office and stares in our direction while

chewingonhisbeat-upcigar.

"Myboss'sgettingantsy.Ibetterstarttheinterview.Youdone?"Ipointtohisempty

dishandbreadbasket.ThemanlovesthoseFrenchbaguettes.

"Yes,thankyou."
AfterIgatherthedirtydishes,Iwalktothelunchroom,nextdoor,andtossthemin

thetrash.TheleftoversIstickinthefridge.

"You'resavingthosefortomorrow?"TyMathewsaskswhenIreturn.
"Hopefullythey'llstillbethere."
Hefrowns."Whatdoyoumean?"
"LastweekIbroughtanextrayogurt.Itwasgonethenextday."
Hiseyesnarrow.I'mgladnottobethetargetofthatscowl.Boundtoleaveanasty

burn.

"Somebodystoleit?"heasks.
Nodding, I pull out my recorder and spiral bound notebook. The latter has seen

betterdays,butit'sstillusable."Ready?"

"Yes."
"You were born in Texas?" I'd performed background research on him. Not much

wasavailable,butIdevouredwhatlittletherewas.

"Yes.Asmalltownintheeasternpartofthestate."
"Andwhat'sthenameofthissmalltown?"
"Doesn't matter. It no longer exists. The factory which which served as the main

business in town moved its operations south of the border. After it closed, people
driftedofftobiggercitiesuntilonlyafewresidentsremained."

Okay,sohe'snotgoingtotellmewherehegrewup."Whataboutyourfamily?"
"Idon'thaveone.Nosiblings,andmyparentshavepassed."
Anotherbrickwall."Howlonghaveyouplayedfootball?"
Hesmiles."SinceIwasten.Afewboyswerepassingtheballaroundduringschool

recess. When it landed at my feet, I picked it up and tossed it farther than their
quarterback,soIwasdraftedtoplay."

Idoaquickcalculation."Sothatwasfifthgrade?"
Henods."Somethinglikethat.Inhighschool,Ijoinedthejuniorvarsityteam,but

after one year they moved me to the regular team. The next season, I became their
quarterback.Theirstartingquarterback."Grinning,heleansforwardtoimpressupon
metheimportanceoftheposition,somethingIfailedtounderstandthedaywemet.

Igrinbackathim."Thestartingquarterback,huh?Youmusthavebeengood."
"Iwas.Mysenioryear,Itookthemallthewaytothestatechampionship.Wewon,

butthepresspaidnoattentiontous."Anotherscowl.

"Why?"
"Wewereonlya1Ahighschool.Thepresswastoobusyfocusingonthe5ADallas

team.IHATEDallas."WhenhesaysDallas,hebareshisteeth.

Obviously,atouchysubjectwithhim.Imakeanotetoexploreitfurther.
"Butonegoodthingcameoutofthechampionship.TheNebraskaStatecoachwas

scoutingthatday.Heofferedmeafull-ridescholarship,soIwouldplayforhisteam."

"Where,letmeguess,youbecamethestartingquarterbackinnotime."Icurvemy

lipsuponpurpose.

Hesmilesback."Youlearnfast."
"Itry."
Wespendanothertwentyminutesinaconvivialbackandforth,untilit'stimefor

him to leave for his promo appearance. I grab my gear, before escorting him toward
thefrontdoor.Afterwesaygoodbye,I'lldrivetotheBoys&GirlsClub.

Butbeforeweexit,hepausesinthecenteroftheoffice."Listenup,everybody."
Acoupleofheadspopupfromtheircubicles.Mr.Bartlettstickshisheadoutofhis

office.

"MacKenna Perkins stored some leftovers in the refrigerator. Chateaubriand. Beef,

incaseyou'renotfamiliarwiththeword.She'slookingforwardtoeatingitforlunch
tomorrow. If for any reason they're missing"—his voice lowers, his tone grows gruff
—"Iwillfindoutwhostoleitandthatpersonwillanswertome.Capisce?"

ExceptforDottywhopipesupwith,"I'mavegetarian,"deadsilencegreetshim.
Hewalksupandnodsather."Goodtoknow,ma'am."
Mycheeksheatup.Howdarehethreatenthenewspaperstaff?Thisisnotafootball

fieldwhereNeanderthalrulesapply.Thisismyplaceofbusiness.We'repolite.We're
civilized.MoreembarrassedthanI'veeverbeeninmylife,Ifollowhimoutthedoor,
determinedtolethimknowhe'scrossedtheline.

C H A P T E R 6

S SOON AS WE REACH THE FAR SIDE OF THE PARKING LOT, MacKenna lets me
haveit."Thatstuntyoupulledintherewasembarrassing.Youhumiliatedme."

Ishrug."Don'tknowwhy.Isavedyourfood."
"Youactuallythinkthatmachoposturingisgoingtopreventsomeonefromstealing

it?"

"Yep. The men won't touch it. Too scared of what I'll do to them. And the women

thinkmygestureisromantic.Youmightwanttosaythankyou,bytheway."Ithrowin
justtogetherevenmoreriledup.

Her jaw drops as smoke practically steams out of her ears. "Thank you? Thank

you?"Herpinkcheeksturnapplered,andshegoesfrombeautifultostunning.

Iexecuteasmallbow."You'rewelcome."
Hereyesbulge."You'vegotsomenerve,youknowthat."
Smiling,Icrossmyarmsacrossmychestandbroadenmystance."It'sallpartofthe

Typackage."

"TheTypackage?"
Iwinkather."Icanshowyouthemoreinterestingpart,ifyoulike."
"Youcouldshowme?"Strugglingnottoblowagasket,shefistsherhands.Wouldn't

that make a magnificent sight? To my great disappointment, after a few seconds, she
relaxesandwhooshesoutahardsigh."Men."

"Yep."Irockbackonmyheels."That'swhatIam."
Acoldbreezeslashesbetweenus,tusslinghergorgeouscurls,makinghershiver.It

mightbeearlySeptember,buttheweather'sturnedcooler,andthewind'sblowinglike
a son of a bitch out of Lake Michigan. That sweater she's wearing can't possibly keep
herwarm.IcouldvolunteermyservicestoheatherupinmySUV,butshe'snowhere
readytogotothenextlevelwithme.

Shedigsinherpurseandretrieveshercarkeys."Well,Ibettergetgoing.Thankyou

fortheinterviewandlunch."

Anothergustofwindturnshernipplesrockhard.Andsuddenlyrealitysmacksme

intheface.Shecan'tgototheBoys&GirlsClubinthatsweaterandtightskirt.Either
willhavemyteammatessalivating.Both,andI'llhaveafightonmyhands.Sheneeds

to change clothes to prevent bloodshed. I point to her. "That sweater and skirt won't
work.You'llneedtoputonsomethingelse—jeans,asweatshirt,sneakers—togotothe
reccenter."

Shelooksdownatherself."What'swrongwithwhatI'mwearing?"
"Nothing. It's a perfect outfit for work. But we're going to throw around a few

footballsandyoumightberequiredforshowandtell."Thereisnomightaboutit.Iwill
usehertoteachthekidshowtothrowaperfectspiral.

Herfacescrunches."Showandtell?"
"WhenIdemonstratehowtopitchtheball,you'llbemyassistant."Ipulloutthecar

keysfrommyjacket,twirltheringaroundmyfinger.

"ButI'veneverthrownafootball."
"Andthat'swhythekidswillgetakickoutofit.IfIcanteachyouhowtolobone,

it'llgivethemhope."

"Useoneofyourteammates.Theycertainlyknowhowtothrow...andcatch."
"And risk being smacked by a whiff of funky BO? I don't think so. You"—I lean in

andbreatheinherlavender-rosescent—"smellwaybetterthananyofthem."

Shepeeksupatmethroughherlashes,aflirtymovefromanyotherwoman,but

doubt she realizes it as such. From everything I've seen, she doesn't seem the flirty
kind.Anotherbreezekicksby,andsherubsherhandsupanddownherarms."I'mnot
goingtowinthisargument,amI?"

Sensingavictory,Igrin."Nope."
"Fine.I'llneedtogohomeandchange.YougoaheadandI'llmeetyouattheBoys

and Girls Club." She tosses over her shoulder as she heads toward the edge of the
parkinglot.

Istopmykeytwirlingandrushafterher.Theclubisinadangerouspartoftown.

Anythingcouldhappentoheronthewayover.I'llbedamnedbeforeIletherriskthat
drivebyherself."Ihaveabetteridea.Whydon'tIfollowyoutoyourplace.Afteryou
change,wecanrideinmycar."

"I don't think that would be a good idea." By now we've reached the junker she

climbedintoattheOutlawsparkinglot.There'sadentintherearpassengerdoorthat
wasn'ttherebefore.

"Didsomebodyhityou?"Ipointtothecar.
"No. I dinged a column in my apartment lot. The parking there is . . . tricky." She

insertsherkeyintothecardoor."I'lljust—"Shestrugglestogetthedooropen,butit
won'tbudge."Umm,drivemyself."

Notinthatpieceofshitcar,shewon't.Sheprobablydoesn'twantmetoknowher

address,butherobjectionismoot."Iknowwhereyoulive,MacKenna."

She stops struggling with her car door as her head jerks up. "What? How do you

know?"

"Youprovidedthatinformationtoourpressofficeintheformyoufilledout."
Hereyeswiden."Andtheygaveittoyou?"
I lean against my cherry Porsche Cayenne SUV which just happens to be parked

nexttoherjunker."Youmusthaveforgottentocheckofftheboxthatpreventsthem
fromsharingyourinformationwiththeOutlawsstaff."

"Darn it. I was so worried about the Ron Moss interview I gave it back without

readingthesmallprint."Shegnawsonherlip,obviouslyupsetaboutherpersonaldata
beingdisseminatedforanyonetosee.

Herdiscomforttugsatme."TheOutlawsPressofficesharingyourdetails.That'sa

problemforyou."

Those crushed bluebell eyes of hers gaze helplessly up at me. "Yes, I'd prefer my

privateinformationkeptjustthat,private."

I grab my cell, dial the number of the head of PR. "Trevor? It's Ty Mathews. The

informationMacKennaPerkinsprovidedtoyou,homeaddress,personalstuff.Canyou
deleteitfromoursystem?"

Shestandsinfrontofme,coldandobviouslyfreezing,hertightnipplesinfullsalute.

Predictably,mycocknotices.Damnit.It'sgoingtobealongafternoonifIdon'treinin
mylust.LikethegentlemanI'mnot,Iordermyhardontogiveitarestandturnsomy
bodyblocksherfromthewind."They'llneedtoretainyourbusinessinfoifyouwantto
interviewanymemberoftheteam.Isthatokay?"

"Yes."
"She'sfinewiththat.Okay,Trevor.Thanks."Iclickoff,burythecellinmyleather

jacket."Done."

"Thanks." Her nose is bright pink. Her eyes are watering. My blocking the wind

hasn'thelpedenough.

MuchasIwanttopullherintomeandwarmher,Iresist.Don'twantherhightailing

itagain.Butsheneedstogetawayfromthewind."So,doyouwantmetoswingoverto
yourplaceandwecanridetogetherfromthere?"Ashereyessparkwithinterest,she
glancesfromherPOStomycherrySUV.

Good.AllIhavetodoisreelherin.
"Ifwegotogethertothereccenter,you'llgettorideinmycar."Iclickmykey,slide

thedooropen.ThePorscheCayenneisathingofbeauty—CarmineRedontheoutside,
black on the inside, the Chicago Outlaws' team colors. "It has Bose Surround sound,
GPS,Siriussatelliteradio."Ipausefordramaticeffectbeforegoinginforthekill."And
heatedleatherseats."

Hereyesroundwithwonderandhermouthformsaperfect"O".
Mylipscurveintoasmile.Ithoughtthatwoulddothetrick.
Onceshestopsdroolingovermyride,Ipryopenherdoorsoshecanclimbintothat

sorryexcuseofacar.AndthenIfollowhertoherplace.Herparkinggaragerequiresa
cardtoenter,buttheinsideisshit.Potholesbigenoughtoeatatire,crappylighting.No
wondersheranintoagaragecolumn.Dirtandsweatstinkuptheelevator.Thehallway
leadingtoherunitisnobetter;itreeksofcabbageandonions.

Hercheeksbloompinkasifshe'sembarrassedoftheplace."It'snotmuch,butit's

thebestIcanafford.Andmyneighborsarenice."

Damn,shemusthavecaughttheexpressiononmyface."That'sgood."
"Andthere'sasecuritystationonthegroundfloor.YouhavetoshowIDtogetin."
Thankfuckforthat.
Threesecuritylocksprotectherdoor,eachofwhichopenswithadifferentkey.Of

course,thedoor'ssoflimsilymade,agoodkickwouldtearitoffitshinges.Onceinside
herapartment,sheoffersmesomethingtodrink.Allshe'sgotiswater,teaandsome
fruity drink. While she runs into her bedroom to change, I plop down on her mud-

coloredcouchandguzzletheH2O.ButsoonI'mupexploringtheplace.

Hertinyapartmentsmellslikeher.Butthat'sabouttheonlythingithasgoingforit.

Thespringsonthecouchleavesomethingtobedesired.Probablygotitatagaragesale
or maybe it's a remnant from her college days. The TV can't be more than 26-inches
wide. Didn't know they still sold them in that size. Her kitchen contains the usual
appliances—astove,refrigerator.Buttheybothlooklikethey'veseenbetterdays.No
dishwasherandthere'sarackbythesink,soshemustwashherdishesbyhand.

Shedeservesbetterthantoliveinthiscrappydump.Asidefromthesmallsizeand

thesmellsoutsideherunit,I'mnottotallyconvincedaboutthesecurityofthebuilding.
I'vegotconnectionsinrealestate—peoplewhoowemefavors,acquaintances,friends.
Surely,Icouldhookherupwithabetterplacetolive.Theproblemwillbetalkingher
intoit.

Tenminuteslater,sheemergesfromherbedroom,changedintojeans,asweatshirt

andsneakers.Althoughtheoutfitissupposedtomakehershapeless,nothingcanhide
her amazing breasts. They're large, perky and the reason God invented boobs. Their
bounceallthewaybacktotheelevatorhasmegnashingmyteeth.Asifmysuffering's
notbadenough,shehastroublewithherseatbelt,soIgetanupcloseandpersonalof
herworld-classtitswhenIhelphersnapiton.

PandemoniumreignsattheBoys&GirlsClub.Afewhundredkids,theirparents,the

media. It's a fucking three-ring circus. But our head of PR has been there, done that,
and,withafewchoicewords,hemanagestocontroltheinsanity.Everyone'scorralled
insidethereccenterwhiletheOutlawstakethestage.Theheadoftheclubintroduces
usonebyonetoloudcheers.Igivetheusual"StayinSchool,Don'tDoDrugs"speech
I'vegivenhundredsoftimesbefore.

Therealfunbeginswhenwegooutside.Thekidslineupinfrontoftheirfavorite

player.Asusual,mineisthelongestofall.AfterIhurlafewballs,IuseMacKennato
demonstrate. Predictably, she can't throw for shit. When I mention she throws like a
girl,thekidscrackup,justlikeIknewtheywould.ButsoonIhaveeventhelittlestones
lobbingtheballwithconfidence,ifnotveryfar.

Whenshewandersofftowritesomethingintohernotebook,afreshone,Ikeepmy

eyeonher.ShewalkstowardtheoppositeendofthefieldwhereRonMossiscatching
ballsfromabunchofkids.Whenanotherreceivertakeshisplace,sheexchangesafew
wordswithhim.Italkedtohimyesterdaybeforethegametocluehimintowhatreally
happened with their interview. He's a great guy who doesn't hold a grudge. Soon his
head's bobbing and he's smiling at her. She says something and gets a thumbs up
beforehegoesbacktoworkingwiththekids.

She jots something in her notebook before she stops to observe our left tackle,

Maddox'MadDog'Buchinski,who'steachingahugekidhowtoblock.Hehasnowhere
asmanykidsasIdo,sothefewhehasaregettingquiteabitofinstructionfromhim.

When next I look up she's talking to our kicker, Ryan Jackson. My hackles rise.

Unlike the other players, who're giving 100%, Ryan's barely participating. When she
askshimafewquestions,hetotallyignoresthekidstoputthemovesonher—flashing
thatsmarmysmileofhis,laughingatsomethingshesays.Ryan'sscumoftheearth.A
world-classathletewho'sallowedhisfametogotohishead.He'scausednothingbut
trouble with the other Outlaws—picking fights, insulting players. Most of them hate

him.Ifitweren'tforhispracticallyflawless,field-goalkickingleg,he'dbeofftheteam.

Worsethanthat,hechasesanythinginaskirt,especiallyyoungerwomen.Oh,he's

careful to card them. Last thing he wants is to be caught with jail bait. Still, there's
somethingoffputtingaboutatwenty-sevenyearoldmanscrewinganeighteen-yearold
girl.

BeforeIgooverthereandputaworldonhurtonthebastard,theheadofPRblows

thewhistle,signalingtheendofscrimmage.Ipatientlysignafewshirtsandballswhile
keeping an eye on MacKenna and Ryan. But when he touches her, I can't control
myself.IpoundtowardMacKenna,grabherarmandhaulheraway.

"Wait" She trips, and I tighten my grip to keep her from falling. "That was rude. I

wastalkingtoRyan."

Ikeepupthepace,notslowingdownonebit."Youdon'ttalktohim.Youhearme."
"Whynot?"
We'reclosetowherethemedialiesinwait,camerasclickingaway."Who'sthelady,

Ty?Yourgirlfriend?"

Damn it! I should have thought this through before I went ape shit. If there's one

thing,theOutlaws'organizationisadamantaboutisgoodpress.Whateveraplayerhas
todo,hemustpresentapositiveimage.Andrightnow,there'sonlyonewaytodothat.
Mygripslidesdownandgrabsherhand."Smileforthereporters,MacKenna."

Thankfully,sheobeysme.Sheclutcheshernotebooktoherchestandsmiles.Until

wegetinsidemySUVandIsnapherintoherseatbelt.

Thensheletsmehaveit."Whatwasthatallabout?Whycan'tItalktoRyanTaylor?"
Allscreechingtires,Ipeeloutoftheparkinglotbeforesomebodysnapsaphotoof

herscreamingatme."He'sasleazeball.Allhewantstodoisnailyou."

"Oh?Andyoudon't?"
"Give me some credit, MacKenna. I've been the perfect gentleman so far." Well,

perfectforme.

Other than breathing hard, she's silent until we take the highway out of the city.

"Wherearewegoing?Thisisnotthewaytomyapartment."

"Myhouse.Weneedtotalk."Sheneedstounderstandprofessionalfootball,andI'm

notjustthinkingaboutthegame.

"Don'tIgetasayinthis?"
"Nope."
Shemumblessomethingunderherbreath.Neanderthal,amongafewotherchoice

words. Yeah. I get it. I'm dragging her to my cave. Perfect gentleman flew out the
windowthesecondIhauledheraway.

I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I know it. She knows it. My overprotective

streak's flying a mile high. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Since college, I've
stuck with women who know the score, not dewy-eyed virgins who have no clue.
Angrywithmyself,Ismackthewheel."Damnit."

"What'swrong?"Hervoicequiverswithemotion.God,don'tletitbefear.Couldn't

handlethatfromher.

"Nothing."'Ignoreher,'WarriorTywhispers.Youcan'taffordtocareabouther.You

can'tallowyouremotionstogetinvolved.Notwhenyouneedtofocusonfootballand
your bum arm before coach notices and takes you out of the game. But I'm not

listening.Somehowshebringsoutthesaviorinme.Imayhaveonlyknownherafew
days,butIachetoprotectheragainstanyandallharm.Togiveherthelifesheshould
have.Butlet'sface,thepartofmethat'smostincommandismycock.Andthedamn
thing'srapidlygrowingoutofcontrol.

C H A P T E R 7

MacKenna

ISHOUSERESIDESINAGATEDCOMMUNITY.Ofcourse,itdoes.Hemightbea
playa, but I doubt he wants a horde of women and fans crashing his home.

Beforewe'reallowedentranceintotheproperty,adourguardatthefrontgaterequests
myID.Unwillingtorevealmyidentitytoastranger,Iargueaboutit,butTycutsme
off."Everyvisitorhastodoit,MacKenna."

Still fuming at Ty, I pull out my driver's license and hand it to the beefy man. He

glancesbackandforthbetweentheIDandmebeforesteppinginsidetheguardhouse.I
suspecthe'srunningmydriver'slicensethroughascanner,somethingthatdoesn'tsit
rightwithme.Stillunsmiling,hereturns,handsmebackmyIDandwavesusthrough.

"Thatwasaviolationofmyrights."
"They have to be careful. Many prominent families live here. Some employ their

own security as well. Last thing the property management company wants is some
criminalbreakingandenteringsomebody'shome,andworse."

Hehasapoint.Securityhastobetighttopreventahomeinvasion.ButIdon'tlike

toprovidemypersonalinformationunlessabsolutelynecessary.AttheOutlaws'camp,
I'dhandedovermylicenseforidentification,notrealizingIneededtochecktheform
that would keep my information from being entered into their database. Lesson
learned.Fromnowon,I'llbemorediligentaboutreadingdocumentswhenmydriver's
licenseisrequired.

Although I resent having had to provide ID at the gate, especially when I've been

shanghaied, what's done is done. Nothing I can do about it. Might as well enjoy the
view.Andwhataviewitis.Thecommunity'sColonialhousessitonwhatappeartobe
three-acrelots,somewithhugeswimmingpoolsintheback,theyardslandscapedto
aninchoftheirlives.

He drives up the driveway of a gorgeous mansion nestled between towering trees

andpullsintoathree-cargarageinthebackofthehouse.Ahugetruckoccupiesoneof
thebays.Thethirdonecontainsavehiclewithatarpthrownoverit.

Once we emerge from his SUV, he leads the way into a gleaming-bright kitchen

whosevaultedceilingmustbeten,elevenfeethigh.

"Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?"

"Water,please."
He opens a subzero refrigerator, pulls out a bottle, uncaps it and hands it to me.

"Make yourself at home. I'm going to change." And then he starts to walk away, like
nothing'swrong.

Is he kidding me? "Wait.You're not going anywhere until you explain what

happenedbackthere."

Heswivelstowardme.Hisjawflexing,heeatsthedistancebetweenhimandme.

"YoumeanwhenyouthrewyourselfatRyanJackson?"

He'swayintomypersonalspace,somuchIhavetotiltbackmyheadsoIcanglare

athim."Ididn'tthrowmyself."Isoundlikeaharpymyvoice'ssohigh."Iwastalkingto
him.Youknow,likeareporter."

His eyes narrow. "He doesn't want an interview. He wants to fuck you." He's so

wounduphe'spracticallyvibratingwithcoiledtension.

Unwittingly, my gaze drops to his crotch. He's hard. Very hard. Apparently, Ryan

Jacksonisnottheonlyonewhowantstoscrewme.

Hemanaclesmyarms,pullsmetowardhim."Andyoupracticallyinvitedhimtodo

it."

My nipples grow rock hard from being thrust into his chest. How could I be this

turnedonbyhiscavemanbehavior?"Ididnot."

HegoesonlikeIhaven'tsaidathing."Yeah,youdid.Youprancedupanddownthat

fieldwithyourhairdowntoyourass,yourbreastsbouncingalltheway.Whateverbra
you'rewearing,itdoesn'tdoshit,exceptdrawattentiontoyourtits."

Iwiggleinhishold.Thewaymybody'sreacting,Ican'tbethisclosetohim."Letme

go,Ty."Whenhedoes,Iflingahandacrossmychest.Mynipplesturnintohardlittle
nubswheneverIgetexcited.AndgodknowsI'mexcitednow.Hisbehaviormightbe
Neanderthal,buthe'sturningmeon."Thatwasnotnice."

Hethrowshishandsintheair."JeesusH.FuckingChrist!I'mnottryingtobenice.

I'mtryingtoclueyouin.Someofthoseplayersyouwereflirtingwith?Halfofthemare
achingtonailyou.Theythinkyou'reeasy."Hestepstowardmeagain,andIstumble
backwards. "They think all they have to do is crook a finger and you'll fall into their
laps.They'veseenhundredsofgirlslikethat,groupieswhoareonlyinterestedinone
thing—baggingaChicagoOutlaw.AndIguaranteeyoualotofthemhaveputyouinto
thatcategory."

Moistureseepsintomyvision.Ishakemyheadtostopthetears.I'llbedamnedifI

cryinfrontofhim."I'mnotlikethat.I'mnot."Takingastepback,Irundabsmackinto
thekitchencounter.

"Thenstopactinglikeyouare."
"WhatdidIdothatwassowrong?"
"Youflirtedwiththem."
Mylowerlipjutsforward."Ididnot."
"Yes, you did. I was watching you the whole time. You flipped your hair, smiled,

touched some of them. Since you don't know shit about football, I can imagine what
theywerethinking."

"That's so unfair. I never asked for the interview with Ron. It was thrust into my

lap."

"Anditwassupposedtobeginandendwithhim?"
"Yes."
"AttheBoys&GirlsClub,youweretalkingtoplayersasifyouwantedtointerview

them.Whathappenedtochangeyourmind?"

"Well,Imetyou,andsomeoneattheclubwhousedtoplayfootball."
"Who?"Hesnarlsout.
"Oneoftheowners.Myfriend,Marigold,knowshimfromtheircollegedays."
"ToddGryzinsky."
"Yes.Youknowhim?"
"Yeah,Iknowhim."Hiseyesflashatme."Didhehitonyou?"
"No!Hewasatthedoor.AfterMarigoldtalkedtohim,hewasniceenoughtoletus

in."

"He wasn't being nice, MacKenna. If your friend looks anything like you, he

admitted two smoking hot females, bait for the hordes of playahs who frequent the
club."

"Likeyou?"Isnap.
"No.Notlikeme."Twomuscledarmsclutchtheedgeofthecounter,cagingmein.

"Incaseyoudidn'tknow,Idon'tchasewomen.Theychaseme."

Iblowoutadisgustedsnort."Yeah.Iknow."Havingheardenough,I'mmorethan

readytoleave."Well,thishasbeenareallyniceconversation,butI'dliketogohome
now."

He pushes off to wander around the kitchen, his hands jammed into his jeans

pockets,hishardbodyinfulldisplay.Mystupidheartbeatsamad,wildrhythmatthe
sightofhisbroadshoulders,slimhips,andmightyfineass.

Stopping his pausing, he glances back, his green eyes drilling into mine. "Are you

seriousaboutinterviewingplayers?"

"Yes."
"Youneverexplainedwhy."
"Ijustthoughtoffootballplayersas—"Ican'tsaythatIthoughtofbig,beefymen

fightingoverapigskinasNeanderthals—"athletes."

"Andnow?"
"Well,aftertalkingtoyouandRonandwatchingmaddogBuchinskyworkwithkids

asgentlyashedid,I'mbeginningtoseethere'smoretothemthanfootball."

"Andthat'simportant,why?"
"Any reporter can cover the statistics, how far somebody threw a ball, how many

balls a player caught. But I'd like to explore the human side of the players and write
about them. What makes them tick? What makes them human? The newspaper's
subscribers,especiallythewomen,wouldeatupthosestories."

He lets out a hard breath. "You'll need to earn their respect before they open

themselvesuptoyou."

"Iknow.HowdoIdothat?"
Allfluidgraceandmasculinepower,hestrollsbacktome."Well,forstarters.You

needtolearnthegame."

Inodinagreement."I'mreadinguponfootballanddoingresearch."
"You need to do more than that. I can teach you." His voice softens, as his hand

reachesouttofiddlewithmyhair."Icanteachyoulotsofthings."

Hisbody'stightagainstme.Hishardon'spressedagainstmybelly.
"Ty?" I glance up at him through my eyelashes. He's so much bigger than me, so

muchofaman.Hesmellslikeonetoo.Notofexpensivecologne,butlikeaguywho's
beenpitchingballstokids.Nice,cleansweatand,underneathitall,him.

"Youdrivemecrazy,youknow,withyoursofthair,poutylips,andmilkyskin."He

putshislipstomyneck,andIshiver."Yousmellsogood."

I'm trembling beyond control. My body flares up into a fiery need. I want him. I

wantthismanmorethanmynextbreath.Butthere'ssomethinghemustbemadeto
understand.

"I'mnotagroupie."
"Oh,sweetheart,ofcourseyou'renot.You'resunshineandrainbowsandeverything

that'srightinthisworld."

"Ty?"
"Say,yes,sweetheart.Sayyes,andI'llgiveyouanythingyouwant."
I don't breathe a word, but let my body do the talking for me. Interpreting my

silenceasconsent,heslowlystripsmeofmysweater,myjeans,leavingmeinnothing
butapinkbraandpanties.

"Lookatyou.You'rethemostbeautifulthingI'veeverseen."
"Ibetyousaythattoallthegirlsyoubringhere."
Hislipsflatten."I'veneverbroughtawomanhere."
"Youhaven't?"
"No.You'rethefirst."
Hehasn'tkissedme,butthat'sgottabeworthsomething."Takeoffyourshirt."
Onehanded,heripsitoffinthewayguysdoohsoverywell,andmybreathcuts

short. Ty clothed is one thing. But bare chested, he's magnificent. Hard pecs, huge
arms.Andhisabs?Icoulddoaweek'sworthoflaundryonthoseridges.

"MacKenna,baby,sayyes.Ican'tdoitunlessyouagree."
Iletoutashakysighand,eventhoughIknowbetter,breatheoutone,singleword.

"Yes."

Onehanded,hepicksmeup,walkstothesofa,andlaysmedown,gently,likeI'ma

porcelain doll. His hand flicks off my bra. Next instant his mouth's on my breast,
suckling,teasing.I'mwrithingbeneathhim,wantingmore.I'mnotavirgin,butdon't
havemuchexperience.AndIneverfeltthiswaybefore.Theboybackhomewhotook
my virginity was in too much of a hurry. Doubt he even knew how to pleasure a
woman,ButTy?He'sgoodatthis.Heknowsfootballandapparentlyheknowswomen
too. They don't go to bed with him just to notch up a score. They do it because they
knowhowgoodheis.

Hekissesdownmybelly,he'sheadeddownto—
Igasp."Wait."
"What?"Helooksup,hisgazesoheated.
"Ineedtoshowerbeforeyoudo...That."Ican'tevensaytheword.
"Oh,honey,you'regoingtotastelikeheaven.Ijustknowit."
Hecomestohisfeet,stripsoffhisjeans.He'swearingnothingbutskinunderneath.

"Tellmeyou'renotavirgin."

His hard on is huge, beyond huge. I didn't know they came that big. "I'm not." I

chokeout.

"Thank you, God." He fishes out a condom from his jeans pocket—does he travel

withthosethings?—androllsitoverhismassivehardon.

"Ty?"Igulp."Idon'tthink.I'mnotsureaboutthis."Ican'tkeepmyeyesoffhiscock.

Hasitgottenbiggerthanasecondago?

"Don'tworry,sweetheart.I'llgoslow,evenifitfuckingkillsme."
Tearing off my panties, his mouth dives into my pussy—licking me, sucking me,

tastingme.Anditfeelsgood.SogoodIwrapmyhandsaroundhishairandtug,every
timelightningshootsthroughme."Ty,ohmygod,Ty."

Hewidensmylegs,positionshiserectionnotchesitin."Slowly,slowly."Hesaysto

himself.

Iwhimper,notwithhurtbecauserightnowjusttherimofhispenisinsidemefeels

so good. I think I'll die with pleasure. Hope I don't because I want to know what
happensnext.

"Tellsmeit'sgood.Tellmemeit'sokay."He'sperspiringnowandadropofsweat

fallsfromhimonmybelly.

Ipickitup,andbringittomymouth."It'sgood."
Hepushesinsidealittlebitmore."You'resofuckingtight,soblazinghot."
MyhandsgoaroundasmuchofhimasIcanreach.Notenough.Notnearlyenough.

Oneofhishandsgoestomyass,liftsmeashepushesinsidealittlebitmore.Andjust
likethat,Icome."MacKenna?"

"So-sorry."I'veclimaxedbefore,butnothinglikethisneverendingwaveofheatand

pleasure,somuchpleasure.Ibuckagainsthim,drivinghimevendeeperintome.

"Oh,God,sweetheart,don'tbesorry."WhileI'mfallingapartbeneathhim,hesurges

deepandpoundsintome,grunting,groaning.AllIcandoishangonasbestIcanbut
we fall off the couch on the floor where his hips swing back and forth in a pounding
grinding rhythm. Nothing elegant about this. He's a primal, virile male taking me to
heightsIneverdreamedabout.Heletsoutafinalgroan,andcollapsesonme.Justfora
second,andthenherollsandbringsmeupsoI'mlyingonhisscorchinghotskin.

"Thatwasfuckingamazing."
Yeah,itwas.
Oncewecatchourbreath,hemovesustothebedroom,wherehemakeslovetome

again.Andthenhedropsintoadeepsleep,thelikesofwhichI'veneverseenbefore.
Hours later, I wake up, sore and needing to go to the bathroom. Trying not to wake
him,Islideoutofbedtourinate.Donewiththecallofnature,realitykicksin.Henever
sleeps with the same woman twice. I need to go home. Before he wakes. Because I
don'twanttoseethelookinhiseyesthattellsmehe'sthroughwithme.

I grab my clothes from the living room and dress as silently as I can. I fish my

phone from my purse and call a cab. And in the cold, in the dark, I walk out of his
house, past the guardhouse where the same guard stares at me. "Going somewhere,
Miss?"

"Icalledataxi.Toldthemtomeetmeinfront."
"Whydon'tyouwaitherewhereit'swarm?"
"No, thank you." I keep on walking, rubbing my hands up and down my arms,

feelinghiseyesdrillingintomyback.Thecabshowsuptenminuteslater,andIgive
himmyaddress.AndIdon'tcry.

C H A P T E R 8

WAKEfromthesoundestsleepI'vehadinalongtime.Mybody'sachesandpains
nonexistent, warm and pleasured by MacKenna's body. Should have known a

wildcatlivedinsideherbody.Howcoulditnotwiththatredhairandthoseintoxicating
curves?Ipatthebedbesideme,butit'semptyandcold.Issheinthebathroom?Idon't
hear any sounds coming from it. Maybe she went to the kitchen to get something to
eat.Weneverhaddinnerlastnight.NotthatIminded.Iwastoobusyfeastingonher.
Mystomachgrowlsnowthough.

AfterItakecareofbusinessandbrushmyteeth,Ithrowonajerseyandjeansand

golookingforher.WhenIdon'tfindherinthelivingroomorkitchen,Iracethrough
thehouse.Tenminuteslater,it'sclear.She'sgone.Sheleftwithouttellingme.Hell,she
didn'tevenleaveanote.

I grab my phone, find her cell number in the information Trevor shared with me

anddialit.

"Hello?"
"MacKenna?"
"Yes."
"Whereareyou?"
"Home."
"Why?"
"I have to get ready for work." She sounds perfectly normal, like she fucks and

walksoutonaguyeverydayoftheweek.

Icounttotentokeepfromyellingather,butmakeitonlytothree."Howdidyouget

home?"

"Icalledacab."
"Whydidn'tyouwakeme?Iwouldhavedrivenyouhome."
"Ithoughtacleanbreakwouldbebest."
Ichokebackacurse."Cleanbreak?"
"Everyone knows you don't sleep with the same woman twice. Why drag out the

goodbye? Besides, I have my career to think about. You yourself said it, anyone who
sees me with you will think I'm a groupie. That doesn't do me any good. You

understand,don'tyou?"

Istareatthephonelikeit'sgrownlegs.Isthisthesamesexkittenwhoscratchedmy

back?Whobegged,"Harder,Ty.Deeper."HowcouldIhavebeensowrongabouther?I
thoughthersweet,alittlenaive.Butshe'satramp.LikeeveryotherwomanI'vefucked
since I joined the league, she was interested in only one thing—fucking the Chicago
Outlaws'quarterback.Fine.Twocanplayatthisgame."Yeah,Iunderstand.Hopeyou
hadagoodtime."

"Itwasnice."
Nice?Fucknice!Irockedherworld,andsheknowsit."Well,seeyouaround."
"Yeah."Hervoicequiversbeforeshehangsup.
Didthatsoundlikeasob?Notlikely.She'sprobablythinkingabouthernextscore.

Shewon'thavetotrytoohard.Myteammateswilllineuparoundtheblocktotalkto
her. Yeah, talk and a whole lot more. I toss my cell to the couch, stomp toward the
shower.Gottagetherrose-lavenderscentoffme.Throwthesheetsinthewashertoo.
Fuck. I'll need my maid service to sanitize the whole house because I fucking don't
wanttosmellherperfumeagain.

C H A P T E R 9

MacKenna

ERKINS,GETINHERE."

OneofthesedaysI'mgoingtowalkinthedoorwithoutmybossbellowingat

me.

Pastingasmileonmyface,Iwalkintohisoffice,withthecupofcoffeeI'dpickedup

fromtheshopnextdoor."Yes,sir?"

"TheTyMathewsinterview?Howdidthatgo?"
"I'mgoingtoneedmoretime."
"Why?"
"There'ssomethingthereIwanttoexplore."AsecretinTy'spasthedoesn'twantto

discuss.He'snotgoingtovolunteerthatinformation,notafterIwalkedoutonhim.So
I'mgoingtohavetounearthitsomeotherway.

Hisbrowshunchupashestaresatme."Doesexploringmeangettingchummywith

him?"

Hecan'tpossiblyknowIspentthenightatTy's.Canhe?"Whatdoyoumean?"
"This."Hepoundsafingeronsomethingonhisdesk.
Iapproachtoseewhathe'stalkingabout.It'saphotofromyesterday.TheChronicle

staffphotographermusthavesnappeditasTyandIheadedforhiscar.

"Whyisheholdingyourhand?"
Oh, sheesh. "There were a lot of people there. He didn't want to lose me in the

crowd."

"Whataboutthisone?"Hejabsanotherphoto.
Tyandmeagain,mybacktohisfront.Onehandholdsmyarmwhileheinstructs

me on the technique of throwing a football, his other arm is wrapped around my
middle.

"Youtwolookmightycozy."
"Alittleboywashavingahardtimethrowingtheball,soTydemonstratedusingmy

arm."Hewantedthekidtoseethetechniquebeforeworkingwiththeboyhimself.

"Ty,huh?WhathappenedtoTyMathewsorMr.Mathews.Iwarnedyouyesterday

about getting too close to your assignment. And yet here you are plastered to the
quarterbackoftheChicagoOutlawswithnotmuchdaylightbetweenyou."

"Weweren'tthatclose.It'sjusttheangle."
Hismouthcurlsindisapproval.
Darn.He'snotbuyingmystory.Let'sfaceit.IdidgetclosetoTy.Much,muchtoo

close.AndifMr.Bartlettfindsout,myheineymightbetossedtothestreet.

Hescrubshisface."MaybeitwouldbebesttoletJoeinterviewMr.Mathews."
JoeJohnson,thesportsreporterforthepaper.He'dcomedownwiththefluwhich

was the reason the Ron Moss interview had been assigned to me. It may have been
originally Joe's but it's changed to something else, and I'll be darned if I allow the
interviewtobetakenfromme.

Mr. Bartlett's bushy brows hike up when I close the door to ensure our privacy. I

don'twantRandythewormtohearwhatI'mabouttosay."IthinkIcangetaseriesof
interviewswithotherChicagoOutlawsplayers."

"BesidesTyMathews?"
"Yes.Atthereccenter,Italkedtoacoupleofthem—RonMoss,MaddoxBuchinsky.

RonagreedtodoanotherinterviewandMaddoxseemedamenableaswell."Although
Ronhadindeedagreed,Ihadn'tbroachedthesubjectwithMadDog.ButIdon'tthink
he'dsayno.

"You'llneedtogetapprovalfromtheOutlaws'pressoffice."
"Imettheheadoftheirpublicrelations.Heseemedtolikeme.He'sallforwomen

coveringsports."Actually,Ididnosuchthing.AndIhavenoideahowTrevorHoward
feels about women reporters. But I'll be damned if I let that little detail stand in my
way.

Mr.Bartlett'sexpressiondoesn'tchange."Joemightwillgoballisticifyoumovein

onhisturf."

"ButIwouldn'tbe.HecanstillreportstatsandsuchwhileIgetthehumaninterest

stories. What makes them tick? What makes them something more than a football
player?They'llsharethingswithmetheywouldn'tsharewithJoe."Ofthismuch,I'm
sure.Otherwise,Iwouldn'tbepushingsohard.

"Likewhat?"
"IgotTytoopenupabouthischildhood.AsfarasIknow,noonehasgottenhimto

talk about that. And I know I can do the same with the other players. Just give me a
chance.That'sallIask."

"Look.TyMathewsisinterestedinyou.SomethingIdon'tapproveof,incaseyou

haven'tnoticed.Buttheothers?Maddoxhasawife,afamily,kids.Ron'saloner,and
fromwhatI'veheard,hedoesn'tcottontowomenmuch."

"It's his religious background. He's a born again Christian, Mr. Bartlett. I have my

waystomakethemtalk.Andno,theydon'tincludesex."ThatmuchIcanpromisehim
sinceI'mdonewithTy.

Hescratchesthebackofhisneck."Idon'tknow,Perkins.Joeoutthere—"Henods

towardtheclearglasswindow.Joe'shead'spokingoutofhiscubicle,brazenlyglaringat
us."He'scomplainingyoulosthimtheRonMossinterview."

"Joewouldhavedonearunofthemillstory.Youknowthat,Mr.Bartlett.Itwould

have included football stats and maybe a paragraph or two about Ron Moss's
background.Icangetmorethanthatoutofhim."

"Howdoyouknow?"

"Call it woman's intuition." And the fact Marigold knows something about him,

somethingI'mgoingtodragoutofherifit'sthelastthingIdo."Ideservethischance.
What do you have to lose? Let me interview Ron Moss. I'll turn in the article. If you
don'tlikeit,JoecanfinishtheTyMathewsinterview."Overmydeadbody.

"AndTyMathewswillallowaone-on-oneinterviewwithJoejustonyoursayso?"
"I can talk him into it. Yes, sir." Actually, I'm pretty sure after my blow off this

morninghe'llhanguponme.ButMr.Bartlettdoesnotneedtoknowthat.

Heplopsonhisofficechair,fiddleswiththepencil,theonehe'spracticallychewed

through. His mouth jerks right, left, right again. He jams the pencil into the cup and
staresatme."Fine.YouhaveuntilFridaytowriteRon'spiece.IfIlikeit,andthat'sabig
if,I'llputitinSunday'sedition."

"Yes,Sir.Thankyou,Mr.Bartlett."
Iheadtothekitchentodumpthenowcoldcoffeeinthesinkbeforeheadingoutfor

a fresh cup. The newspaper's generic coffee will do in a pinch. But today I need a
premiumbrew.Andtheshopnextdoorservesthebest.Iwon'tbebreakingthebank,
eithersinceI'llbepaying foritwitha giftcardIwon.Once I'mcaffeinated,Icall the
Outlaws'PressofficeandasktotalktoTrevorHoward.Bysomemiracle,I'mputright
through.

"Ms.Perkins,ifyou'recallingaboutyourinformation,Icanguaranteeyou,noone

buttheemployeesinsidethisofficehaveaccesstoit."

"Thank you, Mr. Howard. I appreciate you letting me know. But I'm calling about

somethingelse."

"Ihaveameetinginfiveminutes.Sogivemetheshortversion."Hesnapsout.
Irushtomakemycase."I'dlikeanotherchancetointerviewRonMoss.Italkedto

himyesterdayattheBoys&GirlsClubandhe'sfinewithit."

"He'swillingtogiveyouasecondchance?"
"Yes."
Icanpracticallyhearthewheelsturninginhishead."I'llhavetotalktoRon,butif

heagrees,Idon'tseeanyproblemwithit."

"Great.I'dliketointerviewanotherplayer,aswell."Ihurrytosaybeforehehangs

up on me. "I talked to Maddox Buchinsky as well. He's such a great example of a
professional football player who's also a family man. Our readers would eat up that
story. A large percentage of The Windy City Chronicle's subscriber base consists of
middle-classfamilies.They'dlovetoreadabouthim."

Foramoment,hedoesn'tsayanything.Abadsign."Idon'tknow."Hefinallypipes

up. "Ron may have agreed to another interview, but your first attempt did not go all
thatwell.AndMadDogisanotherkettleoffishentirely."

"I understand your hesitation, but give me another chance to prove myself. My

articleonRonMosswillbeinSunday'spaper."Ihope."Ifafteryoureadit,you'renot
convincedI'magoodreporter,youcanturndownmyrequest."

"Okay.Fine.I'llapproveitonthatcondition.Butifyourarticledoesnotpassmuster,

Iwon'thesitatetodenyyouaccesstoMadDog."Somethingbeepsonhisend."Damn.
NowI'mlate.Ihavetogo,Ms.Perkins."

"Wait.There'sonemoreplayer."
Hehuffs."Who?"

Idon'tknowwhatmakesmesayitotherthatIwanttoprovetomyselfIcandoit.

"I'dliketointerviewRyanTayloraswell."

"Yousureaboutthat?"
"Icanhandlehim."Ibitemylip.Handleissonottherightword.
Helaughs."Canyou?"
Great.NowhethinksI'majoke.
But he surprises me. "I'll approve it conditioned on my liking your other two

interviews.Justdoitinpublic.Theinterview,thatis."Helaughsagain.

Thisguy'saregularcomedian.
"Yes,Mr.Howard,andthankyou.Ireallyappreciateit."
"Justdon'tmakemeregretit."Andheslamsdownthephone.
Randy, the worm, sticks his head into my cubicle. His face is beet red and he's

practicallyfoamingatthemouth.

"WhatdoyouwantRandy?"
"Youthinkyou'rehotshit,don'tyou?"Hehissesout.I'mprobablytheonlyonewho

canhearhim,hisvoiceissolow."Yougotallthesemenwrappedaroundyourfinger.
All you have to do is wiggle your ass and flash your tits and just like that you get an
interviewthatshouldgotoJoeJohnson."

Thatlanguagewouldgetanybodyelsefired.Butsincehe'sthenewspaperowner's

nephew, he'll probably get away with it. "I'm not taking anything away from Joe. He
cancontinuetowriteaboutthegame.I'mdoinghumanintereststories,notsports."

"Yeah,right."
Somebodyclearsathroatsomewhere,andhecrawlsawaylikethewormheis.
Mystomachgrowls,remindingmeithasn'tbeenfed.Withnodinnerlastnightand

onlyacupofcoffeethismorning,I'mreadytognawoffmyarm.

Inthekitchen,Irunintoourreceptionist,Dotty,wholikestoeatanearlylunch.
"Hi."Thenewspaperprovidessnacksforitsemployees,soItossopenthecupboard

insearchofsomethingtoeat.

"Hungry?"
"Yeah,didn'tgetbreakfast."
"Rememberyouhaveleftovers."Shepointstotherefrigerator."Didyouforget?"
Ismilesheepishly."Yeah,IguessIdid."
It's only eleven thirty, but I'm starving. The container from yesterday's lunch, the

very one Ty threatened to dismember someone if it disappeared, lies untouched just
whereIleftit.MyeyesgrowwateryasIopenthecontainer,pourtheleftoversintoa
paperplate.

"He'ssomethingelse,isn'the?"Dottysays.AfiftysomethingveteranoftheNavyon

apension,shereturnedtotheworkforcebecausesittingathomeboredhersilly.

Idon'tpretendnottoknowwhoshe'stalkingabout."Yeah,heis."
"Myhusbandwasalotlikehim.Overprotective,big.Drovemecrazyattimes,butI

hadnocomplaintsinbed."

Yeah,Idon'thaveanyeither.Toobaditwillneverhappenagain.

C H A P T E R 1 0

FTER A GRUELING WORKOUT ON TUESDAY, I can barely lift my arm. I want
nothing more than a long soak in the whirlpool, followed by a hot shower and a

cooldrink.ButbeforeIcanheadtotherecuperationroom,thecoachcallsmeintohis
office.

"Yeah,Coach."
"Shutthedoor,son."He'scalledmesonsincehedraftedmeintotheNebraskaState

Universityfootballteam.Themonikerrankles,butIdon'tbothertocorrecthim.Ifit
weren'tforhim,Iwouldn'tbeplayingprofessionalfootball.

Thelookonhisfacetellsmeit'snottheusualrunofthemilldiscussionhehasin

mind. "You were looking a little tentative out there. Something wrong with your
shoulder?"

Ishruglikeit'snotabigdeal."Nothingthatanicepackandamassagewon'tcure."
"Yousure?Weneedyouintopshapeforthegame."
Mondaynight,we'replayingagainsttheTexasRoughriders.Needlesstosay,nothing

shortofdeathwillkeepmefromplayingthatgame."I'mgood."

Foracoupleofseconds,hedoesn'tsayanythingelse.
"Isthatit?"Iask.
"No.There'ssomethingelse."Herubsathumbacrosshislip.Something'sworrying

him."Thatredheadreporterthatwasheretheotherday?"

God, this is all I need. A reminder about the woman who made a fool out of me.

"MacKennaPerkins."

"Yes.IheardyougotcozywithherattheBoysandGirlsClub."
IkeepmytrapshutsinceIhavenothingtosay.
"ShecalledthePressOfficethismorning.Wantstointerviewsomeplayers."
"Who?"
"RonMossforone,Buchinskyforanother."
I don't get it. If she wants to bag another Outlaw player, why choose him? He's a

straightarrowwhodoesn'tscrewaround,unlikeothermarriedplayersIcouldname.
Butmaybeshedoesn'tknowthat.Ormaybeshethinkshe'smoreofachallengethanI
was.

"I'm not worried about Ron. He's practically a choir boy and Mad Dog's a family

man.Butit'sherthirdinterviewrequestthatworriesme."

"Who'sthethird?"Don'tknowwhyIbothertoask.Iknowwhat'scoming.
"RyanTaylor."
Icurseundermybreath.Whatiswrongwithher?
"Exactly.Ayoung,attractivewomaninterviewingaplayerwhocan'tkeephisdick

inhispants.Thishassexualharassmentwrittenalloverit.Idon'thavetotellyouwhat
ascandalwoulddototheteam."

"Sodenyhertheinterview."
"YouthinkIdidn'targuejustthat.ThatidiotheadofPRthinksshe'saces.'Woman's

point of view. Fresh light will be shed on our team. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Bullcrap.
Whoever approved women reporters ought to be strung up by his testicles." I don't
contradicthim.I'veheardthistiradeamilliontimesbefore.

"Yeah,Coach.Ibettergo."Ithumbtowardthedoor."Getinsomewhirlpooltime."
"Yeah,fine.Whileyou'reinPT,haveDocLatimertakealookatthatshoulder."
Damn. If our team physician examines it, he might decide it needs a rest, which

would take me out of the game. And that's not happening. For weeks, I've looked
forward to giving the Texas Roughriders the whipping they deserve—all within the
rules,ofcourse.ThecockysonsofbitchesdefeateduslastyearonthewaytotheSuper
Bowl.Thisseason,Imeantoshowthemupforthepussiestheyare.Butinordertodo
that,Ihavetobeonthefield,andnotwarmingthebench.NosensearguingwithCoach
aboutmesubmittingtoanexam,though.Betteragreewithhisplannow,andwiggle
outofitlater."Yes,sir."

As soon as I step into the recuperation room, I'm stopped by one of the athletic

trainers."Coachcalled.Hewantsustotakealookatyourshoulder."

"It'sfine.Nothingthatamassageandsomewhirlpooltimewon'tcure."
"Just the same, let's have a look." He stands like the semi he is blocking my way.

Fuck!I'mnotwigglingoutofthis.

I follow him to the medical space where they prep me for an MRI. While the

machine takes a look, I pray like I haven't prayed in a long time that they don't find
anything. But when the technician picks up the phone, I know my goose is cooked.
Fifteenminuteslater,I'mseatedacrossfromDocLatimer'sdeskwhileheexaminesthe
resultsofthetest."Lookslikeyouhaveasmalltearinyourrotatorcuff,Ty."

"Okay.Nothingthansomeaspirinoribuprofencan'thandle,right?"
"Thatandrest.I'mbenchingyoufortomorrow'game."
Icometomyfeet,knockingoverthechair."Thefuckyouwill."
"Sitdown.Now."Hedoesn'tbothertoyell.Everyfootballplayerknowshiswordis

lawwhenitcomestoourabilitytoplay.Whateverhesays,goes.

Iparkmybuttbackonthechair.
Hetakesoffhisglasses,polishesthembeforeploppingthembackonhisnoseand

givingmeahardstare."It'ssmallenoughitcanhealonitsown,butonlyifyouputitin
asling,andrestit.We'llreassessinthreeweeks."

"IhaveagametoplayonMonday."Itrytokeepmyvoiceincontrol.Pissinghimoff

isnotgoingtodomeanygood.

"Not anymore you don't." He takes a deep breath, let's it out. His eyes takes on a

softertone."Look.Iknowhowmuchplayingmeanstoyou,butifyoudon'trestyour
shoulder, it will become a bigger tear, and then you will need surgery and be out for
ninemonths.You'llmisstherestoftheseason.Isthatwhatyouwant?"

Damnit.Ihangmyhandsbetweenmyopenlegs."No."
"CoachwillhavetoknowsohecanpreparePedroSantiagoforthegame."
Therookiequarterbackwiththegoldenarm.Damnit.
He offers me a commiserating smile. How many veteran quarterbacks have been

replaced"temporarily"bythesecond-stringquarterbackandneverreturntoplay.Too
manytocount,that'showmany.

"Thethreeweekswillflyby,you'llsee."
"Sureitwill."Istandup."Isthatit?"
"Yes.Gohaveashower,getinwhirlpooltime,amassage.Don'thavethemtouchthe

shoulder.Onceyou'redressed,comebacksowecanputyourarminasling."

"Fine."
Intherecuperationroom,Iactlikenothing'swrongandgiveacoupleofplayersa

'Hi, how you doing?' before heading for the whirlpool. Once I've sunk into hot water
nirvana, one of my linesmen strolls over and asks if I'm going to Platinum tonight. I
shake my head. Not exactly in the mood to get pawed by another groupie. Not after
gettinggamedbyMacKenna.

Afterahotshower,Idrivehome,fixdinner,turnonthetube.NothingonTVholds

my interest. So I pop in Texas Roughriders game tapes and examine their defense,
somethingIdobeforeeverygame.Iusuallymakenotesoftheirtells,butwithmyarm
inaslingandstrictinstructionsnottousemyrightarmunlessIabsolutelyhaveto,I
resorttosomethingelse—mysmartphonewhichhasarecordingapp.Imakenotesof
their tells—the weak side linebacker looks to the right before every blitz, the
cornerback's right hip is bothering him. Even if I can't use it, Pedro sure can. I may
resentlikehellthefactthatthekidisgoinginforme,butI'llbedamnedifIdon'tdo
everythinginmypowertobeattheRoughriders.

Some time in the middle of the night, I wake up on the sofa, my face buried in a

pillowthatsmellslikelavenderandrose.Mydick'sthrobbingsohardI'mseeingstars.
Goddamnit.NothingshehasIcan'tgetfromathousandotherwomen.Sowhyismy
JohnThomassohunguponher?Doesn'tmatter.Onlyonewayoutofthismess.Ipull
downmypantsandjerkoff,allthewhilepicturinghersoftthighs,herhotpussy,her
luscious tits. It takes me barely a minute to come. Wrung out, I stumble to the
bathroom and clean up, cursing the cocksucker who designed her witches' brew of a
scent.

C H A P T E R 1 1

MacKenna

NWEDNESDAY,Idressinmymostconservativeoutfit—abuttonedupblouseand
atwo-piecebusinesssuitwhoseskirtcomestomyknees—anddrivetotheOutlaws'

practice facility. I've requested a private room to interview Ron. This time nothing's
goingtostandinmyway.

HearrivesinapairofjeansandaChicagoOutlawst-shirt,whichIfindatadweird.

Doesn'thehavepracticetoday?"Whyaren'tyouwearingyouruniform?"

"Streetclothesaremorecomfortable.Hopeyoudon'tmind."Hecockshisheadto

onesideasatenuoussmilerollsacrosshislips.

Why,he'suncertainaboutme,abouttheinterview.Andthat'sthelastthingIwant.I

needhiscooperationtogettheinformationIneed."Ofcoursenot."Iclearmythroat.
MaybeIshouldapologizeagain."Sorryaboutwhathappenedbefore."

Thenextgrinheoffersissweetnessitself."That'sokay.Tyexplainedittome.Those

threelinesmen.Theyliketoplayjokesoneveryone.Ishouldhaveknown.Youdon't
looklikealoosewoman."

"I'm not. I come from a very conservative background." If he only knew how

conservative.

Heraisesabrowasifhedoubtsmystatement.
"Honest."Iflashhimthescout'shonorsign.
Helaughsandwavesmeback."I'mjustjoshingwithyou."
Agreatbigweightisliftedoffmyshoulders.HeknowsI'mnervousandistryingto

makemefeelcomfortable.Howsweetisthisguy?"Great."

IstartwiththeeasyquestionsbeforeItacklethemeatoftheinterview.Whatschool

didhegoto?Didheplayballasakid?ItriedmybesttopumpMarforinformation,but
she refused to discuss Ron, other than to say he's very bright, which doesn't help a
wholebunch.Iknowthere'sastoryinhimsomewhere.Ijusthavetogetitout.

HekeepslookingatthefootballprimerIbroughtwithme.
Ismile."Prettybasic,right?ButIknowverylittleaboutthegame.Soanything'sa

hugehelp."

"Whateveryouneedtoknow,justask."Anotherbiggrin.
Callitahunch,callitintuition,butanideabloomsinmymind.Igetthemnowand

then.Andtheyusuallyprovetrue."ThanksbutFootballforMoronshasgotmecovered,
Ithink."

He glances at the book. His lips move as if he's trying to sound out the words.

"Yeah."Helaughsagain.

"It'sFootballforDummies,Ron."
Hisfaceturnsbrightredashisgazedropstothefloor.
Darnit.I'vetotallyembarrassedhimwhichisnotmygoal.Reachingout,Ibrushmy

hand against his. But then I remember he doesn't like to be touched. "It's okay. It's
okay,Ron."

"No,it'snot."Stillred-faced,herisesandwalkstowardthedoor.
He'sgettingaway.Again.ButIcan'tallowit.Notthistime."Pleasedon'tleave.I'm

not trying to make fun of you. Just trying to understand. Please sit." I push the chair
towardhim.

Foracoupleofseconds,hisbreathsbellow,beforeheturnsandwalksbacktothe

seat.

"Tellme,please."Ibeghim.
Hisshouldersbunch,andhisfaceclosesin."Why?Soyou'llwriteaboutitinyour

paper?"

"You've hidden this your whole life." I hadn't picked up one hint of his reading

disability,andI'dspendhoursresearchinghim.

Whenhedoesn'tsayanything,Igoon."Youcan'tread?"
Heshakeshishead."Idon'tunderstandtheletters.They'realljumbledtome."
"Didn'tyougethelpinschool?"
"IattendedaverysmallschoolintheCaliforniamountains.Theteachersdidtheir

best, but did not know what was wrong. They didn't figure it out until I was in high
school."

"Idon'tunderstandhowyoudidsowellinschool."Iflipthroughmyrecords."You

graduatedwithaBaverageinhighschoolandaB+incollege."

At that he looks up. "I can remember anything I hear. In grade school, my mom

read the textbooks to me. In high school, a team of volunteers recorded my lessons.
Theyearnedtheircommunityvolunteercreditsthatway.Topreservemyanonymity
thestudentswerenottoldwhotheywerereadingfor."

ButsomehowMarigoldfoundout.
"Whatabouttests?"
His glance darts to the floor again. I wish he'd look up. I'm truly not looking to

shame him. "I would fake take the tests, so I wouldn't arouse suspicion. Later, my
teachersadministeredthemorally."

"Andnoonefigureditout."
"No."Heshakeshishead.
"Memorizingallthatmaterial,that'squiteahardthingtodo."
"Idon'tforget.Ihaveaperfectauralmemory."
"That'samazing.Truly.Andyou'vekeptthissecretalltheseyears?"
"Yes."
What he's managed to accomplish boggles my mind. School's hard enough when

youcanread,buttodoitwithoutbeingabletostudythematerial?Idon'tknowhowhe

didit,butIaimtofindoutandwritehisstory.Iwon'tdoit,though,unlessheapproves
thepiece."Aren'tyoutiredofkeepingthissecretalltheseyears?Soonerorlater,itwill
leakout.Wouldn'titbebetterifyourevealeditnow?Icanworkwithyousoyoucan
tellyourstorythewaythewayyou'dlikeittobetold."

Hisheadjerksupatthat."WhyshouldIdothat?"
"Well, for one thing, someone's bound to discover your secret. And it might come

outinawaythatwouldembarrassorhurtyou.Foranother,youcanhelpotherslike
you, Ron. I guarantee you there are kids out there who think themselves failures
because they can't read. But it you talk about how you overcame your disability and
pointtothefactthatyou'reastartingwidereceiverfortheChicagoOutlaws,you'llgive
kidshopeforthefuture."

"Idon'tknow."
"HowaboutIwriteupthearticleandletyoureadit?"
Atthatinanestatement,heraiseshisheadandcocksuphisleftbrow.
Myfaceheatsup.Stupidmuch,MacKenna?"Sorry.I'llreadittoyou.Ifyoudon'tlike

whatIwrite,I'lltakeoutanythingyouwant."ThisisnotsomethingI'dnormallydo.A
journalist is supposed to report the truth. But I don't want to do it at his expense.
"Deal?"Istickoutmyhand.

Foralongtime,helooksatitandthenhishugehandengulfsmine."Deal."
"Great!" I beam him a wide smile. "I'll come by Friday with the article. If that's

okay."

"Sure."Henods.
I can see he's not quite convinced. No matter. I intend to write the most brilliant

pieceI'veeverwritten,onesuretoknockhissocksoff.

DAWN

RIDAY

,I'mexhaustedandbleary-eyedfromthehoursI'vespentwritingand

polishing Ron's piece. The last thing I need is Ron's okay before I turn it in. So early
morning,IcalltheOutlaws'campandmakeanappointmenttomeethim.Theyassure
mehecansqueezeinafewminutes.NosoonerdoIhangupwiththeOutlawsPRoffice
than Mar calls. A broken water pipe at her school has given her a rare day off. Am I
availableforlunch?Ijumpatthechancetogettogether.Ineedtotellheraboutmy
onenightstandwithTy.BecauseifIdon't,Imayverywellexplode.Sinceherplaceis
onthewaytothefootballtrainingfacility,Ioffertopickherup.Shecansitinthecar
whileImeetwithRon,andthenwecanheadouttoarestaurantwherewecantalk.

AttheOutlaws'camp,IreadthearticletoRon.It'srocksolidjournalismifIsayso

myself.Onesuretogetalotofreads.Notonlydoesitcoverthefootballangle,butthe
humansideaswell.HeclarifiesacoupleofthingsIgotwrong,andIgladlymakethe
revisions.HemayhaveappearedreluctantonWednesday,butnowheseemspleased
withthepiece.Maybeit'sbecausehewon'thavetohidethisgreatbigsecretanymore.

Onmywaytomycar,IspotTyontheedgeofthefield.Myheartscrunchesatthe

sightofhim.UnlikethefirsttimeImethim,he'snotwearinghisuniformbutdressed
inafisherman'ssweaterandjeans.Whyisn'theplaying?Didhegethurtinpractice?
AlthoughI'machingtoknow,Ican'tverywellapproachhim.Doubthe'dgivemethe

time of day after the way I brushed him off. Besides, I don't want him to see me. It
would hurt too much. I duck my head into the hood of my coat and tear down the
perimeterofthefield.I'msolostinmymiseryIdon'tlookwhereI'mgoingandrun
dabsmackintoahardchest.

Cheeksflushingwithheat,Ijumpback,andmyhoodieslidesoff."Oh,I'msosorry."
Twohandsgrabmyarmstosteadyme."MacKenna?"
IglanceuptofindOliverLyonsstaringatme.Cousintoaneighboringfamilyback

home, he'd spent a summer at their farm. I'd fallen so hard for the gorgeous college-
boundguy,I'dspenthoursandhoursdaydreamingabouthim.

"Oliver!" The dirty blonde hair he'd worn long is now cropped into a stylish,

businessman'scut,buthisamazingeyesstillblazeelectricblue.Dressedinadarkblue
business suit that frames his tall, powerful body to a T, he's still as gorgeous as ever.
Unabletohelpmyself,Iembracehim.

Afterhereturnsmyhug,hestepsbacktogazeatme."Lookatyou.You'reallgrown

up.WhatareyoudoinginChicago?"

"I attended college here and then got a job at The Windy City Chronicle. As a

reporter."

"Youalwayslovedtowrite."Hesmiles,andthosedimplesIlovedsomuchpopup

onhischeeks.

"Yeah." The summer he visited I wrote about him in my journal all the time. "So

whathaveyoubeendoing?"LasttimeIsawhim,he'dbeenheadedfortheUniversity
of Chicago. But that's the only thing I know about him. His cousins' family sold their
farmthatfallandmovedaway,soI'dlosttrackofthemandhim.

Hecockshisheadtotheside."Youdon'tknow?"
Iblink."No.ShouldI?"
Hegesturestowardthefield."Iowntheteam."
Igulp."TheChicagoOutlaws?"
"Yes."
I knew he came from my money. Lots of money. But I didn't know he was super

rich."Wow."

A woman standing a couple of feet away calls out, "Mr. Lyons, we have to go or

you'llbelate."

Anentouragesurroundshim—severalmendressedinexpensive-lookingsuitsanda

woman,probablyhisassistant.Businesstypesbythelookofthem.

A frown of annoyance rolls over Oliver's brow, as if he resents the interruption.

"Listen.IhaveameetingIcan'tgetoutof,butI'dlovetocatchup."

Iclutchmynotebooktome,resemblingtheschoolgirlIoncewas."Thatwouldbe

nice."

Hissmiletellsmehe'spleasedbymyresponse.
Sensing more than seeing someone roll up behind me, I turn to see who it is.

"Marigold.Hi."I'msurprisedtoseehersinceshe'ddecidedtostayinthecar.

HerglancepingpongsbetweenOliverandme."Sorrytointerrupt,butitgotcoldin

thecar.IthoughtI'dgrabthekeyssoIcouldturnontheheat."

"I'm so sorry it took so long. Here." I fish out the keys from my purse and hand

themtoher.

"Thanks."
She turns to leave, but before she can get away, I stop her. "Mar, wait. Let me

introduceyoutoOliverLyons.He'sanoldfriend.OliverthisisMarigoldThompson."

Shenods,unsmiling."Nicetomeetyou."
Sodoeshe."Pleasure."
"Oliverownstheteam."
Shefoldsherarmsacrosshermiddle,andshootsascathingglareatOliver."Yes,I

know."

Wow.What'sthatallabout?
"Meeting'sstarting,Mr.Lyons,"Oliver'sassistantsays,tappingherwristwatch.
"Youbettergo,Oliver."
His lips firm as he turns to his entourage. "Go on. I'll be right there." As soon as

they'regonefromsight,heasks,"Areyoufreetomorrow?"

"What?"Iask.
Herepeatsthequestion."Whatareyoudoingtomorrownight?"
"She'sbusy,"Marigoldspitsout."Saturday'smovienight."We'dmadeplanstogosee

thenewBenedictCumberbatchmovie.

"Yeah,weare."
"Surely, you can skip that. Whatever movie you've chosen will still be there next

week."

"Well." I glance at Marigold. Her cocked brow does not seem the least bit

encouraging.

"TheOutlawsareholdingacharityfunction.Idon'tknowifyou'reintooldmusic,

butTonyLandonwillbethere."

Mar's hostility dissolves like spun sugar at a carnival. She loves all kinds of music

butherabsolutefavoriteistheswingera.TonyLandon,athrowbacktothattime,just
happenstobeoneofherfavoriteartists."Ilovehim."

"Your friend can come too if she wants." Oliver tosses out, both including and

dismissingherwithawaveofhishand.

Attending his team's charity function is not a good idea. His players are bound to

attend,whichmeansTywillbethere.WhatifIrunintohim?No.Thisisnotgoingto
work.

But just as I make that decision, Mar's cinnamon gaze pleads with me. "Please,

MacKenna."

AwrinklepopsuponOliver'sbrowwhilehisglancedartsbetweenMarandme.
I blow out a sigh. "Okay, fine." It's dinner and a concert, four hours max. Surely I

canavoidrunningintoTyforthatlong.

Weagreeonatime.Idon'twantOlivertoseewhereIlive.Soratherthanhavehim

pickmeup,ItellhimI'llmeethimatthehotelwheretheevent'sbeingheld.MarandI
caneitherdriveorcabitoverthere.

Hepullsagoldcardholderfromhissuit'sinnerpocketandwritessomethingonthe

back before handing it to me. "Here's my card. If you change your mind about me
pickingyouup,callme.That'smypersonalcellnumber."

Outofthecornerofmyeye,IspotTywalkinginourdirection,buthe'ssodeepin

discussionwiththemannexttohim,hedoesn'tnoticeme.Ineedtogetawaybefore

hedoes.

"Thanks,Oliver.Seeyoutomorrow."
Ty's head snaps up. As his gaze zeroes in on Oliver and me, his brows scrunch

togetherandhefrowns.

TimetogettheheckoutofDodgebeforehestormsoverhere.Istickthecardinmy

purse's outside pocket, grab Mar, and haul buns back to my car. I don't stop running
until we've reached my car. "Get in, Mar." I tug at the driver door's handle, but the
damnthingwon'tcooperate.

"What'sthehurry?"
"I'lltellyoulater.Justgetinthedamncar."
"Okay.Okay."Shehasnotroubleopeningherdoor.It'sonlyminethat'sstuck.
Afraid Ty might be coming after me, I redouble my efforts. The darn thing finally

popsopen.Ijumpinandjabthekeyintotheignition.Thankfully,theenginecomesto
life. Car's wheels squealing, I peel out of the parking lot. I don't bother looking back.
TooafraidofwhatI'llsee.

"Whatiswrongwithyou?"Mar'sclutchingthedashboardandhangingonfordear

lifewhilegivingmeawide-eyedlook.

"Tellyoulater."
AsIracetowardtheexit,Ifinallyglanceintherearviewmirror.Thankfully,Idon't

spot Ty. Still, I don't breathe easy until I reach the main road. My nerves are shot,
though.IneedtostopsomewherebeforeIlandusinaditch.

Luckily, I find a diner a mile down the road. After we're seated at a booth, I wait

untilthewaitresstakesourorder,beforespillingthebeans.

"IsleptwithTyMathews."
Mar'seyesbugout."What?How—whendidthishappen?"
"Monday.Iwasscheduledtointerviewhiminthemorning.Buthestoodmeup.He

showedupatthenewspaper,fullofapologies.Ofcourse,mybossateitup.TheChicago
Outlaws'quarterbackinhisnewspaperisnotasighthegetstoseeeveryday.WhenTy
askedmeouttolunch,Icouldn'tturnhimdown.Mr.Bartlettpracticallyorderedmeto
go. Then he invited me to cover the Outlaws' appearance at a Boys & Girls Club. You
canguesswhatmybosshadtosayaboutthat."

"Wow.Sowhathappened?"
"Well,attheBoys&GirlsClubItalkedtosomeoftheplayers,Ron,Mr.Bunchinsky."
"MadDog."
"Yeah.He'sactuallyprettysweet."
"Sweet?MacKenna,heeatsquarterbacksforbreakfast.He'sthenumberonetackle

intheNFL."

"Well,hewassupernicetothekidsthere.ButwhenItalkedtoRyanTaylor,Tywent

ballistic.Hehauledmeoutoftheclubanddraggedmetohishousewhereonethingled
toanother,andweummmdidit."

"Hedidn'tforceyou,didhe?Becauseifhedid,Idon'tcarewhatorwhoheis,he's

goingtohavetodealwithme."

That would be a sight to see. She's a will of the wisp five two, weighing in at a

hundredpoundsandTy'ssixfivewithhardmuscletospare."No.Hedidn'thurtme.It
was...good."Truthtotell,thesexhadbeenincredible.Nowonderwomenlinedup

forachancetogotobedwithhim.

Thewaitressinterruptswithourfood.AveggieburgerforMar,achickensaladfor

me.

"Well, in that case. Way to go!" Marigold high fives me. "Who knew you had it in

you.So,spillanddon'tspareanydetails."

My hook up with Ty is way too personal to share. So I'm not telling her what

happenedevenifshe'smybestfriend.Notsureifshe'devenbelieveme.Thememory
of me scratching his back and asking for more doesn't jive with the prim and proper
MacKennaMarknows.

"Mar.Don'tyouunderstand?Ihadaone-nightstandwiththemostnotoriousplayer

intown."

"And?"
"Itwasamazing,okay?Hedidthings..."I'mprobablyturningbeetred.Meandmy

darnredheadcomplexion.

"Whatthings?"
"I'mnottelling.It'sembarrassingenoughasitis."
Herbrowscrunches."Why?"
"Don'tyougetit?Isleptwithhim."Myvoicerisesalittleandthetwowomennextto

usturntostareatus.

"Yeah, I got that," she says, biting into her hummus, tomato, and cucumber

sandwich."Whyisthataproblem?"

"I'dknownhimforalloftwodays.Idon'tsleepwithmentwodaysafterwemeet."
She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. "MacKenna, it happens. You fell for him.

Hard.Howcouldyounot?ThemanhasthebodyofaGreekgod.Tellme.Ishisdickas
fineastherestofhim?"

"Mar!ForPete'ssake."
"Soafteryoudidthedeed,didhedriveyouhomeandkissyougoodnight?"
"Hedidn'tdrivemehome.Itookacab."
Shedropswhatremainsofhersandwichonherplate."Thatpig.Youmeantotell

mehedidn'thavethedecencytodriveyouhomeafteryouscrewed?"

Bynowwe'vegottentheattentionofeveryonearoundus.Where'saholetocrawl

intowhenyouneedone?Iburymyheadinmyhands."Wouldyoupleasekeepyour
voicedown?"

"Whathappened?"Steam'spracticallycomingoutofherears.
"Iwalkedoutwhilehewassleeping."
Sheblinksacoupleoftimeslikeshe'shavingahardtimeprocessingthis."Why?"
"Hedoesn'tsleeptwicewiththesamewoman.Remember?AndIjustcouldn'tface

the'Seeyoulater'lookinhiseyes."

The cab had cost over forty dollars. Money I don't have. I'll need to dive into my

sockdrawerformyemergencystashtopaythismonth'srent.

"IsthatwhyyouwereinsuchahurrytoleavetheOutlaws'compound?"
"Yes.Hesawme,andI'djustassoonavoidanyfurtherconversationswithhim."
She picks up her sandwich and takes a bite out of it. "Aren't you supposed to be

interviewinghim?"

"I got all the information I need to do a basic article." Of course, I wanted to dig

deeper,butfatchanceofdoingthatnow.

She does more damage to her sandwich, swirls a French fry into a mound of

ketchupandpopsitintohermouth."DidheseeyoutalkingtoOliverLyons?"

"Yeah."
"Howdidhelook?"
"Mad."
Shewipesherhandsonthenapkinandsteeplesthemtogether."Ifhewasjealousof

youtalkingtohisteammates,Ican'timaginehowhefeelsaboutyoubeingchummy
withhissmokin'hotboss."

"What?"
"Comeon,MacKenna.Don'ttellyoudidn'tnoticehowgorgeousOliverLyonsis?The

manwonChicago'sHottestBusinessmanAward,forheaven'ssake."

"Oh,Inoticed.WhenIwasateenager,Ihadahugecrushonhim."
"Andnow?"Hervoicecarriesmorethancuriosityinit.
Ishrug."GuessIgotoverit."Oliver'shandsomebuthedoesn'tholdacandletoTy's

earthymasculinity.

"YoumightnotbeattractedtoOliveranylonger,butyoustillhaveaproblem."
I have more than one, if truth be told. But I'll need her to explain. "What do you

mean?"

"Well,yousleptwithTyMathews,whoseemstobeatadjealouswithyoutalkingto

othermen.Aaannnndyouweretalkingtohisbosswhoinvitedyououtonadate."

"Tydoesn'tknowOliveraskedmeout.Besides,itisn'tadate.It'sacatchupkindofa

thing."

"Sureitis.MacKenna."Shethumpsherelbowsonthetable."It'sadate.Plainand

simple.IfTyseesyouwithOliverLyonsatthatcharityevent,fireworkswillexplode."

She'sright.IfTywentballisticwhenIsimplytalkedtoRyanTaylor,what'shegoing

todowhenhespotsmewithOliveratabanquet?Idropmyheadintomyhands."Oh,
God.WhatamIgoingtodo?"

Havingfinishedallofherfries,Marsnagsoneofmineandbitesdownonit."Well,I

foronecan'twaittofindout."

"Ihateyou."
Shesmirks."That'swhatbestfriendsarefor,isn'tit?"

C H A P T E R 1 2

ATURDAYNIGHTI'mstuckatacharityeventtheOutlawssetup.I'mnotinthebest
ofmoods.Notonlydoestherotatorcuffbracerestrictmymobility,buttheover-

the-counter meds aren't cutting it. My shoulder still throbs like a son of a bitch. And
prescription drugs are not an option. Doc Latimer may have approved them, but I'm
not taking them. Last thing I want is to get hooked on them. So for the next three
weeks,I'lljusthavetodealwiththepain.

Monday night, I won't be able to play against the Texas Roughriders. Coach's

workingwithPedroSantiago,theUCLAboywonder.Thekid'sgood,betterthangood.
But I'll be damned before I let a rookie take over my starting spot. So this shoulder
damnwellbetterhealpronto.

Andthosearenotmyonlyproblems.WhatwasMacKennaPerkinsdoingtalkingto

Oliver Lyons? Does she know him? They looked mighty chummy at the Outlaws'
training facility. Maybe she's eager to interview him. I mean, why would she stop at
football players when she could work her allure with the billionaire owner of the
Outlaws'team?

Agonystreaksthroughme,andIgritmyteeth.Damnit.Imightbeunwillingtotake

prescriptiondrugs,butmaybeadrinkwillhelp.Onthewaytobar,IspotMacKenna,
dressedinablueeveninggown,hergorgeousbreastsinsplendiddisplay.She'senough
totakemybreathaway.

Acrowdofreportersinterviewingoneofourstarwidereceiversblockmywayto

her.ButI'llbedamnedbeforeIlethergetaway.Skirtingthem,Istepintoherpath,and
shecomestoanabruptstop.

"Ty!Whatasurprise.Ididn'texpecttoseeyouhere."
Thewayshesaysittellsmeshe'slying.Shetotallyexpectedtorunintome.
"PReventfortheOutlaws."
"Areyouokay?"Shebrushesherhandacrossmyarmbeforejerkingitbacktoher.
HowdoessheknowI'mhurting?Andwhatdoesshecareifmyshoulderaches?She

brokethingsoffwithme.It'sprobablyjustapublicshowwhichdoesn'tmeanathing.
"I'mfine.Justasmalltearinmyshoulder.Nothingmajor.Shouldbebackplayinginno
time."

"That'sgood."Herpatentedsmilerollsoverherlips,theonethatprojectsinnocence.
Fellforthatonce,butI'mnotabouttofallforitagain."Whataboutyou.Whyare

youhere?"Shecan'taffordtheticketstothisgala.Someonehadtohavepaidforher.
OliverLyons.Maybethat'swhattheyweretalkingaboutyesterday.

"Icamewithafriend,Ty."Shepointstotheyoungwomanbyherside.
Herfriendboughtticketstothecharityfunction?Wouldn'tknowitbythewayshe's

dressed,butthenrichpeoplecandresshowevertheywant.Thewoman'snotastallas
MacKenna.She'stinyinfact,withpixiecutgoldenhair.Somewouldcallhercute,but
shedoesn'tholdacandletoMacKenna'sbeauty.

"Thisismyfriend,MarigoldThompson."
"Howdoyoudo?I'mabigfan."Pixiecutsayswithablindingsmile.She'senjoying

herself,thatmuchisclear.

I shake hands before I turn back to the woman I haven't stopped thinking about.

Evenafterfivedays.Evenaftershemadeafooloutofme,mydickwantsmoreofwhat
she'sdishingout.Rightnow,ifitcanbearranged.ButIcan'tverywelljumpherinthe
middleoftheballroomfloorwhichmeansI'llneedtoactcivilized."Youlookbeautiful."

MacKenna'scheeksturnasoftrosepink."Thanks."
How does she do that? How does she turn on that purer than undriven snow act

whendowndeepshe'snothingbutagroupie.NotthatIcare.AllIwanttoistodragher
somewhere where we can be alone so we can do all those dirty, filthy things we did
before."Istheresomewherewecantalk?"

Beforeshehasachancetorespond,ashadowdescendsuponus."MacKenna.There

youare."

Aflusteredlookrollsoverherface."Oliver."
OliverLyons.Sonofabitch.DidhebringMacKennatothecharityfunction?Ishe

the'friend'shereferredto?

Herestshishandonherarm,asifhehaseveryrighttodoso,andIseered."The

hotel'ssobig,Iworriedyou'dgottenlost,soIcamelookingforyou."

"No.Notlost.RanintoTy.I'minterviewinghimforthenewspaper."Sherushesto

explain.

Ihissoutabrokenbreath.Yeah,that'sallIamtoher,awaytofurtherhercareer.I

don'tcare.Mycockdoesn'tcare.Itwantstosinkintoherhotpussyagain."Yeah,about
thatinterview.Weneverfinishedit.Wecangosomewhereanddothat."

Hereyeswiden."Now?"
Istruggletogetmyangerundercontrol.Shewon'tcomewithmeifsheseeshow

pissedoffIam."Notimelikethepresent."Igivehermymostcharmingsmile.

"ButIdon'thaveanythingtotakenoteswith."
"We'llfindsomething.Let'sgo."Igrabherfreehandandpull.Butwegonowhere.

Oliver'sholdingontoherotherhand.

Iturntowardhim,andwesquareofflikeacoupleofragingbulls,withMacKenna

stuckinthemiddleinagameofpullandpull.

Alightflashestoourside.Thethreeofusturntostareatthecamerawhichgoesoff

again.Damn.AphotographersnappingphotosoftheOutlaws'ownerandhisstarting
quarterback fighting over the same woman. This will make for a really, really bad
publicityshot.

Butbeforethephotographercan snapanotherpicture,MacKenna's quick-thinking

friendcomestotherescue,"Oliver,darling."SheinsinuatesherbodyagainstOliver's,
effectivelybreakinghisholdonMacKenna.

"What?"Dumbstruck,OliverglaresatMacKenna'sfriend.
Shecurlsonearmaroundhisneckandpullshimdowntoherlevel.Andthenshe

whisperssomethinginhisearwhileherhandsinkstohiscrotch.Well,that'soneway
togethisattention.

Whatever she says has him shifting the gears. He straightens and hauls her into

him,liftingherclearoffthefloor."Whateveryousay,sweetheart."

Hereyesgrowwidebeforeheplantsatake-no-prisonerskissonherrubyredlips.
Knowingagoodthingwhenheseesit,thephotographersnapsanotherphotoofthe

four of us. If this causes an uproar, it won't be my fault. I'm holding hands with
MacKennainaproperpose.Oliver,ontheotherhand,isgoingatithotandheavywith
Marigold,withonearmwrappedaroundherass.

"Onemoreofjustthetwoofyou."ThepapparazzopointstoMacKennaandme.
"Ofcourse."Grinning,Icradleheragainstme,herbacktomyfront.
Afteracoupleofsnaps,thephotographerdriftsaway.
MarigoldandOliverunclenchlongenoughtocomeupforair.Heshakeshisheadas

ifhe'sinadaze.Moresureofherself,MarigoldgrabsOliverbyhistieandtugs."Let's
dance,lover.They'replayingmytune."

Themusicissomemelodystraightoutofthe1940sAmericansongbook.
Oliverresistspixiecut'slurelongenoughtoturntoMacKenna."Wait.Ican'tleave

MacKennaalone."

"I'mnotalone.I'mwithTy."Shesmilesathimasshepointstotheballroomfloor

wherepeopleareswayingtothemusic."GodancewithMarigold.I'mfine."

As Marigold drags Oliver away, she tosses a glance over her shoulder and mouths

"You'rewelcome."

MacKennalaughs.
"She'ssomethingelse,yourfriend."
"Yes,sheis.Methermyfirstdayincollege.We'vebeenbestfriendseversince."
"Icansee."Nowthatthey'regone,Igiveintotheachingneedtotouchherandcurl

myhandaroundherjaw."HowdoyouknowOliver?"

Sheneitherprotestsnorpullsaway."He'sanoldfriend.Hiscousinsownedthefarm

nexttooursinIowa,andhevisitedonesummer.Iwassurprisedtorunintohimatthe
Outlaws'compound.Ididn'tknowheownedtheteam."

AmuscleticksinmyjawasIrecallhowclosetogetherthey'dstood."Whywereyou

there?"

"To get Ron's blessing on the piece I'd written on him. When I ran into Oliver, he

invited me to this event so we could catch up." When my hand clenches around her
chin,shehurriestosay,"Ihadn'tseenhimforyears,Ty."

I glance in the direction her friend and Oliver took before turning back to

MacKenna."Wereyousweetonhim?"

Shehitchesupherchin."Yes.Iwas."
It hurts that admission. Maybe she's still attracted to him. The decent part of me

wrestleswiththecavemanhowlingwithin.MuchasIwanttotakehertoaplacewhere

wecanbealone,Ican'tforceherifshe'dratherbewithherfriends."Youwanttogo
withthem?"Thequestioncomesoutasagrowl.

"No."Sheshakesherhead,andhergloriousauburncurlsriotaroundhershoulders.

"I'dratherbewithyou."Shesoundsshyandsweet,likeshe'snotsureofherwelcome.
Foramoment,doubtriseswithinme.Maybeshe'snotfakingit.Maybeshewantstobe
with me. But then I recall the phone conversation. She's doing this to advance her
career, nothing more. Once she writes her article for the newspaper, she'll want
nothing to do with me. That's fine. I only need her for one thing as well—that tight
pussybetweenherlegs.

"Good." Holding on to her hand, I head for the nearest exit. She trips along while

holdinguphereveninggown.

"Wherearewegoing?"Shesoundsbreathless.Can'ttellbecauseshe'sexcitedorthe

maddeningpaceI'msetting.Eitherworksforme.

"Tomyhotelroom.Wecanbeprivatethere."
"Youhavearoomhere?"
"The Outlaws always get their athletes rooms at the hotel where team-sponsored

eventsareheld.Technically,whenwe'reatoneoftheseparties,we'restillontheclock.
Last thing they want is a player involved in a drunk driving accident or an incident
involvingsubstanceabuse."

"But you don't have an alcohol problem." She states it as a fact, like she already

knows.

She'sright.AlthoughIenjoytheoccasionaldrink,Ineverdrinktoexcess."No.But

others,yeah."

"Likewho?"
Notacasualquestion.She'sajournalist,afterall."Sorry.Notmyplacetotell."
Whenwereachthebankofelevators,Ipresstheupbutton.Amazingly,onesetof

doorslidesopen.Weclimbin,andIpress27.We'retheonlyoccupantsinthecar,soI
turnanddriveheragainstthesideoftheelevator."You'refuckinggorgeoustonight."

Hereyesgrowwide,likeshewasn'texpectingmymove."Th-thankyou."
"Newdress?"
"Oh,no.Ican'taf—No."
She can't afford a new dress. That's what she meant to say. Not that she needs to

mentionit.SinceherapartmentandjunkerprettymuchtoldmewhatIneedtoknow
aboutthestateofherfinances.

A fruit basket and two bottles of champagne wait for me in my room. Standard

operatingprocedurefromtheOutlawsPR."Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?"

"Notnow.Thankyou."
Iremovemyjacketandtossitonthecouch."Where'syourcoat?"
"Downstairsinthecoatcheck."
"We'llgetittomorrowwhenweleave."
"T-tomorrow?"
"Yes.You'respendingthenightwithme."FuckifI'mgoingtoaskherifshewantsto

stay.Shewouldn'tbehereunlessshedid.

Sheglancesaroundtheluxurysuite,bitesdownonherthumbnail.Hernailshave

beenbittenrightdowntothequick."ButIthought..."

"Whatdidyouthink?"Itearoffmybowtie,throwitontopofmyjacket,andstart

unbuttoningmyshirt.Iknowwhatshewants.ThesamethingIdo.

Herwide-eyedglancetakesmein."Thatweweregoingtocontinueyourinterview."
"Inmyroom,inahotel,lateatnight?No,MacKenna.Iaskedyouheretofuckyou."
Her brow wrinkles, as if she finds my language offensive. "But that's not. But you

don't..."

Finishedwiththeshirt,Iwrangleitoffwithmygoodarm,andtossitonthegrowing

pile."Idon'twhat?"

"You never have sex with the same woman twice." Her voice grows breathless as

shestaresatme."Whatareyouwearing?"

"Arotatorcuffbrace.It'llstabilizetheshoulder."
"Doesithurt?YourshoulderImean?"
"A little." I'm not about to tell her it throbs like a bitch. She's a reporter after all.

"WhotoldyouIdon'tfuckthesamewomantwice?"

"Marigold. Plus I did some research on you, Ty. You have quite a reputation as a

player.AndI'mnottalkingaboutfootball."

Her words manage to make their way through the fog-induced lust, and a light

glimmers in the recesses of my mind. "Did you know this before you came to my
house?"

"Beforeyoudraggedmethere,youmean?Yes.Iknew."
"Isthatwhyyouwalkedoutonme?BecauseyouthoughtIwouldn'twanttomake

lovetoyouagain?"

"Thatwaspartofit,buttheotherpartwasIdon'tdothat."
Iproponehandonmyhip."Don'tdowhat?"
"Haveone-nightstands."
"Never?"
"Never.Andwedidn'tmakelove.Wehadsex.Imaynotknowmuch,butIknow

thedifference."

Fuck.She'severythingIthoughtshewas.Awide-eyedinnocent,tryingtomakeher

wayintheworld.Andhereshe'drunintothebig,badwolf,whodidn'twasteasecond
gobblingherup."God.I'vebeensuchanidiot."

"Whatdoyoumean?"
"IthoughtI'dbeentakeninbyagroupie.Wheninreality,you'reexactlywhatyou

appeartobe.Sunshineandrainbowsandunicornsandlollipops."

Shehitchesupherchin."Idon'tbelieveinunicorns."
Maybenotunicorns,butshe'severythingthatisgoodandsweetinthisworld.
I twist a finger around one of her glorious curls, breathe it in. "We made love,

MacKenna.Trustme.Iknowthedifference."

"Wecouldn'thave."
"Iwantedyoulikenootherwoman,sodeterminedtogetyouinmybed.AndonceI

gotyouthere,Imadesureyouenjoyedit."

"Youdon'tdothatwith...theothers?"
"They get what they need from me, and then they're gone. Not you, though. Not

everyou."

Tearsswiminhereyes."Thatcan'tbe,Ty.Thatjustcan'tbe."

"Oh, yeah. Then tell me, why am I still hung up on you? Why can't I sleep? Why

doesmyentirehousesmelloflavenderandrosesevenafterthecleaningservicebeen
intwice?"

Hergazegrowsmoreluminous."Doesit?"
Ipullheragainstme,andmyhandridesdownherbacktoherass.Nowaycanshe

misshowmuchIwanther.I'mhardasstone."Yes."

C H A P T E R 1 3

MacKenna

ONFUSEDASHELL,Ispinandtakeacoupleofstepsawayfromhim.Ican'tthink
whenI'mmashedupagainsthim,hisshaftpracticallyimprintedonmyskin."What

doyouwantfromme,Ty?"

Hebrushesathumbacrossmycheek."RightnowIwanttomakelovetoyou."
I breathe in that male scent of his, and a ripple of heat races across my skin.

Wanting,somuch.ButIcan'tgiveintomyhungerforthisman."Ican't."

"Whynot?"
"I have a job, responsibilities, bills I have to pay. Going to bed with you will

jeopardizemuchofwhatIwantfromlife.IfMr.BartlettfindsoutIsleptwithyou,at
theveryleasthewouldtakemeoffyourassignment.Probablysendmetointerview
thedogcatcheratthepound.Ican'truinmyentirefutureforaflingwiththeOutlaws'
quarterback."

"MacKenna. You're special. Very special." He curls one of those big hands of his

around the nape of my neck and leans down to kiss my throat, my jaw, my cheek.
Something hot streaks within me, and I tremble. Who knew I had this much need
insideofme?Andit'sallforthismanbecauseOliver,gorgeousasheis,doesnothing
forme.

"Youwantme,"hewhispersinmyear,nipsthelobe.
I'mintrouble.Big,bigtrouble.Idigdeepinsideandfightofftheinsidiousvoicethat

tellsmetogoforit."Anywomanwouldwantyou,Ty.Imean,lookatyou."

Six foot five of hard muscle, green, hungry eyes, never mind the erection he's

sporting.He'salethalcombination,abletoseduceawomanwithasingleglance.ButI
can'tallowmyselftofallforhim.

"Desiringyouisnotenough."
His eyes flash with anger as he steps back, dropping his hands to his side, fisting

them at the ends. "You're denying me, denying your own need for the sake of your
fuckingjob?"

"It'smyfuture,Ty.Can'tyouseethat?"
Hegesturestothespacearoundus."Nobodyherebutyouandme.Noonehasto

know."

"Thingshaveawayofcomingout.Now,ifyoudon'tmind,I'dliketoreturntothe

ballroom,findMarandleave."Theexcitement'sgonefromthisevening.Iwanttogo
home,stickmyheadundermypillow,andforgetaboutTyMathews.Ifthat'spossible.

He shakes his head as if he can't believe what I'm saying, but he reaches for his

clothesandslowlydresses."Fine.Ifthat'swhatyouwant."

"Itis."
Intotalsilence,wewalkbackthesamecorridor,ridethesameelevatorasbefore.

When we arrive at the ballroom, neither Mar nor Oliver are anywhere to be found.
Neither is her purse. I ask the people at the table, acquaintances and employees of
Oliver,ifthey'veseenmyfriend.Noonehasseenhairnorhideofthemsincetheytook
tothedancefloor.Darn.

"Canyoucallher?"Tyasks.
Ishakemyhead."Ihavehercell.Herpursewastootinytoholdit."
"Maybehetookherhome."
"Idon'tthinkso.He'ssonothertype."Mar'stypeisanenvironmentaltreehugger,

notabillionairebusinessman.

"Imeantherhome."
Mar wouldn't like for him to know where she lives. If anything, she probably

ditched him and took a cab home. She knew I was with Ty and more than likely
thoughtIwouldspendthenightwithhim.WishIknewshewassafeandsound.Maybe
sheheadedbacktomyapartment.Shewassupposedtospendthenight,andshehasa
setofkeystomyplace.Ibetthat'sit.Betterreturnhomeandmakesure.Ifshe'snot
thereandIdon'thearfromherbytomorrow,I'llrunovertoherplace.

"Yeah.You'reprobablyright.Well,thankyoufortheinterview."Istickoutmyhand

toshakehis.Ifanybody'slistening,andtheyare,theywouldhopefullythinkwewere
togetherforprofessionalreasons,andnotanythingelse.

"Howareyougettinghome?"Hedoesn'tletgoofmyhand.
"Taxi."ThesamewayMarandIarrived.
"I'mleaving.Icandropyouhome."
"IthoughttheOutlawsprovidedtransportationfortheplayers."
"Theydo.I'llhavethedrivertakeyouhomebeforehedropsmeoffatmyhouse."
"Oh.There'sreallynoneed,Mr.Mathews."
"Please.It'sdangerousoutthere.Icouldn'tsleepeasywithoutknowingyoumadeit

backhomeinonepiece."

Acoupleofpeopleatthetablenodinagreement.Isigh.IfImakeabigdealoutof

hisoffer,it'llbeworsethanifIsimplyacceptit.Thenthey'llreallysuspectsomething.
"Thankyou.That'sverygenerousofyou."

"You'rewelcome.Let'sgogetyourcoat."
Theridehomeisuncomfortabletosaytheleast.Idon'tsaymuch.Neitherdoeshe.

WhatcanIsay?IwantyoubutIdon'twanttohavesexwithyou.Justbeingseenwith
him is a problem. Those pictures that were taken? They'll show up in a paper
somewhere. And I'll get chewed out by Mr Bartlett. Again. No. Other than in a
professionalsetting,Ican'tbeseenwithhimanymore.

Heasksthedrivertowaitwhileheescortsmetomyapartment.Wewalkdownthe

hall, not touching. I just want to curl up on my bed, put a pillow over my head and

forgetabouttonight.Butit'snottobe.Whenwearriveatmyfrontdoor,wefinditajar.

Itakeasteptowidentheopening,buthepullsmeback."Don't."
Slidinginfrontofme,hepushesthedoor,anditslidesopenwithaslightcreak.
TheTVliesbrokenonthefloor,itsinnardsstrewnhelterskelteronthebeigerug.

Somebody slashed the sofa, it's great big chunks of stuffing tossed around the room.
There's broken glass everywhere. "Oh, God. What if Mar was in there? She was
supposedtospendthenight."

Before he can stop me, I rush in with him hard on my heels. The bedroom's no

betterthanthelivingroom.Ifanything,it'sworse,becausethethingsinherearemore
personal. The bed, just like the sofa, has been slashed. My clothes ripped out of their
hangers,sometorntopieces.IdoubtI'llfindsomethingwholeinthismess.Butthere's
nosignofMarigold.Didshecomebacktotheapartment?

"Marigold." I cry out. "What if she walked in while they were tearing apart the

place?"

"That didn't happen. Oliver would have been with her. He would have called the

police."

IhangontohiswordswitheverybitofhopeIcanmuster."Youthinkso?"
"I do. He never would have allowed her to come up alone. He probably took her

home.Canyoucallherthere?"

"Shedoesn'thavealandline.Onlyhercell."
Hestepsclosetome,hugsmetohim."She'ssafe,MacKenna.Ifyoudon'thearfrom

herbytomorrow,I'lldriveyoutoherplace."

If I have anything to say about it, he won't be driving me anywhere. But I'm so

devastatedbytheevildestructionofmyapartment,Ican'tfightthatbattlerightnow.

Tygrabshisphone,dials911."I'dliketoreportabreakingandentering."Afterhe

hangs up, he contacts the driver, lets him know what happened and asks him to sit
tight."Weshouldwaitinthehallwayforthepolice."

"Fine."NothingmuchIcandoinsidemyplace,otherthanstareatthedevastation.
Fifteenminuteslater,twomembersoftheChicagopolicedepartmentarrive—acop

and a detective. To their credit, neither makes a big deal out of Ty, but proceed in a
professional manner. The detective jots down my information, while the cop trudges
through the place taking notes. Not much later, the forensic investigators show up.
Theyproceedtodustforfingerprintsandtakepictures.Liketheothertwo,they'refast
andefficient.Withinanhour,they'redone.

Before they leave, the detective gives me a phone number and a case number to

providetomyinsurancecompanywhenIfileaclaim.Exceptformylaptop,mygoods
don't amount to more than two thousand dollars or so. So I'd never taken out
insuranceonmypersonalbelongings.ButnowIwishIhad.HowamIgoingtoreplace
thelittleIhavewhenIcanbarelyaffordrent?

"One more question, Ms. Perkins," the detective says, his pen hovering over his

notebook. "The attack seems personal. Anybody you know have a personal grudge
againstyou?"

Thewormcomestomind,butsurelyhewouldn'tgotothismuchtrouble."No."
"Doyouhavesomewheretostaytonight?IcancontacttheAmericanRedCross,if

youdon't."

BeforeIcansayanything,Tyinterrupts."She'sgotaplace.She'scominghomewith

me."

"Verywell.Doyouwanttogetanythingfromyourapartmenttonight?I'llneedto

puta'PoliceLineDoNotCross'tapeacrossthedoor.Youwon'tbeabletoenterwithout
givingusacall."

"Oh,okay."
"Comeon,"Tysays."I'llhelpyou."
In my bedroom closet, I find a suitcase that doesn't appear to have too much

damage as well as Mar's overnight bag. I quickly go through my things. Whatever is
whole,Istuffinthebag,alongwiththetoiletriesinthebathroom.Itbarelytakesfifteen
minutestopack.

WhenIdragthebag,Iquicklyrealizeit'sgotacoupleofwheelsmissing.Andthat's

enoughforateartoslipdownmycheek.

Typutshisgoodarmaroundme."It'llbeokay,MacKenna.You'llsee."
"Yeah,"Iswipeatthesillytears.
He gently takes my bag from me and leads the way. I grab Mar's overnight and

followhimtothehallwaywherethedetectiveiswaiting.

"Alldone."
"Yeah."
"Okay." The cop proceeds to fix the crime scene tape across the door. There's so

muchofit,nobodycancrossitwithoutanoticeabletear.Notthatitwillstopanyone
intentonbreakingin."Ifyouwanttogetbackintoyourapartment,pleasecallusahead
oftime.We'llneedtoremovethetape."

"Iwill.Thanks.You'vebeenverythorough."Andverykind.
"Noproblem.That'sourjob.Haveyoucalledyourlandlord?"
"Notyet."
"You might want to do so right away. At the very least, he'll need to provide you

withanewdoor."

"I'llcallhim."
"Goodnight."
Ashewalksaway,wesilentlyfollow,withTydraggingthecrummysuitcasewithhis

goodarm.

"Idon'twantyoutoworry.We'llfigurethingsout.Okay?"
'We' aren't going to figure anything out. I'll deal with whatever needs to be dealt

with.Justnottonight.

C H A P T E R 1 4

NTHEDRIVEHOME,shedoesn'tsayaword.She'sgottobehurting.Burglaryisnot
onlyarobberyofyourthings,butatheftofyoursoul.Butshedoesn'tcry.

"Mywholelifewasinthatlaptop."
"Didyoustorethedatasomewhere?"
"Yes.Myfilesarebackedupdaily.I'llbeabletoretrieveeverything.Butwhoever

stoleithasallmypersonaldata.Ifeel..."

"Violated."
"Yes."
"Wecangoshoppingforanewoneinthemorning.Andyoucantransferyourfiles.

We'llputaGPSlocatoronit.Ifitdisappearsagain,you'llknowexactlywhereitis."

Shehitchesupashoulder."Noneedtodothat.ThelaptopbelongstoTheWindyCity

Chronicle.They'llprovideareplacement."

Whenwecometoaredlight,Iglanceather.She'sfightingoffthetears,butherlip

chewing gives away her state of mind. I engulf her small hand in mine and squeeze.
"Okay.Butifyouneedonebeforetheycanreplaceit,IhaveoneIneveruse."

Herheadswivelstowardme."Youhave?Whydon'tyouuseit?"
"The Chicago Outlaws gave it to me, but it doesn't have all the bells and whistles I

like."

"Suchas?"
"Afirstrategamingvideocardandlightningspeedram."
Asmallsmilefightstomakeanappearance."Boysandtheirtoys."
"Hey,don'tknockit.IplayMaddenFootballonthething.It'staughtmeathingor

twoaboutthegame."

Shesnorts."Yeah.Right!"
Happyhermoodhaslightened,Iturntheconversationtowardherfriend.
"YouandMarigolddon'tseemmuchalike."
"We'renot.We'reintodifferentthings,andshe'smuchmoreofafreespiritthanI

am.Butsomehowwebecamefastfriends."

"Whatdoyoumeanfreespirit?"
"Mar dated a lot of guys in college, and I mean a lot. Hooked up with a bunch of

them.Shedoesn'tbelieveintyingherselftooneman.Sheviewsmarriageasaformof
financial and social bondage. Not a surprise, given she grew up in a commune in
California.Herparentsnevermarried."

"Butyou'renotlikethat,areyou?"
"Far from it. I was born and raised in Iowa by parents who believe marriage is

sacredandtheultimateoutcomeoftwopeoplewholoveeachother.Needlesstosay,
theydonotapproveofpre-maritalsex."Shesighs."SometimesIwishIcouldbemore
likeMar.IhatebeingMissGoodyTwoShoes."

Ireachoverandsqueezeherhandagain."Ilikeyouthewayyouare."Myphone

rings.CallerIDidentifiestheindividualasaflunkiefromtheChicagoOutlaws,theone
inchargeofcheckingontheplayers.TheteamwantstoconfirmI'mtuckedinforthe
nightatthehotel.IturntoMacKenna."Sorry.Ihavetotakethis."

"Sure."
Lettinggoofherhand,Iclickmyphone."Mathews."Withthespeakerfunctionon,

MacKennacanheareveryword.

"Just calling in with your pickup time. Your driver will pick you up tomorrow

morningatnine."

"I'monmywayhome.Don'tworry.Iusedthecarservice."
Deadsilenceattheotherend."Okay,butI'llhavetoletthemknow."Thembeingthe

ChicagoOutlaws'management.

"Dowhatyouhavetodo."Iclickoff.Honestly,sometimestheytreatuslikechildren

whocan'twipeourownasses.

"Areyouintroublewithyourteam?"
Probably.TheChicagoOutlawswantustostayatthehotelaftereveryevent,soI'm

bound to get flack from them. But I couldn't leave MacKenna in that apartment, and
goingbacktothehotelwasnotanoption.SoI'lljustneedtodealwithwhateverthey
hitmewith.Probablyapenaltyofsomekind."Me?No."

"Yousure?"
"Positive.Look,wewon'tbehomeforhalfanhouratleast.Tryandgetsomerest."

LastthingIwantisforhertoworryaboutme.She'sgotenoughtoworryaboutinher
ownlife.

"Okay."Isensemorethanseeherdartingaworriedglanceatme.ButshedoesasI

say,andcloseshereyes.

When I curl my arm around her and tuck her against me, she doesn't protest but

snugglesagainstmyside.It'sthemostpeaceI'veenjoyedinalongtime.

Afterwearrivehome,IgrabMacKenna'sbagaswellasMarigold'sfromthetrunkof

the town car. When we reach the kitchen, I pause to do the polite thing, "You want
somethingtodrink?"

Sheshakesherhead,"No,thanks.WhatIreallyneedisashowerandsleep."
"Thenletmeshowyoutoyourroom."Aswewanderdownthehallwaytooneof

theguestrooms,Ikeepupmypatter,hopingtomakeherfeelwelcomed."Micasaessu
casa.Whateveryouwant,it'syours."

Her lips curl into a sad smile which makes me want to embrace her and tell her

everything is going to be fine. But, of course, I can't. She's made it clear how things
standbetweenus.

"Thankyou,Ty.I'llgetaholdofMartomorrow.AskifIcanmoveinwithher.Fora

littlewhileanyway."

She's staying with me, but there's no sense discussing her future living

arrangements.Nottonightwhenshe'sinshock.Tomorrowwillbesoonenough."Why
don'twetalkitoverinthemorning.Thingsusuallylookbrighterinthedaylight."

"Yes.You'reright."
I'venevertakenthetimetobuymuchfurniturefortheotherfourbedroomsinthe

house,sothefurnishingsoftheguestroomarebasicstuff—abedandanighttable.But
itdoeshaveitsownprivatebathroom.Ipointoutthedoor."You'llfindfreshtowelsin
there.Ihaveaservicethatcomesinonceaweektocleananddolaundry."

Idropthebagsbythefootofthebed."Ifyouneedanything,allyouhavetodois

ask."

"Iwon't.Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Iheadbacktomyroom.AfterIshower,Ipadnakedtomybed,leavingthedoorto

thehallwayopen.Youknow,incasesheneedsanything.

Evenfromtwodoorsaway,herlavender-rosescentdriftsintomyroom.God.Over

thenexthour,Ipunchmypillow,tossandturnover.I'llnevergetanysleeptonight.
Maybe a snack or drink would help. I'm just about to head to the kitchen when she
appearsatmydoor.

"Ty?"
Isitup."Anythingwrong?"
"Ican'tsleep."
Meneither.
"MayIcomein?"
Hell,no."Absolutely."
She strolls to the bed wearing an oversized night shirt that falls to her knees, her

gloriousbreastsbobbingwitheverystepshetakes.

MycockgoesonDefCon3status,readyforlaunchin3-2-1."Wouldyoulikesome

warmmilk?Sometimesthathelps."Well,aren'tIbeingtheGoodSamaritan?

Sheshakesherhead."No.It'sjust...IthoughtIheardsomething."
Probablyme,gnashingmyteeth."Everything'slockeduptight.Noonecanbreakin.

It'sprobablythehousesettlingdown."

"Iknow,but..."
"But?"
"Every time I close my eyes, horrible thoughts pop into my head. If Oliver hadn't

invitedmetothatevent,Iwouldhavebeenhome.WouldIhavebeenhurt?WouldI
evenbealiverightnow?"Thehitchinhervoicetellsmeshe'sstrugglingtocontrolher
fear,butnotquitesucceeding.

Fuck. I ache to comfort her, but not much I can do. She's pretty much erected a

'KeepOut'sign.

"Ifit'snottoomuchtrouble,canIstayhere?Withyou?Iwon'ttakeupmuchroom

onyourbed."

WhatdoesshethinkIam?Aeunuch?Firstisdon'ttouchme.Nowit's,canIcrawl

intobedwithyou?Iscrubmyface.ButsheseeksreassurancesoIcramdownallmy

nastylustandfocusonwhatsheneeds."Sure.I'mnotwearingpajamas,though,soyou
mightwanttostayonyoursideofthebed."That'sasmuchofawarningasI'mgoingto
giveher.

"Okay."Sheclimbson,takingonlythesmallestsliverofbedspace.Sheesh.Ifsheas

muchasbreathesthewrongway,she'llrollrightoffandcrashlandonthefloor.

"You'regoingtofall,scootoversome."
Shemovesaninch.
"Oh,forPete'ssakes."Withmygoodarm,Ireachoverandhaulhertothecenterof

the bed. Big mistake. Her breasts are front and center beneath me, with only flimsy
cottonbetweenmeandthosebeauties.I'vetouchedthem,tastedthem.AndrightnowI
can'tfindmuchofthegentlemanwithinme.Diggingdeep,Irolloverwithajerk."Goto
sleep,MacKenna."

"Ty?"
"Whatdoyouwantnow?Youwantmetosingyoualullaby?What?"
"You'vetakenallthecovers."
"Here." Keeping one, I toss the rest to her. I sure as hell don't need them. I'm

burningup.

"Goodnight."
Fatchanceofthathappening.
I roll over, turn my back to her again. My dick's throbbing so hard, I can hardly

breathe.Asoftcurseescapesme.

"I'msorry."Isshecrying?Shesoundslikeshe'scrying.
Fuck'ssake.Irolltomyside,faceher.She'snotcrying,butit'sclose."Gotosleep.

Please."I'mbegginghere.

"Ican't.Ikeepthinkingaboutsomebodybreakingintomyapartment.Idon'tthink

I'llfeelsafethereanymore."

"Well,youdon'thavetoworryaboutthat.You'reneverlivingthereagain."
Curiousblueeyesshineupatme."Whatdoyoumean?"
"I'llfindanotherplaceforyoutolive.Asaferone."
"Safeplacestendtobeexpensive."
"Don'tworryaboutthemoney."
Shesitsup."OfcourseIhavetoworryaboutthemoney.Sometimesthat'sallIthink

about."

Her maddening scent surrounds me. A lock of her gorgeous auburn hair slides

downtocurloverherleftbreast.Ifshedoesn'tstop,she'sgoingtodrivemeinsane.I
glareather."I'llgiveyouthemoney.Gotosleep.Please."

"Ican'tacceptmoneyfromyou!I'llmoveinwithMarandsavemypenniesuntilI

canaffordsomething."

"Wheredoesshelive?"
"IntheSouthSide."
That's in an even worse part of town than her current address. "No. You're not

movingthere."

"You can't tell me what to do, Ty." She drops back on the bed, crossing her arms

againstherchest.

"Somebody'sgotto.Youdon'thavethesenseGodgaveyoumovingintothatplace."

"Easy for you to say. With all the millions you have." She lets out a hard breath.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea me staying here. I think I better leave."Rolling off,
shecomestoherfeetontheothersideofthebed.

Iimmediatelyjumpout."You'renotgoinganywhere."
Her eyes round. No wonder. I'm hard as stone and my cock's curled up almost to

my belly button. Well, what the fuck does she expect? Any red blooded male would
reactthesamewaytohersmell,hervoice,her.

Sheprieshergazefrommydicktoglareatme."Sayswho?"
"Me."
"You'renotthebossofme."
"Realmature,MacKenna."Icrossmyarmsagainstmychest,widenmystance."It's

pastthreeinthemorning,tellme,wherewouldyougo?"

"I'llfindamotelsomewherenearby."
"Thisisaresidentialneighborhood.Nearesthotelisseveralmilesaway.Howwould

yougetthere?"

"I'llcallacabsameasIdidbefore."
I fling down my arms, knot my hands into fists. "The hell you are. You're staying

herewithme."

"No."
I stomp toward her, pick her up, drop her on the mattress. My shoulder screams

withpain.Fuck.FinejobI'mdoingofrestingit."Ifyoudon'tstayput,sohelpmeGod,
I'lltieyoutothebed."

"Youwouldn'tdare!"Sparksflashinthosebeautifulbluebelleyesofhers.
"Watchme."Ibeatfeettomydresser,yankoutacoupleofbelts,turnaroundand

swingthemather."Now,whatwillitbe?"

"You'reaNeanderthal."
Ishrugofftheinsult.Beencalledworse.
"Fine.I'llstay."Sheslamsbacktothemattress.
NotonetotrustherIshovethedresserinfrontofthedoor."Anddon'teventhink

aboutsneakingoutthewindow.Ifyoudo,analarmwillgooff."

"Itdidn'tgoofflasttimeIwashere."
"Iforgottosetitthatnight."
Icrawlintobed,wideawakeandjackedupbytheturnofevents.Goodluckfalling

asleep.

She'sbreathinghardnexttome."Ihateyou."
I roll over and face her. "No, you don't. You want me." I point to her hard little

nipples."See."

"Ifyouwereanykindofagentleman,youwouldnotpointthatout."Shebandsher

armsaroundherboobswhichdoesnothingbutputthemingorgeousdisplay.

Icouldsaysomething,butIdon't.Elbowsbent,Ipropmyheadontopofmyhands

andstareattheceiling.It'sgoingtobealongnight.

Forawhile,theonlysoundstobeheardarethesawingofourbreaths.
"Maybeweshouldjustdoit."
What!!!IsshesuggestingwhatIthinksheis?"Dowhat?"
"Havesex."

Shhiiiitt!Mycockispulsingsohardit'sfuckingleakingbynow."MacKenna,I'mnot

going to take advantage of you. Not now when you're not in a good place." There. I
actedlikeagentleman.Disgusted,mycocktearsupmyplayercard.

"Ty."ShetouchesmyarmandIhissoutabreath."See?Youcan'tsleep.Ican'tsleep.

Ilikeditwhenwehadsexlasttime.Ilikeditalot.Maybeifwehavesexallthistension
willdisa—"

Itacklehertothebed.Myhandsnakesbeneaththehemofhershirt,skimshersoft

thigh,andheadsforthepromisedland.Itried.GodknowsItried,butthere'sonlyso
muchtemptationamancanwithstand."You'rewet."

"Youmakemewet."Shepurrs.
Jeezus,howcanIhopetobeagentlemanwiththatadmission?
Onehanded,Iwrestletheshirtoffher,tossittothefloor."AreyousureMacKenna?

Areyouabsolutely,positivelysureyouwanttohavesexwithme?"

"Yes, Ty. I'm sure." She curls one of her soft hands around my neck and tugs me

down,brushesherlipsagainstmine.Andthenshepullsback,ahorrifiedlookonher
face."I'msorry.Iforgot."

"Forgotwhat?"
"Youdon'tkiss."
"DidMarigoldtellyouthattoo?"
"Yes."
Man that chick's a fount of information when it comes to me. "She's right. I don't

kissotherwomen.But"—Ikisshersoftshoulder,hersupplethroat,hersatinycheek—"
Iverymuchwanttokissyou."Ihaulherbodydirectlybeneathme.Hereyesdarkenas
Iswoopinforakiss.IkeepupthatswayingmotionwhileIkisshersoftlips.Shesmells
ofeverythingthatissweetandgoodinthisworld.

Her hands clamp down on my shoulders while I play with her mouth, nibbling,

licking the edges, sucking in the luscious bottom lip. Her pussy's drenching my cock.
SheloveswhatI'mdoingtoher.ButasmuchasIwanttopoundintoher,Ikeepupthe
soft,easypace.

Isuckhertongueintomymouth,gentlyexplorehers.She'sbreathinghardandso

am I. Don't know how long I can keep up this gentle pace. But this is MacKenna, not
somegroupieinterestedinhardandquick.Shewantsthetenderness,theromance.I'm
goingtogiveherexactlywhatshewants.Evenifitkillsme.

But first I need to make sure she's protected. I reach for the drawer in the night

table,fishoutapacket,ripitwithmyteethandrollthelatexovermycock.Thedamn
thing'ssohardIstruggletogetiton.

Eyeswide,shelieswatchingthewholeoperation."Doyoualways—?"sheasks.
"Yes."Everydamntime."What'swrong?"
"Nothing.It'sjust...thecondommakesitreal.Youknow."
"Haveyouchangedyourmind?AboutthesexImean?"Likethere'sanotheroffer

onthetable.

She curls her soft hand around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. "No. I

haven't."

"Thesebeautiesofyoursdrivemecrazy.Soplumpandbouncy."Islipthetipofone

intomymouthandsuckle.

Shemoans."Oh,God.Ty.Dothatagain."
"With pleasure." I settle down to feast on her skin while my hand plumps and

kneadstheotherone.

ShewigglesandInotchmyhardonbetweenherlegsrightwhereitwilldothemost

good.

"Oh,yes.More,please."
I'mabigmanandshehasn'thadmuchexperience,soIeaseintoheraninchata

time,whileIsavorthesweetskinofhers.Man,shetastesofbrownsugarallover.And
her scent? Well, I don't have to tell you what that scent does to me. I keep up that
surgingmotionwhileshewrithesbeneathme.

"Youlikethis,MacKenna?"
"Yes,Ty,yes."
Ikissher,adeepsoulfulkissthatgoesstraightthroughme.Andhertoo,goingby

thewayherbodytrembles."Alittlemore,sweetheart?"

"Okay."
Ido,andshebitesdownonherlip.
"Toomuch?"
"No." She curls her hand around my neck and brings my mouth to her lips. "Just

right."

Itrytogoslow,forhersake.Hell,formineaswell.IwanttoenjoythisaslongasI

can.Butsoonhermotionbecomesmorefranticandhermoansbecomemoreurgent.
Whenshescratchesmyback,somethinginsidemebreaks.AndIletgoandpoundinto
her,givinghereverythingIhave.

"Ty,oh,mygod,Ty."Herclimaxhitsandshescreams.
Iburymyheadinherneckandreachformyownrelease.
Minutes, hours later, our breathing, our heartbeats return to normal. I know she

can'tleave,notwiththeblockadeatthedoor,butevenso,Icurlmybodyaroundher
andlatchmyarmaroundhere.Ifshesomuchastwitches,I'llknow.

C H A P T E R 1 5

MacKenna

WAKEINASNUGCOCOON,engulfedinblankets.Theheatneverworkedrightin
my apartment. But this morning even my toes are toasty warm. I pat the bed

aroundme,hopingtofindTy,butemptinessgreetsme.Maybehe'sinthebathroom?
Butonlythesoundofsilencegreetsme.Wrappingthecomforteraroundme,Iheadfor
thebathroom,takingcarenottowalktoofast.Afterlastnight'smarathonsession,I'm
achinginalltherightplaces.

Onthebathroommirror,Ifindastickynote."Offtopractice.Backintheafternoon.

Makeyourselfathome.Plentyoffoodinthefridge."

Ofcourse,he'satpractice.He'safootballplayerafterall.Theytrainjustaboutevery

day,asIdiscoveredduringmyinterviewwithRon.Butcanhepracticewithhisarmin
thatbrace?WhenIaskedhimaboutit,heclammedup.Imakeamentalnotetofind
outaboutit.

Afterasoakinthetub,Ithrowonsomecleanclothesandheadtothekitchenfor

some much needed coffee. While the Keurig's doing its thing, I open the refrigerator
door.He'snotkiddingaboutthefridge.It'sjam-packedwithallkindsoffood.Keepingit
simple,Iscrambleacoupleofeggs,maketoast,pourorangejuice.AsI'mcleaningup,
mycellrings.It'shim.

"Goodmorning,"hesaysinavoicefullofgravel.
"Morning."
"Whatchadoing?"
"Justfinishedbreakfast."
"Good.Hadagreattimelastnight."
I blush, remembering all the things he did to me, all the things we did together.

"Yeah,metoo."

"I'llbehomebyone.Seeyouthen?"
Notanoddquestion.Ididwalkoutonhimbefore.Butthat'swhenIhadsomewhere

togo.Rightnow,Idon't."I'llbehere."

"Great." His voice perks up, as if it's that important I remain in his house. Why? I

have no idea. It's not like we're an item. Yes, we've had sex—twice. But surely for a
playah like him, that's nothing. Except he doesn't sleep with the same woman twice,

andhecertainlydidwithme.ButIwastheonetoforcetheissuelastnight,wasn'tI,
afterIcrawledintobedwithhim?Soitshouldn'tmeanthatmuchtohim.

Ican'tthinkaboutthisrightnow.Notwhenotherthingsclamorformyattention.I

callmybosstolethimknowmyapartmentwasbrokenintoandmylaptopwasstolen.
He'llneedtofileaclaimwiththeinsurancecompanyandalsogetareplacement.Tohis
creditMr.Bartlettismoreconcernedaboutmysafetythanthecomputer.

"Machinescanbereplaced.Humanbeingscan't."
"Thankyou,Mr.Bartlett.Iappreciatethat."
"Doyouhaveaplacetostay?"
"Yes.I'mbunkinginwithafriend."Idon'ttellhimwhichfriend.IfhefindsoutI'm

inTy'shouse,he'llhittheroof.Attheveryleast,he'lltakemeoffTy'sinterview.AndI
can'thavethat.IhavetointerviewTy.IneedtointerviewTy.

He'shidingsomething.AndI'mgoingtofindoutwhat.Tymaynotwantanyoneto

knowabouthispast,butunfortunately,secretshaveawayofcomingoutattheworst
possibletime.Butwhatifit'ssomethingbad?Somethingthatcoulddamagehiscareer.
Andfootballiseverythingtohim.Ifit'ssomethingunpleasant,I'lldealwithitwhenthe
timecomes.ThelastthingIwantistohurthim.

"Ifyouneedmoney,letmeknow.Wecanfloatyouanadvanceonyourpaycheck."
Even though I could use the cash, I decline his offer. I'll need funds to get a new

place to live. When I find one, I can ask for an advance then. If I find one. Cheap
apartmentsinsafeneighborhoodsarethinonthegroundinChicago."Thanks,butI'm
good."

"Well,youletmeknow,ifyoudo."Heclearshisthroat."DidyouchecktheSunday

editionoftheWindyCityChronicle?"

"No.Withwhathappenedlastnight,Ihaven'thadachance."
"Youmightwantto."
Does he mean what I think he means? Did the Ron piece make it on the paper?

Suddenlybreathless,allIcansayis,"Iwill.Thanksagain,Mr.Bartlett."

Dying to find out if I'm right, I fire up my smart phone and enter the website's

address. Sure enough. My Ron Moss article is front and center. I squeal. And it has
comments!Isquealagainbeforesettlingdowntoreadingthem.Individualswhohave
dyslexia, parents of dyslexic children. And every post is positive, praising Ron for his
courage, for bringing this topic to light. There's even one from an eight-year old boy
sayinghedoesn'tfeelsoaloneanymore.Thatonebringsateartomyeyes.Themore
comments I read, the more my heart fills with joy. This is why I wanted to be a
journalist. To bring social issues to the fore. Who knew I'd find it by writing a piece
aboutafootballplayer?

IwanttocallRonandsharemyjoywithhim.Buthe'sgottobeinfootballpractice

aswell,soIputitoffuntiltheafternoon.Inthemeantime,Ineedtogetbacktoreality.
Idigoutmylandlord'sbusinessnumber.WhenIcall,allIgetisvoicemailsoIleave
himamessagetellinghimwhathappened.

HavingdoneasmuchasIcanabouttheapartment,Iturnmythoughtstowardmy

nextinterview.Withoutmylaptop,Idon'thaveanythingtowriteon,soIgosearching
inTy'skitchenforsomethingtomakedo.IstrikegoldinakitchendrawerwhereIfind
asmallpad.Thekindyouusetomakeshoppinglistswith.Musichelpsmechannelmy

innerjournalist,soIfireuponemyfavoriteplaylistsonmysmartphone.Ispendthe
next couple of hours, jotting down notes for my interview with Mad Dog Buchinsky.
Thekeytohimistorevealthesoftmarshmallowheartofthestronglinebacker.I'mso
lostinmyprocess,Idon'trealizeTy'shomeuntilherollsinbehindmeanddropsakiss
onmyshoulder.

Isquealandpracticallyjumpoutofmyskin."God,youscaredme."
Hewalksaroundtheendofthecouch,liftsmeandkissesmelikeI'mhislasthopeof

salvation. When he presses against me, his erection brushes against me. Amazingly,
he'sjustashardasthenightbefore.WhenIlostmymindwithlustoverhim.Myface
growshotasIrecallthethingsIdid,thewordsIyelledwhilewehadsex.

"Imissedyou."
"Oh."BusyasIwasjottingdownnotes,Ididn'tmisshim.Whatdoesthatsayabout

me?AmIusinghimasahookup?Asacrutch?OrmaybeIwasjusttryingtofillmy
mindwiththoughtsaboutmycareertoavoidanypersonalintrospection.Wouldn'tbe
thefirsttimeI'vedonethat.

Hebreathesinmyhair."Yousmelllikeme."
"Yeah,IusedyourstuffwhenIbathed."Hisbodywashhadbeenrightthereinplain

sight,aswellashisshampooandconditioner.I'dbroughtmyown,butit'dfeltrightto
usehis.Ifhecouldn'tbehere,Icouldbesurroundedbyhim.Boy,amIconfused.DoI
wanthimornot?

He sweeps a lock off my face, and kisses my lips again. "Are you sore from last

night?"

Myfaceheatsup."Alittle.ButIdon'tregretitonebit."
Aboyishgrinpopsuponhislips."Good."Hereachesfortheremote,turnsonthe

TV, and a show pops up on the screen. A bunch of men talking about football. "The
RaidersandtheCowboys.Shouldbeagoodgame."

"Okay."Icutthemusicapponmyphone.
"Youwantsomethingtoeat?I'mstarving."Hethrowsoverhisshoulderashewalks

away."Imakeameansub."

"I'll take half of one." I follow him to the kitchen where he's already pulling stuff

fromthefridge—subrolls,luncheonmeats,cheese,allthefixings.

"So what did you do this morning?" he asks as he starts making a Dagwood-style

sandwich. Who thought he'd be so domesticated? Not only that, he's happy I'm here.
Strange,sincehe'sthelove'emandleave'emtype.

Itellhimaboutmyconversationwithmyboss.
"Youdidn'ttellhimyouwerestayinghere."
"No.Thatwouldnothavegonewell."Iparkmybottomononeofthekitchenstools

whileheslathersmayonnaise,avocado,andsomedressingononeofthesubrolls.

"He'sboundtofindoutsoonerorlater."
With any luck, he won't. I plan to move out as soon as I can. "Ty, I thank you for

your help, but last night was a one time thing. Well I guess it's a two-time thing. If I
movedinwithyou,mybosswouldhittheroof.Ican'tgetpersonallyinvolvedwithmy
interview subjects. If I did, I couldn't write an objective piece." Never mind it would
breakaboutazillionjournalisticrules.

"That ship has sailed, hasn't it?" He plates my sub, adds a mountain of chips, and

slidesitovertome."Youwantsomethingtodrink?"

"I'll take a coke." He does have a point, but I believe I can still write an objective

pieceonhim.ButonlyifI'mnotlivingbeneaththesameroofashim.

HegrabsthesoftdrinkandabottleofsomeartisanalbeerI'veneverheardof,and

plops down on the stool next to me. Grabbing the remote, he turns the kitchen
televisiontothesamepre-gameshow.

Great!Nowhehastwotvsblaringfootball.
Aftertakingahugebiteofthesub,hewashesitdownwiththebeerbeforepointing

tomine."Eat."

"Yeah."Itearoffapieceofmysandwichandchewcarefully.
"Youlike?"
Inodbeforeswallowing."Youmakeagreatsub."
Whenhistonguedartsouttolickhislips,mysensescomealive.Iknowwhathedid

withthattongue.

Agrinpopsuponhisfaceandhewinks.DoesheknowwhatI'mthinking,whatI'm

feeling?Probably.Hewouldn'tbetheplayerheisifhecouldn'treadwomen.ButIcan't
go down that road, not when it will interfere with what I want out of life. Sooner or
laterthefactI'minhishouseisboundtoleakout.

Finishedwithhissandwich,hetakeshisplatetothesink.Here'shegoneandwolfed

downhisfood,andI'vebarelytakenabite."I'vebeenthinking.Ifyoustayhere,Ican
helpyou."

"Howso?"
Done rinsing the dish, he perches back on the stool and faces me. "I was serious

aboutteachingyouaboutfootball.Thepositions,theplayers,thestrategiesandtactics.
It would help you interview the other Chicago Outlaws. I can see a whole series of
articles."

ExactlythesamethingIthought.Buthiscommentdoesn'tsitrightwithme.Maybe

because that's not the journalistic future I envisioned for me. "I did not plan a sports
journalismcareer.Iwanttoreportonsocialissues,women'sissues."

He waves a hand, dismissing my argument. "The Windy City Chronicle is small

enoughyoucoulddoboth."

"JoeJohnsonisthenewspaper'ssportsreporter."Andhe'salreadypissedoffatme.

Oneortwosportsinterviewsareokay.ButIcan'tdedicateallmytimetofootball.And
yet?SomehowRon'sinterviewwhettedmyappetiteformore.I'msoconfused.

"Joeisgreatatthegame,buthecan'tgetthingsoutoftheplayerslikeyoucan.They

responddifferentlytoyou.Icouldhelpeaseyourwaywiththem.Tellyouwhattoask.
Whattolookoutfor."Hisbrowscrunches."EveryoneexceptRyanTaylor.Stayaway
fromhim."

That'sthesecondtimehe'swarnedmeawayfromRyanTaylorwhichonlymakes

memoreeagertointerviewhim.Butwait.Hesaidsomethingthatdoesn'ttrack."How
doyouknowwhatIcangetoutoftheplayers?"

"IreadthepieceyoudidonRon."
"When?"Iaskbreathless.
"It's in today's paper. Come on, let's go to the living room. It's more comfortable

there." He grabs my plate, soda and his beer and heads to the coffee table where he

promptlydropseverything."Comesit."Hepatsthecouchnexttohim.

Likeapuppydog,IdoasI'mtold."Howdidyouknowthearticlewasinthepaper?"
"Howelse?Ilooked,MacKenna.It'sgood.Verygood,"hesays,toastingmewiththe

beer.

Pleasedwiththecompliment,Ismile."Ididn'tknowyoureadtheChronicle."
"Ididn't.UntilImetyou."
"Oh."Igrabthesubandtakeanotherbite,togivemetimetothink.He'sneverread

thepaperbeforeme.What'sthatsupposedtomean?Thathe'sinterestedinme?Orthat
hewantstomakesureIcanwriteadecentpieceonhim?Probablythelatter.

Hisgazenarrows."What'swrong?"
"Nothing."Ican'tbelievehoweasilyhepicksuponmymoods.He'sverygoodwith

women,maybethat'sallitis.Except,thatsomethingtellsmeit'snottheonlyreason.
But I refuse to think about that right now. That's a dangerous path I don't want to
travel.Theimportantthingistofocusonmycareer."IwishIcouldtalktoMarabout
thearticle.Wealwayssharedourcollegevictories."

Hisbrowscrunches."Youhaven'theardfromheryet?"
"No.I'mbeginningtoworry."
"YouwantmetocallOliver?"
I bop my forehead. How stupid can I be? "Why didn't I think of that? I have his

personalcellnumber."

"Oh,youdo,doyou?"Hisgazenarrows.
Oops.Why,oh,why,didn'tIkeepmymouthshut?Icouldhavemadeabeelinefor

thebathroomandcalledhim.Toolatenow.TheonlythingIcandoisexplain."Hegave
ittomeattheOutlaws'facilitywhenheaskedmetoattendthecharityaffair."

The explanation doesn't help one whit. If anything, his eyes darken to a stormy

greenasfirebreathesoutofhisnostrils.

Myphonetrills.Gratefulfortheinterruption,Ipickitup.It'sthenumberofsome

hotelI'veneverheardofbefore.EventhoughIhavenoideawhoitmightbe,Ianswer
it.AnythingtogivemetimetofigureoutawaytodealwithTy."Hello."

"MacKenna."
Awaveofreliefrollsoverme."Mar!I'msohappyyoucalled.Whereareyou?Did

yougohomelastnight?"

"No.I'matthe"—sheclearsherthroat—"I'mattheGoldenNugget."
"TheGoldenNugget?Soundslikeagamblingcasino."
"Itis."
"Steponit,sunshine,breakfastishere."Themalevoiceinherbackgroundsounds

anawfullotlike...

Oh,myGod."IsthatOliver?"
Shegroans."Yes."
"Youandhim?"
"Yes.Look,Igottago.We'releavingheresoon.I'dliketocomebyyourapartment

andpickupmythings."

ThefairylandI'vebeenlivingindisappears,andrealitysetsin."Youcan't.Myplace

wasbrokenintolastnight.I'mstayingwithTy.Ibroughtyourbag.Canyoucomeby
hishouseinstead?"

"Yourplacegotbrokeninto?Whathappened?"
"Lastnight,Tyaccompaniedmetomyapartment.Whenwegotthere,wefoundmy

door busted, the place tossed. They took my laptop, a few other things." My stomach
heaves.Darnit.Ishouldn'thaveeatenthatsub.

"Didyoucallthepolice?"
"Yes. They came. Wrote down the details, took fingerprints. They didn't hold out

muchhopethey'dfindwhoeverdidit,muchlesswhatwasstolen."

"SoTytookyoubacktohishouse."
"Yes,but—"AquickglanceatTytellsmehe'sfocusedonthegame,soIwhisperinto

thephone,"Ican'tstayhere."

"Youcanmoveinwithme,MacKenna.Aslongasyouneed."
Abigwaveofreliefwashesoverme."Thanks,Mar.Iwashopingyou'doffer."
"Weprobablywon'tmakeitthere'tilthisafternoon.We'removingkindofslowthis

morning."

"Err.Itisafternoon,Mar."
"Ouch,"sheyells.
"Whathappened?"
"Oliversnappedmybuttwithatowel.Whydidyouthat?"Thelattersoundsfainter,

likeshe'sturnedawayfromthephone.

His voice comes over the phone, clear as a bell. "So I could kiss it and make it

better."

Oh,geez.AnamorousOliverandMar,thequeenofI'llseeyouwhenIseeyou.That

can'tendwell.

"Gottago."Hervoicesoundscrazystrainedand...urgent.
"Okay."Ihangup.Wow.OliverandMar.Issheinterestedinhim?Afteronenight?

Yeah,MacKenna,andhowlongdidittakeyoutofallintoTy'sbed.Awholetwodays,
that'showlong.Andyou'retheno-sexqueen.

Darn.InevergaveherTy'saddress.Ishrug.Maybeshe'llcallback,whenshe'snot

so...busy.Andevenifshedoesn't,Oliverprobablyhasit,orknowssomeonethatcan
getitforhim.Ishrug.They'llfigureitout.

I return to the living room and take my spot next to Ty. Even though his gaze is

pinnedonthegame,hishunched-overshouldersstillbrimwithtension.

"So,isyourfriendokay?"Hemumblesaftertakingasipfromhisbeer.
"Yeah,she'swithOliver,ifyoucanbelieveit."
Thetensionleachesfromhisbody,asheturnstomewithasmile."Really?"
"Yeah,really."Ireturnhissmile.
"Andyou'renotupset?"
"No.WhyshouldI?"
"Heaskedyoutothefunction,notyourfriend."
"Actually, he asked us both. After Marigold found out that Tony Landon would be

there,shepracticallybegged.They'recomingbythisafternoonsoMarcanpickupher
things.Hopeyoudon'tmind."

"Nope.Idon'tmind."Sittingback,hewrapsanarmaroundmeandtucksmeagainst

hisside."IfiguredI'dgiveyouyourfirstfootballlessonthiswhilewewatchedagame."

"Okay.DoyouhaveanotebookIcouldwriteon?Ifoundyourshoppinglistpadthis

morning,butit'stoosmall."

"Yeah, I do." He rises and disappears into the hallway. A few minutes later, he

returns with a notebook and hands it to me before sitting back down. "Now, tell me
whatyouknow."

He spends the first quarter explaining positions, starting with his, of course. But

soonhe'smovingontotheotherplayers.

"Nowthetightendthere."HepointstoaplayerontheTVwho'slinedupattheend

oftheline.

"That's kind of personal, isn't it? I mean his heiney is pretty toned, but to call him

thatseemsrude."

HestaresatmelikeI'vegrownanadditionalhead."That'sthepositionheplays."
"Oh."Blushing,Iduckmyheadandwritethatdown.
"Nowthefullbackandthehalfback?Theyruntheball."
"Soifthey'refullbackandhalfback,aretheymoreimportantthanthequarterback?"
"Hell,no.Nopositionismoreimportantthanthequarterback.Icalltheplays,throw

the ball, manage the players on the field. Shoot, they'd be dead in the water without
me." His Texas accent emerges, something that seems to happen when his emotions
enterthepicture.

"Uh."Icringewhenoneoftheballcarriersgetstackled."Butthey'retheonesgetting

hit."

"Believeme,Igethitplenty.Gotaconcussiononce."
"Thatexplainsit,then."
"Explainswhat?"
"Nevermind."Ibitedownonmyliptokeepasmilefrombreakingout.
But,darnit,henotices."Youmessingwithme?"
Allinnocence,Iwidenmyeyes."No,Ty.I'mnot."
Helooksatmeaskance,butdoesn'tpushmeforananswer.
Duringhalftimehetakesmeoutsidetodemonstratethe'finerpointsofthegame.'

BeforeIjoinhim,Ithrowonmycoat.NowayamIgoingoutthereinonlyjeansand
sweatshirt.Helobsacoupleofballs,makesafewmoves.I'msupposedtotacklehim.
Fatchance.

Whenwecomebackinside,thethirdquarterhasstartedsowemakeourwaytothe

couch.Buthepaysnoattentiontowhat'shappeningonthetelevision.Instead,hecups
my face between those big hands of his. And softly, so softly, brushes his lips against
mine.Ishiverfromthecontact.Whowould'vethoughthe'dbesogentle?

Fromthecornerofmyeye,Ispotadoublereverse."Oh,lookatthat."
"I'dratherlookatyou."
"But—"
"Hush,I'mkissingyou."Boy,forsomeonewhodoesn'tusuallysmooch,he'sacesat

it. His kisses are everything I ever dreamed about—soft, tender. I throw my arms
aroundhisneckandkisshimback.Henibblesmylowerlip.Hedoesn'tinvadeorforce
himselfonme,butlickstheseamofmymouthasifhe'saskingforpermission.Eager
for his taste, I grant it to him. Gently, he pushes me down on the couch where he
proceeds to taste every corner of my mouth. He's so big, so strong. I curl my hands
aroundhimandenjoythefeelofTyagainstme.

He rips off my top, the jeans I threw on. All that's left are my bras and panties.

Leaning in, he smells me like a feral creature out in the wild scenting his mate. "You
wet,MacKenna?Ibetyouare.Ibetyou'resoakeddownbelow.ShallIfindout?"

"D-don't."Butit'stoolate.Hishandskimsupmythightomypanties.Hetugsthem

off,andsuddenlyhe'sthere.AttheplacewhereIcan'tlie.Hisfingerslidesintomyslick
pussy.

"Ooohhhhh."
Andthenhegoesdownonhiskneesandkisseshiswayupmylegtomymons.
Oh,God.No."Wait.Ineedashower.I'mallsweaty."
"No,youdon't."NextthingIknowhismouthisonme,licking,suckling,nibbling.

My heart pounds like a big bass drum. I writhe because I know what's coming this
time.Me."Oh,mygod,Ty."

Thosegreeneyesofhisshineupatme."Tellmeyouwantthis,MacKenna."
"Yes,oh,yes."
Heliftsoneofmylegsoverhisshoulders,thentheotherandproceedstofeaston

me.Hishot,ravenousmouthgivesmenoquarter,notthatIwantany.Iclamponto
him while his hot greedy mouth draws the cream out of me. I should be horrified at
what I'm letting him do, at what I'm doing, but the truth is I don't care. Plain and
simple,Ilovewhathe'sdoingtome.

The bra clasp is child's play to him and it soon joins the rest of my clothes on the

floor.I'mnakedandtrembling,andallIwantishim.

"Iloveyourbreasts,"hesaysfillinghishandswiththem.Heleansdownsucksone

intohismouthwhilehisfingerstweaktheother'snipple."Youtastelikebrownsugar."

"Andyourpussy?"Heslipsafingerintohismouth,thesamefingerwhichteasedmy

mons. "Sweet honey." He rubs that same finger over my mouth. "Suck." I do, tasting
myself."Ilovethewayyoutaste,MacKenna."

Hedivesintohispocketandfishesoutacondom.Inseconds,he'sshedhisclothes,

andstandsinfrontofme,hiscockproudandeagerlikethewarriorheis.Afterherolls
on the love glove, he picks me up and walks toward an empty space on the wall, his
raging hard on pulsing against my belly. Oh, God. I know what he's going to do. The
scentofhot,sweatymaninvadesmynostrils,andIloveit.Becauseit'shim.Becauseit's
Ty.

"Doyouwantmetofuckyou,MacKenna?"
I'mtremblingsohardIdon'tknowifmykneeswillholdmeup.AwhimperisallI

canmanage.

"You'll have to do better than that." His fingers sink into my pussy, teasing a

"Yes"outofme.

"Goodgirl."Heliftsme,fitshimselfintome.Whenheramshome,webothgrunt.
Hethrustsandthrustsandthrusts,whileIhangontightforallI'mworth.Hebangs

meagainstthewall,repeatedly,hishandssqueezingmyasstight.Iburymyheadinhis
neckandsuckhisskin.Ican'tgetenoughofthetasteofhim.

"Biteme."
I do, and he comes in a rush inside of me. We collapse to the floor, me on top of

him.

Whenour labored breathing returnsto normal, he sweepsthe hair from my face.

"I'mnotlettingyougo.Ever."

"Ty."Myheartskipsabeat.Ican'tbewithhim.ItwouldderaileverythingIwantout

oflife."I—"

ButbeforeIcansayanotherword,hecoversmymouthwithhis,inatender,soul

stealingkissthatendsmyobjectiontohisscheme.

C H A P T E R 1 6

MacKenna

STHEGAMEENDS,MarigoldandOliverfinallymakeittoTy'shouse,dressedinthe
sameclothestheyworetothecharityevent.Idon'tcommentonit.Asidefromthe

fact,it'snoneofmybusiness,Idon'thaveroomtotalk.LastnightI'dacceptedTy'soffer
withthefullintentionofstayingonlyforonenight.Butonerustleofthetreesoutside
my bedroom window had me crawling into his bed. Not only that, I'd practically
thrownmyselfathim.Hell,notpractically.IhadfirstchanceIgot.Andthisafternoon,
I'dwillinglyenjoyedroundthree.

Offeringtheexcuseweneedtogetherbag,IleadMartotheguestbedroom."Here

it is." I point to the suitcase with the bright flower power tag, a reminder of her
commune upbringing. "They didn't touch it. Whoever broke into my apartment
seemed content to damage only my property. I didn't want to leave it behind in case
whoeverbrokeincameback."

After a glance at her suitcase, she sweeps her hand down my arm. "How are you

holdingup?"

I'veheldtoughuntilnow,butwithhercomfortinggesture,Ibreakdown.Tearsspill

downmyfaceassheputsherarmsaroundme.She'ssoshort,Ihavetobendtorestmy
headonhershoulder.

"Oh,Mar.Theytrashedtheplace.Myclothes,myfurniture,mystuff.It'slikethey

wantedtodestroyeverythingratherthanstealthem."

"Doesthepolicehaveanyleads?"
"No.Andtheydidn'tholdoutanyhope,either.Breakinslikeminehappenallover

Chicago. My guess is hoodlums who enjoy vandalizing just for kicks. Only thing of
valuetheystolewasmylaptop."

"Yournewspaperwillreplaceit,won'tthey?"
"Yes, and all my research and articles are stored in the cloud, so I haven't lost

anything,butstillIfeelso..."

"Violated."
ThesamewordTyused.Andshe'sright.Itfeelslikesomebodydefiledmysoul,the

veryessenceofme.Myinformationisprotected,encryptedbyasoftwareprogram,but
who'stosaywhoeverstolemylaptopcan'tbreakthecodeandreadmymostintimate

thoughts. My hopes and dreams for the future, things I wrote about Ty and our first
nighttogether.Thethoughtsickensme."Yes."

"Sowhatareyougoingtodo?"
"Tyaskedmetostaywithhim,butIdon'tthinkthat'sagoodidea.Asidefromthe

fact it would complicate things at the newspaper, I don't want to get too attached to
him. Nothing good can come from it." Wish I could get my body to understand, but
everytimeTycomesnearme,Ifallapartinhisarms.

Hereyessignalnothingbutkindness."Inallthetimewewereincollege,younever

dated. Not once. And now you go and fall for the football league's most notorious
player."

"Ididn'tfallforhim."
Herlipstwistintoawrygrin."Ifyousayso."
Yeah, I'm lying. To her. To myself. But I just can't acknowledge the depth of my

attractiontoTy.NotwhenIknownothingbutheartacheawaitsmeattheend."Mar,
pleasedon't.I'mhavingahardenoughtimekeepingittogetherasitis."

"Fine.Okay.Nosensegettingattachedtohim.He'snotthestickingkind."
She'srightaboutthat."No,he'snot."
"Andyou'rethekindwhoneedsamantostickaround."Shebrushesherhanddown

myhair,squeezesmyshoulder."So,youwanttostaywithme?"

IgazeatheroutofwhatIknowmustbehopefuleyes."Doyoumind,Mar?Ihateto

impose."

"Notaproblem,kiddo.Wecanstopbyyourplaceandpickupwhateveryouneed."
"Therewon'tbemuch.Thethiefdestroyedmostofmythings.ButIdothankyou."

After I give her a quick hug, I stand back and study her. She has a certain glow that
wasn'ttherebefore."Don'tmentionanythingtoTyaboutmemovinginwithyou."

"You'renotcominghomewithmetonight?"
"No.Nottonight.I'llhavetopicktherighttimetotellhim."I'mstalling,Iknow.I

shouldjustripoffthescab.ThingisIcan't.Afterhisdeclarationthisafternoon,Ineed
tofindtherightwords.

Shesqueezesmyarmagain."Wheneveryou'rereadythen."
"Thanks,Mar"Itiltmyheadtotheside,consideringthebestwaytoasksomething

I'm curious about. "There's something I need to ask. It's none of my business. And if
youtellmetobuttout,Iwill."

"Goahead.Spititout."
"YouandOliver?"
Aspotofpinkbloomsinhercheeks."Yeah,whowouldhavethunk,right?He'snot

exactlymytype."

Duringcollege,hertypehadbeenthoseinneedofsexualguidance—dumbjocks,

ignorant nerds, clueless intellectuals. She'd taken them under her wing and literally
made men out of them. Someone as gorgeous and sophisticated as Oliver Lyons was
wayoutofherleague.Ifanything,he'dprobablytaughtherathingortwo.

"Youfoundsomethingincommon?"
"Yeah, lust." She shrugs. "Pure chemistry. Plain and simple. We have the hots for

each other. But I'm nipping this in the bud. Don't need any complications in my life.
EspeciallywhenIhatehisguts."

"Why?"Oliver'sisagentlemanfromhistoesup.
"He'saheartlessbastard."
Mystomachlurches.Thatcan'tberight.TheOliverIknewwasniceandhonorable.

It'sbeenafewyears,butsurelyhewouldn'thavechangedthatmuch."Whatareyou
talkingabout?"

"AplotontheedgeoftownhadbeenearmarkedforanewSTEMschool.Butthenhe

found out about it. The land's right next to Lake Michigan. A perfect place to build a
newfootballstadium.Hegothiscroniestogetherandthrewsomuchmoneyatthecity
council,theycouldn'tsayno."

"Whathappenedtotheschool?"
"They relocated it to the edge of the town. Much harder to get to. Some students

depend on public transportation to travel to and from school. The first location was
ideal,rightonthemaindrag,buslinesrunningallthetime.Alotofinnercitykidscan't
affordthetimeormoneytoattendaschoolsofaraway."

"Butwouldn'ttheybebusedtoschool?"
"Yeah, but many have part time jobs in other sections of the city. If there is no

publictransportationfromtheschooltotheplaceswheretheywork,chancesaremany
will drop out. They need money more than they need school. It's a disaster in the
making."

"Maybehe'llchangehismindifyouexplainittohim."
"You think he doesn't know? That was one of the main arguments against the

stadium,buthismindwasmadeup,andtherewasnochangingit."

Ipathershoulder."I'msosorry,Mer."
"Yeah, me too." We walk out of the bedroom and head back to the living room

whereOliverandTyaretalkingfootball.

"MarandIweretalking.Mindifwegobacktomyapartment?"
Ty'sbrowwrinkles."Why?"
"Iwassoupsetyesterday,Imayhavemissedafewthings.AndI'dliketocleanup.

AsmuchasIcan."

Hisbrowclearsup."Whateveryouwant,MacKenna."
"Marigoldiscomingaswell,youknow,tohelpout."
"Ofcourse,"Tysays.
"I'llcometoo,"Oliversays."Ifyouwantmyhelp,thatis."
"The more the merrier," I say pinning on my brightest smile. "Let me go get my

bag."

"Ihavebiggerbags.Bringmine."Tysays.
"Okay."
With that long-legged gait of his, he heads down the hallway. Suddenly regretting

givinginsoeasily,Irunafterhim.Icatchupwithhiminhisbedroom."Youdon'thave
todothis.You'vealreadydoneenough."

"Don't be silly, MacKenna. It's only a couple of suitcases." He pulls me into him,

kissesmeandImelt.Nowonderhedoesn'tkisswomen.Ifhedid,they'dpuddleathis
feetandhe'dnevergetridofthem.Hetakesmyhandanddragsmetowardhiswalk-in
closetwherehenabsahugebagfromitsdepth.

"That'stoobig.Ican'thandleit."

"I'llhandleit,notyou.Here."Hehandsmeamuchsmallerbag."Youtakethisone,

fillitupwithyourthings."JustasIgraspthesuitcase,hetweaksmychinandgivesme
thatlopsidedsmileofhis.

Mybreathshorts.Leavinghimisgoingtobeveryhard.
Whenwereturntothelivingroom,OliverandMarspringapart.Thelookonboth

their faces tells me they weren't exactly saying goodbye. Guess I'm not the only one
who'sgoingtohaveahardtimelettinggo.ButMisslove'emandleave'emismadeof
sternerstuffthanme.Morethanlikely,herattractiontoOliverwillburnitselfoutina
veryshorttime.

Idon'tknowifminewill.WhatIdoknowisIneedtoputsomedistancebetweenTy

andme.AsIbuckletheseatbeltinhisCheyenneSUV,IprayIcanpackingupandthe
cleaningwillbepainless.Ididn'tmakethatmanymemoriesinthatapartment,butthe
devastationcutsmetothequick.

Before we head out, I call the police to let them know we're coming back to the

apartment.They'llneedtoteardownthetapesowecanenter.Butwhenwearrive,we
findthelandlordthere,puttingupanewdoor.Sincethere'snoneedtoteardownthe
tape, we call the police to let them know they don't need to show up. Once the
landlord'sdoneinstallingthedoor,hehandsmeanewkey.

"She'snotstayinghere,"Tysays."Theplaceisnotsafe."
Thelandlordshrugs."Doesn'tmatterifit'ssafeornot.Iinstalledanewdoor.That's

allI'mrequiredtodo."

Tybangsonthewood."Thatdoor'sascheapascanbe.Whatisitmadeout?Balsam?

She'sleaving.Capisce?"

"Shehasninemonthsleftonherlease.Ifsherefusestopayrent,we'llsue."
Fistsdrawn,Tyadvancesonthelandlord."Why,you—"
"Ty,don't,"Iyell.Lastthingweneedisbloodshed.
Thelandlordatlastgetsaclueandtakesoffatarun.
"Whatthehellwasthatabout?"Oliversays.
"Theman'sscum."
"Therearewaysofdealingwiththissituation,Ty,thatdon'tinvolveviolence."
Tysmilesasheflexeshiswrists."Yeah,butitwouldn'tbeasmuchfun."
Oliver'sonlyresponseisanarchofhisbrow.
"Comeon.Let'sgetinside. Wehavealot ofworktodo."I thoughtIcouldget out

fromunderthelease,seeinghowmyapartmenthadbeenbrokeninto.Butsomething
tells me the landlord has the law on his side. He's fixed the door, and that's all he's
requiredtodo.WhichmeansI'mstuckpayingrentforaplaceIcan'tlivein."MaybeI
shouldstay."

"What?"Ty'sheadswivelstowardme."Thehellyouwill."
WhatwasIthinking?Ican'tstay.Iwouldn'tgetanhour'ssleepinthisplace."You're

right."

"Icanhavesomeonelookintoit,MacKennaandseeifyoucanbreakthelease."
Withhopebloominginmychest,Iglanceupathim."Okay.Iappreciateit."
"Noproblem."
Withoutsayinganotherword,Iheadintotheapartmenttoreassessthedamage.It's

evenworsethanIrememberfromlastnight.Notonlyhavemythingsbeenstolenor

damaged, but great big holes have been carved into the walls. BITCH has been spray
paintedinbrightredlettersonmybedroomwall.

"Thisispersonal,"Oliversays.
Withagreatbiglumpinmythroat,allIcandoisnod.
"Whowoulddosomethinglikethis?"
"Idon'tknow."Tearsrolldownmyface,andMarhugsmetoher.
"It'sgoingtobeokay.MacKenna,"shesays,pattingmyshoulder."You'llsee."
"Yeah." I don't know how. I don't have the money to replace the damaged things.

I'veworkedsohardtogettothispoint.AjobIlove.Anapartmentclosetoeverything.
Maybe it was not the best, but the location suited me. But now? I don't know. I just
don'tknow.

Marigoldfetchesthebroomfromtheclosetandstartssweeping.TyandOliverwalk

through the space straightening furniture. They work well together, silently and
efficiently,whileIeithernodforsomethingtobetossedintotheheavydutytrashbags
wepickeduponthewayoraskforsomethingtobeputaside.

Aftertwohoursofcleaning,theguysgooutforpizzaandbeer.WhileTy'sgone,I

finishpackingupwhat'swearableorusabletotakebackwithme.

That'swhenInoticeaframedphotoismissing."Oh,God."Iwrapmyarmsaround

mywaisttryingnottosuccumbtothepain.

"What?"Marasks.
"Jeanie'spicture.It'sgone.Iknowwhobrokein."Myteetharechatteringsomuch,I

canhardlygetthewordsout.

"Itwashim,wasn'tit?"Marasks.
Him.TommyHawkins.Themanwhokidnappedandrapedmysister.
It'dbeenafinesummerdaywithnotacloudinthesky.WhileJeaniegroomedher

horsebelow,I'dclimbedtothebarnlofttoplaywiththenewlitterofkittensourbarn
cat had delivered. He'd covered her mouth to keep her from screaming while he
violated her. Too afraid of what he'd do to me, I'd cowered in the loft, not making a
soundwhileheabusedmysister.I'dbeeneightatthetime.

Ittookthepoliceamonthtofindher.Thatmonsterhadcagedherlikeananimal.

He'dbeatherupsobadly,theycouldn'tsetherlegsstraight.She'llwalkwithalimpthe
rest of her life. But the worst damage had been to her mind. Jeanie had checked out
andnevercheckedbackin.Myparentshadprayedandprayedforherrecovery.Butit
wasnottobe.Upontheadviceofherdoctors,they'dplacedherinaninstitutionwhere
shespendsherdayscoloringandsingingsongsfromfifteenyearsago.She'ssafeand
caredfor,butshe'llneverbethesameoutgoing,happysisterIonceknew.

"Ithinkso."
Notsurprisinghe'scomingafterme.Itestifiedathistrial.Ithadbeenmytestimony

thathadputhimbehindbars.Myfatherhadaskedourneighborsnottodiscusswhat
happenedtoJeanie.Ourcommunityhonoredhiswishes.Afterayear,theyputaway
all her pictures, and never mentioned her name again. They erased her from their
memorieslikesheneverexisted.ButIneverforgot.

"I'msosorry,MacKenna.Butwasn'tTommyHawkinsinjail?"
"Hewassentencedtotwentyyears.Buthewasparoledafewmonthsago.Hemust

havetrackedmedown."Whenmyparentswerenotifiedhe'dbeenreleasedfromjail,

they called in a panic. I calmed them down as best I could. They hadn't told anyone
whereI'dgonetoschool.I'dlegallychangedmylastnametoPerkins.Sotherewasno
wayhecouldfindme,andyetsomehowhehas.Asuddenthoughtoccurstome."You
can'ttellTy.OrOliver."

"Iwon't.Butyouhavetotellthepolice."
"Yes.Theyneedtoknow.I'llcallthedetectivetomorrow.TellhimwhatIsuspect."

Duringhissentencing,TommyHawkinshadpromisedhe'dgetevenwithmeifitwas
thelastthinghedid.Andseemingly,heis.

"Itwillbeokay,MacKenna.You'llsee.Oncewegetyousettledatmyplace,things

willlookbetter."

I shake my head. That's not happening. Not any more. "Mar, I can't. If I move in

withyou,thenI'llplaceyouindanger,andIcan'thavethat."

"Butwherewillyougo?"
"There'sonlyonechoice,isn'tthere?"
"Youmean—"
"Untilthepolicecatchthatmonster,itmeansI'llbelivingwithTy."

C H A P T E R 1 7

OU'RE NOT DRIVING YOUR CAR TO MY PLACE. Or anywhere else for that
matter."Nowayisshegoingoutinthatclunkerofhers.

Amulishlookrollsoverherface."Whynot?"

"Thefrontdriver'sdoorjams.Theengineknockswhenyouswitchontheignition.

You'renotdrivingthatthing.I'llgetyouanothersetofwheels.Somethingyoucanrely
onnottoleaveyoustrandedbythesideoftheroad."

Eyes flashing, she jams her right hand into her hip. "No. You're not, Ty. My car

mightneedsomework,butithasn'tfailedmeyet."

"Untilitdoes."Isquareoffagainsther,determinedtogetmyway.She'snotwinning

thisargumentifIhaveanythingtosayaboutit."YourjobtakesyoualloverChicago,
doesn't it? What if it breaks down in a crappy neighborhood? What would you do
then?"

"Callforatowtrucklikeanyothernormalhumanbeing."
"Andwhileyouwait,youcouldberobbedorworse."
Forasecond,apprehensionflickersinhereyes.MaybeI'mgettingthroughtoher.

"I'llgetyousomethingyoucandependon."

Hermouthtwistswithdistaste."You'renotgettingacarforme,Ty,andthat'sfinal."
She'schallengingme?Howfardoesshethinkherslenderfivesevenwillgoagainst

mymuscledsixfiveheight?Steppingintoherprivatespace,Ihulkoverher."Likehell
I'mnot."

"Actually, I may have a solution." Oliver's smooth, elegant voice cuts through the

strainedatmosphere.

Ittakesheracoupleofsecondstoreacttohiswords.Butthenshetearsherdeath

matchglarefrommeandturnstowardhim."Doyou?"

"Yes. The Outlaws have a fleet of leased cars for players who occasionally find

themselves without transportation. Most of the automobiles sit around, hardly ever
used."

Hershouldersrelaxasthetensiondrainsoutofher."That'sverynice,Oliver,butI

can'taffordthelease."

"Youwouldn'tbepayingforit.I'malreadydoingso.It'sabusinessexpense,atax

deduction."

"Oh." She thinks about it for a moment or two. "Are you sure it wouldn't be an

imposition?"

"No. You'd be doing me a favor. I can have someone deliver the car and the key

tonighttoTy'shouse."

Shebitesdownonherbottomlipassheconsidershisoffer.Finally,asmilewavers

acrossherlips."Okay.Iguessthatwouldwork.Thankyou,Oliver."Shehugshimand
kisseshimonthecheek.

Alowandnastygrowlcrawlsoutfromdeepinsideofme.
MarigoldgrabsMacKenna'sarmandtugshertowardthebedroom."Let'sgetbackto

packing,shallwe?"

Afteraworriedglanceinmydirection,MacKennadoesn'tresist,butgoesalongwith

herfriend.

I'mleftalonewithOliverLyons.MuchasIwantto,Ican'ttearhimlimbfromlimb.

He'smybossandtheowneroftheOutlaws.AndIdoubtMacKennawouldappreciate
mybreakinghisbones.

Nottheleastfazedbymycavemanbehavior,hequirksabrowandgrabsanother

coldbrewfromthesixpackwebrought.

Idothesame,tearingoffthecapandgulpingdownhalfthebeerwhilehecalmly

sips his. I get why MacKenna would accept an offer from him and not me. He's all
smooth, sophisticated edges, and I'm a rough football player. Why would she choose
meoverhim?

Andthenthere'sthefactheseemsmoresexuallyawareofMacKenna'sfriendthan

MacKennaherself.Somaybeshewastellingthetruthabouthim.Maybethey'reonly
friends after all. Yeah, and monkeys fly out of my butt. Before I do something I may
regret, I need to find out how he feels about her. "How long have you known
MacKenna?"

"About six years. My cousin's family owned the farm next to hers. I visited the

summerbeforeIwentofftocollege."

"Why?"
"Theywerelookingtosellthefarm.Myofferedtobuyitiffarmingappealedtome."
"Andwhatdidyoudecide?"
"The farm was a prosperous enterprise, but it demanded total commitment.

Whoeverownedithadtoloveworkingtheland.Ididn't.Sowepassedonit."

Glancingdown,Ipickatthebottlelabel."DidyouspendtimewithMacKennathat

summer?"

"Occasionally.MyfamilyinsistedIpullmyweightwithfarmchores,soIwaspretty

busyfromdawntodusk.Butsheandoneofmygirlcousinsweregoodfriends,soshe
tendedtovisit.Andthenthereweresocialsandchurchactivities."

Iforceaquestionfrommylips."Didyoulikeher?"
"Yes,Idid.Shewasbeautiful.Andtrue."
Anothergrowlescapesme.
"Oh,forPete'ssake.Stopitwiththegrowling.Ineverlaidahandonher."
Isnort."Yeah.Right."ItakealongpullofthebeerwhiletryingtofigureoutwhereI

canhidehisbody.

Heclampsahandonmyshoulder."Ty,youhavenothingtoworryabout.Shewas

sweet, but she was barely fourteen. And I was interested in, shall we say, a more
maturewoman.Someonewhocouldteachahornyeighteenyearoldathingortwo."

Iknowabouthornyeighteenyearolds.Usedtobeonemyself.Duringmyfirstyear

in college, I'd enjoyed a fling with a college professor. She'd taught me plenty about
pleasuringwomen."Oh."

"IaskedhertothecharityfunctionbecauseIwantedtocatchup.Nothingelse.And

incaseyouhaven'tguessed,I'mmoreinterestedinthatfirebrandfriendofhersthan
MacKenna."

Happytohavemyintuitionconfirmed,Igrin.MaybeIwon'thavetokillhimafter

all."Yeah,Inoticed."Ipointmybeerbottleathim."Bytheway,sincewhendowehave
afleetofcarsfortheplayers?"

Oliverlaughs."Sincetoday.Isthatcarofhersasbadasyousay?"
"Worse. She can't get the driver's door open, and the engine knocks. God knows

why,butshelikesthatcar.I'llhavesomebodytakealookatittoseeifitcanbefixed.
Letmeknowhowmuchtheleasecosts,andI'llpayforit."

He dismisses my suggestion with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'll

handleit."

"No.Youwon't."Ishoothimano-nonsenseglare.
Foracoupleofseconds,Oliverstaresatme."Youknowwhat?Idon'tgetit."
"Youdon'tgetwhat?"
"YouandMacKenna.Whatisshetoyou?"
Ibristleatthequestion.Firstoff,it'snoneofhisbusiness,andsecond,Idon'tknow

how to describe my relationship with MacKenna. All I know is I've never cared for a
woman the way I care for her. But what it means? I have no clue. "Don't butt in,
Oliver."

"Ican't.Ifeelacertainsenseof...responsibilityoverher."
Ilaugh."Oliver,youwalkedawayandleftherwithmeatthecharityparty."
"That'snotfair.MacKennamadeherwishescrystalclear.Shewantedtostaywith

you."

"Yeah,shedid,didn'tshe?"She'dchosentoremainwiththecavemanratherthango

with Mr. Sophistication. But then I'd dangled a pretty carrot in front of her—the
interview.That'stheonlyreasonshe'dcomewithme.Well,whateverthereason,she'd
picked me, not Oliver. It's a start. "I can understand why you left. MacKenna's friend
wasmakingcertaindemandsonyou."

"Demands? Hell." He belts out a laugh. "She clamped on to my balls and told me

she'dyankthemoffifIdidn'tfollowherlead."

Mygrointwingesinsympathy."Ouch."
"Right.Iwasn'tabouttoletherdamagethefamilyjewels.Myfamily'scountingon

metoprocreate."

"Ithoughtyouhadanolderbrother.Wouldn'titbeuptohimaswell?"
Ashadowcrossesoverhiseyes,andhelooksaway."Yeah,buthe'snot...able."
"Oh, sorry about that man." I'd heard rumors about his older brother, nothing

definite.Butenoughtotellmesomething'sgoingonwithhim.

Whatever'sbotheringOliver,heshakesitoff."Now.AboutMacKenna."

"Man.You'relikeadogwithabone,youknowthat."
"Like I said. I feel a certain sense of responsibility. I know her family. She comes

fromreallygoodstock.I'dhatetoseeherhurt."

"LastthingIwanttodoishurtMacKenna."
"That'swhatyousaynow,butIdon'tseehowyouwont.You'retakingMacKenna

home,offeringtogetheracar.You'regettingclose.Shemightgetattachedtoyou.And
let's face it. You're not the serious kind. Everybody knows you don't date the same
womantwice.Atsomepoint,you'llpartways,andshemightendupbrokenhearted."

"Shewon'tifIhaveanythingtosayaboutit."MacKenna'sdifferentfromthewomen

Iusuallydate,waydifferent."Ipromise.I'lldomybestwithher."

Before he can say anything else, the girls return to the living room, dragging my

suitcasesbehindthem.Wegatherourpizzafeastleftoversandtosstheminthetrash
chuteoutinthehallway.WhileMacKennaandMarigoldremainbehindtotidyupas
muchastheycan,OliverandImakeacoupleoftripstomyCherokeewithherthings.
DoneloadingtheSUV,welockherapartmentdoorbehindus.Fatlotofgoodthatwill
do. The wood's just as flimsy as the one it replaced. But mentioning it will just upset
MacKenna,soIdon't.

After the girls hug and say goodbye, MacKenna and I climb into the SUV. With all

theliftingandcarrying,myshoulder'sthrobbing.I'llhavetopopacoupleofibuprofens
assoonasIgethome.

MacKenna'ssilenceduringtherideisdeafening.Ihavetogetheroutofherhead.So

Ibringupatopicthathasnothingtodowithher."So,MarigoldandOliver,huh?Who
knew?"

"Yeah."Ratherthanlookatme,shestaresoutthewindow.
Ishouldleaveheralone.Sheneedstoprocesswhat'shappened.Except,Ican't."Cat

gotyourtongue?"

Shefightstoputonasmile."I'mtryingtofigureoutwhattodonext."
Isqueezeherhand."Everythingwillbeallright.You'llsee.Youhaveaplacetostay,

andsoonacartodrive."

"Fornow.Eventually,I'llneedtofindaplaceofmyownandgetmycarfixed."
"There's a mechanic who works wonders with some of the players' cars. He tricks

themout.Thatkindofthing."

She jerks away her hand, and stares straight ahead. "I don't need someone who

trickscars,butamechanicwhofixesthem."

"Hedoesthattoo.Icanhaveyourcartowedtohisplaceofbusiness.Hecancallyou

withanestimate."

She heaves out a sigh and rests back against the headrest. "I just hope it's not too

expensive."

"Ican—"
Sheturnstowardme."No.Youcannotpayforit,Ty."
"Iwasgoingtosay,Icanfloatyoualoan,andyoupaymebackwhenyoucan."
She shakes her head. "I don't know if I can accept any more from you. You're

already putting me up at your house. I can't very well owe you money for the car
repair,aswell."

"It'saloan,MacKenna.That'swhatfriendsdo."

"It'sthatwhatIamtoyou?Afriend?"
"Yes."Isqueezeherhandagain,bringittomylipsandkissit.Intruth,she'sahell

morethanthanafriend.Butwhatsheisexactly,Idon'thaveaclue.

Once we arrive home, we carry her pitifully few belongings to her bedroom—a

couple of boxes filled with books, suitcases stuffed with clothes and things. Knowing
last thing she wants is my help, I stand by while she unpacks and sets out her
belongingsintheclosetandaroundtheroom.

"Ifyouneedmorehangers,letmeknow."
"Thanks,butIbroughtenoughwithme."
Strangelyenough,shedoesn'tunpackapictureframeofherfamily.Andotherthan

aWinniethePooh,there'snotasinglemementofromherchildhood.Shehasafather
and a mother. From what Oliver revealed, they seemed a pretty tight knit family
duringthetimehe'dknownthem.Didtheyhaveafallingout?

Done,shezipsupthebagsandreturnsthemtome."Thanks."
"Anytime."Wantingtostaywithheralittlebitlonger,Iask,"Youwantsomethingto

eatordrink?Icanwhipsomethingup."

Shesendsmeapatientsmile."Nothanks.Stillfullfromthepizza."
"I'll just go, then." Dragging my feet all the way, I walk toward the door. Once I

reachit,Iturnbackaround."Ifyouneedanything,anythingatall—"

Shestepsforwarduntilshe'sstandingrightnexttome.Darkshadowsmartheskin

underhereyes.Clearlysheneedsherrest."I'mokay,Ty.Thanks."

AssoonasIstepintothehallway,sheshutsthedoor.Can'tblameher.Afterwhat

she's gone through in the last couple of days, she probably needs to regroup.
Sometimessolitudehelpsyoudothat.

AfterIstashtheemptysuitcasesinmybedroomcloset,Iwanderthroughthehouse

making sure each window and door is closed tight, and the alarm's set. Satisfied the
house's as safe as it can be, I head for my room and a quick shower. It'll be lonely
tonightwithoutherinmybed.I'llmisshercurvyasssnuggledagainstmygroin,her
luscioustitspressedagainstmyhand.Heavingoutahardsigh,Islipintoapairofsweat
pantsandslideintobed.

Sleepdoesnotcomeeasy,butfinallyIdozeoff.Sometimelater,I'mawakenedby

therustleofmysheetsandMacKennaslippingintobedwithme.

Ibreatheoutasoftsigh."Couldn'tsleep?"
"No.Youdon'tmind,doyou?"
"Ofcoursenot."Ican'ttakeadvantageofher,notwhenshe'shurtingsomuch.SoI

merelyputmyarmaroundherandpullherclose."Gotosleep."

Sheturnsoverandkissesmycheek."You'reverysweet,Ty."
My lips curve up in a grin. "Don't tell anybody, will you? I have a reputation to

protect."

"Your secret is safe with me." She swivels back around, shimmies her ass close to

myprivatebits,andbreathesoutasoftsigh.Andinnotimeatall,she'sfastasleep.

That makes one of us, because with her luscious ass pressed against my prick, fat

chanceI'lldothesame.

C H A P T E R 1 8

MacKenna

ONDAYMORNING,I'msnuggledagainstTywhenmycellrings.Darnit.I'dleftit
behindinmyroom.Icrawloutofthewarmandcozycocoon,andmaddashit

backtomyroom.

Allgroggyvoice,Ianswer."Hello."
"Goodmorning."It'sOliver."Ididn'twakeyou,didI?"
"No.Iwasupdoing...stuff."
"Oookay."
Icanhearthesmileonhisface.Oh,God.Nowhe'sprobablythinkingIwasdoingit

withTy.

"Justwantedyoutoknowyourcarwillbedeliveredinthenexthourorso.Sorryfor

thedelay,buttherewasaproblemlastnight."

"Noworries.Thanks.Hopefully,Iwon'tneeditthatlong."
"Whatdoyoumean?"
"Ty'shavingmycartowedtoarepairshop.Withanyluck,I'llgetitbackbytheend

oftheweek."

"Soundsgood.Butyoucankeeptheleasedoneaslongasyouwant."
"Thanks,butI'drathernotimposeonyou."
"It'snotanimposition."
After hanging up, I dress quickly. By the time I'm done, the scent of bacon and

coffeetellsmeTy'sbusyinthekitchenwhippingupsomebreakfast.

Determinedtoadoptasunnierframeofmindtoday,Ibreezeintothekitchenwitha

smileonmyface."Goodmorning."

"Morning."Hethrowsoverhisshoulder,allhisattentiononthebacononthestove.

Which gives me the chance to ogle him. He's looking particularly delicious this
morning. His massive muscular back narrows down to a V. The sweat pants ripple
acrosshismightyfineass.God,evenhisfeetaregorgeous.

Withoutturningaround,hesays,"Likewhatyousee?"
"What?"Mycheeksflame.HowdoesheknowI'msalivatingoverhim.
"You'reoglingmyass."
Busted."Iamnot."

Hedropsthebacononacoupleofpapertowelstodrain,andturnsoffthestove.And

thenheswivelstowardme."Admitit.Youlustaftermybody."

"You'reso..."
"Hot?Ripped?Built?"Witheveryword,hetakesasteptowardme.
"Arrogant!"
He smirks. "Yeah, that too." He continues walking until my back's flushed against

the refrigerator. He's hard all over, including his cock that he grinds against my
stomach.

Myskinflushesfromthecontact,andmybreathshorts.Still,Ifindthebreathtoask,

"Shouldn'tyourshoulderbeinthatbrace?"

"I'llputitonafterIdress."Heleansoverandkisses,sucklesmyneck.
Igetgoosebumpsallover."Wh-what'swrongwithyourshoulder?"
"Asmalltearinmyrotatorcuff."
"Soyoucan'tplay?"
Hestopsnibblingonmyneckandreturnstothestove."That'sright."
Ooh.Soresubject.Notasurprise.Football'severythingtohim.Butwho'stakinghis

place? The curious reporter in me demands I find out more. "So who's playing
quarterback?"

"PedroSantiago.It'stemporary.I'llbebackinthreeweeks."Hebitesout.
There'sahintofworryinhisvoice.Butnotalarm.Still."Ofcourseyouwill.You're

thebestquarterbackintheleague."

"Oh, and how do you know that?" He rests the tongs on the silicone pad on the

counterandturnsbacktome.

"Research, of course. You have a 94.5 quarterback rating, thrown twelve

touchdownsandrunonein,andpassedforover2,500yards.Andit'sonlytheeighth
gameoftheseason."

Hislopsidedgrinmakesanappearance."Lookatyou."
"What?"
"Spittingoutstatslikearegularsportsreporter."Hecurlsanarmaroundmywaist,

pullsmeagainsthimandkissesme.Predictably,Imelt.

Oncewecomeupforair,Inudgehimoutoftheway."I'llfinishbreakfast."
"I'll set the table." He busies himself setting two plates on the kitchen island and

pouringglassesoforangejuicewhileIfinishwiththebacon.WhenIscrambleacouple
ofeggswithcheese,hedropssomebreadinthetoaster.

"Wemakeagreatteam."
I have to agree. You'd think we'd been making breakfast forever. Once the bacon

andeggsaredoneandplated,wesitonstoolsnexttothekitchenislandandwolfdown
thefood,washingdowneverythingwithcoffeeandtheOJ.

Igrinathim."You'dthinkwewerehungryorsomething."
"Yeah,"hesays,moppinguptherestofhiseggwithapieceoftoast."Whowason

thephone?"

"Oliver.Hewascallingaboutthecar.Itshouldbeheresoon."
No sooner do I finish saying that than Ty's kitchen phone rings. He picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Uhhuh."Hecoversthemouthpiece."It'stheguardfromthefrontgate.Yourcar's

here."

"That'sgreat."
"Yes. I have a guest staying here. Let him through." A strange look rolls over his

face.

"What'swrong?"
"Thecar'sforaMs.Peters?"
Oliver didn't know I'd changed my name. "That's my real name. Perkins is my

newspapername."

"Oh.Okay."
After I sign for the car, I stroll back to the kitchen where Ty's loading the

dishwasher."Here.Letmedothat."

"I'malmostdone."Dryinghishandsonakitchentowel,heturnsbacktome."Why

doyouwriteunderadifferentname?"

"Myfatherinsisted.Hewasn'ttookeenonmeusingourfamilyname."
He folds and rehangs the towel on the stove door. "I noticed you don't have any

picturesofthem.Didyouhaveafallingout?"

Ishrug."Notafallingoutexactly.Moreofadistancing.They'reprettyconservative

people.Veryreligiousaswell.TheywantedmetostayinIowaandmarryafarmer,not
run off to the big bad city to become a journalist. So, as a compromise, I chose a
differentprofessionalname."ThisisthestoryI'vehandedouttoanyonewhoneededto
know,likeMr.Bartlett.Thetruthisquitedifferent,ofcourse.I'dchangedmynameso
Tommy Hawkins could not find me. That hadn't worked out. He found me anyway.
"TheythoughtIwasprettywild."

Hesnorts."Youwild?Dotheyevenknowyou?"
I smile. "You have to see it from their point of view. They thought me coming to

Chicago to study journalism and work for a newspaper in a big city was wicked and
immoral."

He folds those massive arms of his against his chest and leans against the kitchen

counterbehindhim."Whateverwouldtheythinkofyoulivingwithme?"

Thatgetsmyhacklesup."I'mnotlivingwithyou.I'mstayingheretemporarily."
"MacKenna, you have nowhere to live. Apartments in Chicago are pretty pricey.

Staywithme."Hewaveshisgoodarmaroundthehouse."Youhavetoadmit,theseare
prettysweetdigs.Andyoucansaveyourmoneysoyoucanaffordaniceapartmentin
sixmonthsorso."

"Sorry,butthat'snotgoingtohappen.IplantobeoutofyourhairassoonasIcan."
He glances at the kitchen clock "We can talk more later. Right now, I gotta go to

work." Before he leaves, he rummages in one of the kitchen drawers, pulls out a
remoteandhandsittome."Here."

"Whatisit?"
"Thegarageopener.You'llneedittoopenthedoor."Heslideshiskeyringfromthe

hookonthewallandremovesakey."Andhere'sthefrontdoorkey."

"Thanks."
"You're welcome." Turning on his heel, he heads toward his room before I have a

chancetosayanythingelse.

NotthatIwantto.Ican'targueaboutthisanymore.I'lldowhatIneedtodo,and,

onceI'vefoundanewplacetolive,I'lltellhim.Ireturntomyroomonlylongenough
tograbmypurseandmycoatandheadoutinmynewcar.Ihadn'tnoticedthemake
or model when I signed the papers. I was in too much of a hurry to do so. The darn
thing'saMercedesBenzC300Sedan.Givenmyfarmupbringing,Icandriveanything
fromatractortoacaterpillar,butImustadmitI'veneverridden,muchlessdriven,a
ride as luxurious as this. With its heated leather seats, GPS and satellite radio, it's a
prettysweetride.Agirlcouldgetusedtothis.

Ibackoutofthedrivewayandheadtowardthegate.ButbeforeIcanexit,theguard

stopsme.Adifferentonethanthenightbefore.Samegrayuniformthough.

AsIrolldownmywindow,hedoffshiscap."Ms.Peters,Ipresume."
"Yes.Anythingwrong?"
"No. Just wanted to let you know if you're going to be staying in Mr. Mathews'

house,youwillneedtoregisterthecar.Werequireitofallourresidents."Hehandsme
asheetofpaperandabookletentitled"WindhavenGatedCommunityRegulations."

"Oh,okay.I'llletMr.Mathewsknow.Thankyou."
Gladtoknowthey'resothoroughwiththeirsecurity.Ilaughatmychangeofheart.

Barelyafewdaysago,Iresentedallthesecurity.Butnow,thatmyapartmenthasbeen
brokeninto,I'msuregladtheyhavesuchtightmeasuresevenifIwon'tbestayinghere
thislong.

Asitturnsout,Ibeateveryonetowork.Well,almosteveryone.Followingthescent

ofcoffee,IheadtothekitchenwhereIfindDottypouringacupofjava.Hereyebrows
climbasshespotsme."You'rehereearly."

"IthoughtI'dgetanearlystartandbeatthetraffic."
"NosuchthinginChicago.Rushhourtrafficstartsbeforefiveinthemorning."
"Ain'tthatthetruth?"
"Iheardaboutyourapartmentbreakin.I'msorry."
Wow.Wordtravelsfast."Howdidyoufindout?"
"Mr.Bartlettcalledmelastnight.Heneededtheinsuranceinformationsohecould

putinaclaimforanewlaptop.Inthemeantime,wehaveanoldoneyoucanuse.It
doesn'thaveallthebellsandwhistles,butitwilldountilwegetyoursreplaced."

"Oh."Alongwithbeingtheofficereceptionist,Dottyfunctionsasourofficemanager.

We'dbetotallylostwithouther.

Shepoursanothercupofthelifeaffirmingbeverageandhandsittome."So,how

areyoudoing?"

I pour cream and low cal sweetener into it and take a seat across the small table

fromher."Okay,Iguess."

"Gotaplacetostay?"
"Imovedinwithafriend."Eventomyears,myvoicesoundstight.
"Tightquarters?"
"No.Justtheopposite."
"Badneighborhood?"
"It'sanexclusive,gatedcommunity."
Shefrowns,andthenalightdawnsinhereyes."Oh.TyMathews?"
"Uh-huh."Mycheeksheatup."Pleasedon'ttellMr.Bartlett.He'dblowagasket."
"Sowhydoyouhaveaproblem?Mr.Mathewsisn'taskingforsomethinginreturn,

ishe?"Herbrowsthunderdown.

"Somethinginreturn?"Forasecond,Idon'tgethermeaning.Andthenalightbulb

goesoff."Oh,gosh.No.Nothinglikethat.He'saperfectgentleman."Well,exceptwhen
we're in bed, and then he's a total animal. But then I love that side of him. "A total
sweetheart."

"Ishe?"Acrookedsmilepopsuponherlips.
Shoot."ForgetIsaidthat,willyou?"
Herbrowscrunches."Why?"
"Hedoesn'twantanyonetoknowthathe's,umm."
"Sweet."
"Yes."
Sheturnsanimaginarykeyinherlips."Don'tworry.Mum'stheword."
"Thankyou."
She takes a sip of coffee. "So, if the place's great and he's a sweetheart, what's the

problem?"

"I'mwritinganarticleabouthim,soIdon'twantthingstogettoocozybetweenus.

Betterwemaintainaprofessionaldistancebetweenus.Yougetthat,don'tyou?"

"Absolutely."Shegrabsayogurtfromthefridge."Wantone?Ibroughtextras."
"Nothanks."Ipatmystomach."Ateabigbreakfast."
Sittingbackdown,shetearsthelidoffthecontainer."Sowhatareyoudoingtodo?"
Ishrug."Idon'tknow.Ican'taffordagoodplacetolive.AndIcan'tgobacktomy

apartment." Just the thought of going back makes me shudder. "I'll never feel safe
thereagain."

Shecoversmyrestlesshandwithherown."MaybeIcanhelp."
"Youcan?"
"Yes.Afriendofmineownsaunitinmybuilding.Everyyear,shetravelstoFlorida

inthefallandreturnsinthespring.Sheusuallysubletsit,andhadsomeonealllined
up.Butatthelastminute,thearrangementfellthrough."

"Youthinkshe'dsubletittome?"
"Absolutely.EspeciallysinceI'llvouchforyou.Niceneighborhood.Nottoofarfrom

here.Securedbuildingwithadoormanandeverything."

"Yeah?"
"Shedoesn'tchargemuchforrent.Sixhundredamonth."
Myeyeswiden."Sixhundred?That'slessthanhalfwhatI'mpayingnow."
"Shewasmarriedtoaplasticsurgeonwithaverylucrativepractice,somoney'snot

anissueforher.She'smoreconcernedabouthavingsomeonethereshecantrust."

"Butifshe'snotconcernedaboutmoney,whyisshesublettingitatall?"
"She doesn't like to leave it vacant in case something happens to the unit. Frozen

pipes,thatkindofthing."Shepausesforamoment."Anditdoescomewithadog."

"Adog?"
"Yeah. A Labrador Retriever. Her grandkids suffer from allergies so she can't take

himtoFloridawhenshevisitsherson.Haveyoueverownedone?"

"Yes. I grew up with one." When I turned seven, I was given my own to raise—a

femaleColliewhofollowedmeeverywhereIwent.She'dgonemissingaweekbefore
mysisterhadbeenkidnapped.Lateronwe'dfoundtheCollie'sbodyinacreek.She'd

beenstrangled.Eventhoughitcouldn'tbeproved,IalwayssuspectedTommyHawkins
of the crime. Months after it happened, my parents encouraged me to adopt another
dog,butIdidn'thavetheheart.

"Soyouknowwhatthey'relike."
"Oh,yes."
"Thecondoisfullyfurnished,soyouwouldn'tneedtomoveyourthings."
"That's good. My furniture was pretty much destroyed so there'd be nothing to

move."

Hereyesgrowsoft."I'msosorry,dear."Shepatsmyhand."So,shouldIgiveLorena

acallandletherknowyou'reinterested?She'sleavingSaturday,soyou'llwanttosettle
thingswithherassoonasyoucan."

I'dbelivinginasafeplaceandpayingverylowrent.It'sananswertomyprayers.

"Yes,pleasedo."Comingtomyfeet,Ihugher."Thanks,Dotty.You'rethebest."

Anhourlater,shepatchesLorenathroughtomyphone.Afteraquickconversation,

Imakeplanstovisitherafterwork.

That evening, I walk into her apartment. The place is gorgeous. A two-bedroom

luxury apartment, and best of all, fully furnished. Rosco, the Labrador Retriever is
sweetandfriendly.AfterLorenashowsmehisbagoftoys,weplayasessionofthrow
and catch. Rosco's eyes never leave mine as I toss more toys at him. He fetches and
returnsthem,droppingthetoysonmylap.

Lorenaflashesabrightsmileassheputsbothhandsoverherheart."Oh,I'msoglad

you two are getting along. Oh, don't get me wrong. He's very friendly, but he really
seemstolikeyou.Youmusthaveagoodsoul."

"Haveyoualwayshadhim?"
"Sincehewasapuppy.Ihadahousethen.Butaftermyhusbandpassedthreeyears

ago,itbecametoomuchforme.SoIpurchasedthiscondoandmovedin."

"HowdoesRoscolikelivinginanapartment?Labsareusuallyprettyactivedogs."
"Youknowyourbreeds."ShepatsRosco'shead."He'sgottenusedtoit.ButIdohave

adogwalkercomeintwiceadaytotakehimforarompinthepark.Hejustlovesthat.
Rosco, I mean. And once a week he goes to doggy day care, so he can socialize with
otherdogs.Youdon'thavetotakehim.TheydropbyonWednesdaysateighto'clockto
pickhimup,andbringhimbackbysix.Thatwouldn'tbeaproblem,wouldit?"

"No.I'mnotscheduledatworkuntilnine,andI'llmakesureI'mbackbythattime

onWednesdays."Asmallconcessionforgettingsuchagreatapartment.

"Perfect."
We go over Rosco's feeding and walking schedule which she has taped to her

refrigerator door, along with emergency phone numbers for the vet, the dog walker,
thedoggydaycare,andtheclosestanimalhospital.Clearly,Rosco'sabelovedpet.

"Sowhencanyoumovein?"Lorenaasks.
"HowaboutFriday?Icantakehalfadayofffromworktosettlein.Thatshouldgive

youanopportunitytofillmeinonanylast-minutedetails."

Shecomestoherfeet.AndsodoesRosco,who'dspentthelastfifteenminuteswith

hisheadonmylap.

"We'llseeyouonFridaythen."
RoscoaccompaniesmetothedoorandevenwhinesalittlewhenIleave.Well,at

leastIdon'thavetoworryaboutacompanion.Roscowillkeepmecompany.Nowthe
hardpartwillbetellingTy.

But that night I get a reprieve. Because of the Monday night game, he doesn't get

homeuntilafterone.

"Noparty."
"No.Iwantedtocomehometoyou."
"Oh."
"You'reinmybed."
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep in mine. I feel safer in yours, even when you're not here.

Silly,huh?"

"No.Notsillyatall."Hetosseshisclothesonthefloorandslipsintobed,nakedand

hard.

Guiltrearsitsuglyhead.Ishouldn'tbeinhisbed.IshouldtellhimI'mmovingout.

ButIcan'thelpmyself.Iwanthimwitheveryfiberofmybeing.Ineedhiswarmth,his
passion.WheneverI'mwithhim,Ifeelsafe.Tomorrowwillbesoonenoughtotellhim
I'mmovingout.

Itdoesn'ttakelongforustofindourwaytoeachother.

C H A P T E R 1 9

UESDAYMORNINGasIheadtotheOutlaws'compoundI'minagreatframeof
mind.Lastnight,we'ddecimatedtheRoughriderswithascoreof42-7.I'dworked

with Pedro Santiago, the rookie quarterback who'd temporarily replaced me—telling
him what to watch out for, the defense players' weak tells. He'd taken every word of
advice and capitalized on our nemesis's weaknesses. Even though I hadn't thrown a
singlepass,Ifeltpartlyresponsibleforthevictory.

After such a resounding win, I'd normally party with the rest of the team, but last

night I'd wanted nothing more than to go home to MacKenna. She'd proved true by
welcoming me home in the best of ways. Except for Oliver and Marigold, nobody
knowsshe'slivingwithme.AndImeantokeepitthatway.Ifwordgotout,itmight
damagehercareer.Andthat'sthelastthingIwant.Butsomehow,Ihavetomakethis
work.Iwanthertolivewithme,inmyhouse,whereshewillfeelsafe,andIcantake
careofher.

AssoonasIstepintothecompound,Terrell,oneofmyoffensivelinebackers,stops

me."Missedyoulastnight,man.Thepartywasoffthehook.Someofthehoneyswere
wonderingwhereyouwere."

"Gladyouhadagoodtime.ButitwasPedro'snight.Didn'twanttostealhisthunder,

youknow?"

"Yeah, the kid's great. But you're better. Heal fast, buddy. We'll need you for the

playoffs."Hepoundsmeonmyshoulder—mygoodshoulder.

"Thanks."Iwantnothingmorethantogetbackonthefield,butDocLatimer'snot

abouttogivemeacleanbillofhealthfortwomoreweeks.So,untilthen,I'llhaveto
grinandbearit.AndcontributeasmuchasIcantoPedro'ssuccess.Afterall,weneed
thekidtogettotheplayoffs.

Themorningaftergameday,wedon'tpractice,butattendteammeetingswherethe

coaches review what went right and what went wrong. After that, we're usually
released. Some players stay and work out; but most take off to enjoy the half day of
freedom. I head toward the locker room to check out the schedule, but as soon as I
walkin,oneoftheassistantsstopme."Mathews!"

"Yeah."

"CoachGronowskiwantstoseeyou."
I nod. "Okay." Wondering what that's about, I steer toward the coach's office and

knockonthedoor.

"Comein."Hisroughvoicebarksout.
"Youwantedtoseeme?"
"Yeah, take a seat." He points to one of the truck-sized chairs in front of his desk,

wide and sturdy enough to support the football players he coaches. "Got a call from
NebraskaState."

ThecollegeIgraduatedfrom,theonewherehewasheadcoachbeforehewashired

bytheChicagoOutlawstoleadtheteam."Oh?Who?"

"Art Johnson." Art had been his offensive line assistant coach at Nebraska State.

They'd always been close. When Coach Gronowski moved to the professional league,
he'daskedJohnsontocomealong,buthe'dchosentostay.Hehadalargefamilythere
hedidn'twanttoleave.

"Whatdidhehavetosay?"
"HegotaphonecallfromMacKennaPerkins."
Igulp."MacKenna?"
"Yes. She's been poking her nose where she shouldn't. She called the Athletic

Department asking about your football college career, and they patched her to Art.
Don'tworry.Heonlygaveherthebasics.Howlongyouplayed,yourstats,thatkindof
thing."

"Well,that'sgood."
Hepoundsonthedesk."No.That'snotgood.Webothknowshe'snotgoingtostop

there.LookatwhatshedidwithRon.Shefiguredouthewasdyslexicandgothimto
openup."

"Butthatturnedoutallright.Wegotalotofpositivefeedbackfromthearticle."
"Yeah. We came up smelling like roses on that one. Hiring a kid who can't read.

Oliver Lyons is pretty pleased with the piece." His gaze zeroes in on me. "I gather he
knowsheraswell?"

"Yeah. He met her one summer. His cousin's family had a farm next to hers in

Iowa."

"Justourrottenluck."Hedropshisham-sizedfistsonthedeskandleanstowardme.

"Wecan'tcountonhimstoppingherfromwritingabouttheOutlaws.Andyou.She's
going to keep digging. Sooner or later, she's going to come across this." He drops a
NebraskaStatenewspaperinfrontofmeandtapshisfingerontheheadline."Student
sexuallyassaultedatcampusfraternity."

Isuckinabreath.Nomatterhowfaryourunfromyourpast,italwaysmanagesto

catchupwithyou.

"YouknowIhadnopartinthat."
"Yeah,Iknow.Butthat'snotgoingtostopherwritingaboutit,isit?"Hespitsout,

baringhisteeth.

That first year at Nebraska State, I'd been a wet-behind-the-ears eighteen-year old

hickfromtheeastendofTexas.Hadn'tknownwhichendwasup.SowhenKappaDelta
Psi had asked me to join, I thought I'd finally made it, especially when some of my
teammateshadbeeninductedaswell.Oncefootballseasonwasover,wepartiedevery

chancewegot.Pussy,liquor,drugs,younameit.I'dstayedawayfromthedrugs,but
not the booze and the girls. Whatever we wanted, we got. Everything and everyone
wasmadeavailabletous.

One spring night, the fraternity threw a kegger. I'd taken a couple of girls and a

bottle of hooch to my room in the fraternity house to enjoy a threesome. We'd all
passedoutonmybed.Itwasn'tuntilthefollowingmorningthatIfoundoutwhathad
happened.Abunchofmyfraternitybrothershadgangrapedagirl.EventhoughIhad
nothingtodowithit,mynamehadbeenonthelistofmemberspresent.Butafterthe
girlsvouchedforme,I'dbeenclearedofanywrongdoing.Thoseresponsiblehadbeen
hauled away by the police and charged with aggravated sexual assault. And the
fraternityhadbeenclosedforgood.

Butthathadn'tbeentheworstofit.
Thegirlwhogotrapedhadbeenafriendofmine,EmilySuarez,whofollowedmeto

collegefrombackhome.She'dhadacrushonmesincehighschool.Eventhoughshe
would'vebeenbetteroffattendingcollegeinTexaswhereshewould'vegottenin-state
tuition, she applied to Nebraska State. We'd remained friends that first year. I'd
welcomedafriendlyfaceinastrangecollege.Butwhenmyfootballstarstartedtorise,
I'dseenlessandlessofher.Bythetimeshe'dbeenassaulted,Ihadn'ttalkedtoherfor
overamonth.EventhoughIhadnopartinherassault,Ifelttheguilt.Ibelievedshe'd
cometothepartylookingforme.Shehadn'tfoundme.I'dbeentoobusyscrewingand
gettinggoodanddrunkinmyroom.

During the days leading up to the trial, she'd been hounded by the press. Social

mediahadbeenbrutal,dragginghernamethroughthemud.Itriedtotalkherthrough
it, and visited her in her dorm as often as I could, even though Coach warned me
against it. Unable to deal with the slurs on her name, she'd committed suicide. The
autopsyrevealedshe'dbeenpregnant.Unabletolivewiththeshameandunwillingto
tellherfamily,she'dchosenasolutionwhereshecouldbeatpeace.

Tothisday,Iblamemyselfforherdeath.
I should have done more to help her. If she'd told me she was pregnant, I would

havegonewithherbackhome,supportedherwhileshetalkedtoherfamily.Butshe'd
never breathed a word about the baby she carried. And now the whole sordid story
maycometolightbecauseCoach'sright.MacKennawillneverstopdigging.

"—you shook it off your second year." Coach's words sink into my consciousness.

Hashebeentalkingthewholetime?"Ifthiscomesout,thiswillruinyourfuturewith
theOutlaws."

"IdidnotassaultEmily."
"Do you think that will matter to Oliver Lyons? If any scandal attaches to your

name,he'lltradeyousofastitwillmakeyourheadspin."

He'srightaboutOliverLyons.That'swhymanagementinsiststhattheplayersstay

inthehotelwhereanyteamcelebrationsareheldandwhywe'reconstantlylectured
about drugs and other risky behavior. Unlike other teams, the Outlaws have never
beentarredwithevenawhiffofscandal,andOliverLyonsmeanstokeepitthatway.

He'dneverlearnedwhathappenedatNebraskaState.CoachGronowskimadesure

thatmynamehadbeenexpungedfromanyrecordofthatnight.Soeventhoughthe
story got national attention, my name not once appeared in any college newspaper

account. If it had, I doubt Oliver Lyons would have hired me. He allows his players
theirfunandgamesaslongastheydon'tcrossthelinewhichmeansnodrugsandno
doinganythingundertheinfluence.Butwerethatinformationtosurface,I'dbekicked
offtheteam.Hedoesn'tallowforanybadseeds.

"Andyou'renottheonlyplayeraffectedbythatscandal.MadDogandRyanTaylor

belongedtothatfraternityaswell.So,I'dnotonlyloseyou,butthemaswell.Whatever
the fuck you have to do, you're going to stop MacKenna Perkins from snooping into
yourlife.Areweclearonthat?"

"Crystal." Coach Gronowski did not keep his players' names out of the college

newspaper solely out of the goodness of his heart. Taylor, Mad Dog, and I were his
tickettotheNFL.Ifwe'dgottencaughtinthescandal,NebraskaStatewouldhavebeen
investigated by the NCAA. And they might have nixed our participation in any of the
bowlsthatyear.Soeveryone'sfortunewasridingonkeepingthatsecret—Coach,Mad
Dog,RyanTaylor,andme.

Therusehadworked.Bytheendofthatseason,we'dbeenrankednumberfourin

the nation and made it to the Sugar Bowl where we'd won a decisive victory. We'd
endedupnumbertwothatyear,rightbehindAlabama.Mysenioryear,we'dwonthe
national title out right. And afterward, Coach Gronowski made sure we all ended up
with the Chicago Outlaws. The rest, as they say, is history. Last year, we'd made the
playoffs, and this year, I intend to lead the team to the Super Bowl. So that college
scandalcan'tcometolife.

Iarrivehomebeforeher.Duringtheweek,Iusuallydon'tbothertocook,buteither

eatattheOutlaws'compoundorpickupsomethingonthewayhome.ButtonightIfeel
likemakingsomethingwiththeflavorofhome—chickenfajitas,tex-mexstyle.

Aroundsix,sheblowsinthroughthefrontdoor,afrigidgustofwindatherback.

Theforecastersarecallingforsnow.Nosurprise.It'stypicalearlyNovemberweather.

"Youshouldhaveparkedinthegarage,ratherthanthedriveway.Imaderoomfor

youinthere."

"Couldn't.Theremotedidn'twork."SheholdstheunitIgaveherearlierouttome.
"Probably dead batteries. Should have checked it out. Sorry." I haul open the

kitchendrawerthatcontainsfreshbatteriesamongotherthings,popoutthedeadones,
andinsertfreshjuiceintoit."I'llgocheckitout.GivemeyourkeysandI'llparkitinthe
garage."

"Youdon'thaveto,Ty,"shesays,handingmethekeys.
"OfcourseIdo.Backinasec."Iheadtothegarageandpushtheremotebutton.The

garage glides open. A Mercedes Benz sits in the driveway. After climbing behind the
wheel,IdriveitrightnexttomycherrySUV.Itfeelsrighttohavehercarsittingnextto
mine. It's like they belong together. I spot a piece of paper with an address on it.
Curious,Ifireupthecar'sGPSandclickonitshistory.Sureenough,shedrovethecar
tothataddress.IswitchtheGPStostreetmode.It'sacondobuildinginaprettyupscale
partoftown.Didshegotheretointerviewsomeone?Sheisareporterafterall.Orwas
itsomethingelse?

Withquestionsswirlinginmyhand,Iturnofftheignitionandheadbackinside.
"Diditwork?"
"Yes."AfterIhandthecarkeysbacktoher,Isliponthesiliconeglovesandpullout

thefoodI'dhadwarmingintheoven."Hopeyoulikefajitas."

"Ido."Sheseemsreserved,notherusualself.
I get a sick feeling in my stomach. "Why don't you set the table while I put the

finishingtouchesonthefood?"

"Okay."
Butwhenwesettledowntoeat,shepicksatherfoodasifshe'snotthathungry.
Igesturewithmyfork."You'renoteating.Didyouhaveabiglunch?"
"No.Ihadasalad."
"Youshouldeatthen.Youneedyourstrength."
Shedropsthenapkinonherlap."Ty?"
"Yes."
"Igotanapartment."
Well,thatanswersthequestionofwhyshevisitedthatbuilding."Youdid?"
"YourememberDotty?Thereceptionist?"
Inod.
"AfriendofhersismovingtoFloridaforthewinter.Sheneedssomebodytowatch

herapartmentforsixmonths."

Ijamaforkfuloffajitasinmymouth."You'renotgoinganywhere.You'restaying

here."

"No,Ty.I'mnot.Thiswasnevergoingtowork."
Iputdownthecutlery."Whythehellnot?"
Looking down, she says, "Because I'm interviewing you. That's why. I have to be

objectiveaboutyou,andIcan'tdothatifI'mlivinginyourhouse."

"Soyourcareerismoreimportantthanme."
Hergazebouncesup."That'snotfair.Webarelyknoweachother.Ihavetothink

aboutmylife,myfuture.Yeah,it'sbeenfun,butamonthfromnowyou'llbeitchingto
getridofme.SoI'mmovingoutbeforethathappens."

I'llnever'itch'togetridofher,thatmuchIknow."Whenareyoudoingthis?"
"Friday.TheladywhoownstheunitisleavingforFloridaonSaturday."
"Iwanttoseetheplacetomakesureit'ssafe."
"Youdon'thavetodothat.Itis.Theyhaveadoormanandaconciergedesk.Nobody

getsintothebuildingwithoutacode.It'sinagreatneighborhood.Iresearchedit.It'sa
greatdealforme,closetomyjob.And,dependingonourschedules,DottyandIcan
rideintogether."

Icontinuetoeatinsilence.
"I'vedodgedabulletsofar,Ty.ButifMr.BartlettfoundoutI'dmovedinwithyou,

hewouldhavetakenmeoffyourstory,andIdon'twanthimtodothat."

"Ithoughtyourstorywasdone."
"Notbyalongshot.Therearepartsofyourlifeyou'rehidingfromme.Younever

openedupaboutcollegeoryourhomeinTexas.Ineedtoknowaboutthat."

Her statement gives me the opening into the topic I intended to discuss tonight.

"WhatifIaskedyoutodropit."

"Ican'tdothat,Ty."
"EvenifIasked."
"I'majournalist,youdon'tgettopickandchoosewhatIwrite."

Icanseeshe'sduginherheels.I'llhavetocomeatheranotherway.Doneeating,I

climboffthestool,andtakemyplatetothesink.WhileIrinsethedish,Iask,"Willyou
atleastdomeafavor?"

"Itdepends."
"Couldyouletmereadyourarticlebeforeitgetspublished?"
"Why?"
"Iwanttomakesureyouhaveyourfactsstraight."Ifnothingelse,atleastI'llknow

aheadoftimebeforethepaperhitsthestreets.

"I'mgoingtofindoutsomething,aren'tI?"
"Justpromisemeyou'llletmereadit."
"Okay.IguessIoweyouthatmuch."
Thatnight,shedoesn'tcometomybed.Doubtshe'sgettingmuchsleep.Sureashell,

I'mnot.

C H A P T E R 2 0

MacKenna

HURSDAY MORNING, I arrive at the newspaper office eager to work on Ty's
story. The day before I'd spent the entire day doing online research on the

Nebraska State Student newspaper files, and I'd hit a gold mine of information. I'd
startedwiththefirstyearTyhadattendedcollege.JustasIexpected,ithadbeenthe
standardnewsofacollegerag—thegoingsonatthecollege,socialandpoliticalissues,
and,ofcourse,sports.AtfirstTy'snamehardlyappearedonthesportspages,butasthe
footballseasonprogressed,hegotmoreandmorementions.

His name popped up again, along with Mad Dog's and Ryan Taylor's, during the

fraternity rush. They'd all joined the Kappa Delta Psi fraternity. Once football season
ended,hedidn'tgetmentionedagain.Buthisfraternityhadwhenagirlwasgangraped
atoneoftheirkeggers.Fromthatpoint,hardlyadaypassedbythatthesexualassault
wasn'tmentioned.Atfirst,thegirl'snamewasunknown,butthenshe'drevealedher
name.

Whywouldshedosuchathing?Maybesomeonetalkedherintogivingafacetothe

victim of such a horrible crime. Sure enough, she'd been hailed a hero for coming
forward. But then the nastiness had begun. Her name had been dragged through the
mud in the school's social pages. She was called an idiot for accepting a drink from a
stranger, blamed for her rape because she'd come to the party alone. With no one to
watchoutforher,she'daskedforit,hadn'tshe?

Sick to my stomach, I'd taken a break at that point. But in the afternoon, I forced

myselftoreadon.HerrapistshadbeenidentifiedfromDNArapekitsandchargedwith
amultitudeofcrimes,includingaggravatedsexualassault.Thankfully,Ty's,MadDog's,
andRyan'snameswerenotmentionedinanyofthearticleswrittenabouttheheinous
crime.Noneofthemhadbeenatthepartythatnight.

Thatseemsoddtome.
Theywouldhaveknownabouttheparty,andsincefootballseasonhadbeenover

by that time, they wouldn't be tied up with game preparations. Mad Dog might have
chosennottoattendthekegger.Hedoesn'tseemlikeapartyanimaltome.ButIcan't
seeTyandRyanturningdownanopportunitylikethat.

Wantingtogettothetruthofthematter,todayIdecidetoputinacalltothestudent

newspaper and see if I can find someone who was part of the staff that year. A long
shot,Iknow.Mostofthecollege'snewspaperstaffiscomprisedofstudents.Butmaybe
there's some salaried administrative sort that's assigned to the newspaper. Sure
enough,Ifindsomeone.StephanieColton.Shehasn'tarrived,sowhenI'mpatchedto
herline,Ileaveacallbacknumber.

Ahalfhourlater,myphonerings.It'sher.
"Thankyouforcallingmeback,Ms.Colton.MynameisMacKennaPerkins,andI'm

a reporter for The Windy City Chronicle. I'm writing an article about Ty Matthews, as
well as Mad Dog Buchinsky and Ryan Taylor, all players with the Chicago Outlaws. I
understandtheyattendedNebraskaState."

"Yes,theydid."Shesoundshesitant,butIpresson.
"IhavesomequestionsabouttheirtimeatNebraskaState.Iwashopingyouwould

shedsomelightonsomethingIcameacrossduringmyresearch."

"Idon'tknowmuchaboutthefootballsideofthings."
"This doesn't have anything to do with football, but with a sexual assault that

happenedeightyearsago."

"EmilySuarez."Hervoice'sasoftwhisper.
"Youremember?"
"OfcourseIremember.Thatwasawful.Whathappenedtoher."
"Yes,itwas."IclearmythroatbeforeIproceed."Theyallbelongedtothatfraternity,

buttheywerenotpresentthenightoftheparty.And,well,thatstruckmeasodd."

"You know, I wondered how long it would take somebody to ask that question. I

didn'tthinkitwouldtakeeightyears."

"Sotheywerethere?Thatnight?"
"Ty Mathews and Ryan Taylor were. Buchinsky was not. He didn't live in the

fraternityhouse,likeTyandRyandid.Helivedoffcampuswithhisgirlfriend."

"Sowhythelie?"
"Hold on a moment. Somebody just came in. Yes, Professor Dawkins." The last

seemsmutedasifshe'scoveringthetelephone'smouthpiece."I'llbethereinaminute,
sir."

Whenshecomesbackontheline,hervoice'shushed,asifshe'stryingnottohave

her words overheard. "I have to go. But I do want to talk to you. It's something that
needstobebroughttolight.Youneedtocomehere,though."

"Why?"
"There'ssomethingyouneedtosee.It'sinthearchivefiles.Idon'tdareremoveit.

Somebody'sboundtonotice.ButIgodowntothenewspaper'scatacombsallthetime.
AndIcansneakyouin.Anychanceyoucouldtravelhere?"

"Ms.Colton.Now."WhoeverProfessorDawkinsis,he'sgothisshortsinatwist,that's

forsure.

"I'msorry.Ihavetogo."
"I'llbethere."NebraskaState'sonlyaneighthourridefromChicago.Icouldtravel

onSunday,talktoherMondaymorningandreturnlatethatday.Iwouldn'tevenneed
totakeadayofffromwork.IcouldtellMr.BartlettIwasawayfromtheofficedoing
research on one of the players, which would be nothing but the truth. "How about
Mondayofnextweek?"

"Yes,thatworksforme."
"I'llcallyouwhenIgetthere."
"No.Textme."Sherattlesoffhernumber,andIwriteitdown.
"Okay."Idon'tknowwhyI'mhushingmyvoiceaswell.There'snobodynearme.

Exceptfortheworm.And,surelyhecan'thearmethreecubiclesaway.

After hanging up, I switch gears to Mad Dog's story. After all, I'm scheduled to

interview him next week. That afternoon, I visit a women's shelter for a series I'm
writing.Thefootballstoriesandwomen'sissuesareasdifferentaschalkfromcheese,
butstrangelyenough,Ilovethevariety.

ThatnightasIheadforTy'shouse,awaveofdepressionhitsme.It'smylastnight

withhim.Iknow,it'ssomethingImustdo.Butstill.

Tonight,hecookedabigpanoflasagna.Aswesitdowntoeat,heasks,"So,areyou

allsetforthebigmove?"

"Yeah, I only have the stuff in the closet. I'll pack tonight and put it in the car

tomorrow before I head off for work. I'll leave the house key and the remote on the
counter."

"Keepthem."
"Ty.Ican't."
"Keep them. If something happens at your new place, you can always come back

here.Please.I'llsleepbetter."

"Okay."
Doneeating,Irinsemydishandputitinthedishwasher."Ibettergopack."
"Ifyouneedanything,anythingatall."
"I'llcallyou."
Dragging my steps all the way, I head toward my bedroom where it takes me no

timeatalltopackmymeagerbelongings.Restlessandnotreallysleepy,IcallMarigold
toletherknowwhat'sgoingon."I'mmovingoutofTy'shouse."

"Youare?Whereareyougoing?"
Iprovideherwiththedetailsofmynewplace.
"Ooh, The Wellington! You lucky dog." Her voice oozes with awe. "That's one nice

building."

"Yeah,itis."Oh,gosh.Howveryinsensitiveofme.HereI'mbraggingaboutmynew

place in a luxury building in a safe neighborhood while she's stuck in a crappy
apartmentinoneoftheworstsectionsintown.Athoughtoccurstome.MaybeIcan
talktoLorenaaboutMarigoldroomingwithme."It'satwo-bedroomapartment.Way
too big for me. Maybe I could talk to the owner about you moving in. If you're
interested,thatis."

Sheclearsherthroat."Well,actually.Mysituationhaschangedaswell."
"Ithas?"
"Yes.OlivertookonelookatmyplaceanddecidedIcouldn'tlivethereanymore."
"Hedid?"
"Yeah. It didn't help that somebody had set a car on fire down the street, and the

streetwascrawlingwithcops."

"GoodGod."
"Yeah.He'sright,ofcourse.Totellyouthetruth,I'vebeenhavingsecondthoughts

aboutlivinginthearea."

I'dbeenworriedsickaboutherlivinginthatareamyself."Sowhatareyoudoingto

do?"

"Well,hetookmebacktohisplacethatnight.Wespenthalfthenighttalkingabout

mylife,myfuture.Ifaceduptothetruth.Teachingatapublicschoolisnotreallymy
thing."

"Itisn't?"
"No. Oh, don't get me wrong. I love teaching. But I'm more of a warden than a

teacher.Theotherdayoneofmykidsbroughtaguntoschool."

"Oh,Mar.Whydidn'tyousaysomething?"
"Youhadenoughgoingon,MacKenna."Sheheavesoutalongsigh."Oliverdrewmy

dissatisfactionoutofme.Onethingledtoanother,andwell,theupshotishe'shiring
metotutorsomeoftheplayers.Apparently,someofthemcanbarelyreadorwrite."

"Soyou'regoingtobedoingthatparttime?"
"Tobeginwith.ButoncemyteachingcontractwiththecityofChicagoendsinJune,

I'llbeworkingfortheOutlawsfulltime."

"That's great, Marigold. You certainly have a lot of experience tutoring college

footballplayers."

"Yeah,Ido,don'tI?"Thesmileinhervoicetellsmeshe'smissedthatpartofherlife.

"And the tutoring will encompass more than academic subjects. He's envisioning a
course on financial management, as well. Apparently, many football players end up
brokeoncetheirfootballcareersaredone."

"Ididn'tknowthat."
"NeitherdidI."
"And,getthis,healsowantstoofferaclassonthebirdsandbees."Shelaughs.
"You'regoingtobeteachingsexedtogrownfootballplayers?"
"Well, it's not only sex ed, but issues surrounding consent. Some players have

trouble taking no for an answer. That's going to be the toughest class of all. Oliver's
puttingmeinchargeofthewholeeducationalprogramandgivingmecarteblanche.
Can you believe it? He told me to think outside the box. Between now and my start
date,I'llhavetocomeupwithaquestionnairefortheplayers,andamandatorybasic
skillstest,soIcanindividualizetheirtrainingprograms."

"Someplayerswillbalkatthis,youknowthat."
"Yes,butOliver'smakingitarequirementintheircontracts.Soeithertheyagreeto

it,ortheydon'tgetsignedasanOutlaw.He'sbeenthinkingaboutitforquiteawhile."

"Wow."
"Yeah. In the meantime, he wants me to move to an apartment building he owns

closetotheOutlaws'compound.That'swheretheyhousepotentialrecruitswhenthey
comevisit,aswellasthoseOutlawsplayersthatfindthemselvestemporarilywithouta
placetostay.Heplanstorenovatethefirstfloorintoaclassroomsettingwithalibrary
andeverything."

"That'samazing."IpausewhileItemporarilytakethisallin."See,he'snotsobadas

youthought."

"Well,Istillhaveaproblemwithwherehe'sputtinghisstadium.Notchangingmy

mindaboutthat."

"Butmaybeyoucanexertyourinfluenceonhimtocomeupwithaplanthatwill

helpthoseinnercitykids."

"Maybe. Well, Better go. Gotta get up early." I can almost hear the yawn in her

voice."Ifyouneedhelpwiththemove,letmeknow."

"Ishouldn't.Notmuchtomove.ButifIdo,I'llringyou.Goodnight,Marigold."
"'Night."
Restlessafterthecall,Iheadforthebathroom,butevenafteragoodsoakinthetub,

Ican'tsleep.AndIknowwhy.Becauseonlyafewfeetawayliesthemanthatmakes
everyfiberinmybeingburn.Woulditbesobadtobewithhimonelasttime?BeforeI
can rethink the situation, I slide into my slippers and head toward his bedroom. The
door'sopen.Withthelightfromthehallwayshiningintotheroom,Icanseehimonhis
bed,probablynakedunderthesheets.

Hecomesuponhiselbow."What'swrong?"
"Can'tsleep."
"Meneither."Hetapsthebed."Comehere."
Not for one second do I hesitate, but rush toward him like he's my last hope of

salvation.Andmaybeheis.

I kick off my slippers, shed my robe, and slide into bed with him. "This doesn't

changeanything.I'mstillmovingouttomorrow."

"Iknow,sweetgirl,Iknow."Andwiththathecoversmybodywithhisandproceeds

todrivemetotheedgeofinsanity.

C H A P T E R 2 1

WOWEEKSHAVEGONEBYsinceMacKennaleft.Twoweekswithoutherinmy
bed.StrangehoweasilyIfellintoaroutinewithher,andourentiretimetogether

lastedlessthanaweek.Imissherwitheveryounceofmybeing.Herlaughter,theway
shecocksherheadwhenshedisagreeswithme.Thewayshebitesdownonherlipto
keepfromlaughingatme.ButmostlyImissherwarmthinmybed,herbodynextto
mine.

I'dcalledhertomakesureshe'dsettleinallright,butheranswershadbeenshort

andtight.Andthenshe'd askedmenotto callheranymore.The onlywayI'llget to
talk to her is if she interviews me again. And I don't know that that's ever going to
happen.NotifCoachGronowskihasanythingtosayaboutit.He'dtriedtoshutdown
MacKennaaboutMadDog'sinterview,buthe'dbeenpushedbackbybothTrevor,the
headofPR,andOliverLyons,bothofwhomlovedthearticleshe'dwrittenonRon.

As it turned out, Mad Dog's article was just as great as Todd's. MacKenna piece

coverednotonlyhim,buthishomelife,includinghiswifeandthreekids.Thewayhe
talkedabouthismiddleson'sautismbroughtoutthesoftsideofhim.Oh,hestillmows
downoffensesonthefield,buttheguysinthelockerroomhavecometorespectthis
othersideofhim.Nowweunderstandwhyherusheshomeeverynight.Tobewithhis
family.Therestofusshouldbesolucky.

"Mathews?"oneofthephysicaltrainerscallsoutmynameassoonasIstepintothe

lockerroom.

"Yeah?"
"DocLatimerwantstoseeyou."
Hopefully,it'swhatIthinkit'sgoingtobe.It'sbeenthreeweekssinceIwasbenched

andI'mmorethanreadytogetbackinthegame.They'ddoneanotherMRIyesterday
and put me through a range of motion exercises. I'd passed them with flying colors
withnotevenatwingeinmyshoulder.

IrunallthewaytoDoc'soffice.
"Howdoyoufeel?"heasks.
"Great.Readytogetbackinthegame."
Hegivesmeoneofthosetightsmilesofhis."Ifyoufeltlikecrap,you'dsaythesame

thing."

"Probably.ButI'mtellingthetruth."
"Well,I'vereviewedyourMRIandothertests,andIdobelieveyou'reright."
Mylipscan'thelpbutsplitintoawidegrin."Yeah?"
Henods."I'veclearedyoutoreturntothegame."
"Great."
"Ononecondition."
"Whatever,Doc.I'lldoit.Sowhatisit?"
"Iwantyoutowearabraceallthetime."
"Ican'tdothat.Thatthinginhibitsmymobility."
"It's a modified version, a state-of-the art model that's never been tried before. It

shouldhelppreventanothershoulderinjury."

"DoIhaveachoice?"
"No.Notreally."
"Thenbringonthebrace."I'lljusthavetolivewiththedarnthing,whateveritis.
"Tony will fit you into it. You'll practice with it for a couple of days. The

manufacturerisveryeagertomakesureitworkswithyouandforyou.Ifitdoesn't,it's
backtothedrawingboard."

"GoodtoknowI'maguineapig."
In the physical training suite, I meet the person who designed the brace, a nerdy-

looking guy with big, thick glasses. "It's been created to your specific measurements
andwillprovideusfeedbackofeverythingyourshoulderisdoing."

What?"AndI'msupposedtowearthis24hoursaday?"
"Yes.Untilyourteamphysiciandecidesyounolongerneedit."
Great.Justfuckinggreat.
"Now,I'llbeadjustingyourbraceandtakingmeasurementsonadailybasis.Your

shoulderwillfeelbetterthanever,Mr.Mathews."

"Howdoyouknowthat?"
"Well,Idesignedit,soIknowwhatitwilldo.Thebracewillstimulateyourshoulder

when you're playing to provide warmth when your shoulder tightens up. It will
continue to provide physical therapy during the game and practice, and even when
you'reasleep."

"ButwhydoIneedtowearitthen?"
"Because that's when the muscle will be repairing itself and we will be obtaining

feedbackaboutspecificallyhowit'sdoingthat."

"Sohowlongdoyouthink,I'llhavetowearthis?"
"Throughtheendoftheseason,attheveryleast.IftheOutlawsmaketheplayoffs,

we'llreassessatthattime.You'llbehelpinguscreatemuchmoreeffectivetherapyfor
otherfootballplayers,andwe'reimmenselygratefulforyourcooperation."

Well, I guess that's that. No matter how much I hate this contraption. If I want to

play,Ihavetomakeitwork.IfIdon't.I'llbeoutandPedrowillbebackin.

C H A P T E R 2 2

MacKenna

ATURDAYNIGHT,IdriveRoscotothedaycarethatalsofunctionsasadoggyspa.
DuringourdiscussionbeforeImovedin,LenoramentionedIcoulddrophimthere

if ever I needed to travel out of town. The doggy spa is nothing like I've seen before.
Eachdoggetshisorherownsuitewithahugedoggybedandplentyoftoysaswellas
blanketstokeephimwarm.Duringhisstay,he'llenjoyplaytime,aswimmingsession,
andamassage.Ishouldbesoluckytostayinthatspa.

Thankfully,mytriptoLincoln,NebraskaonSundaygoessmoothly.Nosnow,only

bittercoldtemperatures.Aftermycheckinintoabudgethotel,ItextStephanieColton
toletherknowI'vearrived,andwemakeplanstomeetatthenewspaperofficebright
andearlythenextday.Mondaysstudentstendtostraggleinhavingspenttheweekend
eitherdoingtoomuchcelebratingorcrammingforexams.

Perherinstructions,Idressasacollegestudentwithabackpack.Incaseanybody

asks, I'm supposedly volunteering to help with the files, a dreaded job in any office.
Since I got out of college only a few months ago, I blend right in. Our trip to the
catacombs, as she calls it, takes us through a dingy, dark corridor and down a set of
stairstoaroomthatsmellsofmustanddust.Idon'thaveallergies,butanybodywho
doeswouldn'tbeabletoworkdownthereforlong.

"The door closed behind us so we won't be overheard. And there are no cameras

downhere."

"Aretheresomeupstairs?"
"Oh,yes.Andasyousawforyourself,thefrontdoorisnotonlylockedbutyouneed

acodetoenter.Thecodechangeseverysemester."

"Whythesecurity?"
"Wegetthreatsattimes.Thedoor'sispuresteel,sounlessyouknowthecode,you

can'tgetin.Ifanybodygetstoobelligerentanddemandsentrance,wehavetimetocall
security."

It'snotwondertheytakesomuchprecaution.Inthisdayandage,youcan'tbetoo

careful.

We'vebeenwonderingthroughacorridorlinedwithfilingcabinetsontheright.She

stopsinfrontofonelabeled2009,andslidesoutthefiledrawer.Fromitsdepths,she

retrievesaclosedbox."ThisiswhatIwantedyoutosee.Actually,whatIwantedyouto
hear."

It'saboxoftapesandcassetteonesatthat.Ithoughtthosethingshadgonetheway

ofthedinosaurs."Okay."

"Yes.Ourstudenteditoratthetimewasafemalestudent.Shedidn'ttrustmenasfar

asshecouldthrowthem.Sowhenthisstoryhit,shestartedtapingtheconversationsof
everybodyshetalkedtoaboutthesexualassaultcase.Ofcourse,shedidn'tshareshe
wasdoing,sothewholething'sillegal."

"Whodidshetape?"
"Everyone,fromEmilySuarezherself,tothefratboyswhoattendedthatpartyand

sworeupanddowntheyhadn'tseenorheardathing.Yeah,fatchanceofthat.There's
oneinparticularIwantyoutohear."

Please don't let it be Ty. Anyone but him. I don't think I could face him if he'd

witnesstheeventsleadingtoEmilySuarez'sassault.Igulpbackthebilethat'ssuddenly
riseninmythroat."Whoseinterviewwasit?"

"CoachGronowski."
What?"TheOutlaws'headcoach?"
"That'stheone.HecoachedtheNebraskaStatefootballteamforanumberofyears.

The last team? He led all the way to a national championship. As far as the students
were concerned, he could do no wrong. I think that's why our college advisor,
Professor Leonard, gave in to his demands. He was afraid of the repercussions if he
turnedhimdown."

"SowhatdidCoachGronowskiaskthenewspapertodo?"
"You'll see." All this time, she's been going through the box of tapes, each one

labeledwithanameandadate."Ah,hereitis."

ThetapesheholdsouttomeislabeledGronowskidiscussion,"March7,2009."She

injectsthetapeintoacassetteplayershebroughtdownwithher."It'smyown.Don't
wantanyonetoknowIretrievedthenewspaper'sunitfromstorage.I'dneedtosignit
outifIdid."

At first Coach Gronowski lays it on thick with praise about the great job the

newspaper'sdoing.Butthenitturnsnasty.

"Iunderstandyouhavealistofeveryonewhowasquestionedbythepolice."
"Yes, we do. But we have no intention of publishing those names," Professor

Leonardinsists.

"You expect me to believe that? If you reveal a couple of my players were

interrogated,you'dcausequiteastironcampus.Afootballplayerinvolvedinthistype
ofscandalmightseriouslyinjureanychanceshe'dhaveattheNFL.AndIhaveseveral
whofitthatbill."

"You'llhavetotakemywordforit,Coach."
"Idon'tbelieveyou.Thisisjusttoojuicyastorytoletgo."Somethingthatsounds

likethescrapingofachaircomesthrough."Butifmyplayers'namesarementionedin
your piddly paper in connection with happened at that fraternity, I'll make sure that
yourraggetsshutdown.Permanently."

"Youcan'tdothat."ProfessorLeonard'svoicewavers.
"IcanandIwould.Notonlythat.You'dfindyoursorryassoutonthestreet."

"ButIhavetenure."
"So?Thatdoesn'tpreventtheschoolfromfiringyouforfinancialmismanagement

orsexualmisconduct."

"I'venevertakenadimeor...theotherthing."
"Yousure,Professor?YousureIcouldn'tfindoneinstanceofwrongdoing?"
Deadsilencegreetshim.
"Ithoughtso."
Stephaniestopsthetape."That'sit."
"So Coach Gronowski threatened the professor with shutting down the paper and

gettinghimfiredinordertoprotecthisplayers."

"Yeah."
"Didthisdiscussionoccurrightaftertheparty?"
"About a week later. It was right at the beginning of the investigation. The police

didn't even have the DNA results back. They were talking to everyone who attended
theparty,notjustthefootballplayers."

"Whowastherefromtheteam?"
"RyanTaylorandTyMathews."
Myheartplummets."ButTyhadnothingtodowithit,didhe?"
"Hewasnevercharged,that'scorrect."
"That'snotananswer."
"There'sanothertapeyoushouldlistento.It'stheoneofthevictim,EmilySuarez."
Thistimeshe'dbeentoldtheywererecordingtheinformationsotheyaskforher

nameandage."EmilySuarez,eighteen."

"Soyoung."
"Shewasafreshman."
The student interviewing offers a couple of softball questions, mainly to establish

rapport.I'vedonethatmyselfmanyatime,butthenshegetstothehardballquestions.

"SoEmily,wereyouinvitedtotheparty?"
"No.Notreally.Iheardaboutit,andmyboyfriendwasthere."
"Yourboyfriend?"
"Well,theguyI'vebeendating."
"Who'sthat?"
"No.Ican't."
"Youdon'twanttonamehim."
"No. He wouldn't like it if I did. You see, Coach Gronowski would not approve. He

doesn'twanthisplayerstohavegirlfriends.Saysittakesawayfromtheirfocusofthe
game."

"Oh?"
"So,Iwasn'tsurprisedwhenhedidn'tinviteme.ButIthoughI'ddropbyandsayhi.

Youknow,casuallike."

"Right."
"ButthenIsawhimtalkingtoanothergirl.SoIdidn'tfeelcomfortablegoingupto

him."

"Andthenwhathappened?"
"This...I'msorrycanIhaveaglassofwater."

"Sure."
Aminuteorsopassesinsilence.
"Here."
"Thanks."
"So this guy came up to me. I didn't recognize him, and asked me if I wanted a

drink.Ishouldhavesaidno.Iknowthat.ButI...Didn't.NextthingIknowmyhead's
spinning.Andtheguytakesmyhand."Hereyouneedtoliedown."

"Yeah,IthinkIbetter."
But the farther I walked the more I knew something was wrong. We passed my

friend.Isaidhiorsomethinglikethat.HeaskedmewhatIwasdoing.IsaidIwasgoing
to lie down. I wasn't feeling well. He looked at the guy who had given me the drink.
"Whatareyoudoingwithher?"

"I'mgoingtoshowheragoodtime."
EvensickasIwas,Iknewwhatthatmeant.Isaid"No.Idon'twantto."
Butmyfriendwinkedattheguyandsaid,Haveagoodtime."Andheturnedright

backtothegirlhewastalkingto.Idon'tremembermuchafterthat,exceptfightingoff
abunchofguyscameintotheroom.Andtheyhurtme.Theypushedthemselvesinside
ofmeandtheyhurtme.Sometimeinthemiddleofthenight.Igotup.Icouldn'tfind
mypanties,soIputonmypairofjeansandcrawledoutoftheroom.Theguywho'd
broughtmetotheroomwaspassedoutonthefloor."

"I'msosorry,Emily."
"Yeah,metoo."
"WhenIgottomydorm,myroommatewaswaitingupforme.Shetookonelookat

me and drove me to the hospital. The rest was kind of a nightmare. I got examined,
probed,DNAkitsweretaken,photographsweretaken.Ihadbruisesonmyarmsmy
legs,myface,myneck.Oneofthemtiedmeup.Anotheronealmostchokedme.After
whatseemedforever,thepoliceshowedupandIhadtorepeatthewholethingagain.I
didn'tgetbacktomydormroomuntilmidmorning.Bythenitwasallovercampus.
Theywithheldmynametoprotectme."

"Butnowyouwanttocomeforward."
"Yes, I think it's important to put a face to the victim, don't you? Or so I've been

told."

"Areyousure,Emily?Areyousureyouwanttorevealyourname?"
"Yes,I'msure."
"Very well. I'll write the article. It'll be on the front page of the school paper. I

imagineyou'llbeinterviewedbythepressaswell.Doesyourfamilyknow?"

"No.Icouldn'ttellmymother.Itwouldkillher."
"Haveyougonetocounseling?"
"Yes.They'vebeenverykind."
"I'llletyouknowwhenthearticlewillappearinthepaper.IfIhavemorequestions

—"

"Callme.Iwanttomakesureyougetthetruestoryout."
"Okay."
"Andthat'sit,"StephanieColtonsays.
"Shewasn'tinterviewedagain?"

"Therearenomorerecordsofher.Poorgirl."
Clearly, there was a connection between Emily Suarez and one of the football

players.Thedastardlycowardseemedtohaveknownoratleastapprovedofwhatwas
going to be done to her. And yet, he did nothing. No wonder Coach Gronowski didn't
wantanyofthefootballplayersmentioned.

"Andtherewereonlytwofootballplayerslivinginthefraternityhouse?"
"Yes. Ty Mathews and Ryan Taylor. Buchinsky was a member but he had an

apartmentoffcampus.TheonlyreasonIknowthatisthathisgirlfriendwasafriendof
mine."

"SomuchforCoachGronowski'srulesaboutnogirlfriends."
"Oh,believeme,MadDogdidn'tsharethatdetailwithhiscoach."
"ButoneoftheplayerswitnessedEmilySuarezbeingtakentoaroomtoberaped."
"Yes."
"And the choices are Ryan Taylor or Ty Mathews." I can't see Ty ignoring the girl

takenanywheretoberaped,nowonderhowdrunkhemightbe.

"Myvote'sonTyMathews."
"Why?"
"After the rape, he was seen coming in and out of her dorm. Turned out he knew

her. They both came from the same town in Texas. Apparently, she had a crush on
him."

"It can't be him. He wouldn't have ignored his friend being taken to a room to be

assaulted,muchlessencouragedit."

"Howdoyouknow?"
"I'minterviewinghim.Iknowwhathe'slike."
"FromwhatIunderstand,he'sgotquiteabadboyreputationinChicago."
"Yes.Butdeepdown,he'snotlikethat."
"IonlyknowwhatI'veheard."
I'vegottoclearTy'sname,evenifhe'sneverbeenchargedwithanything,Ihaveto

findoutformyself."Whateverhappenedtoher?Ihopeshemadeitthroughokay."

"EmilySuarez?"
Inod.
"ButIthoughtyouknew?"
"Knewwhat?"
"She found out she was pregnant. Two months after the rape, Emily Suarez killed

herself."

C H A P T E R 2 3

MacKenna

HANKSGIVING DAY, Marigold and I spend the morning at the food kitchen,
peeling about a billion potatoes, and boiling a zillion ears of corn. Once the

afternoon shift takes over, we head for my apartment, where we cook our humble
feast.Turkeybreast,mashedpotatoes,andcornwithpumpkinpiefordessert.

TheChicagoOutlawsareplayinganawayThanksgivingDaygame,so,thankfully,I

don'thavetofacetheagonyofholdingthecelebrationseparatefromTy.Hecallsonce
a week, even though I've asked With dinner cooked and eaten, Mar and I park
ourselvesonthesumptuouscouchinfrontofthewidescreenHDtelevisiontoenjoy
ourslicesofpumpkinpiewithhomemadewhippedcream,andcoffeemadefromatop
notchespressomachinewhileRoscosettleshimselfinfrontofusontherug,hopinga
crumbortwowillfallhisway.

"Ummm,greatpie,MacKenna."
"Thanks.It'smymother'srecipe."
She wipes her mouth with a napkin and looks around the living room. "Such a

beautifulcondo.You'regoingtomissthiswhentheownerreturns."

"I'llfindsomethingelse."
"Anotherlousyapartmentinanothercrappypartoftown?"
"Whyareyoudoingthis?"
"Youcouldbelivinginamuchbetterplace."
Ever since the break in, she'd been gently bringing up the subject of my living

situation. Since my stay here is only temporary, I'll have to find a new place to live
comeMay.Seeinghowthat'smonthsaway,Ihaven'tgivenitmuchthought.Butitdoes
seem to preying on Mar's mind. And I know where she's headed. "With Ty Mathews,
youmean?"

"Yes.Youhavethisgorgeousmanwho'scrazyaboutyou.Hecallsyoueveryweek,

but you barely talk to him. He cares for you, but you push him away. Why are you
doingthis?Youcan'ttellmeyou'renotattractedtohim.Thechemistrybetweenyouis
undeniable.Thedayhehelpedyoumove,youcouldn'tkeepyoureyesfromhim."

Iwipemymouthwiththenapkin,sipsomecoffee,togivemetimetothink.True,I

want him with every ounce of my being. But that's not enough to form a lasting

relationship,notthekindthatthatIwant."It'sjustlust,nothingserious."

"Itmaynotbelove,butmaybeitcanleaduptoit.Ifyouonlygiveitachance."
"Whatgoodwoulditdo,Mar?He'saplayah.Yousaidsoyourself."
Shehitchesupabrow."Hewas.Butnotanymore."
"Andhowdoyouknowthis?"
"I've been spending time at the Outlaws compound on weekends. Setting up my

office, getting to know the players, that kind of thing. Word has it that Ty has totally
changed."

"Changedhow?"
"Hedoesn'tpartyanymore.Hecomestopractice.Doeswhathehastodo,and,at

theendoftheday,hegoeshome.Alone."

"Well,he'ssupposedtobetakingiteasy,sohecan'tverywellparty."
"Oh,comeon,MacKenna.Themancarriedabunchofboxesoutofyourplace.How

muchwashetakingiteasythen?"

"Thereweren'tthatmanyboxes,"Isayinmydefense.
"Apparently, the team physician told him he shouldn't exert himself in any way,

shapeorformwhichmeanshewasn'tsupposedtobeliftingathing."

"Howdoyouknowthat?"
She shrugs as she forks another piece of pie. "I talked to one of the physical

therapists.Thatshoulderwassupposedtobeimmobile.Andyetheriskedharmtohis
armandhiscareertomoveyourthings."

"Buthe'sokay,isn'the?Imeanhe'splayingagain.Theywouldn'thaveapprovedhis

returntothegameunlesshe'dhealed."

"Uhhuh."
Irestthepieforkontheedgeoftheplate."Sowhatwouldyoulikemetodo?"
"Giveloveachance,MacKenna.Afterwhathappenedtoyoursister,Igetwhyyou

haveanissuewithmen,butnoteverybodyislikeTommyHawkins.You'regivingup
an opportunity to date a man who cares for you, and maybe find something special
withhim.You'reallowingthepasttoruleyourlife."

"You'reright.Ihaveissueswhenitcomestomen.Butthat'snottheonlyreasonI

can't date him. I can't socialize with him while I'm working on his story. And I have
RyanTaylor'stodobeforehis."

"Sowhathappensafterthestory'sdone.Willyoudatehimthen?"
Avoiding Mar's gaze, I carefully fold the napkin, before rising to our dishes to the

sink."Idon'tthinkso."

Marfollowsmeintothekitchen."Whynot?"Shouldhaveknownshewouldn'tleave

thingsalone.

Irinseourplates,puttheminthedishwasherandsetittowash.Doneavoidingher

question,Iturnbacktoher."Ican'tsay.Pleasedon'tpushmeonthis."

"Okay.I'lldropit.Fornow."
"Good."Idrymyhandsonakitchentowelandhangituponitshook."Nowcanwe

changethesubject?"

"Allright."
"Morecoffee?"
"Please."

After I brew us some fresh java, I bring our cups to the coffee table in the living

room.

She dumps four teaspoons of sugar in the coffee and enough cream to make the

brewacafeaulait."So,havethepolicegottenanyleadsonTommyHawkins?"

"No.Thedetectivecalledacoupleofdaysago.Hedidn'thavemuchtoshare."
"Surely,thatlowlifedidn'tdisappearintothinair."
Beforeanswering,Istirateaspoonofhoneyandadollopofcreamintomycoffee.

"MaybeheleftChicago."

"Hetravelsallthewayheretorevengehimselfonyouandthenleaves?Idon'tbuy

it."

"You'renotmakingmefeelanybetter."
"Idon'twantyoutofeelbetter.Iwantyoutorealizethedangeryou'rein."
"Itakecare.Ido."
"Youmaynowliveinasecuredbuilding.Butyourparkinglotatworkisnotsafe.It's

outintheopen."

"Attheendoftheday,Iwalkoutwithsomebodyelsetomycar.SometimesDotty

and I ride together. And I carry a baton in my purse and pepper spray on my key
chain."

"What about when you have to go on an assignment? Like the women's shelter?

Thatplaceisnotinthebestplaceintown."

"ItookanUbersoIwouldn'thavetopark,gotdroppedrightinfrontoftheirdoor.I

didthesamewhenIreturnedtothenewspaper.Itakecare,Mar."

Sheshudders."Iworryaboutyou,MacKenna.PleaseletmetalktoOliver.I'msure

he'darrangesecurityforyou."

"AndowehimmorethanIalreadydo?Nothanks."Iclickonthetelevision."Look,

thegame'sabouttostart."

She gives me a side glance, but doesn't say anything more. She's not the only one

worried.SoamI.UntilTommyHawkinsiscaught,Iliveinfearofwhatmayhappen.
ButI'vetakenasmanyprecautionsasIcan.Theywillhavetobeenough.

C H A P T E R 2 4

EADALLABOUTIT,LADIES!"RyanTaylorstrutsintotheOutlaws'lockerroom,
carryinganarmfulofnewspapers.Theremustbethirtyoftheminhishand.

"Whatyoutalkingabout,man?"oneofthelinebackersasks.
"MyarticleinTheChicagoChronicle.Itcameoutthismorning.Grabbedabunchof

copiessoyoucouldreadallaboutme."

"Did that rookie reporter write the piece? The one who wrote about Ron and Mad

Dog?" someone asks. After the articles of Todd and Mad Dog had given the Outlaws
such great publicity and shed such positive light on the players, some of the Outlaws
had clamored to be interviewed by MacKenna. But she'd only signed up to interview
thefourofus—Ron,MadDog,Ryanandme.Untilnextseason.Maybethenshewould
interviewmoreplayers.

"Theverysameone."
Adefensivebackgrabsacopy."Wishshe'dwriteaboutme."
Ryan pounds him on the back. "If you ever do anything anybody wanted to read

about,shewill."

ThebackwhooutweighsRyanbyatleastahundredpoundsshoveshim."Buzzoff."
"Ah,thepriceofglory.Jealous,areyou?"
"Jealous?Ofyou?"Hesnorts."Icrapbiggerthanyou."
Ignoringtheinsult,Ryancontinuespassingoutthenewspapers,whethertheplayers

wantthemornot.Thearticlemusthavebeenpositiveifhe'scrowingaboutit.

"Sowho'sthenextplayertobeinterviewed?"aplayerasks.
"Ty,isn'tit?"someoneelsesays.
"Listentothis."Oneofthespecialteamsplayers,holdsupthenewspaperandreads.

'RyanTaylorhasthebestrecordofanykickerintheleaguethisseason.Withthirtysix
goals to his credit, this future Hall of Famer is an outstanding asset to the Chicago
Outlawsandoneofthereasonsfortheteam'swinninggames.'

Can't fault MacKenna for that statement. As far as Ryan's professional career is

concerned,healmostnevermisses.Hedefinitelyhastheknackforkickingfieldgoals.

"That's right. That's right." Ryan struts up to me. "Of course, I'm sure my magic

tonguehadsomethingtodowithit.Thatrookiereporter'shotforme."

"Yousonofabitch."Iswingathim,clippinghimonthejaw.Ifallonhimandwe

rollonthefloortradingpunches.Thelockerroomeruptswithplayerstryingtopryme
offhim.Igetonemorelastpunchtohisgut,beforeI'mstoppedcold.

"Mathews,"CoachGronowskiyells."Myoffice."
"Man,you'reintroublenow,"oneofthesecondstringsafetiessays.
"Shutit."Ibarkathim.
IfollowCoachtohisoffice.AssoonasIwalkin,heslamsshutthedoor."Parkyour

buttinthatchair."

Hetakeshistimecirclingthedesk,pickingupapaper.Signaturesmovesthattellme

he's trying to calm down. I expect more yelling, but he surprises me. "How's the
shoulder?"

Irollitandbitebackawince."Fine."
"Yousureaboutthat?"Eagle-eyeGronowskihasn'tmissedathinginfifteenyearsof

coaching.He'snotabouttostartnow.

Still,Ilie."Yeah,I'msure."
"Sureyouare.Ifyougothurt,you'dbeoutjustaswe'reabouttomaketheplayoffs.

Sowhydidyoutakeaswingathim?"

Ijammyarmsacrossmychest."HesaidsomethingIdidn'tlike."
"It'sthatrookiereporter,isn'tit?"
Inod.
He takes off his cap and slams it on the desk. "Damn it. I knew she was going to

causeproblems.Ithoughtyouhadmoresense,though."

Ishrug.
"Youdorealizethepenaltyforstartingafightinthelockerroom,don'tyou?"
Ishould.Itgetsdrilledintoeachplayereveryyear."Yes."
"Youdon'tthinkI'mgoingtogiveyouanyspecialtreatment,doyou?Justbecause

you're the top ranked league quarterback doesn't mean shit. Not to me. That locker
roomissacred.Youplayasateamwiththeentireteamoryoudon'tplayatall.Yougot
me?"

"Yes,sir."
"Youthinkthiswillbekeptin-house,thinkagain.Therewerenewspaperreporters

inthelockerroom.I'msurethestoryhasalreadymadethenews."

"Heshouldn'thavesaidwhathesaidaboutMacKenna."
"Whatthefuckdidhesay?"
"Thatshewasbeggingforit.Fromhim."
"Andwhatifshewere?What'sthattoyou?She'sjustareporter,forheaven'ssakes."
Irushtomyfeet."She'smorethanthattome."
"Likewhat?Agirlfriend?"
"No.She'sjusta...Friend.Andevenifsheweren't,heshouldn'tbetalkingabouta

womanthatway."

"He'salwayshadaproblemwithwomen.Thewayhetreatsthem,talksaboutthem.

We'vetriedtoreinhiminasbestwecould.Buthe'sagrownman."

"Youcanfinehim."
"That'suptoOliverLyons.He'stheonlyonewhocaninvokethemoralsclausein

hiscontract.Oranyotherplayer's.Taylormaysteprightuptotheline,buthe'snever

crossed it. And I wouldn't insist he do something about Taylor, if I were you. I know
whatgoesinthatPlatinumclub.And,youbetterbelieveit,sodotheowneroftheclub."

"I'mnotdoingthatanymore."
"Well,goodforyou.Gladyougotreligion."Hepointstothechair."Nowsit,andI'll

tellyouwhat'sgoingtohappen."

Idropintothechair.Knowingwhat'scomingdoesn'tmakeitsoundanybetter.
"I'mgoingtofineyou$10,000forstartingthefight."
"Right."
"AndthenI'mgoingtobenchyouforthisweek'sgame."
Ijumptomyfeet."Whatthefuck?"
"Sit.Down."OnceIdo,hecontinues."I'dbeenthinkingaboutdoingjustthat.This

littletodojusthelpedmereachthedecision."

"Whyareyoudoingthis?Afinewouldbemorethanenough."
"Who'sthecoachhere,Mathews?Youorme?"
"You,sir."
"Yougotthatright.Nowlistentome.Seeinghowwe'vegottheDivisionsewnup,I

don't want to take chances with you. We can afford the loss. If it happens. Which it
won't. The Los Angeles Firecrackers has a hard time finding the end zone. This way
Pedrowillgetmoreplaytime,andyougettogivethatarmofyoursarest.We'regoing
toneeditduringtheplayoffs."

"That'sgoodtoknow."Ispitout.
"Plus,itwilllooklikeIpunishedyouforstartingafightinthelockerroom.Notthat

thatsonofabitchdidn'tdeserveit.He'stoocockyforhisowngood."Hejamsonhis
hat."Now,gobacktothelockerroomandtellPedroIwanttoseehim."

"Yes,sir.Whatdoyouwantmetodotherestoftheweek?"
"Study the Los Angeles defenses. And then sit down with Pedro and share

everythingyou'velearned."

"Yes.Sir."Ibiteout.Nobodytoblamebutmyselfforbeingsenttowarmthebench.
"Youmaynotthinkso,butI'mdoingthisforyourowngood.Andtheteam's.Now

gogetthatshoulderchecked."

"Why?"
"Becauseafewminutesago,youwinced.Iwanttomakesureyou're100%forthe

playoffs.Don'tletmedown,Mathews."

"Ihaven'tfailedyouyet,Coach."
"That'sright,son.Andyouneverwill.IknowtruebluewhenIseeit.Now,goand

thathavethatshouldercheckedoutbyDocLatimer."

C H A P T E R 2 5

MacKenna

OMEFORCHRISTMAS.Iamhappytoseemyfolks.Butthesayingistrue.You
can'tgohomeagain.I'vegrowntoousedtothehustleandbustleofChicago,to

theconstantnoiseofthestreets.Thedeafeningquietofmyparents'farmunsettlesme.

They'rethesameasIleftthem.Alittlegrayer,alittlemoreworn.Farmingtakesa

lotoutofpeople,and,ashardastheywork,itshows.

Afterweopenthepresentsandeatingafarmbreakfast,wesettledowntothe"How

areyoudoingportionofthevisit?"

"So, you must be doing well, MacKenna. That car out there doesn't come cheap."

Withmycarhadbeenjunked,IwasstilldrivingtheMercedesOliverLyonshadoffered
me. I kept telling myself I needed to return it, but with no other viable alternative, I
didn'tseeawaytodoso.AndhehadsaidIcouldkeepitforaslongasIwantedto.

"We were thinking, MacKenna, about selling the farm. We're not as young as we

usedtobe,andwell,Elliehere—"hetapsmymother'shand"—wantstosoakupsome
sun."

"Thatsoundsgreat,Dad.You'vebothworkedhard.Sowho'dyousellthefarmto."
"Aconglomerate'sbuyingalotthelandinthisarea.Payingtopdollartoo.They've

gotthesenewfangledwaystotilltheland.Probablyaddawholebunchofchemicalsto
it."Mydadhadfarmedorganicallyhiswholelife,minimizingthechemicalsprayingas
longashecould."Hatetothinkofhowmuchdamagethey'lldo.But,it'stimetomove
on. Hey, Ellie." He pats my mother's hand. One thing about them, they'd always
treasured each other, to the point that Jeanie and I sometimes felt left out. But you
couldn'tfaulttheirmarriage.Theyheldtruetoeachothertheirentirelives.

"Sowhereyouthinkingofmoving?Florida?"Iask.
"No,"dadsays."ElliehasahankeringforArizona.Heroldbones—"
"George,I'mnotthatold.Andyoursareolderthanmineanyhow."
"Now, Ellie, don't get your shorts in a twist." He leans over and kisses her cheek

beforeturninghisattentionbacktome."ThedryheatofArizonawillbebetterforher
arthritis."

About five years back, my mom had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.

She'd suffered through the cold winters of Iowa for all that time. Although she takes

medicationforit,thereisnowaytostopthedisease.Thewarm,dryclimateofArizona
willhelpherdealwiththedisease.

,whendoyouthinkyou'llsell."

Soon.Theywanttocompletethedealbeforesummer.So,April,May."Soifthere's

anythingyou'dliketotakewithyounowwouldprobablybeagoodtimetodothat."

I taken all my stretcher processions with me when I first moved to Chicago,,

includingmyPaddingtonBear.Butsincemythingshadbeentornordestroyedwhen
Tommie Hawkins had broken into my apartment, I had a hankering for something
familiar."DoyoustillhaveJeanie'sthings?"

"Jeanie's?"mydadasks."Whywouldyouwantthose?"
"Now,George,"mymomsays."They'reupstairs,dear.Intheattic."
"I'd like to go through them. Take some things with me." They'd be a reminder of

thesisterIdearlyloved."Howisshe?"

"Fine.Fine,"dadsays,lookingdown.Afterherassault,he'sneverbeencomfortable

talkingaboutJeanie.

"Haveyouseenher?"
"Notsincesummer."
"Youhaven'tspokentoherforsixmonths?"
"Loweryourvoice,dear.Itupsetsyourfatherwhenyouyellathim."
Heshouldbeupset.Thewayhe'streatedJeanieisadisgrace.It'slikehewroteher

off.Aftershe'dbeenkidnapped,hecouldbarelylookather.ButthenIknowwhathe
doeswithanimalsthataren'tright.Heshootsthem.

"Thetruthofthematterisshedoesn'trecognizeus.Shehasnoideawhoweare."
"Butyouknowwhosheis.She'syourdaughter."
Myfatherflinches.
ButIdon'tcare."Whatareyoudoingabouther?Whenyoumove?"
"Why,she'sstayingrightwhereshe'sat.Whereelsewouldshego?"
"Youcantakeherwithyou."
"Oh,wecan'tdothat,dear.Thedoctorsaysitwouldupsetherifweweretodothat.

Shemightregressevenmorethanshealreadyhas."

I jump to my feet to pace up and down the dining room, flailing my arms, tears

runningdownmyface."Howcouldyoudothat?Howcouldyoumoveawayandleave
herbehind?"Theylooksonormalontheoutside.Butinsidethey'remonsters.

"Now, MacKenna. We're doing what's best for her. What her doctor advised. And,

evenifwe,you'llbenearher.Chicagoisfourhoursaway.Youcanvisitheranytime."

"Fourhoursistoofaraway.IwanthernearmeinChicago."
"You're being selfish. The place she's at is the best for her. But go see her by all

means.Talktothedoctorsthere.Iftheyapproveit,we'llmoveherclosertoyou."

ThedayafterChristmasIdojustthat.I'mshowntothevisitor'sroom,asmall,white

walled room, sterile. Other than a table and two chairs, there's nothing else in the
room.

My sister arrives with an attendant by her side, dressed in a sweater and a pair of

darkslacks.Herhair'sadarkershadeofredthanmine,andhereyesarebrown.She's

thirty now, eight years older than me, but still as beautiful as ever. That beauty had
beenhercurse.It'dgottentheattentionofmanyateenageboy,andTommyHawkins,
agrownman.

Assoonasshestepsintotheroom,InearhersoIcankisshercheek,butshecowers

awayfromme,andclosertotheattendant.

"Shedoesn'tliketobetouched.I'msorry."Theattendant'seyessmilekindlyonme,

offeringmewhatlittlecomforttheycan.

"Jeanie,howareyou?"
Mysister'seyesturnwary,sounlikethewarm,shinylookthatgazedoutofhereyes

solongago."Fine."

"That'sgreat."
"Bettersit.Acrossthetable.Shelikestheprotectionofthetable."
Iwanttoscreamthatthere'snoneedforprotection,notagainstme.But,ofcourse,I

wouldn'tgetanywhere.Ifanything,IwouldprobablycauseJeaniemoreupset.

OnceItakemyseatacrossthetablefromher,Jeanierelaxeshershoulders,andshe

takestostaringoutthewindow.There'snothingtoseeoutthere,exceptforsomebare
trees.

"Shelookswell."Iaddressthisstatementtotheattendant.
"Sheis.We'reveryfondofyoursister.Shenevercausesanyproblemsforthestaff,

except when she meets a new member of the staff. We have to be very careful to
introducehertoanynewmembersofthestaff.Shegetsupsetthen."

"What does she do?" The old Jeanie loved to dance and sing around the room we

sharedasgirls.

"Well,shelikestoplaywithherdolls."
"Shehasdolls?"
"Yes.Yourparentsbroughtthemtoher."
Goodtoknowthey'vedonesomethingpositiveforJeanie.
"Andshelovestolistentomusic."
"Yes,shelikedthatgrowingup.Doesshedance?"
"No.That'shardtodowithherleg."
ThelegTommyHawkinshadbroken.Thebastardhadnotonlytakenherbodyand

her mind, but robbed her of the ability to dance. "Yes, of course." I swallow back the
bilethatrisesinmystomach."Isthereanythingsheneeds?"

"No.She'swarmandhappyinherownworld."
"MacKenna."
Justthatonewordgetsmyattention."Jeanie."
"YourememberFlopsie?"
"OurCollie.Yes."
"Hekilledher,youknow.Soshewouldn'tbark.Hetoldme."
ThistimeIcan'tstopthetearsfromflowing.ThetearsI'veheldbackforsomany

years."I'msosorry,sweetheart."

"Metoo."Andthensheturnsherheadandreturnstostaringatthewindow.AndI

knowshe'sgonebackintothatworldsheinhabits,wherethere'snopain,wherenoone
canhurther.

AftermyvisitwithJeanie,Italktoherdoctor.Heprettymuchconfirmswhatmy

parents told me. What I saw for myself in the sterile, white room. I can't move my
sisterclosertome.IfIdid,shemightlosewhateverholdinthisworldshehasleft.

C H A P T E R 2 6

ITH THE FIRST GAME OF THE PLAYOFFS WON, we turn our sights to the next
team—theTexasRoughriders.They'remeansonsofbitcheswho'djustassoon

tearmyheadoff.ButIhaveafirstrateoffensivelinewho'lldowhatevertheyhaveto
dotoprotectme.Still,mylegshavetodomoreofthework.I'llhavetomovearoundin
the pocket, in order to find an open receiver, maybe do a dash myself to get the first
down.Weendedupwinningthegame24to16.Alittletoocloseforcomfort.Butthen
wegaveourfansathrill.

Afterthepeptalkinthelockerroom,we'rereleased.Althoughafewplayersdecide

toattendthepartyatanearbyhotel,mostopttogohometonursetheirachingbodies.
Ihaven'tfeltmuchlikecelebratinglately.Mainly,becauseallIwanttodoisgohome.
Not to the house I own, but MacKenna. But I still have to get through the post-game
interviews.

So,afterIshoweranddressinmystreetclothes,Idowhat'srequiredofme.
"Ty,howdoesyourshoulderfeel?"Someoneasks.
"Fine.Betterthanfine."
"Noproblemswiththerotatorcuff,then."
"None whatsoever." I give the shoulder a roll just to show that it's working quite

fine.

"So you'll be ready for San Francisco. They have the most quarterback sacks this

season."

Ispitoutthelinethat'sexpectedofme."SanFranciscoisagreatteamandtheyhave

agreatdefense.ButIhavealltheconfidenceintheworldinmyoffensiveline."

With the press conference over, I drag my sorry ass to my car. I may be all

confidenceinfrontofthosereporters,buthere,intheprivacyofmyCherokee,Iface
uptothetruth.Iacheallover,andmyshoulderthrobslikeasonofabitch.ThankGod
tomorrowisrestday,andIcankeeptheshoulderimmobilizedallday.

My phone rings. Fuck? Who could it be? When caller ID reveals it's the woman

who'shauntedmydreamseverynightforthelasttwomonths,Ican’thittheconnect
buttonfastenough."MacKenna."

"Ty.Isawthegame.Congratulations."

"Thanks." Fuck if my voice doesn't emerge rough and needy, but then I've never

hadmuchcontrolaroundher.

"Iwasthinking—"
"Yes."
Sheletsoutoneofthosetinklylaughsofhers,theonesthatsoundlikesunshineand

rainbows."Youdon'tevenknowwhatI'mgoingtosay."

"I'msogladyoucalled."
"Metoo.It'sbeentoolong."Acoupleofbeatsofsilenceoccur."So,Imadeapotof

beefstew.Toomuchformetoeat,really.There'sjustnowayIcaneatalltheleftovers.
So,Iwasthinking—"

"Yes."Thistimethesinglewordmakessense."Yes,Icancomeoverfordinner."
"Great.It'llbereadyinanhour."
"I'llbringsomewine."
"Seeyouthen."
"Seeyou."
I don't think I can wait an hour to see her, but rather than rush right over to her

place,Istopatminetopickupacoupleofbottlesofwine.Abordeauxandacabernet
sauvignon.Imanagetomakeittoherplaceonlyfifteenminutesearly.Inotherwords,
right on time. Even though I've cased the place several times from the outside, I've
neverseentheinsideofthebuilding.Exceptontheinternetthatis.AndI'mhappyto
seeit'squiteanimprovementoverthePOSplaceshelivedin.Littledoessheknowit,
but I paid off the last nine months of her rent to that bastard of her landlord so he
wouldn'tbugheragain.

She'sleftmynamewiththeconcierge,soIhavenoproblemsgettingin.I'mbuzzed

up the elevator to her floor. She waits for me at her door, holding the leash to that
GoldenLabshe'sdogsitting.

TheLab'sprettylaidbackwhenIapproach,notbarkingoranything.Sheintroduces

us,Ilethimsmellmyhand.Satisfied,hegivesmyhandanudge.

"He'sprettyfriendly."
"Icanseethat.Howareyou?"Ihaven'tbeenthisclosetoherintwomonths,butit

seemslikeforever.

"Fine."ExceptthatIcanseeshe'snotfine.Therearedarkshadowsunderhereyes.

Andherface'spale.Shehasthisluminescentwhiteskin,butevenso,shelookspaleto
me.

"Yousure?"
She bites her bottom lip, and glances down. "It was tough going home for

Christmas."

Oh, God, she's hurting. And she needs me. That's why she called. Unable to stop

myself,Icurlmyhandaroundthenapeofherneck,notinasensualway,buttoshow
my support. Whatever she needs, I'm there for her. "You want to talk about it,
sweetheart?"

Withasoftsigh,shegazesupatme."Yeah.IguessIdo."
I'vemissedthisvulnerabilityofhers.Thisneedforashouldertoleanonwhileshe's

going through a tough time. God knows I have two strong shoulders. She can have
eitherone.Besides,Iknownexttonothingabouther.Sothiswillgivemeachanceto

gettoknowherbetter.

"Comein,please."Sheoffersopeningthedoorwider.
"Okay,"Isay,steppingthrough."Ibroughtwine."
"Thestew'salmostdone.Imadefreshbreadtoo."Hersmile'snotthesmileofold,

butanewsadone.Whatonearthhappenedtoherbackhome?

Right here and now, I make it my goal to make her feel good. Whatever it takes.

"Smellsgreat.AndhereIthoughtIwasthecook."

She takes my coat and hangs it in the foyer closet before leading the way to the

kitchen.RoscoandIfollowalong.Truthis,I'dfollowheranywhere.

"Whydon'tyoudecantthewinewhileIladlethestew?"
"Greatidea."
Once she's done plating the bowls, she walks into the dining room. "Bit too much,

isn'tit?"

The space reminds me of one I saw in Texas when I worked as a caddy at an

exclusive golf club. Embroidered chairs and an extension table, crafted in a rich, red
oak, blood red paint on the walls, and a black-iron chandelier to shine over it all.
Everythingintheroommatchestheopulentdecor,fromtheembroideredplacemats,
totheexoticchinaandcrystalandtheornatesilverflatware.

"Not my style, but I appreciate its beauty," I say, setting down the other plate. "I'll

grabthewine."

"AndI'llgetthewater."
Asbefore,weseemtohaveaperfectrhythmduringameal.Andthat'snottheonly

placewherewepairupwell.

Shereturnstothetablewithapitcheroficewaterandthefragrantbreadandbutter,

andIpourthewine.Soon,we'resittingdowninthegorgeousdiningroomtoenjoyour
meal."Itaddsacertaincache,though,don'tyouthink?"sheasks,lookingaround.

"I do." Don't have any idea what cache means, but if she thinks so, I'll agree with

her.

As if she's reading my mind, she says, "Elegance. The room adds elegance to my

simplemeal.”

"Nothingsimpleaboutit."Islatherthebreadwithbutterandbiteintoit."Ummm."
"Youlikeit?"
"Likeit?Ifuckingloveit."Itearoffanotherpiece,slathermorebutteronit,andpop

itintomymouth.

Shepropsherelbowonthetableandherheadonherhand."Ilovewatchingyou

eat.Youdoitwithsomuchgusto."

"Ienjoyfood,that'sforsure."
"Well,youareabigguy."
"Well,thebigpartistrue,aswellyouknow."Iwinkather.
Predictably,sheblushes."Iwalkedrightintothatone,didn'tI?"
"Yeah,youdid."Ipointatherplate."Eat."
Shedipsherspooninthestew.Prettysoonshe'scleaningupherbowlwithapiece

ofbread.

Afterasecondbowl,Ifoldmynapkin."Itwasverygood.Yourstew."
"Yeah,ifIdosaysomyself."

"Sinceyoucooked,I'lldothedishes."
"Webothwill."
Within ten minute, we're done. After she puts the leftovers in some plastic

containers to take to the office. She offers me some, but I turn her down. "We'll be
eatingatthecompoundallweek.Partoftheplayoffsschedule."

"Evendinner?"
"Yes.Evendinner.Theyonlyallowustogohometosleep.Thatway,wecan'tget

intotrouble."

She folds up the kitchen towel and hangs it on its hook. "Platinum trouble, you

mean?"

"Somethinglikethat.NotthatI'vebeentherelately."
"Youhaven't?"
"Nope."
"Howaboutwehavecoffeeandpieinthelivingroom?"
"Whatkindofpie?"
"Pecan."
"Bestillmybeatingheart."
"You're silly." She grins. I take a towel and snap her butt, and she snaps me right

back.Somehowsheslips,butIcatchherbeforeshefalls.

"MacKenna.God,I'vemissedyou."
"Metoo."
"Whyareyoustayingaway?"
"Youknowwhy.Becauseofthearticle."
"Whenareyougoingtofinishthatdamnthing.Iwantyoubackinmybed."
"Ty.”Shepushesaway.“Ifoundoutsomethings."
"Whatthings?"
"Let'stakethecoffeeandpietolivingroom,andI'lltellyou."
ShetellsmeabouthertriptoNebraskaStateandwhatshefoundthere.AboutEmily

Suarez and the night of the assault. About Coach Gronowski strong arming the
newspaper.AboutRyanandmebeingattheparty.

"Youknewher."
"Emily?Yes,Iknewher.ShefollowedmetoNebraskaState."
"Why?"
"Shehadacrushonme.ButIonlysawherasafriend."
"Youneverdatedher?"
"No.Iwastoobusywithfootballandschool.Iwasoneofthoseraritiesincollege.A

playerwhostudiedandattendedclasses."

"Youwere?"
"Yes.Surefootballwasimportant,butIknewenoughaboutthesporttoknowthat

one day, I'd need more than that. I make a lot of money, MacKenna. An investment
firmmanagesitforme.BythetimeI'mthirty,Ishouldbesetforlife."

"Isthatwhenyouplantoretire?"
"IfIdon'tgetinjuredbeforethen.Orifmyarmgivesout."
"Thenightoftheparty—"
"Ineversawher.IsweartoyouI'mtellingthetruth."

"Wherewereyou?"
Itakeadeepbreath,letitout."Upstairsinmyroomwithtwogirls."
"Girls?"
"Women.Twowomen.Ajuniorandasenior,definitelyolderthanme."
"IguessIdon'thavetoaskyouwhatyouweredoing."
"Getting drunk and having sex. They both vouched for me when the police

questionedmywhereabouts."

"Howoldwereyou?"
"Eighteen."
"DidyouknowEmilywascomingtotheparty."
"No.IfIhad,Iwouldhavetoldhertostayaway."
"Why?"
"WecamefromaverysmalltowninTexas.Shewasprettynaive.SowasIforthat

matter. I learned fast. She . . . didn't. When I found out the next morning, I felt
responsible.EventhoughIhadnoideashewascoming,Ishouldhaveknown."

"Why?"
"She was dating somebody in the frat house. She kept mentioning it. But when I

askedherhisname,shewouldn'ttellme.IthoughtitwasjustEmilytryingtomakeme
jealousorsomething."

"Didyoueverfindout?"
"No. I never did. Whenever I tried to talk to her about that night, she’d end up

crying.Shewenttocounselingforawhile,buthergradessufferedthatsemester,and
thenshestoppedgoingtoclassesaltogether."

"Didyouknowshewaspregnant?"
"God,no.IfIhad,Iwouldhave—Idon'tknow,donesomething."
"Likewhat?"
"Idon'tknow.ToldherI'dbethereforher.Ifsheneededme.Butshenevergave

methechance."

"I'mflyingtoTexastotalktohermom.OnceIdothat,I'llwriteyourstory."
"Good.Mrs.Suarezisanicesort.Youcancountonhertotellyouthetruth."
"Whatisthetruth,Ty?"
"That I liked her daughter as a friend, that Emily followed me to Nebraska State

becauseshehadacrushonme,thatshecametothepartyandwasraped.AndthatI
hadnothingtodowithit.Iswearonmymother'sgrave.Youbelieveme,don'tyou?"

C H A P T E R 2 7

MacKenna

OIBELIEVETY?Yes,Ido.Everythinginmetellsmehe'stellingthetruth.Ican't
see him ignoring his friend at the party, especially a young woman he'd known

from back home. Today's interview with Emily Suarez's mother should affirm that
belief.

AstheplanetouchesdowninLongview,Texas,Itakealongbreath.Theentiretrip

hastakenalmostfivehoursfromChicagoO'Hare,withastopoverinDallas-Ft.Worth,
andIstillhaveanhour'sdrivetoTy'ssmalltown.Butafterleavingthefrozentundra
that is Chicago, the fifties temperatures of Texas seems almost balmy. The terrain
variesfromundulatingtorolling,andthemostlyfarmlandisbrokennowandthenbya
forest.MuchofitremindsmeofIowa.

Thesmalltownliterallyisaonestopsignplace.Ifyoublinkyoumissedit.Ittakes

me no time at all to find Mrs. Suarez's house. Dressed all in black, she welcomes me
with a sad smile. But it's a welcome, nonetheless. She serves me strong coffee and
sweetpastelesthatshelearnedtocookfromhermother.Emilywasheronlychildand
now she faces the rest of her years alone. Her sister who lives in California has
encouragedhertomovethere.Andeveryyear,shelosesonemorereasonnottogo.

Oncewegetpastthepleasantries,Istarttheinterview."DoyoumindifIrecordour

conversation?"

"No,ofcoursenot."
"TellmeaboutEmily."
"Shewasyoungandbeautifulandsmart.Didyouknow,sheearnedascholarshipat

theUniversityofTexas?"

"No,Ididn't."
"Shecouldhavestayedhome.Well,inTexas,anyhow."
"Butshedidn't?Why?"EventhoughIknowtheanswertothisquestion,Ihaveto

ask.

"BecauseofTyMathews."Hisnameemergesinasoftwhisper,likeamemoryyou

wishtoforget."Duringhighschool,shedevelopedahugecrushonhim."

I can see that. I can only imagine what Ty must have been like back then. Maybe

notasfitasheisnow,butprobablyasgorgeousasever.Howcouldshenotfallenfor

the stunning quarterback with the killer smile? "So she followed him to Nebraska
State?"

"Yes.Theywerejustfriends.Oratleastthat'sthewayhesawher.Heneverledher

on. But my Emily? Hope sprung eternal in her. She thought if she could make him
noticeherasawoman,hewouldfallinlovewithher."

"Buthedidn't?"
"No.Heneverdid.Heremainedfriendswithher,butthatwasit."
"Howdoyouknow?"
"Well,shetoldme.Wetalkedeveryweek.She'dsharehercomingsandgoingswith

me.Herclasses.Herfriends.Tyalwaysfiguredinthemprominently.Butthenshemet
someoneelse."

"Whowasit?"
"She never told me. A boy she met in one of her classes. He needed help with a

paper and she helped him with it. From what she said, I think she did much of the
writing." A rictus of pain rolls across her face. "And then one week in the spring, she
didn't call. So I dialed her number. Even over the phone, I could tell something was
wrong."

"Whenwasthat?"
"ThefirstweekinMarch."
Hadtohavebeenaftertheassault."Shedidn'ttellyouwhathappenedtoher?"
"No.Shecouldn'tbeartotellme."Shewipesatearfromherface."Iwishshehad.I

wouldhaveflownthereandbroughtherhome."Ashudderrunsthroughherbody."In
theend,Idid."

Butnotthewayshewanted.She'dbroughtherdaughterhomeinacaskettolayher

toherfinalrest."I'msosorry,Mrs.Suarez."Reachingover,Isqueezeherhand.Iclose
my notebook and shut off the recorder. I've pried and poked into this woman's pain
enough. Even though she hasn't revealed anything new about her daughter's assault,
I'veconfirmedTyactedhonorably."Well,Ibettergo.Thankyouforyourtime."

"Youwillwrite...kindlyaboutEmily."
"Ofcourse.Don'tyouworryaboutthat."
"I wonder . . ." Her hesitation floats in the air between us, like a living, breathing

thing.

"Youwonderwhat,Mrs.Suarez?"
"Emilykeptajournal."
Forasecond,myheartstops."Didshe?"
"Yes.Ireadpartofit.Thehappytimeswhenshefirstarrivedincollege.Shewasso

full of hope and dreams then." Looking off into the distance, she heaves a laborious
sigh.

Her daughter had been much like my sister. Jeanie had hopes and dreams of her

own. She wanted to sing and dance on Broadway. That's how she first caught the
attention of Tommy Hawkins. At a high school performance of Oklahoma. After he'd
seenheract,he'dappliedforajobinourfarmasalaborer.Andthenhe'drapedand
beatenher,killingoffherchancesofahappyfuture,nevermindthestage.

IneedMrs.Suareztoknowshe'snotaloneinherpain.Maybethatwillcomforther,

eveninsomesmallway."Ihaveasister,Mrs.Suarez,whowasabused,aswell.Much

likeEmily,shehadhopesanddreams.Buttheyweretakenfromher.SoIunderstand."
Isqueezeherhand."Truly,Ido."

Her eyes shimmer with tears, even as she struggles to bring forth a smile "Thank

you,Ms.Perkins.Ireallybelieveyoudo."

"Soyoudonotknowwhat'sintherestofthejournal?"
"No.Andneitherdoesanyoneelse."
"Howcanthatbe?Wouldn'tthepolicehavelookedatit?"
Sheshakesherhead."Emilyhadaverynosyroommatewholovedtopryintoher

things.Soshegluedabookcoveraroundherjournalsoherroommatewouldn'tknow
whatitwas.Thepolicemusthavethoughtitwasabook,aswell.Ionlyrealizeditwas
her diary two years ago, when I donated some books to our local library, and the
librarianpointedoutthewritinginside."Foracoupleofseconds,she'ssilent.Andthen
shefirmshershouldersandstaresrightatme."Ithinkyoushouldreadit,Ms.Perkins."

God knows I want to, but I have to be honest. "What if I find . . . something

unpleasantaboutEmily?"

"You won't. My Emily was true blue. I trust you, Ms. Perkins. Publish the truth.

MaybethenIcanlaymyguilttorest."

I understand what she means. She's probably blaming herself for her daughter's

death.Somehow,sheshouldhaveknownwhatherdaughterwasgoingthrougheven
thoughshewasthousandsofmilesaway.She'ssufferingthesameguiltI'vefeltsince
that monster raped my sister. Maybe it's the price we pay for surviving. "Thank you,
Mrs.Suarez.Iwon'tbetrayyourtrust."

Afterashortgoodbye,IheadtotheLongviewairportforthelongtripback.During

thetwo-hourlayoverinDallas-Ft.Worth,IreadtherelevantsectionsofEmily'sjournal
which reveals the great, big ugly truth of what happened that night, including the
identity of the person who could have stopped Emily from getting raped. That truth
bringsmenojoy.

C H A P T E R 2 8

MacKenna

WALK INTO THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE the next day to discover all hell's broken
loose.Mr.Bartlett'sholedupinhisofficeyellingintohisphone.Nooneseemsto

be working. They're either running from one cubicle to another or confabbing in
clumps.

"What'sgoingon?"IaskDotty.
Butbeforeshehasachancetosayanything,Mr.Bartlettstickshisheadoutofhis

office."Perkins.Getinhere."

"Headsup."DottynodstowardRandyBrennan'scubicle."It'sabouttheworm."
Idon'thavemuchtimetointerpretthatcrypticremarkbeforeIfindmyselfinMr.

Bartlett'sofficewiththedoorslammedbehindme.He'sbeenupsetmanyatime,but
nothinglikethis.Steam'spracticallycomingoutofhisears.He'ssoangry,hecan'tsaya
word,takingouthisfrustrationonthecigartorntoshredsinhismouth.

"Youwantedtoseeme?"Isqueakout.
"You."Hepointstome."Him."HepointstoRandy'scubicle,hishandsshapedinto

clawsasifhewantstochokesomebody.

"Randy?Whatabouthim."
"This."Hetapshisdesktopcomputer'sscreen.
"Whatdidhedo?"
"HewroteyourarticleonTyMathews."
Mystomachtwists."Whatdoyoumeanmyarticle?"
"Hehasallthedetails,everythingyoudiscussedwithme."BeforeIleftforTexasI

had to come clean with Mr. Bartlett. I needed his approval for the trip after all. I'd
sharedwithhimwhatI'ddiscoveredandmyconclusionsregardingTy.Myeditorpulls
out his chair and invites me to sit before tapping the screen again. "Read this. This."
God,howbadcoulditbeifhecan'tevendescribeit?

Ihunkerintohisexecutiveseatandreadthearticleonthescreen.Publishedbya

gossip rag that pays by the word, the piece is not long. But the ten paragraphs or so
brand Ty Mathews as a seducer of a young, innocent girl, claiming he passed her
aroundhisfriendslikestore-boughtcandy.Irecognizemostofthedetailsinthestory
becauseit'sthestuffIlearnedfrommytriptoNebraskaState.HowcouldRandyhave

writtensuchlies?"Inevergavethatinformationtohim."

"Iknowyoudidn't."
"Sohowdidhegetit?"
"Hemusthavedownloadedtheinformationfromyourrecorder."
"ButI'vehaditwithmethewholetime."Ifishitoutofmypurseandshowhim.
"Heprobablystoleitoutofyourpursewhenyouweren'tlooking.Itwouldn'ttake

long.Atriptothebathroomwouldgivehimthetimetodoit.Hecoulddownloaditto
hiscomputerandreturntherecorderbeforeyoumissedit."

"Thatworm."Nothardtoseewhyhedidit.HewasgettingnowhereatTheWindy

CityChronicle,mainlybecausehecan'twriteworthadamn.Ispottedthreetyposinthis
pieceoffiltharticle,andhisuseoftheEnglishlanguageispooratbest.Sohe'dwrittena
scandalous piece sure to get the attention of the media, not giving a damn about the
damagehe'ddotoTyortheOutlaws."It'salie,youknow.Itwasn'tTythatturnedhis
backonEmily."

"Soyoufoundoutthetruth?"
IdigintomypurseandbringoutEmily'sjournal."Yes.Emilyhadadiaryandshe

wroteinitexactlywhathappenedthatnight."

"Howfastcanyouwritethatarticle?"
"It'shalfdone.Iworkedonitontheplanerideback."
"Finishthestoryandturnitinassoonasyoucan.It'llbeinSunday'sedition.We'll

fightlieswiththetruth."

"Yes,Mr.Bartlett."I'llpourblood,sweatandtearsintothatarticle,ifIhaveto,even

though the damage's done. People love scandals. Although my article will reveal the
truth,somepeoplewillprefertobelievetheliesinRandy'sarticle.EventhoughIdidn't
intendto,ImayhavedamagedTy'scareerbeyondrepair.

I work through my lunch hour and even through dinner. I only stop to eat when

Dotty places a turkey sandwich and a bag of veggie chips in front of me. "Eat. Before
youpassout."

Afterwolfingdownthesandwich,Igorightbacktothearticle.Butbyeleveno'clock,

the story's done. Hoping Mr. Bartlett will get a chance to read it tonight, I email it to
him.Tiredinbodyandsickatheart,Iturnoffmycubbyholelamp,gathermythings
andheadout.Mycar'stheonlyoneleftinthelot.I'dbeencarelessthismorning,and
hadfailedtoparkitunderoneofthelights.Soitsitsaloneinthedark.

Awindgustalmostknocksmedown,soIflipupmycoat'shoodieandhunkerdown

intoit.That'swhatsavesme.

JustasIreachmycar,afigureemergesfromtheshadows.Anarmclampsaround

me,andIknowexactlywhoitis.But,byGod,I'mprepared.InamoveIlearnedina
women'scollegecourseonselfdefense,Istomphisfootwithmyhardheeledboot,jab
him in the stomach with my elbow, and twist in his grasp. Freed for the moment, I
raise the baton I always have in my hand whenever I leave the office and strike his
head.

Buthe'sbigandstronganddoesn'tgiveupeasily.Hesnatchestheweaponfromme,

andstrikesmyshoulder.Asharppain,strongenoughtotakemybreathaway,shoots
throughme.Sonofabitch.Withmyarmnumb,Igotomysecondlineofdefense,Ilet
flythepeppersprayattachedtomykeychain.Bysheerdumbluck,I'mupwindfrom

him,sohegetsthefulleffect.

Screaming like a banshee, he lands on his knees and drops the baton. I pick it up,

andwhacktwohardblowsoneachsideofhishead.Bloodpoursfromhishair,notthat
I give a damn. I don't stop hitting him until he keels over, unconscious. For the first
timeinmylife,Iwishsomeonedead.

Withhandsshaking,Iracetomycar,lockmyselfin,andcallthepolice.Inlessthan

fiveminutestheyshowupalongwiththeEMTs.Shaking,Iexplainwhathappened.I
tellthemTommy'sname,andwhathedid.TheyexaminemeanddecideIneedtogo
to the hospital. I might have a broken clavicle. Before I get whisked away, I call
MarigoldandMr.Bartletttotellthemwhathappened.AndthenI'mtakenawayinan
emergencytransportvehiclewiththesirensscreamingalltheway.

Thehospitalisawhirlofactionasthedoctorsandnursesassessmysituation.I'm

conscious, which is probably more than can be said for Tommy Hawkins. But my
shoulderthrobslikeasonofabitch.Anx-rayconfirmsabrokenclavicle.Butit'snot
severe.I'llhavetowearmyarminaslingforsixtoeightweeksanddosomephysical
therapy exercises. Ibuprofen should help me deal with the pain. But right now, they
givemeanopioidtohelpdealwiththeimmediatepain.

Bythetime,thedoctor'stellingmeallthisnotonlyMarigoldarrives."MacKenna?

Oh,myGod.Whathappened?"

I'd only given her the bare facts when I called her so I provide more extensive

details about what went down. "I'm okay, Marigold. It's only a broken collarbone.
Nothingthataslingandsomepainpillscan'thandle."

"You'recominghomewithme."
"Ican't.Ihavetogohome.Rosco,remember?"
Up to now, Oliver's been silent letting Marigold handle the questions. But now he

stepsforward."I'lltakecareofRoscowhileyouheal."

"No.I'lldoit."Ty.Wheredidhecomefrom?
My head's in a jumble from the painkiller, but even so. I know I didn't call him.

"Whatareyoudoinghere?"

"Olivercalledme."
Iglareatmyformerfriend."Youshouldn'thave."
AllIgetisaraisedarchfromhim.
"MacKenna,heneededtoknow,"Marigoldsays.
"Why?"
"BecauseI'minlovewithyou,"Tysays,hisvoiceahushedwhisper.
Adeclarationofloveshouldcomeinaromanticsetting,withmusicplayinginthe

background.NotinahospitalERwhenIlooklikecrapfromgettingbeatup,andI've
losthalfmyholdwithrealityfromsomekickasspainmed.

Totheircredit,thedoctorandnursefittingmyarmintheslingkeepondoingtheir

thing,doingtheirlevelbesttoignorethestartingquarterbackoftheChicagoOutlaws
baringhishearttome.

"Whatdidyousay?"Iask,onlyhalfsureIheardhimright.
"Iloveyou,MacKenna.Youdon'thavetosayanythingback.Ijustwantedyouto

know."

I blink to clear my vision. Those better not be tears in my eyes. Because I'm not

crying,damnit."Okay."

"There.You'reallset."Thedoctor'swordsjarmebacktotherealityoftheER.
"Thankyou."
"We're giving you a prescription for the pain. Only a week's worth. You'll need

someonetowatchoveryouforaacoupleofdays."

"She'scominghomewithme."
Marigold and Oliver exchange a look before she steps forward. "Ty, you have to

focusonSaturday'sgameagainsttheRoughriders."

"Icandothatandwatchoverher.I'llgetanurse,whateversheneeds."
"Ty,you'rebeingunreasonable."
"She'scominghomewithme?"
"Don'tIgetanysayinthis?"
"No,"Tyyells.
Intothisinsanity,Mr.Bartlettwalksin.HeglancesbackandforthbetweenTyand

me. "What's going on?" His trademark cigar's missing, but then they don't allow
smokinginhospitals.Stillhismouthtwitchesaroundthenonexistentstogy.

"Hi,Mr.Bartlett."
He points to my sling. "So what's the verdict? A broken bone?" His gruff bark is

beliedbythelightofconcerninhiseyes.

"Yeah.Mycollarbone."
"Guessyouwon'tbeabletotypeordriveforawhile."
"IcanUberittoworkanddictatemyreports."
His mouth twists in a crooked smile. "Good girl. I knew you'd make a great

reporter."

Ismile."Thanks.Iemailedyouthearticle."
"Readit.Greatstuff."
"So," the nurse interrupts. "Have you decided who's taking Ms. Perkins home? I

needtoprovidesomeinstructions."

Marigoldstepsforward."Iam."
Tymaintainshissilence.Probablybecauseheknowshe'llplacemyjobinjeopardy

ifheobjects.

"AndI'llrunbyyourapartmentandpickupRosco,"Oliversays.
I hand him the keys. "It'll be best if he stays at the doggie spa while I heal. They

knowhimthere."

"Verywell,"Oliversays."Whereisit?"
After I provide him with the information, I'm given the discharge papers while

Marigoldisinstructedaboutmycareandmeds.Donewithallthedetails,wemakeour
wayoutoftheERwithmeinawheelchair.

Unabletosayanythingwithoutrevealingourrelationship,Olivergoesouttofetch

hiscar,leavingmewithMr.BartlettandMarigold.

"Canyougiveusamoment,Ms...."
"Thompson.I'mMacKenna'sfriend."
"Nicetomeetyou,Ms.Thompson."
MarstepsbackintotheERwaitingroom,andthedoortothewaitingareavestibule

closes behind her. With the clear glass doors, she can see us, but not hear our

conversation.

"MacKenna?"
"Yes,Mr.Bartlett."
"Idon'twanttoseeyoubackintheofficeforacoupleofdays."
"Okay."Isthatallhewantedtotalktomeabout?Hecouldhavesaidthatinfrontof

Marigold.

"Butwhenyoudo,weneedtotalk.Ididn'tmisstheconnectionbetweenyouandTy

Mathews.BeforeIprintthearticle,Ineedtoknowexactlywhatthat'sabout."

Igulp.Hard."Yes,sir."
Mr.BartlettdoesneedtoknowaboutmyrelationshipwithTy.Andoncehelearns

thetruth,I'llprobablybeoutofajob.

C H A P T E R 2 9

HE PRESS CONFERENCE before the AFC Championship Game against the Texas
Roughridersdemandseveryounceofmypatience.Theshitstormthaterupted

afterthearticlethatragpublishedchangestheentiretoneoftheconference.Whilethe
realreporterskeeptheireyeontheballandaskquestionsaboutourreadinessforthe
game,physicalfitnessandframeofmind,mostofthequestionsaddressedtomeare
aboutwhathappenedeightyearsagoatNebraskaState.

"Ty,didyouknowEmilySuarez?"
"Whathappenedthatnight?"
Ianswerthetwoquestionswiththesame,"Nocomment."
Butthenareporterasksaquestionthatmakesmeseered."Ty,didyouparticipate

inthesexualassault?"

Ijumptomyfeet,readytolaunchmyselfattheasshole.
ButCoachGronowskistopsmebeforeIcanputaworldofhurtonthejackass."Sit

down,Ty."Hetakesamomenttorearrangethetwowaterbottlesinfrontofhimbefore
glancingatthereporterwhoaskedthequestion."What'syourname?"

"Peters.SeanPeterswiththeDallasHerald."
"Well,Mr.Peters,I'mgoingtogiveyouapass.Seeinghowyou'refromDallas,you

probablydon'tknowTyMathewsverywell.Ontheotherhand,Ido.I'vehadtherare
privilegetocoachhimforeightyears.FouratNebraskaStateandfourwiththeChicago
Outlaws. And I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's the finest young
manit'sbeenmyprivilegetocoach."

"With all due respect," the reporter insists. "You would say that. According to the

same article that broke the news about Ty's involvement in the fraternity sexual
assault you threatened to get a Professor Dawkins fired unless he kept Ty Mathews'
nameoutoftheschoolnewspaper."

"Yougotanyproofofthat?"
"No."
"Thenit'sjustgossipandinnuendo,isn'tit?Look,thepersonwhowrotethatarticle

wasseekingtostirtroubleandgethimselfhisfifteenminutesoffame.Butthatarticle
doesn'thaveanythingtodowiththisgame.Sowhydon'tweforgetallaboutthattrash

andfocusontheAFCChampionshipGameandtheChicagoOutlaws?"

Mostofthereportersarehappytomoveontoactualfootballquestions.Whensome

are directed at me, I answer them to the best of ability. And then, thank God, we're
done.

This morning we put in the last practice before the game, so after the press

conference, the team's released to return to where we're staying. Coach Gronowski's
not taking any chances with somebody going missing. So tonight we're sleeping in a
downtownhotelwithateno'clockcurfew.AssoonasImakeitbacktomyroom,Icall
MacKenna.

"Hi.”Igethardjustfromthesoundofhervoice.
"Whatareyoudoing?"
"MarandIaremakingtacosfordinner."
"You'restayingatherplace?"
"Yeah,she'sdrivingustothegametomorrow."
"Imissyou."
"Metoo."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Iwanttobewithyou.”Iwanttosmellher,tasteher,fuckheruntilshe’sscreaming

my name, and then I want to cuddle her sweet body against mine until we both fall
asleep.

"We can't be together until my article appears in The Windy City Chronicle. You

knowthat.It'sbadenoughwhatyou'regoingthrough.IftheygotwindthatyouandI
wereinvolved,theywouldn'tbelieveawordIsaid.Thiswaywecanhonestlysaywe're
notdating."

"Whataboutafterwards?"
"Wemighthavetowaitabitbeforewegooutinpublic."
"Ifuckinghatethatwitheveryounceofmybeing."
"Metoo."
"Whenwillthearticleappearinyourpaper?"
"Tomorrowmorning."
"Okay." Nothing I can do. Guess I'll have to be satisfied with that answer. Though

shepromisedshe'dshowmeherarticlebeforeitappearedinthepaper,herbossnixed
that.SoIhavenocluewhatshewrote.

"Goodnight.Ilo—"
"Don'tsayit."
"Okay." I hang up, sick at heart, because I have no idea if we're going to end up

together.

Thefollowingday,Iwakeupattheasscrackofdawnandfireuphernewspaper’s

website.Herarticle'saglowingaffirmationofmycharacterandmycareer—frommy
humblerootsinEastTexas,tomycollegelifeandmycareerwiththeOutlaws.

Tomysurprise,there'sacompanionpiece,writtenbyherandEmilySuarez.Aftera

short introduction by MacKenna, Emily’s story emerges in her own words. She talks
about her decision to attend Nebraska State, driven by a crush on me. And then she
talks about how she met a new boy, another player with the Nebraska State football

team.Someonewhopreyedonherweaknessesandstoleherinnocence—SeanTaylor.

Thestoryprogressesthroughtheeventsoftheawfulnightshewasassaulted.The

drinkshe'dbeengivenandhowSeanTaylordidn'tliftafingertohelpher.Finally,she
talks about her devastation when she discovered she was pregnant, the result of that
awfulnight.Herstoryendsthenightshekilledherselfwiththefinalstatement,"Ican't
go on." With Emily's words interwoven with MacKenna's, Emily's tale is one of
heartbreakandbetrayal.

Mycellrings.It'sMacKenna."Didyoureadit?"
"Yes.It's—"Ichokeup"—youdidEmilyproud.Hermotherwillbepleased."
"I'msoglad.SeanTaylor'sboundtobeangry,butIdon’tcare.”
“NeitherdoI.ButIbettercallCoachandOliverandgivethemaheadsup."
"Oliver already knows. Mar told him. I imagine he's called Coach Gronowski as

well."

"Yeah.Heprobablyhas.“
Atbrunch,SeanTaylor'snowheretobefound.Butthearticlehasmadetherounds

oftheteam.It’salltheycantalkaboutduringthemeal.

By the time we load on to the bus to travel to the stadium, he hasn't made an

appearance. It’s only when we enter the locker room that we find out his fate. His
namehasbeenremovedfromhislocker.He’snolongeramemberoftheteam.

C H A P T E R 3 0

MacKenna

ACKENNA.Gladyoucouldmakeit."Kissingmycheek,Oliverwelcomesmeto
theboxsetasideattheSuperBowlfortheowneroftheChicagoOutlawsand

hisguests.He'sseeminglycoolasacucumber,buthe'sgottobenervousashell.

"Thankyouforinvitingme.Iwouldn'tmissitfortheworld."
"Marigold,sogladtoseeyou."Heshakesherhand,butotherthanthat,hedoesn't

acknowledgeherinanyotherway.

I'mnotquitesurewhattheyaretoeachother.Althoughtheydidhavethathotand

heavyweekend,theynowactmorelikebossandemployeethananythingelse.Maybe
theydecidedtheyweren'trightforeachother.Andmaybethey'retryingtocoverup
theiraffair.

ButIcan'tthinkaboutthatrightnow.Toonervousaboutwhat'sabouttogodown

onthefootballfield.Theplacehasbeendeckedoutwiththeteamnamesateachendof
the field. The players will stream unto the grass through entrances decked with the
teamlogos.TheOutlawsmascot,awesterndesperadoonahorse,standsatoneofthe
fieldwhiletheSanFranciscoPirates'mascot,depictedbyapirateaboardashipflying
theskullandcrossbones,standsattheotherend.Thecheerleadersforbothteamsare
linedupinfrontoftheentrances,readytowelcometheplayersastheyrunoutintothe
field.

"It'ssomethingelse,isn'tit?"Oliverasks.
"Yeah,itis."
"Didyouhaveahardtimegettinghere?"
"It'sinsaneoutthere.Thankyouforsendingalimotopickusup.Otherwise,Idon't

thinkwewouldhavemadeitbeforehalftime."

"Mypleasure."
Somebodycallsouthisnameandheexcuseshimselftogreetthenewguest.
"Somethingtodrink?"Awaiterasksme.
"I'lltakeacoke,"Isay.I'vebeentryingtocutdownonthesodas,butIdon'tthinkI

cangetthroughtodaywithouthavingatleastone.

"Aglassoffilteredwaterforme.Thanks,"Marsaysbeforeleaningtowardme."Don't

wanttostartthealcoholconsumptionjustyet.Mightjinxtheoutcome."

"Gotthatright."
Soontheteamsareannouncedandtheplayersburstintothefield.FirstthePirates

andthentheOutlaws.MyheartburstswithprideasIspotTyrunningout.Helooksup,
poundshischestoverhisheartandpointstoourbox.AndImelt.

"Wasthatforyou?"Marasks.
"Yeah.Lastnight,hetoldmehewasgoingtodothat."
"Youknow.Ihadhimallwrong."
"Metoo."That'sallIcansaybecausethere'stoobigalumpinmythroat.
The game is a nail biter with the lead switching back and forth between the two

teams.

"Well,atleastit'snotablowout,"Marsays.
Mystomach'sinknots."Rightnow,I'dtakeablowout."
"Yeah.Metoo."
By the fourth quarter, Mar and I have given up all pretense to coolness. With the

Piratesaheadbytwopointsandthirtysecondstogo,we'reholdingeachother'shands
as tightly as we can. But the Outlaws have possession and they're forty yards out. Ty
throwstoRon,butit'sjustoutofreachofhisfingertips.Thenextplayhegivestheball
to one of the running backs who runs enough yards to get a first down. Coach
Gronowskiimmediatelycallsatimeout.Thegameclockisdowntotenseconds.Does
hehavetimeforonemorethrowordowechancea47yardfieldgoalwithasecond
stringkicker?

When they line up for a field goal, I close my eyes. I can't watch this. Deafening

noiseeruptsinthenextsecondandIopenmyeyestoseeTyrunningwiththeball.

"Whathappened?"
"TheyfakedthepuntandTytookoffwiththeball."
"Hecandothat?"
"Yep."
Twenty-fiveyards,twenty.Ifhegetshit,that'stheendofthegame.
Someone'scomingforTy.Aguywholookslikeheweighs400lbs.He'sgoingtohit

him.ButatthelastsecondanOutlawsplayerbarrelsintohim.Thebigguygoesdown
andTycrossesoverthegoalline.

"Wewon!Oh,God,wewon!"
Pandemoniumeruptsintheowner'sboxaseveryonedancesorhighfivesorhugs

somebody.Inthemidstofitall,OlivergrabsMarigoldandplantsakissonhersizzling
enoughtoburntheendsofmyhair.

Everybodyintheowner'sboxissobusyhigh-fivingeachotherandcelebrating,they

missthebigsmooch,exceptforme.

"Oliver."Marigoldpusheshimback.
"Sorry.Forgot."
Forgotwhat?
TurningherbackonOliver,Marigoldturnstomeandhugsme."Tydidit."
Yeah,hesuredid."Well,I'msuretherestoftheteamhadsomethingtodowithit."
Oliverhugsmetight."Thankyou."
Ihavenoideawhathe'sthankingmefor."You'rewelcome."
Herakesahandthroughhishair."Ihavetogetdowntothefield."Oliverexclaims,

hiseyesdancinglikeakid'sonChristmasDay.

"Yeah,youdo."He'sgottobetheretoaccepttheLombarditrophy.
MarandIstayintheowner'sbox,withourarmsaroundeachotherandwatchthe

joyplayoutonthefield.IsearchforTy,butIcan'tseehim.He'slostinthemaelstrom
ofconfettiandballoonsrainingdownfromthedome'sceiling.Thewaiterwalksaround
with trays of champagne glasses. Both Mar and I grab flutes and clink. We've been
through a lot during the last several months, but somehow our friendship has
withstoodthetestofgoodtimesandbad.

"Whoknewfourmonthsagowe'dbestandingheretodaydrinkingchampagneand

celebratingaSuperBowlwin?"

Ilaugh."Notme.That'sforsure."
"So,aboutyouandTy?"
Anotherlaughescapesme."Younevergiveup,doyou?"
"Whatelsearefriendsfor?"
"I have no idea, Mar. And that's the truth. All I know is I want to be with Ty. I'm

readytotakeachanceonhim."

"Lookatthetv."Shegesturestothebigscreeninthecorneroftheroom.
A stand has been erected in the middle of the field for the owner to receive the

Lombarditrophywhichiswindingitswaythroughthethrongofplayersinthehands
of a Hall of Famer. Oliver must have made it down there in record time, for he's
standing there next to an officious looking man and Coach Gronowski. Ty's in the
background,notquitetakingcenterstage.

After the trophy finally makes its way to the stand, the Commissioner of Football

makes a short speech and hands Oliver the trophy. Both he and Coach Gronowski
thanktheplayersandthefans.

AndthenTy'scalledupfront.He'sbeennamedthegame'sMostValuablePlayer.As

well he should. He does his bit thanking the fans, Coach Gronowski, and Oliver for
keepingfaithwithhim,evenwhenhegothurt.

"And a particular thanks goes to MacKenna Perkins, for believing in me." He does

thefisttohisheartthingandgesturestotheowner'sbox.

EventhoughIknowthere'sacamerapointedinmydirection,Ican'thelpthetears

fromflowingdownmycheeks.

Withthecelebrationwindingdown,wemakeourwayoutoftheboxtotheelevator

andfightthecrowdstotheexclusiveparkinglotfortheVIPguests.They'llcelebratein
the locker room, shower and dress to get ready to celebrate some more at the party
Oliverorganizedforthem.Butitwillbeacoupleofhoursbeforetheygettherewhich
gives me enough time to change into the sexy dress Ty picked out for me. The one I
foundinmyroomwhenIarrived.

For what seems like hours, I wait until the knock on my door. With my heart

pounding,Iopenit.It'shim.Iflyintohisarmsandhecatchesme.Wekiss.Along,slow
kissthatwindsitswaydownmybodyandendsatthetipsofmycurlingtoes.

"Iloveyou."Hishuskyvoicesetsmetrembling.
"Iloveyoutoo."
"Yeah?"Hissmilealmostblindsmewithitsbrilliance.
"Yeah."

"Sonowthatyourarticle'sdoneandpublished,willyoufinallymoveinwithme?"
"I'llneedtobringRosco.Hecan'tstayinthatdoggiespaforever."
"Noproblem.Ihaveagreat,bigbackyardforhimtorompin.He'llloveit.How's

yourcollarbone?"

"Almosthealed."
"Good,becausetherearesomethingsIwanttotrywithyouonceyou'rehealthy."
"Likewhat?"
“Sweetheart,you’lljusthavetowaittofindout.”
“I’llhealfast.”
“You’dbetter.Now.MuchasI’dratherspendthetimeheremakinglovetoyou—“
Atremblerunsthroughme.
“—wemustattendthecelebrationthat’sbeinghelddownstairsintheballroom.But

afterwards—”

“Yes.”
“Afterwards,I’llmakelovetoyouonthatbed.”Hiskissislongandsweetandfilled

withapromiseIknowhe’llkeep.

“Can’twait.”
“Inthemeantime,Ihaveapresent.”Hedanglesakeyringinfrontofme.
“Whatisit?”
“TurnsouttheMostValuablePlayerawardcomeswithacar.”
“Butthat’syours.”
“What’s mine is yours. Forever and ever.” He hauls me into that hard body of his

andkissesmeagain.“Willyoumarryme,MacKenna,andmakeanhonestmanoutof
me?”

Idon’teventhinkaboutsayingno.

A B O U T T H E A U T H O R

TotheReader,

Thank you so much for reading DIRTY FILTHY BOY. I hope you

enjoyed it. If you like reading my work as much as I like writing my
stories,youmightwantto:

1)Signupformynewsletter.Ifyoudo,youwillbenotifiedaboutthe

publication date of the next book in the CHICAGO OUTLAW SERIES, as
well

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link:

http://www.magdaalexander.com/mailing-list/

2)Connect on Facebook, Twitter and my website. I post excerpts of

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sendmeanemailatmagdaalexander@gmail.com.Ilovetohearfromreadersandtrytoanswereveryemail.

Kindregards,
MagdaAlexander

Document Outline

Copyright
Other Books by Magda Alexander
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author

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