Superstar Page 16

  Tilly hadn’t uttered any derivative of the word sun in Amber’s presence in the last couple of years. So, when he called her Sunshine, her heart melted. He could have contracted an airplane to write his approval of her showing up on his doorstep with Tank, and it wouldn’t have resonated as loudly as his greeting. When Madison slung her arms around Tank, Tilly stepped to Amber, throwing his arm around her shoulder, steadying her against the sight of Madison in Tank’s embrace. He didn’t need to bother.

  “Where’s Keira?” Amber asked as she kept moving, leaving Tank standing in the foyer.

  “Come on. I’ll take you to her.”

  “Okay. But, later, you need to give me a tour. I am loving this house, and I’ve only seen the front stoop.”

  He grinned big, the slash of white against his dark skin lighting him up. And, as always, a happy Tilly made her happy. Although their relationship had had an inauspicious beginning, on one of the worst nights of her life, Tilly Lace stabilized her as the avalanche of Tank Howard tumbled down around her.

  “I knew you would like it,” Tilly said as he guided her through the foyer and dining room.

  Her glances were cursory, but the workmanship of the house showed in every line of molding and detail of the coffered ceilings and the chair rail in the dining room. Someone else might have renovated the house, but the bold slashes of color were all Keira. As much as she liked Tank’s home, she loved this one more.

  Tilly pulled up abruptly in the kitchen, and Amber stopped to avoid walking into him. He turned to her and put his index finger against his lips, which were tilted up at the corners. She nodded her head.

  “Keira?”

  “T.”

  “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “We have guests,” she stage-whispered.

  Amber stifled a giggle as Tilly laughed.

  “Not that kind of surprise,” he responded loudly. “But maybe later,” he said as softly as his baritone voice would allow.

  Amber quaked with suppressed laughter as Tilly grabbed her hand and pulled her forward into the kitchen. Keira sprang up from the barstool at the imposing marble kitchen counter and ran forward, almost knocking Amber to the floor with her enthusiastic hug. Tilly must have anticipated the overly exuberant display because he braced Amber.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here,” Keira gushed as she continued to rock Amber back and forth in her embrace. Then, she stopped suddenly. “Wait.” She pulled back but kept her hands locked on Amber’s biceps, as if she were afraid Amber would vanish if she didn’t hold on. “Why are you here? How are you here?” Keira’s brain must have made some sort of connection because, all of a sudden, her mouth paused, wide open, like a gaping fish. “Shit.”

  Amber was tempted to let her stew but found she couldn’t do it. “I came with Tank.”

  Keira’s eyes closed. “Shit.”

  “You already said that,” Amber reminded her with a fond smile.

  “So, you already know Madison is here?”

  “Yep.”

  Keira gulped audibly. “You came with Tank.”

  “I did.”

  Keira laughed. “Let me introduce you around. Then, I am going to grab us a couple of beers, and you are going to tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Keira released the death grip on Amber and turned back to the kitchen where a couple of other women flanked the counter. For the first time, Amber took note of the amount of people in the house. She followed Keira over to the group. In the midst of the introductions, Amber noticed Tank remained sequestered somewhere with Madison. She didn’t want it to bother her, but she couldn’t pretend. She graced Keira’s friends with her halfhearted attention, and when Keira grabbed two unopened beers and pulled her through the house, she trailed behind her like a mindless lamb.

  “There’s a koi pond in the back of the property,” Keira said as they made their way outside. “It’s really cool, but I already told Tilly that it’s gotta go before we have kids.”

  “Always planning ahead,” Amber remarked.

  Keira led her to a pair of benches and made her sit across from her. “I need to be able to see your face as we have this conversation,” she explained.

  Amber rolled her eyes.

  “That’s exactly why I need to be facing you.” They both snickered. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You have no idea,” Amber returned, reaching forward to briefly touch Keira’s hand. “I really needed to see you and Tilly.”

  Keira perched on the edge of the bench and leaned forward, so there was hardly any space between her and Amber. Her giddiness slipped away as she stared Amber down and pronounced, “Start talking.”

  Amber huffed out a startled laugh before she told Keira everything—from the moment Tank had shown up on campus to their arrival at Tilly’s house. Keira listened intently. Aside from some facial expressions during the story, Keira let her talk. As she spoke, some truths nestled in the spaces between her head and her heart, providing some much-needed clarity.

  “So, I have to know,” she demanded earnestly to Keira, “what’s your take on Madison and Tank?”

  Every doubt and question from the day, from the last couple of weeks, coalesced into this one all-important truth.

  Keira sat back on the bench then, and the intensity of the conversation shifted. No longer did the burden of the story rest on Amber’s shoulders. Twilight had fallen around them, and the sounds of the city crept in. As she waited for Keira’s response, Amber noticed the constant flow of the water circulating in the koi pond. Laughter from the deck snagged her attention as she recognized the deep chuckle of Tilly and the familiar laugh of Tank. She smiled involuntarily.

  Keira mimicked Amber’s posture, resting her elbows on her knees. “Tank and Madison are really good friends who have…well, had sex. They trust each other, which made their sexual relationship convenient and easy. I don’t think, at any point, either of them saw any future in what they were doing. Having said that, I think everyone who’s been around them for the last year probably thinks they are perfect for each other because they see them together, and they notice the ease. I don’t operate like that. The whole friends-with-benefits concept has always seemed too cold and unemotional so it’s been difficult for me to understand their relationship. But I’m close to both of them individually, and I can tell you, neither one of them is in love with the other. They love each other, much like you love Nicky.” Keira let her words sink in. Then, she tapped Amber’s knee. “I’m not sure exactly what you are asking me. If you want to know if you are going to have to deal with Madison while you are with Tank, I’d have to answer yes.”

  Amber felt the weight of Keira’s stare and turned to look at her.

  “Can you handle that?” Keira asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you handle all that comes with being associated with Tank Howard?”

  Amber chuckled. “Who the fuck knows?”

  “So, what are you doing?”

  Amber broke their staring contest. Well, isn’t that the question of the day? What am I doing?

  She was exploring the differences between the Tank from then and the Tank now. She was reveling in the feel of Tank’s hands on her body. She was asking herself questions about her future for the first time in years. Today, she’d been worrying, but before she’d made the journey to Atlanta, she’d been enjoying. The possibility of failure was so much greater than the possibility of success. Together, they were the perfect storm—a convergence of forces that was both beautiful and frightening. To take a chance on Tank could bring her startling happiness, but she appreciated the likelihood of utter desolation, too. She didn’t have any newfound wisdom to direct her, but she wouldn’t have come this weekend if she wasn’t willing to take a chance. The realization hit her hard. And, while a part of her wanted to gasp in surprise, most of her wanted to enjoy the release of her relief.

  The silence must have stretched too long for Keira because
she nudged Amber again, repeating her question, as if Amber might not have heard her the first time, “So, what are you doing?”

  Amber nudged her back. “Not fighting it.”

  Keira laughed. “Okay then.”

  Amber stood. “I’ve monopolized the hostess enough.”

  “Yeah,” Keira concurred. “Plus, our beers were empty some time ago.”

  Amber bent down and snagged the forgotten bottles from beneath both benches. “So, how’s the wedding planning going?”

  “Uh, can we table that one?” Keira said.

  Amber heard the disheartening tone of Keira’s voice and reached out to grab her hand. “Parents giving you a hard time?”

  “Seriously, Amber, I can’t do this right now.”

  Amber squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Anything you need, okay? If there’s a downtime in my job, this is probably it, so just ask.”

  Keira pulled up, taking a deep breath, before moving to rejoin the party. Amber stopped in front of her, but Keira looked up, away from Amber’s prying gaze. Amber watched as her best friend gathered herself, quelling the watering of her eyes with a few more deep breaths. When Keira had herself under control, she hugged Amber. Then, she turned and continued up the slate steps to the patio.

  Amber dumped the bottles in the recycling can before she surveyed the people outside. Tank and Tilly stood with a group of men. Solely based on their size, Amber assumed they played football. Tank’s back was to her, so she took a moment to study the men he was with, but her perusal was cut short when Tank turned, opening up space for her in his circle. She warmed at the sight of him and the gesture.

  She didn’t hesitate as she walked forward and slid under his extended left arm. He switched his beer from his left hand to his right after giving her the spot on his left, so her right side was tucked safely into his chest, allowing her left side to be more prevalent. He curled his arm around her, pulling her in close, and dropped a kiss on her head.

  She noticed so many things about him in that moment.

  He didn’t break in conversation or make a big deal about her being there, like he’d done it a thousand times before and this was no different. Even though it was. He’d just announced to his friends whom he was with, and he couldn’t have been more obvious about it if he’d screamed it from the rafters. And, without any words, he let her know he would wait for her signal to introduce her.

  So, when she tilted her head up to look at him and he met her gaze, all her little doubts and fears slid away, like water through her hands. She leaned up and pressed a kiss on the underside of his jaw.

  He dipped his head, his mouth finding her ear. “Hi,” he whispered. The caress of his breath across her ear caused a full-body shiver that she managed to suppress. “It’s good to see you,” he continued.

  She wanted to argue that she hadn’t been gone that long, but then it hit her. He hadn’t seen her all day. She’d been hiding in the shadows of her doubt, lurking in the dark corners of her fear. And he knew, when she’d crawled into the space he provided her, that something had changed. She smiled against his chest, and she knew he could feel it because he squeezed her shoulder.

  The conversation around them had ceased. Maybe it was the natural seven-minute lull, or maybe the guys around them wanted an introduction. Tank gave her another kiss on the head and then turned to his friends. Amber straightened from the hug and looked up.

  “This is Amber Johnson,” he began. “Amber, this is Remy Stevens”—he pointed with his beer bottle and index finger—“Nick Baskins, Lucas Smith, Karlos Smith—no relation to Lucas”—everyone chuckled, the clarification apparently well-worn—“and you know Tilly.”

  Amber stepped forward and shook their hands. There were no surprised glances or questioning brows raised, and Amber briefly wondered if they already knew about her.

  “In the interest of full-disclosure,” Tank continued, “you won’t ever hear me refer to them by their real names again.” Everyone in the circle laughed. “Nick started off as Mad Dog, but it’s since morphed into Doggy. Lucas has always been Lucky. Karlos is just Los. And Remy is Deuce.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Amber said.

  Once she had their names, everything clicked in her brain. She knew their positions and stats, their strengths and weaknesses on the field. Lucky and Los were Tank’s favorite receivers, Doggy was his center, and Deuce was one of the corners.

  “Do I dare ask about your nickname?”

  Tank laughed. “You already know my nickname is Tank.”

  But she was watching his teammates laugh with him and knew they didn’t call him that. Her eyes narrowed.

  “You look really familiar,” Lucky said. “Do I know you?”

  Amber looked around at the guys in the circle as they all studied her. The mention of Tank’s nickname was forgotten as they tried to figure out who she was. Amber glanced up at Tank, and he merely raised his brow, telling her the ball was in her court.

  “I probably remind you of your coach. Mike Franco is my dad.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence before they all started talking and laughing at once. Tank resettled Amber under his arm, tucked up tight against him, and he breathed deep, the exhalation reverberating against Amber’s side. She smiled. She didn’t have to see his expression to know he was happy.

  They stayed like that, out on the deck, always touching, as the night went on. People came and went. Tank introduced her to everyone. She basked in his attention, aware of him always. He found every way to touch her, and by the time they were ready to leave, she couldn’t wait to get to his house to have him alone.

  It wasn’t until they were in the car on the way home that Amber realized she hadn’t seen Madison the rest of the night. The party wasn’t that big, so either Madison avoided her, or she left.

  Amber was going to let it go but found she couldn’t. “Did Madison leave?”

  “She did,” Tank replied.

  “Because of me?”

  Tank was quiet, probably debating on what to tell her. Then, he cupped her face in both of his hands and lightly kissed her. He was touching her and intently gazing at her. “No,” he finally said. He kissed her again, a gentle touch of his lips to hers. “Because of us.”

  The opened roll-up door on the loft allowed the cool night air to drift over their panting naked bodies, and the sound of the occasional car driving by mixed with their calming breaths. Tank’s hand moved leisurely up and down Amber’s back, his constant need to touch her at play. Amber nuzzled her head up under his chin, intermittently sprinkling kisses on his chest, neck, and jaw.

  If he could freeze a moment, bottle a feeling, sell an emotion, it would be this aftermath of their amazing connection, which they’d illustrated with every touch, word, and sigh of the last hour. He was reluctant to move or talk, for fear of their moment ending. The difference between how he felt right now and how he’d felt after she went down on him in the kitchen were worlds away. And it bothered him. So, rather than bask in the ease of the moment, he took a deep breath and stepped into the abyss of conversation.

  “What was that about? Earlier, in the kitchen?” he asked. His survey of her back and hip never faltered as the words fell from his mouth.

  But Amber tensed nonetheless, her body stiffening and her breath caught between an inhalation and exhalation. “I didn’t know a blow job needed an explanation,” she answered flippantly.

  He held back his desire to chuckle. Oh, Sunshine.

  When he didn’t answer, she muttered, “You didn’t need explanations in the past.”

  A combination of fury and shame hit him like a battering ram. He flipped them, so he loomed above her. Grabbing her hands, he pinned them over her head. The look on her face assured him that she knew he was mad, but he wasn’t sure she could understand the flare of embarrassment and sense of disgrace he lived with whenever he thought of that night.

  He didn’t say anything, trying to collect his thoughts and not put
any more distance between them. So, he dropped his head and kissed her, gently at first. Her surprise at his mouth on hers was evident in the gasp he swallowed. She capitulated immediately and kissed him back, attempting to deepen the contact. But Tank pulled away and then released her wrists, threading their fingers together. His head dipped, and he ran his lips along her scar, worshipping the damaged part of her that he barely noticed anymore.

  Tank lifted his head and rolled off of her, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. He bent over, propping himself up by placing his elbows on his knees. He turned his head, gazing out into the night sky that was visible through the open loft door.

  “I’m sorry,” Amber said in a voice that penetrated the tension between them.

  “It’s fine,” Tank responded. He just needed a minute to think about what he wanted to say to her, so he stood up. Reaching for his discarded pants, he put them on. “Time-out,” he grunted, his back still facing her. He withdrew and wandered out to the deck. His thoughts were a wicked brew cooking in a cauldron of the past.

  In that hotel room on the night he’d won the Heisman, she’d warned him that she wouldn’t be able to forget. And maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe he shouldn’t try to forget either. He’d been a child who made a stupid decision. He wanted to think he’d be smarter now. But, twice today, that moment had haunted both of them.

  How exactly do we move on?

  Amber’s hand landed on his back, warm against his rapidly cooling skin. Her arms encircled his body, and she clasped her hands and squeezed, both of them settling into the contact. Her lips landed between his shoulder blades, and she sucked on his skin with an open-mouthed kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured again. “So sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he sighed.

  “I do.” She kissed him again “The kitchen—it was all about distance. I needed some distance.” Her insistence on keeping her mouth adhered to his skin muffled her words.

  He wanted to understand her and how her brain worked. He needed a compass, a road map, a fucking GPS. She pressed closer to him, and he suddenly got it because he needed distance now. Her proximity scrambled his brain. He removed her hands from his stomach and turned around wide, making her take a step back. His gray button-down shirt draped on her frame, leaving enough of her skin exposed to tempt a saint. He scuttled away, his hands in a surrender position, and took a seat on one of the barstools that was several feet away from her.