Five-Star Page 5

  Not that he needed this right now. What he needed to be doing right now was thinking about the game and focusing. Focus had never been one of Tank’s issues, but recently, Franco had been all over him about getting his head in the game. Franco was normally spot-on, and Tank had to agree that he was this time, too. Tank would never have thought that he’d succumb to pressure. He’d sailed through high school and even the first two years of college. Maybe, he admitted to himself, it was because there hadn’t ever been any expectations.

  After the mess on signing day, most people had been ready to write him off. They’d thought he’d disappear into the oblivion of a small school in one of the many programs that didn’t play before a sold-out crowd of tens of thousands, dallying on the sidelines of the national stage whose colleges and universities struggled to operate their programs in the black.

  But here they were, three days away from playing the University of Georgia in what had become a highly anticipated matchup. So, yeah, KSU was in it for the guaranteed money it would bring them. But he was in it to win.

  So, why was he spending anytime thinking about this very hostile girl?

  He finally spotted Glenna, walking out of her office headed to where Iman sat on one of the tables. Harriman Perry was going to be a star. Tank loved the kid. He was raw, but God had graced him with talent. Tank had originally made his way to the training room earlier to check up on the kid.

  Sitting himself on the rehab table opposite Iman, Tank reached out and clasped the hand that Iman held out.

  “Wassup?” Iman asked as Glenna hooked him up.

  “Just came to see how you were. You feeling good?” Tank asked him.

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll be ready.”

  Tank nodded. He really wasn’t concerned about the kid being ready, but he was a freshman, and his first collegiate game would be against a ranked team with a rich history.

  Iman nodded to the door of the pool area. “Who is that?” he asked Tank and Glenna.

  Tank did a quick prayer of thanks that Iman was leading him exactly where he wanted to go without making him walk in that direction.

  “Not sure. Who is she, Glenna?”

  Glenna took note of him and Tank hated that she was such an observant woman who knew him too well not to understand his interest.

  Shaking her head, she said, “Sorry, boys. Doctor-patient privilege and all that.”

  Again, Iman took up the mantle. “Shit, you ain’t no doctor,” he stated. “We ain’t asking for her medical information. Just her name. Right, Tank?”

  He nodded toward Tank, and Tank promised himself he’d hook Iman up later.

  Again, he saw Glenna eye him. “Her name’s Amber Johnson.”

  “She an athlete?” Iman continued.

  “Not here,” she responded as she continued to watch Tank.

  Tank felt the question looming on his face and wished Glenna couldn’t read him so well.

  “Why is she here then?” Tank asked.

  “She knows people,” Glenna responded. Then, she flicked on the switch and moved on to the next person, effectively cutting off the conversation.

  Satisfied that he at least had Amber’s last name, Tank stood and looked down at Iman. “I owe you one.”

  Iman laughed. “All right.”

  Reaching over, Tank lightly tapped his shoulder.

  Iman flinched. “Careful. I just got a new tat.” Lifting the sleeve on his shirt, he showed Tank the intricate design. Against his dark skin, it was a bit difficult to make out.

  Rolling his eyes a little, Tank asked, “How much did that run you?”

  “Not too much,” Iman answered proudly.

  “Try not to spend all your money right away.”

  “I got Pell, too,” Iman said with a gleam in his eye. “There’s some new Jordans I want.”

  Tank remembered the feeling of having all that money in his account his freshman year. Staring at a couple thousand dollars when you’d never had your own money was pretty cool. But Tank had learned the hard way.

  “Look, man, I’m just saying. It might seem like a lot of money. But if you go spending it all, when it comes to paying rent in January, you’re gonna wish you’d saved some.” On that note, Tank headed out.

  He’d do his treatment later. He had a girl he wanted to check on.

  Six

  “I’m telling you, it’s like this girl doesn’t exist. What twenty-something person doesn’t have a Facebook or Instagram account?” Tank sat in the cold tub, across from Tilly, explaining his fruitless search to him. “So, say you’re over Facebook, but no Instagram or Twitter? It’s not natural.”

  Tilly merely watched him. “Maybe she’s got some religious thing,” he said, trying to mess with Tank.

  “Trust me, this girl isn’t Amish. Not with the mouth on her. She told me to fuck off this morning. If she were religious, I think she would have held back.”

  Tilly laughed. “You mean some girl you haven’t even slept with yet is already telling you to fuck off?”

  “Ha-ha. Real funny.” Tank was too annoyed to find it amusing.

  “Why not ask Mark? Looked like he knew her that night,” Tilly suggested.

  “Nah. You should have seen Glenna watching me like a hawk this morning when Iman was asking questions about her. I don’t need Mark giving me shit. You and Steele give me enough as it is.”

  “You talked to Steele about this?”

  Tank’s sheepish shrug told Tilly all he needed to know.

  “What’d he have to say?”

  Tank smiled. “Something like, ‘Hit it or someone else, and you’ll snap out of it.’”

  Tilly roared with laughter, sending rippling waves through the cold tub, which sent the water higher up his chest. “Sounds like good advice,” he said between laughs.

  Getting out of the tub, Tank smiled back. “Exactly what I need. But I have to actually be in the same vicinity as her to get that done.”

  Tilly followed him out. “We know where she works.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The Bear’s Den sounds good to me,” Tilly said.

  Tank watched him, weighing the suggestion. He’d pretty much avoided the place since he’d met her. Maybe not consciously, but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t been there since that night, which was unusual. Tank didn’t chase. But…

  “What is it about this girl?” Tilly asked him, all traces of joking gone.

  “I have no freaking idea.”

  “Well, let’s see if you can work her out of your system.”

  “So, I ran into Tank Howard today,” Amber mentioned as casually as possible as she continued to wipe down the bar.

  Thursdays were busy, so she’d come in a bit early to help Keira set up. Keira was behind her, so Amber couldn’t see her face, and Keira couldn’t see Amber’s, which provided the anonymity of a phone conversation with just tone of voice to give her away.

  At the silence that followed this pronouncement, Amber turned around to look at Keira.

  Leaning against the bar, Amber waited for a response. Cocking her head to the side, she prompted, “You got nothing?”

  Keira stood, frozen, the beers she was stocking in the fridge dangling from her fingers. “You need to stay away from Tank Howard, Amber.”

  Not that she’d been expecting a different response, but Amber was still taken aback by the vehemence in Keira’s tone and the fierce look on her face. “Wow!” she said as she reared back a little to emphasize her surprise at Keira’s attitude.

  “Haven’t you learned anything?”

  Now hurt, Amber’s formidable defenses kicked in. “Apparently not,” she responded sarcastically. Pissed and wounded was a bad combination for her.

  Amber turned back around and continued her chore of prepping for the night. When she felt Keira’s hand on her shoulder, Amber pulled away and moved to the opposite side of the bar.

  Keira followed. “Look, I just think you are still healing. The last thing you need is to
get involved with any guy.”

  Amber shook her off. “That’s not what you meant.”

  “You can’t even talk about what happened. And those months before the accident, no one knows what was going on with you because you disappeared. Do you really think you are ready to be with anyone, let alone Tank? Your father would freak.”

  “I don’t give a shit about what my father thinks.”

  Of Keira’s litany, the part about her father was the easiest to handle.

  “And who says I want to be with Tank? Maybe I just want to screw him.” Snarky was something Amber could always do.

  Keira let out a maniacal-sounding laugh. “Yeah, right! You’ve never been that girl.”

  Amber looked her in the eyes. “Let’s be honest, Keira. You have no idea what kind of girl I am.”

  Amber had secretly been hoping for a denial, a good old-fashioned proclamation of sisterhood, and when none was forthcoming, she felt something within her wither. So, maybe she wasn’t as numb as she’d thought.

  Turning away from her friend, Amber scooted under the bar, needing a minute. Practically running to the restroom, Amber pushed open the door, looking for refuge.

  She found it in the handicap stall, the one with its own mirror and sink. Slinking toward the back, she leaned against the wall with the silver bar used for leverage wedging into her back. Avoiding the mirror, she dropped her head back, allowing the cool tile to ease her sudden headache. Reaching up, she ran her fingers across the scar by her mouth and down the spiderweb on her jaw to the lacerations running down her neck. She couldn’t feel her fingers, sensing only a pleasant numbness, but the coolness against the scars eased the burn. Phantom pain, someone had told her. Phantom or not, the cold helped. And, once again, her world came into focus.

  Walking to the sink, she ran the water over her wrists, patted her cheeks with her wet hands. She pulled some paper towels from the dispenser and wiped away the water. Fortified against Keira’s betrayal, she made her way back to the bar.

  As she slipped underneath the opening, she noticed Keira on the backside. Walking to the front of the bar, the most distance she could maintain, Amber straightened the already clean bar just to do something. As she leaned down to get a new bottle of tequila from the cabinet behind the bar, she heard the scrape of chairs. Thankful for a distraction, she grabbed the bottle, turned around, and found herself staring at Tank, Tilly, and a kid she’d never met.

  “Hey, Sunshine. We meet again,” Tank said amicably, as if her last words to him hadn’t been to fuck off.

  “Gentlemen,” she responded, taking in all three of them with her greeting. “What can I get for you?”

  “Couple of menus,” Tilly responded.

  “Sure,” she said as she reached behind her and pulled out a menu for each of them. “Can I get you something to drink while you look?” She could be sunshine when she wanted.

  They all asked for water at the same time. As she got their drinks, she remained careful not to look at Tank.

  Setting their drinks down, she said, “You all ready for the big game on Saturday?”

  As Tilly and the kid responded to her, she saw Tank sit back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest and an expression of, Who the hell are you?, on his face. Trying to concentrate on talking to the guys and not to make any eye contact with Tank, she rolled out her most charming self. She took their orders and moved down to the computer to input them. She knew Tank continued to watch her, but she refused to get into any verbal warfare with him.

  Since she didn’t have any other customers and Keira was busy on the other side of the bar, Amber took up residence in between Tilly and the kid. She didn’t exclude Tank, but she also didn’t include him. His gaze warmed her. She liked knowing he was there, staring at her. It infused her with this sense of female power that did wonders to stroke her ego after her falling-out with Keira. She could feel the tension between them. So, to distract herself, she struck up a conversation with his boys.

  “I know these two jokers. Who are you?” she asked the baby-faced guy.

  “Harriman Perry. But everyone calls me Iman.”

  “Ah, the receiver,” she said before she could stop herself.

  All three of them looked a little taken aback.

  Tilly, without the gold teeth today, said, “You know who he is?” with an inflection of incredulity in his voice.

  “Of course she does,” Mark said, coming out of nowhere and inserting himself in the middle of the conversation. “Amber probably knows more about football than the three of you put together.”

  She almost groaned her consternation at Mark for putting her shit on the table, but it was hard for her to ever really get mad at him.

  “Really?” Tilly said at the same time as Iman’s, “Seriously?”

  Tank, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, continued to sit there, observing.

  “Oh, yeah. Stats, plays. It’s pretty amazing.”

  “Interesting,” Tilly said, shooting a look over at Tank.

  Amber, desperate to get rid of Mark, said, “I think Keira said the Miller Lite keg is low.”

  Mark quickly took his leave to check on it.

  Looking up at Tilly, she quickly explained, “Mark exaggerates. Everyone who has grown up in this town knows something about football.”

  To close down the conversation, she went to check on their food.

  Between Keira and Tank, she felt overwhelmed. Where is the numb when I need it?

  Peering around the corner, she saw that the guys were watching SportsCenter, and their drinks were full. She had a minute to escape. Trudging down the hall, she flew out the back door and leaned against the brick wall. Just as she closed her eyes for some solace, the door opened, and Tank appeared.

  Tank wasn’t quite sure which Amber he liked better—the bitter, sarcastic, caustic girl from the morning or the charming, solicitous girl who was waiting on them. This girl now wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he’d probably choose the one from this morning. Regardless, his intrigue just ratcheted up a notch.

  As he had seen her flee from behind the bar, he had known he was going to follow her even before Tilly had looked over and nodded his head in the direction of the back exit.

  “Sunshine,” Tank said.

  Her head rolled in his direction, and their eyes met for the first time. The tether of their connection hit him hard and quick. Before he knew what he meant to do, he moved toward her, caged her in with his arms on both sides of her head, lowered his mouth, and ran it along the scar on her chin and mouth. He didn’t touch her. He stayed just far enough away that she could duck out if she wanted to or lean into him. She did neither, instead closing her eyes. But he watched the pulse point in her neck jump and heard her stuttered breath. He was daring her to lean into him, but she wouldn’t.

  “You know where this is going, don’t you?” he murmured, still a hairbreadth away from her scar, inching his lower body in closer but still giving her a choice.

  “Nowhere,” she said on an exhale that skidded and bumped out of her throat.

  “Yes, it is,” he continued, still moving along her jaw and mouth, hoping she would reach out for him.

  She opened her eyes, and he drew away from her, so he could look into them. They were drugged with the lust that swirled around them.

  “This can’t—won’t go anywhere. I’m bad news, Tank. I don’t want to take you down, too.”

  A look of confusion passed over his face, “Too?”

  “Just walk away,” she muttered. “Please.”

  She ducked underneath him, taking the escape route he’d provided, and disappeared into the restaurant. Tank turned and leaned against the wall, grabbing her spot, absorbing the heat she’d left behind. Banging his head on the wall, Tank pushed away, moving toward the door.

  The last thing he needed right now was a complicated girl. He wanted a national championship. He could win the Heisman. He couldn’t have his focus split. Resolving to stay away
from Amber, he entered the bar, threw some cash down where he’d been sitting, and left.

  Seven

  Over the next three weeks, the Bears made a statement. Game one of the regular season had had them playing the University of Georgia. In their only game that could propel them into the national ranks, the victory in Athens, even though it was the first game of the season, had had the analysts salivating. Tank had gone seventeen for twenty-five for three hundred thirty yards, rushed for seventy-nine yards, and had two touchdowns, earning him comparisons to Cam Newton. That week alone, he’d received hundreds of random friend requests and texts that he didn’t answer. His numbers for the second game had been even more impressive, but because they’d played a conference school, it was merely a footnote on SportsCenter. By their third game, Tank had put up legendary numbers, and it didn’t matter to anybody that he’d been playing Toledo.

  In a scheduling fluke, their first three games had been on the road. So, when the team came home the third week in September, it was to a hero’s welcome. Home football Saturdays had always held their own special charm. The town decked itself in green and silver. Most activities were suspended as everyone came out to cheer on their team. The sense of anticipation and excitement that permeated the town became palpable as they eagerly welcomed the the team home. In a town that embraced its football team, no matter how they were performing, when you sprinkled a dash of national attention and a cupful of Tank Howard, you had the recipe for a worshipful, adoring fan base.

  Where their team had always enjoyed a modified celebrity status in town, now, they were recognized and fawned over everywhere they went. Even the walk-ons, the scout team members, got into the action. While everyone enjoyed their newfound recognition, Tank was the star. Screw the big man on campus image. Tank Howard was king of the world. Everyone was deferential. Professors, administrative assistants, coaches from other sports—they all wanted wanted to talk to him, shake his hand, be part of the dream.