Superstar Page 6

  No one spoke, and in the ensuing silence, Amber wasn’t quite sure whose court the conversational ball had been lobbed to. She looked between Steele and Tank, who seemed to be engaged in some silent communication. She started to fidget, shifting her weight from left to right.

  “So, shall we go?” Tank asked, holding his hands out to indicate which way they should walk.

  “Yeah,” Amber responded, thankful for the direction.

  The three of them crossed the street together and then made their way into the bar.

  “Drink?” Tank asked.

  Amber couldn’t help her glance over at Steele. He appeared to be shell-shocked, a bit guilty if she could trust her read. He refused to look at her, instead peering around the bar—taking it in or hiding, she didn’t know. When she pulled her eyes away from her friend, she found herself caught in Tank’s snare.

  He nodded his head toward Steele. “He ordering for you?”

  She sensed some sarcasm but couldn’t be sure. “Nah. I’ll have a beer.”

  “There are about a hundred selections. Can you be more specific?”

  She shook her head, feeling out of place and nervous. Then, Tank picked up a menu from a nearby table and shoved it at her. She took it from him and focused on the choices in front of her.

  “A hefeweizen,” she said, passing the menu to Steele.

  He shook his head. “They have anything stronger?” he asked Tank.

  Tank chuckled, but the smile seemed false even though she was no longer an expert on him. Maybe she was merely projecting. But as Tank and Steele walked to the bar, she was uneasy.

  Why did Tank have to walk up at exactly that moment?

  Because I have the luck of the damned.

  Tank hadn’t been prepared for the jealous rage that made the muscles in his shoulders bunch and his fists clench. Visions of pummeling his best friend flashed through his mind, the sick fantasy unfurling a malicious smile. The ire tangoed in his bloodstream, looping and dipping, all fire and passion. The heavy wooden barstools appeared to be able to cause a vicious commotion, and he dragged his fingers across the wooden slat, subconsciously weighing the sturdy chairs.

  Walking through the bar with a quiet Steele following him, he worked to talk himself down. As they waited for the bartender to acknowledge them, Steele placed both hands on the bar and dropped his head between his shoulders, casting out the vibe of a remorseful puppy. Tank kept his head forward, his eyes fixed on the mirror in front of him. The reflection included a downtrodden Steele, a confused Amber, and an oblivious Madison, all collected in one scene, a snapshot of his suddenly complicated life.

  “Hey, man,” Shane, the neighborhood bartender, said as he stuck out his hand to greet Tank. “What can I get you?”

  Tank clasped his hand before nodding to Steele. “Preference?”

  “Tequila,” he grunted.

  “Patrón,” Tank clarified. Then, he nodded to Shane and added, “Two,” before turning and leaning his left hip on the bar. He briefly studied Steele.

  “We good?”

  Tank didn’t quite know how to respond to the question. He was the furthest thing from good, but he had no right to the anger he stubbornly nursed. He’d watched them kiss and then talk. The intimacy of the interaction between the two of them shredded him. Then, the guilt hit. Steele’s history read like The Blind Side without an adoptive family and a happy ending. He deserved something good.

  But could he stand it if Steele’s good happened to include Amber?

  “Yeah, we’re good,” he answered, hoping like hell that Steele didn’t note the grinding of his teeth as he forced the words out of his mouth.

  The bartender plunked the two shots and a saltshaker in front of them before he set a small white plate filled with limes down on the bar. Tank smirked at the dude, wondering if it was wishful thinking on Shane’s part or if he wasn’t very good at hiding his state of mind. Tank reached for the shot at the same time as Steele. They clinked glasses, and with a nod to each other, they slammed the liquor. Tank’s throat almost seized up as the taste of the tequila triggered his gag reflex, a leftover reaction from his binge drinking a couple of weeks ago.

  Carefully placing the glass on the counter, Tank waved Shane over. “Another round and a hefeweizen,” he requested, suddenly remembering Amber’s order. He dug his wallet out of his pocket and tossed his credit card on the bar. “Start a tab,” he instructed before turning his back to the bar and surveying the scene.

  He found Amber without even knowing he was looking. She was tucked into a corner with Iman in what looked like their second serious discussion of the night. Curious, he grabbed the beer Shane had delivered and left Steele.

  He walked directly to Amber and Iman. Reaching between them, he thrust the beer into her hand.

  “I was just wondering what a girl had to do around here to get a drink,” she teased, her eyes twinkling, as she winked at Tank.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I might have been sidetracked.”

  “Tequila will do that to you.”

  Tank regarded Iman and Amber. “You two look way too serious for a celebration.”

  Iman shrugged and glanced away with a roll of his eyes. Tank shifted his gaze to Amber, the question apparent.

  She shrugged, too. “We’re agreeing to disagree on his choice of an agent.”

  “Like I had a choice,” Iman mumbled.

  Tank shook his head. “Been there, done that,” he directed to Amber.

  Her eyebrows rose, her interested piqued. “You two have had this conversation?” she asked Tank.

  “Numerous times. He’s damn stubborn.”

  Iman finished his drink and walked away, his annoyance a second skin.

  Tank turned his attention to her. “He doesn’t like to listen.”

  “You tried to talk to him about it?”

  “I sent Hawk to meet with him. But Iman had it in his head that Hawk was spread too thin with too many guys already. I’m not sure who’s been advising him, but he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. Tilly tried to talk to him, too.”

  “That makes me feel better.”

  Her comment irked him. “Why?”

  She looked away from him, clearly uncomfortable with answering him. She raised the glass to her mouth and took a sip. A slight ring of foam formed on her top lip, her tongue sneaking out to lick it. Tank felt a trickle of desire low in his belly, and he almost groaned. His interest focused on her mouth as he imagined tracing it with his tongue, relearning her flavor. When she turned back to him, he’d forgotten all about being annoyed.

  “I thought you left him hanging.” She didn’t flinch from her delivery. Rather, she leveled him with an unapologetic glint.

  He didn’t know whether to be offended or pissed, but she effectively doused the flickers of desire that had been threatening to engulf him.

  He smiled ruefully. “Seriously, Sunshine?” The deliberate use of her nickname earned him a narrowing of her eyes. “You have that little faith in me?” His question hung between them, the meaning so much larger than Iman Perry.

  “When it comes to your friends, I have a lot of faith in you.”

  Her answer brought them back to Iman, and Tank took a moment to formulate his response.

  People were all around them, their friends, but he grabbed her elbow and stepped in closer. “Iman got himself into some trouble. Nothing crazy, but when that happened, his confidence in his ability to get drafted dropped. And I think he got some shitty advice. When I found out who he’d signed with, I was pissed, but it was too late.”

  “Do you think he has a chance?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. Obviously not in an early round, but he could go somewhere.”

  “Without going to the Combine, it will be harder for him, especially because Kensington State isn’t going to draw anyone for a pro day. I think he can do it, but it’s going to be a lot of work, and I don’t know if he’s committed to it.”

 
“That’s all true. But he is really talented, and someone will be willing to take a chance on him.”

  He smiled at her assessment, surprised at her optimism. “I hope so.” He took a step away from her, returning them to a respectable distance. “You like what you’re doing?”

  Conversation was easier than it had been at his house. Maybe the neutral territory helped. But they were talking, and she was smiling at him. He wasn’t ready to forgo his opportunity to catch up with her. As a discussion topic, jobs were easy.

  “I do,” she answered. “It’s different every day, and I get to be around football, so what’s not to like?”

  “There’s something not to like about every job.”

  She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “There are things about your job you don’t like?”

  “Of course.”

  “Like?”

  “Losing.”

  “Ha. That’s an occupational hazard. Your job is almost always going to end on a loss.”

  “Yes”—he grinned—“except when we win the Super Bowl.”

  “Hasn’t happened yet,” she teased.

  His hearty laugh filled the space between them, and she met his eyes with a big grin of her own. He acknowledged the irony of laughing with her about him losing. He hadn’t been able to think about their last game of the season without gut-wrenching frustration, and suddenly, she’d made a joke about it, and he was laughing.

  “So, what don’t you like about it?” he prompted.

  Amber didn’t answer for a moment, seeming to think about what she wanted to say.

  “Come on. Don’t think about it so hard. First thought.”

  Resigned, she answered, “The first thing that came to mind was ego.”

  Again, he found himself laughing. “Managing egos is definitely not your forte.”

  “Hey,” she grumbled, slapping lightly on his arm, attempting to pull off being angry. “I manage them just fine. I don’t necessarily enjoy doing it.”

  “You’re so good at it though.”

  He couldn’t hide the playful note in his voice, and she giggled. The sound was so foreign, it made him mute. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that since the night of his last college football game. The first time he’d heard it, the rustiness reminded him of an unoiled hinge. But then it began to come easier and flowed more naturally from her. Hearing it now, without the crustiness of disuse, made him want to laugh harder.

  “You ready to get out of here?”

  Tank turned to see Steele standing behind him. Hiding his irritation, he moved back, letting Steele into the small circle of two. Glancing back at Amber, he noted she and Steele were engaged in some silent communication. Their connection made him crazy.

  “Now?”

  Steele shifted uncomfortably, and Tank wondered what the hell was going on with his friend.

  “Yeah, now. Franco and Molly are heading out, and it would be easier to leave with them.”

  Amber appeared confused, but she nodded. “Okay, let me run to the restroom.” She set her empty glass on the table a few feet behind them before she turned to Tank. “It was good talking to you.”

  She stepped to him and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. It was over before he could react or even say good-bye. She disappeared into the hallway where the restrooms were located. Both he and Steele watched her depart.

  Then, Steele turned back to him and glared. “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered furiously.

  Tank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Being friendly.”

  “Well, friendly for you and Amber isn’t really a thing, is it?”

  “Jealous?”

  Steele chuckled sarcastically. “I don’t have anything to be jealous of.”

  His statement reminded Tank of what he’d happened onto earlier in the night, and just like that, the stupid envy and helpless anger descended on him again. He refused to let Steele see his reaction or pick up on the seething beast trying to roar its head. The kiss had bothered him, but seeing Steele’s hand lingering on what he considered to be his spot on Amber’s body had killed him.

  Did Steele know how the touch of a hand soothed what she’d described as the burn under her skin? God, did Steele know what it did to her if he dragged his tongue along the webbing under her jawbone?

  Surely, he did, and it made Tank fucking crazy to realize someone else could have such intimate knowledge of her.

  But what did he think she’d been doing for the past three years?

  Tank knew her well enough to know that she hadn’t been celibate.

  He wanted to scrape his hand over his head, but Steele knew his frustration tells, and he absolutely refused to put his feelings on display for his friend.

  When had he ever made an effort to pretend for Steele?

  He couldn’t wait for this fiasco of a night to be over. Then, he’d just have to make it through the wedding and probably some baptisms.

  Could he lose Tilly as a best friend between now and these certain life milestones he’d be forced to attend with Amber?

  “Hey, babe,” Madison said, slipping her fingers around his arm. “Hey, Steele,” she greeted. Tank might have grunted a greeting to her, but she continued on, as if she hadn’t expected either of them to answer, “Looks like people are heading out. You two ready to go?”

  “Yeah,” Tank said.

  “I’m going to head home with Amber,” Steele responded.

  Is that a knife twisting in my back?

  Madison got wide-eyed. “Ooh! I’ve been hoping you would finally make your move,” she cooed.

  Tank felt every muscle, tendon, and ligament in his body tighten and snap.

  Steele chuckled and sheepishly looked away, as if he were a seventh grader who’d just had his crush outed.

  “I’ve got to close my tab. Be back in a few.” Tank bent down and brushed a kiss across Madison’s mouth.

  He made his way to the bar and paid his tab. As he turned around to move back toward the door, he saw Amber and Steele leaving together with her clutching his arm. Right as they crossed the threshold, she turned, catching Tank’s glare. She gifted him with a hesitant smile and a fluttery wave before she exited. Steele didn’t look back.

  Tank didn’t remember much of the walk home. The two shots of tequila had hardly been enough to get him drunk. He was inebriated on a cocktail of jealousy, anger, and betrayal.

  Feeling reckless and slightly desperate, he pinned Madison against the door the moment they entered his house. In a graceless, emotionless manner, he wrapped her legs around his waist. He was thankful for the dress she wore. Fumbling through their clothes was easy. But nothing else about their encounter was. Her mouth tasted wrong, the cloying scent of her perfume jumbled his thoughts, and the smooth surface of her manicured fingernails as they dug into the flesh on his back annoyed him. Lost in the regrets of the past, he moved in and out of her with a scary emotional distance. When her body tightened around his, her climax making her shudder, he held her close, all the while struggling against the desire to get away from her. Inelegantly, he pulled out of her and unwrapped her legs from around his waist. He waited until she was steady, and then he released her. He zipped up his pants, his unresolved erection making the task difficult.

  “Were you fucking me or fucking her out of your system?” she asked stoically.

  He had an answer for her, but it wasn’t one either of them wanted to hear.

  March

  Amber glanced at the corner of her computer screen and noted the time. She had about ten minutes before she would have to head out to the first spring practice of the year. Whitey didn’t require her presence on the sideline, but when her schedule permitted, she tended to spend at least an hour on the practice field, watching.

  Today, the weather had dawned crisp and clear without the threat of the soupy humidity ever present on the field in the fall. She’d take a March afternoon over an August afternoon anytime. Plus, she was eager to see the futu
re of their team. They’d lost some key positions on both sides of the ball, but they had a number of players who’d red-shirted the year before. They were hungry to make an impression before the new signing class entered the fray in the fall.

  While this was considered the off-season because they didn’t have a game every weekend, it was really a misnomer. College athletics didn’t really have an off-season. There were times when they didn’t have to be at the stadium for fifteen-hour Saturdays, but it didn’t mean they weren’t busy.

  Camps and recruiting ruled Amber’s downtime. Almost immediately following the spring game, the recruiting calendar would open up to allow for contacts and evaluations. Her coaches would be off in literally ten different directions, cultivating the youngsters eager to be a part of the next great recruiting class. As they came in off the road, they’d gear up for the eight camp sessions they had scheduled for the summer.

  And the student-athletes didn’t go home anymore. Summers were spent taking classes, lifting weights, and playing seven on seven.

  Midway through June, their incoming class would arrive. There’d be paperwork and physicals and monitoring to manage. Just as their freshmen were getting acclimated to life on campus, it would be August, and two-a-day practice sessions would start.

  So, her hashtag for the last three years had been #thereisnooffseason.

  Thankfully.

  Because Atlanta had fucked with her head.

  She’d been a little worried about the engagement party; of course she had. As far as a party, it had gone off without a hitch, and Amber had a good time. Being with all those people again, at one time, was refreshing and fun. Spending time with the As and Franco and Molly was restorative. Helping Keira find the perfect wedding dress was a memory Amber would cherish for the rest of her life. Giving Iman a hard time about his choices and making sure he had things to think about tapped into some part of her she hadn’t known existed. She liked trying to help him find his way even if she was a little too late. Overall, her time in Atlanta was awesome. Even seeing Tank.