Hollington Homecoming, Volume Two. Pamela Yaye
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tan pants. The former NFL running back had powerful shoulders and a Herculean build, but it was his smile that seduced her every time.
“I used to dread training camp,” he said, with an easy laugh. “The days begin well before sunrise and we endure the most grueling practice sessions imaginable, but I’d gladly run a hundred laps if it meant I could play just one more pro game.”
“It must be hard knowing you’ll never play again.”
“Hurts like a bitch.”
“Don’t worry, your female fans aren’t going anywhere,” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m sure they’ll give you a hero’s welcome at the opening game.”
“Is that what you think I miss about playing in the NFL? The women?” Disappointment colored his face. “Most people don’t know this, but the Dallas Cowboys organization is very involved in the community. We clean up drug-infested neighborhoods, read to preschool children and paint over gang tags and graffiti. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but there’s no greater feeling than signing a kid’s T-shirt or visiting cancer patients at the children’s hospital. Making a difference in someone’s life trumps meeting the winner of some model reality show any day.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, I—”
“And while we’re on the topic of females, let me just say this. It’s not as easy for me to meet women as you think.”
“It’s an open secret that pro athletes bed women by the hundreds, Terrence. Everyone knows they’re dogs.” Determined to prove her point, she said, “They jump from one groupie to the next making babies they refuse to support.”
“No one with a lick of sense would date an ODB.”
“A what?”
“A woman who only does ballers. Every league has them.” His tone was persuasive, matter-of-fact. “The major leagues have bat girls and soccer has bedposts.”
“Are you serious? That’s crazy,” she said, “and slightly disturbing.”
“I have to work plenty hard to meet sisters. Independent, career-types like you automatically think the worst of me, so I have to work twice as hard to prove that I’m a stand-up guy.” He winked. “Because I am, you know. Ask Mom. She’ll tell you!”
His good-natured smile almost made her forget he’d once dogged her out. She was sure that her opinion didn’t matter anymore to him, didn’t hold any weight, but she couldn’t resist asking him about the now infamous Spago Smackdown. “Is it true you were dating two actresses on the same network at the same time and got busted leaving Spago with one of them?” she asked, giving in to her curiosity. “Why did they start tearing each other’s clothes? And was Jerry Springer really there egging them on?”
Terrence snorted. “That’s pure fiction.”
Amused, she listened as he defended his reputation. It sounded as if he had years of frustration to get off his chest. Kyra heard the irritation in his voice and the underlying sadness he couldn’t conceal. He had several million-dollar homes, luxury cars and all the other trappings of success, but expected her to believe he wasn’t happy. Please. Did she have sucker written across her head in pink neon marker. That baby-life-is-hard speech might work with other women, but not with her.
“Being a professional athlete isn’t easy. You wouldn’t believe all the crap I go through just because I’ve got a little money.”
“Confessions of an NFL running back,” she quipped, trying to keep a straight face. “How sad. You have women throwing themselves at you, and everything you’ve ever dreamed of, but it still isn’t enough. I don’t get it. What more could you want?”
“You mean besides you?”
Her breath caught. A rush of pleasure flowed through her, immobilizing her and leaving her mute. If the school founders could see her now, they’d be hanging their heads in shame. Four years of university down the drain. Remembering that this was the same man who’d dumped her via email made Kyra’s interest wane. Terrence had had his chance, and she wasn’t interested in dating him again, no matter how persuasive he was.
“Kyra, I want what every man wants.” He leaned over until their arms were touching. “A woman who’ll love me for me and not for the things I have.”
Her lust level soared. Kyra swallowed the lump in her throat, her thoughts racing like a kid in a toy store. And when he moved closer still, shivers vibrated down her spine.
“And—” He paused for a moment. His gaze was strong, steady, invasive. For a second, one crazy terrifying second, she wanted him to kiss her. To create some space between them and usher in some fresh air, Kyra made three shifts to the right. “I want a woman who’s a lady in the street, a sex kitten in the bedroom and a Sara Lee chef in the kitchen!” He chuckled. “I’d like to have a bunch of rug rats and a couple of dogs, too.”
Unable to picture the scene he’d just described, she read his facial expression for clues. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“Nope. I’m going to be the Brad Pitt of the NFL!”
Laughter came.
“What about you? Are you ready to tie the knot?”
Studying her hands, she slid her silver bracelet up and down her wrist. When the silence became unbearable, she said, “I guess so.”
“You guess?”
Annoyed that he was poking fun at her, she rolled her eyes. “You’re one to talk with your bimbo girlfriends and strip club birthday parties,” she shot back.
“All right, you’ve got me there. I’ve been a very, very bad boy,” he confessed, his words strung together like cans on a string. “I’m not trying to get on your bad side, Kyra. I just figured you’d be married by now.”
“I would have been if...”
“If I’d been man enough to step up to the plate?” Facing her, he offered a weak smile. “It’s okay, Kyra, you can say it. I was a sorry excuse for a man back then.”
Their eyes came together. It felt as if a bowling ball were sitting on her chest. Every breath was a struggle. Insects hummed in her ears, but all she could hear was the gentle timbre of his voice and the deep feeling behind his words.
“Everything was coming at me so fast. Training camp, opening season, the wedding. I’m not making excuses, Ky, I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t you. It was me. I was the one trippin’. I was the one who screwed up what we had.”
Kyra didn’t know if it was the quiver in his voice or the gut-wrenching look on his face, but something compelled her to say, “It was a long time ago, Terrence, and neither one of us were ready for marriage.”
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t bring up the past, but—”
“Terrence, I’m begging you. Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Apologize for breaking your heart and—”
“You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” she snapped, stunned by his nerve. Where did he get off? After signing with the Cowboys, he’d dropped her, and taken up with a stunning, Cameron Diaz look-alike, but that didn’t mean Kyra had gone off the deep end. Yeah, she’d set fire to his Letterman jacket and cut up his pictures, but that didn’t mean she was bitter. “I was upset, sure, but I moved on. In fact, I took a trip with my girlfriends that fall and had the time of my life.”
A challenge rose in his eyes.
Kyra averted her gaze. Okay, so she’d spent the entire trip in bed crying, but listening to every song ever recorded by Aretha Franklin was incredibly therapeutic.
“Just hear me out, okay? I have to do this or we’ll never be able to move on. We’ll always be stuck in the past.”