Devon Drake, Cornerback Read online

  “Hey, Sam. Hi,” said the big man, wearing a towel around his neck, sweatpants, and nothing else.

  She tried not to look at his chest, but couldn’t help herself.

  “Whatcha doing?” He opened the fridge.

  “I’m working for Jo now.”

  “So, you’re gonna be here every day?” He plucked out a small carton of milk.

  She nodded.

  “Awesome! Gives me a reason to work out. Did Stormy tell you I hired her?”

  “She did. Good idea.” Sam poured a cup of coffee.

  “She said she’d deliver the food. But I’d much rather you did.”

  “I don’t think Devon would like that.”

  “Screw him. You’re over eighteen, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then, you can make up your own mind.”

  “Right.”

  “Can I buy you a burger at The Savage Beast tonight?”

  “Did Stormy say you could eat that?”

  “She did. No fries, no beer. But the burger’s okay. Even the bleu cheese.”

  “Sure. Why not?” A date?

  “What time are you through work?”

  “Five. Then, I go to the shelter at seven thirty.”

  “I’ll pick you up at five.”

  “It’s a date.” She bumped into him as they headed for the door at the same time. She closed her fingers around his shoulder, bracing herself to avoid a fall. He grabbed her waist, pulling her up against him, steadying her. Her heartbeat quickened. She raised her gaze to his and could have sworn he was going to kiss her when the chipper voice of Jo Parker interrupted.

  “Good morning, Sam. Glad you’re here early. We have a ton of work today. Hi, Bull.”

  The big man nodded, released Sam, and made his way toward the stairs. After a few breaths, Sam’s pulse returned to normal. She lowered her gaze to avoid Jo’s questioning look. “Just stuck in the doorway.” Samantha moved forward with Jo right behind.

  “I have a list of publications. We need to update some emails and get some new ones. I want to lock in interview dates. And then, there’s the wedding dress.”

  “I have the list of stores.”

  “Excellent.”

  The two women chatted as they returned to Jo’s office. Samantha pulled out her information. Together they perused the websites, looking at dresses.

  “What style do you want?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Strapless is big this year.”

  “I’d be tugging at it to keep it from falling down.”

  Samantha giggled. “That would be some wardrobe malfunction.”

  The two women laughed as they sipped coffee and clicked through page after page of elaborate gowns. Some had lace, some had big skirts, some had trains, but none received a thumbs-up from Jo.

  “Maybe I don’t need white,” she said.

  “You have to wear white!” Samantha insisted.

  “I’m not exactly a virgin.” Jo snickered.

  “Even so. It’s your wedding. Your first. Don’t you want the whole nine yards?”

  “I used to dream about it as a kid. A dozen bridesmaids, all dressed in pink, a huge dress with a ten-foot train and veil. Now, I’d probably just trip if I had something like that.”

  “Come on, Jo, get in the spirit,” Sam squeezed her friend’s hand.

  “You’re right. Bridesmaids. Hmm. I wonder if Pete’s daughters would like to be in the wedding. And my friend, Beth, and Emmy. Four. That works, doesn’t it?”

  “Perfect. What about Pete?”

  “He has one brother. We need three more. Maybe Lyle and Griff, since he’s the quarterback?”

  “I bet they’ll all want to stand up for him. From what Devon says, Coach Bass is a popular guy.”

  “Can you imagine, four bridesmaids and maybe fifty groomsmen?” Jo burst out laughing. Samantha joined her. “Can you see the procession?”

  “All dressed in tuxedos, yanking at their necks?” Samantha put in.

  “It would take an hour!”

  The two women laughed so hard they couldn’t speak.

  Pete ambled by the office. “What’s this? Laughter? Merriment? Aren’t you supposed to be working?” His eyes twinkled.

  “We’re just imagining the procession at our wedding if all fifty, or however many there are on the team, of your men decided they wanted to stand up for you.”

  Pete frowned. “Gee. Hadn’t thought about that. Who should I ask?’

  “I’m having four. You should have four.”

  “Four? Or fifty-four?”

  His comment set the women off, and they collapsed in laughter again. Pete moved on to his own office, muttering to himself.

  * * * *

  Early on a frosty Saturday morning in late February, Jo sipped coffee as she stared through an ice-covered picture window at the frigid ocean. Eight o’clock, and the house was chilly. She had dragged herself from a cozy bed, warmed by her lover. Today was the day she would buy her wedding dress. Random thoughts from exhilarated excitement to sadness at her family situation tumbled through her brain. Most girls do this with their mothers. Mine is in Mexico, sunning herself by the pool. She heaved a sigh to relieve the tightness in her chest.

  She pulled her chenille robe tighter, not sure if it was to ward off the winterish feeling in the house or in her heart. She almost dropped her cup when two big hands closed around her shoulders.

  “What are you doing up so early on a Saturday?” she asked.

  “Here to see my lady off on her quest for a dress. Not just a dress. The dress. Right?”

  She nodded. He slipped a piece of paper into her hand.

  “What’s this?” She unfolded it.

  “Just a contribution.” He took a sip from her mug.

  Jo moved to the kitchen to pour coffee for Pete. “A check for five thousand dollars?”

  “I don’t know how much these things cost. But a woman shouldn’t have to pay for her own wedding dress.”

  Tears choked her throat. As she stirred in milk and a whisper of sugar, she shuddered. “Oh, Pete, I don’t know what to say.” She turned to him and was immediately engulfed in his embrace.

  “Don’t say anything.”

  Rapid blinking and deep breathing kept the waterworks at bay. “It’s too much. I’d never spend that much on a dress.”

  “Use the rest for something else for the wedding, then.”

  “Thank you. You’re the sweetest man ever.”

  He held her tight until the slight tremble worked its way out. She leaned her cheek on his chest, breathing deep of his scent, made sweeter by sleep and a freshly laundered bathrobe. His heartbeat was strong, his love surrounded her. Though they had been together almost a year, she marveled at how new that feeling was, and how delicious. His devotion had changed Jo, smoothed out her rough edges. She smiled more than usual when he was around.

  After a quick shower, she threw on jeans and a sweater—clothes that would be easy to take off and put on in a dressing room. She rounded up her cheering squad—Lauren Montgomery, Griff’s wife—he had agreed to take care of their toddler—Emmy Carruthers, Buddy’s wife, and Samantha Drake.

  The four women bundled into Jo’s car and headed for New York City. Destination—Madame Carelli’s Creations, located on West 38th Street, in the garment district.

  Traffic was light. Normal people are home, huddled by the fire on a day like today. Fortune shined on them as they pulled into a legal parking space right down the street from the store. When they opened the door, a gray-haired woman with a slight accent greeted them.

  “Jo Parker. Ten o’clock appointment?” Jo said.

  “Oh, Ms. Parker. Yes. Right this way. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  The women filed into a small, private room in the back. Three loveseats hugged the walls. A flowered tray held several, small coffee cups and a pot. A plate piled high with tempting mini Danish and chocolate croissants shared space with the tray.<
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  “Sit. Relax. Let us show you what we have,” Madame Carelli said.

  They eased down into the plush seats.

  “Marla,” the older woman called. A beautiful young woman, with dark hair and eyes, pushed through a curtain. “Marla, dear. Start with the Sheer Elegance line.”

  The women sat back while dress after dress was carried out and paraded in front of them. Jo watched with big eyes as the breath-taking creations of white or cream lace, silk, and satin tempted her. Coffee and sweets were passed around. The enthusiasm of her new friends warmed her heart. It was as if Jo had stepped into the middle of a Disney fairytale.

  “Well, my dear. You and your friends have selected ten very fine gowns. Would you like to try them on now?”

  “Come on, Jo. Give us a fashion show,” Emmy Carruthers said.

  The future bride pushed to her feet and followed Madame Carelli into the dressing room.

  The dream continued as she shed her casual clothes and slipped into the cool, soft elegance of a silk charmeuse dress. Marla zipped up the back while the older woman fluffed up the skirt, and straightened the bodice, before opening the curtain.

  Jo could have sworn she heard Handel’s “Wedding March” as she came out of the tiny room. The gasps and claps from her friends brought a smile to her face. As she gazed into the three-sided mirror, her eyes widened. She did, indeed, look like a bride.

  “How are you going to wear your hair, my dear?”

  Jo shrugged. She hadn’t thought about that. The wedding planning had been totally about caterers, flowers, Pete, the team, her parents…about other people. Now, the focus was squarely on her. Her eyes watered. The full impact of what she was doing hit her hard. She could barely catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” Lauren asked.

  Jo nodded. But was she okay? She doubted it.

  “Would you like to sit down?” Samantha offered.

  Jo leaned her palm on the wall while she steadied her breathing. She would be taking a huge step, joining her life with the man of her dreams. But was he? Should she do this? Could she back out now? Smiling, she reassured herself. A bride can back out any time before she walks down the aisle. Plenty of time to get cold feet.

  “This happens to many young women, once they see themselves in the dress. Marriage isn’t just playing dress-up. This is a life-altering step,” the store owner said. She draped her arm around Jo’s shoulders. “It’s all right, dear. I understand. Do you love him?”

  Unable to catch her breath, she nodded.

  “Is he a good man?”

  Again, she signaled her agreement.

  “Then, all will be well. You’ll have a good life.” Madame Carelli left the room.

  Emmy jumped up and hugged Jo. “You look so beautiful. Don’t worry. It’s gonna be okay.” The rock singer stepped back.

  “Not this one,” Jo said, turning this way and that. The full skirt swished as she moved. “I’ll kill myself. For sure, I’ll fall down the stairs in this dress. A wedding and a funeral at the same time.” She began to giggle. “And it’s too fussy. Too much going on.”

  Madame returned with a glass of water. “I see our bride has recovered. Not this one? Let’s try the next.”

  Dress after dress, Jo slipped over her head or stepped in. Her three friends had different opinions about each one. Jo decided that the hairstyle would follow. Once she got the right dress, she’d know how to wear her hair.

  The eighth dress was one that had particularly caught her eye. She held up her locks as Madame zipped up the back.

  “Ah, yes,” the woman said, nodding. “This, this is the one, Ms. Parker.”

  When Jo entered the room, the chatter from her friends died. She trembled once at the silence then ambled toward the three-sided mirror. She gasped at her image. This was it. The perfect gown.

  The form-fitting bodice was sleeveless and had a sweetheart neckline that showed just enough cleavage. The straps were thick, over an inch wide. It was covered in fine lace. At the waist was a band of white satin. The skirt was plain white, silk chiffon. It flowed gently over her hips in an A-line, falling softly in folds to the floor. The double layers created an opaque skirt that wouldn’t require a slip or under-skirt.

  It was beyond elegant, like something dreamy from a Cary Grant movie. Jo almost didn’t recognize herself in the magnificent gown. “This is it,” she whispered softly.

  “Pete’s gonna go nuts,” Emmy murmured.

  “You look…beyond words, Jo,” Samantha put in.

  The future bride slipped her hands under her hair and lifted it. “I think I’ll wear it up.”

  The women finally agreed on the ’do.

  While they chattered and munched, Jo flipped over the price tag. Two thousand dollars. Steep, but worth every penny. “I’ll take it.” She gazed at her reflection, turning this way and that. Never thought I’d have this dream. Love you, Pete Sebastian.

  Madame Carelli smiled, and Jo’s friends cheered.

  “We need to take your measurements.”

  “How long before it’s ready?”

  The older woman knitted her brow. “Hmm. Six weeks?”

  “Fine.”

  Jo stood patiently while the seamstress measured. Thoughts of walking down the aisle raised a queasiness in her stomach, so she concentrated on the wedding night. Need some new lingerie. She couldn’t hold back a secret smile at some naughty ideas she’d spring on the coach.

  The bride paid a deposit, and the women left the store. Still in a daze, she didn’t feel hungry, though the clock read twelve thirty.

  “Let’s go to lunch,” Lauren suggested.

  “I know a great pasta place,” Emmy put in.

  “My treat,” Jo said. “You’ve all been so great coming with me.”

  “You needed other eyes. I think you got the perfect dress. You look like an angel,” Samantha said.

  “Hah! A devil in an angel’s clothing! Pasta it is. Which way do we go, Emmy?” Jo stood back and let her friend lead the way.

  Chapter Nine

  Stormy had been avoiding Devon’s invitation to move into his room and his bed. Although certain of her feelings for him, she didn’t trust his. It seemed too fast, too perfect, too pat. She was waiting for the other shoe to fall. And she didn’t have long to wait.

  The young nutritionist did her shopping and cooking in the morning. She prepared lunch and dinner meals for Devon and Bullhorn and delivered Bull’s meals at twelve-thirty. Devon ate lunch at one.

  “Come on, eat with me,” he offered, sitting down to an attractive plate of low-fat tuna salad and vegetables.

  Before she could reply, the doorbell rang. She answered it. A man thrust a huge package into her hands. She signed for it and carried it into the kitchen.

  “For you,” she said, as she placed it on the table.

  Devon plucked a tiny envelope off the top. He read it then opened the box. Inside was a goody basket from a famous store. Stormy’s eyes grew round. A large, lovely, rectangular wicker creation was stuffed to overflowing with box after box of cookies, rugelach, chocolate-covered caramels, cheese popcorn, caramel popcorn, pretzels, and buttercreams.

  “Oh my God. A stash of junk food on wheels,” Stormy muttered.

  “This is amazing.”

  “You can’t have any of it. Who sent it?”

  Color seeped into Devon’s cheeks. “None of it?”

  “Maybe a few pieces. Who sent it?” A queasy feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

  “Doesn’t matter. If I can’t eat it, I can’t. Damn shame too. Caramels. My favorite.”

  Stormy snatched the card out of his hand. Her head felt light. She clutched the chair as a wave of dizziness washed through her. Jackie.

  Hey, Dev,

  So sorry about the Super Bowl. Here’s something to make you feel better

  until I’m there to do it in person.

  Jackie

  “Eat whatever you want. Eat it all. I’m done.” She tossed t
he card on the table and headed for her room.

  “Wait, Stormy, wait!” Devon was after her in a heartbeat. He caught up to her before she reached her destination. Grabbing her arm, he twirled her around to face him. “What’s the matter?”

  “The card’s the matter.”

  “Jackie? I can’t help it if she sent me stuff.”

  “It’s not just the stuff, it’s the message. She’s coming back. I’m so out of here.”

  “First of all, you can’t desert me. I hired you—”

  “Then, I quit.”

  “You can’t quit. I have to get in shape, and I need you to help me.”

  “I’m sure Jackie can help you, much better than I can.”

  “Second of all, I don’t want Jackie. I want you.” He bent down and kissed her.

  Stormy struggled, but the soft insistence of his touch and the warmth of his arms winding around her melted her resistance. I don’t love him. I don’t want him. He’s self-indulgent. He’s arrogant. But her heart wasn’t listening. It was singing.

  He stepped back. “Come on.” Grasping her hand securely in his, he led her to his bedroom. Once inside, he was kissing her again as he kicked the door shut. After tumbling onto the bed, Devon pinned her elbows down. “Gotta make sure you’re not going to take a swing at me.”

  “I’m not. I promise.”

  “Like that time you promised when we were playing whiffle ball?” he reminded.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was only testing the plastic bat.”

  “You broke the damn thing over my back.”

  “See? It wasn’t a very sturdy bat to begin with.”

  He laughed as he peered down at her. The heat of his stare warmed her blood. His ice blue eyes were anything but cold as they zeroed in on her breasts. “Someone is overdressed,” he said, before lowering his mouth to hers.

  His hungry kiss lit her fire. He released her and found better things to touch than elbows. Cool air on her chest alerted her to the fact that he had unbuttoned her shirt. The gliding of a warm hand across her skin and onto her soft flesh sparked anticipation.