Текст книги "Crush"
Автор книги: Nicole Williams
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Dedication
For Eric, the man who I have loved, do love, and always will love. You believed in me from the start, even when I wasn’t so sure. Here’s to April 21, 2001, bruised shins, and going out on a limb . . . so glad you did.
Contents
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Nicole Williams
Back Ad
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
ONE
Up, down. Round and around. Rinse and repeat. That was our pattern. That was our world.
With a guy like Jude Ryder at my side, the lows in life were lower and the highs were higher. This was our reality, our story . . . our love story. We fought; we made up. We messed up; we apologized. We lived; we learned. Jude and I had made a lot of mistakes in the history of our relationship, but one thing we always seemed to get right? Our all-consuming love for each other.
This was my life.
And you know what?
Life was pretty damn good.
Even despite the fact that I had no clue where I was.
“What are you up to?” I whispered back to Jude, continuing to let him lead me into the black hole.
“Something you’ll love,” he replied, squeezing my shoulders as he steered me along. My heels began to echo around me.
So we were in a tunnel, but what tunnel was totally beyond me, because Jude had made me close my eyes the moment I’d answered the door this evening. Other than driving around in his ancient rumble-wagon of a truck for the better part of a Friday date night, I’d lost my bearings in every way a girl could ever lose them.
Given the fact that Jude Ryder was my fiancé, my bearings had been a tad off-kilter for the past few years, but they were especially off the grid tonight.
Did this tunnel have an end? The longer we continued down it, the louder my footsteps echoed around us.
“Is whatever you’re up to illegal?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.
“Is that a trick question?” he said, sounding amused.
“Is that a trick answer?”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I felt his mouth warm the skin at the base of my neck. One full breath out, and one full breath in, slow and deep and suffocating, before his lips grazed the heated patch of skin.
I tried not to react like his touch was hardwired to drive every bit of me crazy, but even after years together, Jude could still unravel me with one touch. My skin was pricking to life with tiny goose bumps that trailed down to my lower back when his mouth pulled away.
“There will most certainly be high points tonight that could be classified as illegal in every one of the Bible Belt states,” he said, his voice low with desire. Not quite as rough as it got when he needed me right then and there; it was still restrained enough that I knew he wasn’t going to throw me up against the nearest wall and start fisting up my skirt before we got a step farther. “Does that answer your question?”
“No,” I said, trying to sound controlled. Trying to sound like he hadn’t made my stomach clench with desire from one kiss. “It doesn’t answer my question. So let’s try this again . . .” I cleared my throat, reminding myself I was trying to sound unaffected. “In whatever never-ending hallway you’re leading me down, toward whatever location you’re aiming to wind up at, could either one of these trespasses be considered illegal if we were to be tried in court?”
He didn’t make a noise, but I knew he was trying to contain a chuckle. One of those low, rumbling ones that vibrated through my body when he was pressed up against me. “Since you put it that way . . .” he started, stopping me suddenly. His hands left my shoulders and tapped my eyelids. “Yes. It could be. However,” he said, “they’d have to catch us first. Open your eyes, babe.”
I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure what I was seeing was real.
After another half dozen blinks, I could be reasonably certain that what my eyes were taking in was, in fact, real.
We were inside the Carrier Dome, just at the mouth of one of the tunnels. However, this was the dome like I’d never seen it in the past three years of attending almost every home game. At the center of the field, right at the fifty, a blanket was spread out, and what looked like a picnic basket rested in one corner. A smattering of white candles in clear jars were dotted around the blanket. It was still, silent, and peaceful.
Not the first three words you’d usually use to describe a college football arena.
And this wasn’t the place a girl expected her fiancé would take her on a big surprise date he’d wanted her to get dressed up for.
I grinned.
Not what I’d expected, but exactly what I wanted.
“What do you think? This worth ‘illegal’?” he asked, winding his arms around my waist and tucking his chin over my shoulder.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the candlelit scene in front of me. A picnic on the fifty-yard line.
I knew it might not have ranked in the top-ten desired dates for most girls, but it hit the number-one spot for this girl.
“It’s only illegal if we get caught,” I answered, turning my head so he could see my smile, before breaking free of his arms and jogging over to the blanket.
This was the first time I’d been down on the field since Jude and I got engaged our freshman year of college, but it really did seem like it had been only a handful of days ago. I’d discovered another one of life’s clichés by being with Jude: The happier you are in life, the faster it passes you by. Life was one sick bastard if happy people were repaid with a life that seemed short. Short life or long life, it didn’t matter—I wasn’t giving up Jude either way.
At the twenty-five-yard line, I spun around, continuing to jog backward. Jude was still at the mouth of the tunnel, watching me with a grin, appearing as enamored by me as he had on the day he’d confessed his love. That look, more than any of the others, got to me in all the ways a guy’s look was supposed to “get” to his girl.
I perused the stands one more time to make sure we were alone. It felt so damn open in here, which was unnerving, but how many times could a girl say she’d been with the number-one-ranked college quarterback in the nation right on the fifty-yard line?
Yeah, this was a once-in-a-lifetime deal, and I wasn’t going to let it pass me by.
Inhaling a slow breath, I reached for the hem of my sweater and started sliding it up my stomach.
Jude’s expression changed instantly. His forehead lined deeper and one corner of his mouth twitched.
Raising a brow, I lifted the rest of my sweater, tugging it over my head and dropping it onto the Astroturf. My adrenaline was pumping. The anticipation of having Jude with me set it off, and the thrill of being here was firing it to new heights.
Winding my arms behind my back, I unclasped my bra. It snapped free, sliding down my arms to join the sweater at my feet.
Jude wasn’t looking at my face any longer.
Wetting his lips, he started toward me.
I started my backward journey again, flicking him a coy smile. I was going to have fun with him, draw this out. Get even with him for what he so often did to me.
He stopped as soon as I started moving away, staring at me like he knew exactly what game I was playing and he both loved and hated being a pawn in it.
Pausing just long enough to step out of my heels, I slid my thumbs under the waist of my skirt and lowered it down my hips, slowing just enough to gather the material of my panties with it. I let both skirt and underwear gather at my ankles.
Jude’s eyes drifted lower, his chest rising and falling noticeably, even from where I stood thirty yards away from him. When his eyes did shift back to mine, they were dark with one thing.
Absolute need.
His body sprang to action as he burst onto the field after me, running at the same pace he did when he was playing a game. I turned and laughed with every step as I ran away from him.
It was a futile effort, running from Jude—both right now, and in life in general.
Jude always caught up with me. Sometimes he gave me a head start, but he never let me get too far.
This time, I barely made it ten yards before I felt his strong arms cinch around me. A shout of surprise punctuated my laughter as he pulled me hard against him. Not only had he managed to cover thirty yards in the time it had taken me to sprint less than a third of that, he’d removed his shirt in the process. The heat coming off his chest warmed my back, and the movement of his muscles against me as he breathed in and out warmed everything else.
“Going somewhere?” he said, nudging at my neck until I gave him better access to it.
“Anywhere,” I answered, letting my head fall back against him when his mouth smoothed down the arch of my neck. “As long as you’re with me.”
I felt his smile against my skin. His hands slid lower, pausing when they reached my hips. “How would you feel about ‘anywhere’ being on that blanket over there?”
Everything south of my navel tightened. “I’d say even if I wasn’t so sure, you’d keep trying to persuade me,” I said, gliding my hands down his forearms, pausing to weave my fingers through his where they still rested over my hips.
He pressed harder against my back. “You’d be right,” he said, skimming our hands up my stomach as he steered us toward the blanket. Our hands didn’t stop until they slid beneath one of my breasts, molding around it.
Nipping at the skin of my neck, he picked up his pace until we were weaving through the glowing candles. At the edge of the blanket, Jude spun me around. His mouth parted, as he sucked in streams of air in quick bursts. This was his tortured look. When he couldn’t have me fast enough.
It was a look I tried to savor, because it never lasted long. I could only hold Jude off for so long before me, him, or both of us gave up trying to prolong the inevitable.
“Damn, Luce,” he breathed, stroking my cheek with his hand. “You’re so beautiful.”
I smiled. Not so much at what he said, but at the way he said it. Jude conveyed his emotions and intentions in words and expressions that did unhealthy things to a girl’s heart. “If you’re trying to convince me with a little foreplay, I’ll let you in on a secret,” I said, winding my arms around the back of his neck. “You’re going to get lucky no matter what you say or do, so you can save the sweet nothings for a time when you’ve pissed me off and are trying to get a little makeup sex.”
He chuckled, his gray eyes darkening with every passing touch. “I don’t seem to remember it requiring sweet nothings to ever get you—”
“Oh, shut up already,” I interrupted, smirking up at him.
One corner of his mouth curved higher. “Why don’t you make me?” he challenged, his gaze dropping to my lips.
Pressing harder into him, I let my fingers ski down the plane of his stomach, settling on the fly of his jeans. Tugging the button free, I slid my hand inside as my lips covered his mouth, a groan escaping it.
That shut him right up.
TWO
Jude’s head reclined in my lap as he crunched into an apple and stared at the ceiling of the dome. He was still naked from the waist up, but his jeans hadn’t made it all the way off. Apparently we hadn’t been able to justify waiting the three seconds it would have taken to free him of them before we could get down to business.
We weren’t big believers in delayed gratification.
I’d wrangled myself back into my sweater and skirt before we’d exchanged one hunger for another and dived into the picnic basket, although my panties and bra still littered the thirty-yard line.
“Tomorrow’s the big day,” he said around another bite of apple. The air smelled like the tangy sweetness of the fruit in his mouth. Not able to resist, I leaned down to kiss him, wanting to taste the aroma. It was even better combined with the taste of his mouth.
He was oozing that notorious Jude Ryder ego when I leaned back. He knew what he did to me. And he loved it.
I loved it too, although I didn’t love how well he knew it.
“Tomorrow I could be a first-round draft pick, Luce,” he continued, circling my ankle with his fingers. “We could be millionaires in twenty-four hours.”
I had to force myself not to visibly wince. This talk—the draft, the money, the lifestyle—had been an area of contention this past year with the likelihood of Jude’s being drafted into pro ball. I wasn’t so sure how I felt about it, but Jude was sure enough for both of us.
Trouble was, his confidence wasn’t rubbing off on me. If anything, the more confident he became, the less I felt. Money had the potential to change things. It had the potential to change people. I was worried about how all that money might change us. I loved him, and me, and us, just the way we were now.
Jude’s being drafted his junior year of college was a one-in-a-million kind of an opportunity, the kind of thing college players would sell their souls to achieve. But it also meant he’d be dropping out of school. He’d made it this far; a part of me wanted to see him finish his degree—astound all those people back home who’d always pegged him as a high school dropout. Playing in the NFL had been a dream of Jude’s forever. I couldn’t postpone his dream any more than he could mine.
“From dining on peanut-butter sandwiches tonight to twenty-ounce, grade-A prime filet tomorrow night,” he continued, his face almost glowing as his eyes drifted off to money-land. “We could get a new place, a new fancy-ass car. We could take a vacation to Hawaii. Fly first-class and shit. Think about it, Luce. Anything we want, we can have. Anytime we want it. No more scrambling around getting grease under our fingernails or waiting tables late at night to pay the electric bill.” He paused, a contented smile settling deeper into his face. “We could have it all, baby.”
I swallowed. “I thought we already did.” My voice sounded sadder than I meant it to.
The skin between Jude’s eyebrows puckered. “What do you mean?” he asked, his gaze zeroing in on me.
“I thought we already had it all,” I repeated. “I’ve been on both sides of the money line, and the only thing it changes is your zip code. It can’t make you happy if you weren’t without it.”
“Well, I’ve been on the losing side of the money game my whole life, and I know for a fact that money can make your life better if you can’t even find enough quarters in the couch cushions to do a load of laundry at the local Suds N’ Wash.” Dropping his apple to the side, he sat up and turned until he was facing me. The candlelight flickered around him, shadowing the crevasses of his muscles, highlighting the peaks of them, and made the sharp lines of his jaw even more defined. A man like Jude shouldn’t be classified as beautiful, but in moments like this, he kind of was.
Jude Ryder. My beautiful fiancé.
He was waiting for me to respond.
“Okay, so money can make your life better if you’re destitute,” I said, prying my eyes from where they traced the grooves of his ab muscles. “But we’re not destitute, Jude. We’re college students with a roof over our heads, gasoline in our tanks, ramen noodles in our cupboards, and shirts on our backs. I couldn’t imagine being any happier than I am right now, and if it was possible, money would certainly be the last thing on that list that could make me more so.” I grabbed the plastic wineglass Jude had filled from a cheap bottle of sparkling wine and took a sip. It was delicious. I was as happy with a five-dollar bottle of sparkling wine from the drugstore as I would have been with the finest bottle of champagne money could buy.
“No, we’re not destitute, but we’re not thriving in the money department either, Luce,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling it into his lap. “And you’re right that money couldn’t make me happier than I am right now.” He smiled so big it made the scar on his cheek pucker. “But it does mean I can finally be rid of my piece-of-shit truck and get a jacked-up, three-hundred-and-fifty-horsepower jet-black monster truck.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved at him.
“And we can trade in that little go-kart of yours for a zippy convertible,” he continued.
“I like my Mazda,” I muttered, plucking a grape free from the vine and popping it into my mouth.
“And we can afford a house with a room for each day of the year, with so many maids and butlers you wouldn’t have to lift a finger again. Unless it was to call for a fresh-squeezed orange juice.” He was really on a roll, the words spilling out of his mouth as his eyes sparkled with the visions. My own eyes were narrowing as my stomach twisted.
“Money changes people, Jude,” I whispered, staring into my cup.
We were silent as we let that settle between us.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” he said, his voice soft. “That the money will change you?”
I shook my head, focusing on the bubbles that crept up the sides of the cup. “No,” I said, before looking into his eyes. “That it will change you.”
His eyes narrowed for the shortest second before they widened with understanding. Winding an arm around my neck, he pulled me to him. “Come here,” he whispered outside my ear, wrapping his other arm around my back. “The only thing that could change me is you, Luce,” he said. “You, not anything else. Mountains of money included.” I heard the grin in his voice. “No matter what happens tomorrow or how many millions they throw at me, I’m the same guy I am right now.” He rubbed my back, pressing slow circles into my spine. “I’ll just be picking you up in a truck you won’t be embarrassed to be seen in.”
“I’ve never been embarrassed to be seen with you,” I said, letting him tuck my head under his chin. “Not even in that sorry excuse for scrap metal of a truck.”
He barked out a laugh. “Good to know, Luce. Good to know.”
THREE
“How are you not nervous?” I hissed over at Jude, where he stood casually leaning against a wall. We were in the infamous green room on the first night of the draft.
Reaching his hand out for mine, he lifted a shoulder. “The coaches already know who they’re picking. There’s nothing I can do now to change that.” Once I grabbed his hand, he tugged me close and folded me tight against him. “However, I’m starting to get nervous you’re about to pass out any second.”
That wasn’t so far off. I reminded myself to breathe. “As long as you keep holding on to me like this, at least I won’t crack my head open if I do.”
His arms fastened tighter around me before he started to sway in time to an imaginary beat. “You can dance in front of hundreds of people and not break a sweat,” he said. The movement was relaxing me. “But your fiancé is waiting for the phone call to see which city he’ll be moving to so he can kick some big-time football ass, and you’re a thin line away from losing it.” Pressing a kiss to my temple, he leaned his forehead into mine with a small shake of his head. “Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, Lucy Larson.”
My laugh sounded manic. Probably because that was how I felt. “I have to keep you on your toes somehow.”
Jude’s eyebrows moved against my forehead. “You excel at that, Luce.”
That tone again. The undercurrent that revealed he was trying to say something else. There’d been an increasing amount of “undercurrent” the past few months.
“Meaning?” I asked, peaking my own brows so they were as high as his. I reminded myself we weren’t alone, that we were surrounded by the best players in college football, along with their closest family and friends. This was neither the place nor the time to get into one of our spats.
“Meaning if you didn’t keep me on my toes every second of every day, I’d have figured out a way to get you down the aisle by now,” he said, and it all clicked into place. He was sulking because he didn’t have me barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen yet.
Okay, so “barefoot and pregnant” might have been an exaggeration, but there was no denying that Jude wanted me to be his wife the second after I’d agreed to marry him. He’d only been asking, begging, whining, and, as of late, sulking when I replied, “Not yet.”
It didn’t have anything to do with my not wanting to marry him. Jude was going to be my husband. I was going to be Mrs. Jude Ryder one day.
I just wasn’t ready for that day to be today. Or yesterday. Or tomorrow, for that matter. I wanted to finish school and have a few years of actual on-the-job dance experience before I became a Mrs. I didn’t want to be known as the one girl in the history of the twenty-first century to have gone to school to get an MRS degree.
So my answer was, “Not yet.”
But one day.
However, this wasn’t what Jude liked to hear. So instead of arguing back with my list of valid reasons for postponing marriage, I redirected the conversation. I’d become a diversion ninja.
“And if I hadn’t kept you on your toes the past three years, you wouldn’t be about to be a first-round pick and to sign your life away for mountains of money,” I replied, throwing his words back at him.
“Come on, Luce. I’m growing tired of the whole, stop, drop, and divert routine,” he said, looking down at me, but still keeping me close. “Marriage isn’t the end of the world.”
“Then why do you keep acting like my not wanting to tie the knot tomorrow is?”
“Because your saying ‘not now’ is the end of the world,” he said, fighting a smile. “Come on, baby. Marry me,” he said, not like a question but like a command. I didn’t reply, letting the seconds tick off in silence around us. “Marry me?” he repeated, this time as a plea. It crushed me a little bit every time, Jude pleading with me to marry him.
“I’m going to marry you,” I answered.
He smirked at me. “When?”
I smirked back. “Soon.”
“Can I get that in writing?” he asked. “Maybe a date, a time, and a location? You know, just so I can make sure to be there when the marrying mood strikes you?” He looked away, the lightness in his eyes shadowing.
Dammit. We’d officially crossed from his being marginally upset to full-on hurt. I hated that Jude felt this way, but I couldn’t cave. I couldn’t get married because I felt guilty. That would be a marriage doomed to failure, and when I said, “I do,” it was going to be a onetime deal.
“Jude Ryder,” I said, tilting his chin until he was looking at me. “Are you having an insecure moment? I thought you were immune to those.” I tried on a smile, but it felt superficial. “Are you worried I’m not going to marry you?” Even my light tone sounded artificial, too saccharine to be believable.
Leaning the back of his head into the wall, he lifted his face toward the ceiling. He couldn’t look at me, or didn’t want to, but his arms never loosened their hold. And I knew, no matter what was said or done, they never would. That was one of the many reasons I loved this man.
“I’m starting to worry,” he said finally, shifting his gaze around the room, pretending he was interested in the handful of players pacing the room like caged lions, and their respective entourages of family and friends attempting, and failing, to calm them.
“Jude,” I said, pulling his chin back to me. “Jude, look at me.” I waited for him to turn to me. I caught a glimpse of just how vulnerable Jude Ryder was. How very terrified he was of one day being abandoned by the person he loved most. How the ghosts of his past—his mother leaving and his father being imprisoned—had been resurrected by my indecision. Seeing him this way almost had me running off to the nearest wedding chapel.
Almost.
I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying the words I knew would have soothed his pain instantly. I carefully thought of new ones I hoped would appease him. “I’m marrying you one day. One day sooner rather than later,” I began, holding his gaze, not even allowing myself a blink that would break the contact. “There’s never been a question that I’m yours. Yeah, we’re not husband and wife yet, but I’m yours. And you’re mine. Does a new title and a piece of paper really matter that much?” I already knew Jude’s answer to this.
“Yes,” he said, his jaw clenching as his eyes flashed. “Shit, yes, it does, Luce.”
I flinched from the intensity of his tone.
“I want you in every way a person can be with another. Every way,” he said, his voice low. “I want you as my wife. My. Wife,” he repeated, as Territorial Jude burst free of his cage.
Territorial Jude had a way of bringing out Temperamental Lucy.
“And then what? I get a new apron and spatula every Christmas and you pee on my leg every day before going to work, to mark your territory?” I snapped back, aware there were others around us within hearing distance, but not caring at this point.
“Dammit, Luce,” Jude seethed, working his tongue into his cheek. “Don’t you do that crazy Luce thing and twist my words all the hell up. If I wanted some submissive, respectful little housewife I sure as shit wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.” He was a few notches below a shout, but I knew that wouldn’t last, since I was planning to respond with a few choice four-letter words, followed by telling him to stick his head where the sun didn’t shine.
And then his cell phone rang.
A silence fell over the room. Our argument was over as quickly as it had started. Sliding his phone from his pocket, Jude glanced at me. His eyes were wide with excitement, sparkling with anticipation. This was the call he’d waited for, for the better part of three years. He’d left his heart and sweat and blood on the field after every game in his college career, and now those sacrifices were about to be paid back in spades.
Or dollar bills.
He flashed me a quick smile and drew me closer with the arm he still had wound around me. His eyes flickered to his phone. They widened further.
“San Diego,” he whispered, examining the screen again. His smile split his face in half. Leaning his head back, he hooted with all his might, filling the silent room with celebration.
I nodded my head in encouragement, mustering up a smile for him. This was what he wanted; this team was his first choice. He deserved this. He needed my support.
Answering the call, he held it to his ear. “Sir, you just drafted yourself the hardest-working son of a bitch you’ll ever come across.”
My mouth dropped, but only a little. I’d learned years ago that when it came to Jude, he never said or did what was expected.
The caller on the other end said something, earning a few laughs from Jude. “I’m going to win you some championships, sir,” he said, beaming into the phone. “Thank you for taking a chance on me.”
Other than Jude’s voice and my heart beating out of my chest, the room was still. Everyone had stopped pacing and turned to watch us. Most of the players looked happy for him, nodding their heads in acknowledgment, although a few were wearing sour expressions, no doubt confused as to why Jude Ryder had gotten the call before they had.
I could give them an answer: It was because Jude was the top-rated college quarterback in the nation and he believed in teamwork, unlike a growing number of showboaters who thought football was a one-man sport.
Ending the call, Jude’s face was blank with shock; then it quickly morphed to the most exhilarated I’d ever seen it. Hanging his head back, Jude opened his mouth and let out a coyote call at rafter-shaking volume.
The room erupted with cheers, but even with dozens of other shouts, Jude’s hollers still owned the room. I couldn’t help it: Seeing him like this, overcome with excitement, I had to join in. Not even all my apprehension and anxiety could dim my joy in this moment.
Leaning my own head back, I screamed right along with him and threw my arms into the air. He’d done it. He hadn’t only done it; he’d been a first-round draft pick. From troubled repeat felon to one of the most sought after and, although he hadn’t told me the number yet, probably one of the highest-paid football players in the country.
This was the stuff American dreams were made of, and I got to experience it at his side.
Lifting me into the air like I was nothing more substantial than a football, Jude spun me around.
“We did it, Luce,” he yelled up at me, his scar pinched deep into his cheek from the smile he wore. “We really did it.”
And this was where Jude and I had different opinions. I thought we’d been doing it, doing great, all along. But I returned his smile and nodded my head. “Yeah, baby,” I said. “We did it.”
