End Zone Heat Read online

  And Dyson Drake was sitting at their private bar, keeping his attention on Adam and on the entrance to the private room. Earlier, Adam had tried to buy him a drink. Dyson had politely declined, saying he was on the clock.

  You couldn’t knock the guy’s dedication. He had it in spades.

  Adam glanced over at Dyson again, unable to stop thinking about him. Dyson was wearing a different suit and tie from earlier. It was a tailored suit and decent enough quality, so he didn’t appear completely out of place…aside from the small fact that he was the only man wearing a suit in the whole bar except for the bouncers.

  Dyson noticed him looking and nodded and lifted his glass of soda. Adam lifted his own scotch in a silent toast. He wondered what was going through the man’s mind, seeing all these pro football players partying it up. He was probably used to it. He claimed he’d been a bodyguard for years, so maybe he’d seen all this jazz before. Maybe to him, it was old hat.

  Kenyan leaned in closer, catching Adam’s attention. “Where’s Missy? She loves these kinds of things.”

  “Yeah, as she loves to tell everyone,” April added with a grin. “Over and over again.”

  They were an adorable couple in Adam’s book and good friends of his. Sometimes they even invited him over for dinner. April’s soul food was to die for. She came from Memphis, and she was a mean cook.

  He sipped his scotch to give himself time to answer. “Missy and I are a thing of the past.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” April said, but she was watching him closely as if trying to read how upset he was about the breakup.

  Kenyan only snorted and shook his head. “What’s that? The fifth girl this year? You gotta slow down, man.”

  “Why slow down? I’m still young. I’ll slow down when I’m dead.”

  Anthony, the wide receiver, perked up. “You mean Missy’s on the market again? Damn. That girl has a whole lotta shake in that tail.”

  “She’s a cheerleader,” Adam warned.

  “As if I didn’t know.” Anthony gave Adam a sidelong look. “You got away with…what do they say? ‘Fraternizing’ or whatever bullshit.”

  “That’s cuz he’s a star,” Kenyan said, grinning. “You a star, you get away with anything.”

  April shoved him lightly on the arm. “You be nice.”

  “Yeah, I was pushing it,” Adam admitted. “But the risk got old.” He shrugged. “And dealing with Missy got old.”

  “Someday, we’ll get you to settle down with a nice girl,” April chided him.

  “Only if she cooks like you, beautiful,” he said to her.

  Kenyan eyed him. “Don’t be sweet talkin’ my girl now. She’s taken.”

  April giggled and gave Kenyan a kiss. Adam laughed and took another sip of his drink. Like he’d said, they were adorable.

  “So, Jimmy tells me you got a bodyguard,” Anthony chipped in. He glanced over at the bar where Dyson was. “Dude looks like he’s ready for business.”

  “He’s ex-military. A real hard-ass. He’s pretty cool, though. I gave him a ton of shit, but he didn’t even blink.”

  “Why’d you give him shit?” Kenyan asked curiously. “You don’t like him?”

  More like he liked Dyson too much. Far too much to avoid trouble. But he couldn’t admit that to them. “I don’t want a bodyguard.”

  “Didn’t some loco chick bust up your Bugatti?” Anthony mused, twisting the championship ring on his finger. He looked almost worried the same thing would happen to him. He gave Adam a clear “Bitches be crazy” look.

  Adam shrugged. “Somebody trashed it, yeah. Jerry Macklin thinks it was some psycho fan for another team, maybe the Thundershock. So he bought me a bodyguard.” He grinned. “I am the most important bastard on the team, after all.”

  “Now you’re just drunk rambling,” Kenyan said with a laugh. “I ran over a hundred yards today. Where’s my bodyguard?”

  “She’s sitting right next to you,” Adam quipped, nodding at April. She laughed and flexed her arm.

  Anthony still had a crafty look on his face. “So, about Missy. Man, would you take it hard if I made a play for her? Because damn.”

  “Go ahead, man. Just don’t underestimate her. She’s a handful.”

  “She’s two big handfuls if you get my meaning,” Anthony said, leering. He glanced toward the door leading to the main club dance floor. “She here tonight?”

  “Haven’t seen her,” he said. That would be a headache if she showed up tonight.

  “I’m gonna go look.” Anthony grabbed his drink and sauntered toward the main dance floor.

  The three of them watched him leave. Then April reached out and touched Adam’s arm.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He was touched that she cared. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was the jerk. I didn’t do a good job of letting her down easy.”

  Kenyan snorted. “You think you’d be better at it after all this time.”

  April shot him a warning look before turning back to Adam. “Well, I’m sorry things didn’t work out. I know you’ll find someone special. Don’t give up hope.”

  “He doesn’t, baby,” Kenyan said. “He keeps tryin’ and tryin’ with all his little heart.”

  That made him laugh. Kenyan had been his friend since he’d signed on with the Razorbacks. April had been a blessing in Kenyan’s life. She’d been good for him, and it was clear that he loved April with all his heart. He was absolutely devoted to her.

  Yeah, Adam was a bit jealous of their love. He was a guy, and you didn’t come out and say you wanted love like that, even if it was true. Only with a man instead of a woman. But love…it was still one of the most important things in life.

  One he’d been missing out on for years. Something lost to him as he played this stupid game, pretending to be a womanizing quarterback sports star because he was afraid of what the world would say if he ever revealed that had all been a lie. He feared the backlash if he revealed he’d always been gay. It would hurt the team.

  And it would hurt him.

  “What about your bodyguard?” April asked suddenly.

  That made Adam almost spill his drink. “What?”

  Did she know? Did she use magical women’s intuition superpowers to somehow learn he was attracted to Dyson?

  “He’s sitting at the bar all alone,” she said. “Maybe we should invite him over to drink with us. He looks lonely.”

  “He has a job to do, baby,” Kenyan said, looking amused.

  “Yeah,” Adam chimed in. “And he’s drinking soda or something. He tells me he’s on the clock.”

  “Well, I want to meet him, and he can guard you from over here just as well as from over there.”

  Adam grinned and shook his head. Just like Kenyan, he couldn’t deny April when she had her mind set on something. “All right, all right. I’ll go see if I can drag him over so you can meet him.”

  He got up and wandered to the bar. He ordered another scotch and walked to Dyson.

  “No one’s attacked me yet,” he said casually. “I guess that means you’re doing a great job.”

  Dyson smirked at him over the edge of his soda glass. “Told you there was nothing to worry about with me around, sir.”

  “Enough with the ‘sir’ business. You’re making me feel old and respectable.” He jerked a thumb back at his table. “April and Kenyan want to meet you. Do you mind?”

  “I should really stay here and keep an eye on things.”

  “Come on. It’ll just take a few minutes. April’s relentless when she wants something.”

  The other man still hesitated. “Most clients prefer me to stay in the background. That’s where I can do my job effectively.”

  “First off, I’m not your client, remember? Second, this club has its own security. I’ve never had a problem here. And third, April’s curious about you, and she’s a sweetheart. But she’s even more stubborn than me. So you could do me a solid and take a few minutes to say hi.”

  Dyson he
sitated for another beat before finally nodding. He stood and set his mostly empty soda glass on the bar.

  Adam nodded at the glass. “Can I buy you another? Or maybe something stronger? Like bottled water. Or hell, you could go crazy and down an energy drink.”

  Dyson met his eyes. “You’re busting my balls.”

  “Hell, yeah. That’s what it means to be part of a team.”

  “Then I will take another drink. If you’re buying.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He waved to their bartender and slapped down a twenty. “Another of whatever my friend here is drinking.”

  The bartender grabbed another soda and a fresh glass and began to pour.

  Dyson glanced at the money on the bar. “They told me that soda was free for designated drivers and bodyguards.”

  He shrugged, a bit annoyed to have to explain himself. “That’s just a tip.” He loved to tip well because it made a difference in people’s lives, but he didn’t like to draw attention to it. “Now, come on. Sit down and relax for a second. It’s not like I’m asking you to dance.”

  “Good. Because I can’t dance.”

  Thinking of the tough-looking badass ex-military bodyguard out there shaking his butt on the dance floor made Adam grin. He liked to think he danced pretty well. He had a few moves. Then again, he’d taken lessons. That was a fun fact most sports fans didn’t know.

  The two of them walked back to the table. Kenyan stood and held out a hand. “How you doing, man? I’m Kenyan. I hear you’re protecting this fool here from all his crazy ex-girlfriends.”

  Dyson shook Kenyan’s hand. “Dyson. I’m doing my best to keep Mr. Collins safe.”

  Kenyan grinned. “We don’t stand on that formality around here. This is my wife, April.”

  He turned to April and also took her hand and shook it, more delicately this time. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me over.”

  She beamed at Dyson, greeted him back, and then poked Kenyan in the side. “He’s so much more polite than you two knuckleheads.”

  Kenyan made a show of looking offended. “Baby, you’re killin’ me.” He glanced at Dyson again. “Tell me you’re a Razorbacks fan. I won’t feel comfortable having my boy guarded by some Thundershock fan. It just won’t work.”

  April shushed him, but Dyson only smiled as he took a seat where he could still see the door leading into this private area. “I’m a fan, don’t worry. You had a great ground game out there today.”

  Kenyan looked pleased. But Kenyan always looked pleased when people praised his carries. But it was true. Kenyan’s ability to weave through a defense had helped take the pressure off of Adam. It had kept the Raptors guessing.

  Adam watched as April and Kenyan talked with the big bodyguard, slowly bringing him out of his professional shell. Dyson kept diverting his attention back to the entrance to the private room, but Adam suspected the man was starting to settle down and enjoy himself.

  As for him, he was happy enough to sit, drink his drink, and listen. There was something different about this bodyguard. It was a feeling he couldn’t put his finger on, but it was also something he couldn’t shake.

  Now he wanted to uncover the mystery behind this too-polite bodyguard. The man who could be blunt and gruff but who also had a rare smile that made Adam’s heart skip a beat or two when it appeared.

  Adam could enjoy himself here. He just needed to be careful.

  Very, very careful.

  DYSON

  In all honesty, Dyson was enjoying himself far more than he should’ve been. Kenyan was laidback and easy to talk to. His wife was a sweetheart. They made a good couple. Collins was surprisingly relaxed and friendly too.

  Dyson had to admit he might’ve been wrong. It seemed as if he’d judged the quarterback way too harshly back in Macklin’s office when they’d first met. He had expected Collins to be just like every other wealthy client or principal he’d dealt with. But none of his past clients had actually asked him to sit down at their table and talk.

  It put him in an awkward space, though. He was technically on duty. He wasn’t drinking, but he shouldn’t allow his focus to drop. He couldn’t let himself get distracted.

  The difficult thing was how much fun he was having at the moment. He tried not to embarrass himself by being a fanboy of Collins or Kenyan Lewis, even though they were two of the Razorbacks’ star players.

  Surprisingly, the three of them made him feel welcome. Sometimes other players would come over and chat. Collins pointed out the wide receiver, Anthony Smith, who had been dancing with a woman in a skin-tight dress that showed plenty of thigh.

  “Looks like he couldn’t find Missy,” Adam said wryly.

  “You know Anthony,” April said, rolling her eyes. “Any honey will do.”

  Dyson frowned. “Was Ms. Parks supposed to be here tonight?”

  Adam Collins shrugged dismissively. “She knows this is where the team usually hangs out after a win. But I don’t think she’ll show up.”

  Dyson wasn’t so sure about that. The ex-girlfriend had already surprised them at Collins’s condo, which was a bold move. She hadn’t trashed the place, and Collins hadn’t mentioned anything being stolen, but still, it was a security risk. He wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t show up here to cause trouble. Especially if alcohol got involved.

  That meant he needed to be ready for anything. He would head her off, talk to her, let her know she wasn’t going to get close to Collins again unless Collins agreed to some kind of meeting beforehand.

  So now he needed to somehow extricate himself from the table and the conversation, even though he’d been having fun. He’d been surprised by how much he was enjoying it, actually.

  His attention on the chit-chat lessened as he focused on doing his job again. He was no rookie, but he’d been caught off guard by their acceptance of him at their table. That had made him sloppy. He was trying to think of a good excuse to leave the table and take up his position at the bar again when his attention locked on the door to the private room.

  There was a security guy there, making sure that just anyone couldn’t wander into the team’s area. But he was still letting in a few “hotties” as the team members came and went, partying it up.

  The dance music from the main club area was loud. A driving beat pulsed through the walls. Beyond the door, Dyson could see the crowd of dancers and flashing lights and strobes as people moved to the club remixes from the DJ.

  While the security guy was distracted talking with two scantily clad women who wanted to get into the team area, a man slipped past him as smoothly as the shadow of a cloud moving over a meadow.

  Dyson’s full focus locked on the man like a guided missile. Nothing else mattered. Not the talk of football or the loud music or the other people around him. Adrenaline flashed through his veins.

  Something was definitely up.

  The man who’d sneaked past the bounced was wearing jeans, a black hoodie, and a bulky coat. The hoodie’s hood was back, revealing the non-descript face of a Caucasian male. The kind of face you’d pass a dozen times in the store without focusing on it or even remembering once you were past. The man had a neon wristband showing he’d paid to enter the club. So he hadn’t sneaked in at the front, even though he’d slipped past the security guard to the private area.

  Overenthusiastic fan? Or something else?

  Dyson didn’t have a lot of time to make a decision. Without a word, he pushed to his feet, leaving behind the lounge leather couches in this ritzy part of the club. He began to walk toward the guy.

  He didn’t draw his concealed pistol. That was a last resort. So far, the man hadn’t shown a weapon of his own. He was glancing around the big private area, his gaze moving from one cluster of players and women to another.

  He was looking for someone. Again, it might’ve been for an autograph.

  But Dyson didn’t take chances.

  He was closing in on the suspicious target when the man reached i
nto his coat.

  Dyson’s hand flashed inside his coat and settled on the grip of his pistol, but he didn’t draw. Not yet. He had to do this right. He couldn’t overreact and cause a panic. And he couldn’t be too slow either and allow someone to get shot.

  His grip relaxed when the man pulled out a mason jar filled with some clear liquid from inside his coat.

  What the hell was that? Was he smuggling in his own booze? Maybe it was some kind of moonshine.

  Dyson kept closing in. Regardless of what the liquid was, the guy had still slipped past security. He ignored Collins when he called out a question asking what was wrong. Dyson knew he probably seemed strange and half crazy, getting up and storming off in the middle of their conversation, but he didn’t stop, and he didn’t look back.

  The man halted when he spotted the couch area where Collins, Kenyan, and his wife were sitting. His eyes went wide. Wide and angry. As he stared, he unscrewed the lid on the Mason jar. His hand was trembling. He started to stride toward Collins, not looking left or right. He was absolutely focused on the quarterback.

  Dyson’s instincts were screaming that this wasn’t good. That was an understatement. He didn’t know what was in the jar, but he wasn’t going to let this man reach Collins. Not on his life.

  He cut the man off, standing in front of him and blocking his path. The man was much shorter than Dyson. The guy stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he peered up into Dyson’s face.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here,” Dyson growled with a clear threat in his voice. “You need to leave—”

  The man cursed him. He began to swing the open Mason jar at Dyson as if he intended to dump the liquid on him.

  Dyson reacted instantly and without thought. His hand shot out. He blocked the man’s arm, smacking his forearm hard and stopping his throw.

  Liquid sloshed from the lip of the jar onto his suit sleeve. He barely noticed. Instead, he hauled off and punched the guy right in the face. The man dropped the jar and went staggering backward with a squawk of pain. The jar somehow didn’t break on the floor. It hit, sloshing the liquid across the floor. The jar bounced, fell on its side, and rolled as the clear liquid spilled out in a gush.