Page 18 of Hot Receiver

I call it waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A gray BMW X7pulls up to the spot where Zak stands, and with one final glare at my truck, he pulls open the door and slides inside. It’s not until Zak’s Uber Lux drives out of the parking lot that I finally pull away from the curb and head for my condo on the other side of the city.

I was never supposed to see him again. And now, karma is back to bite me on the ass, that deliciously dark and devilish deviance all wrapped up tight in BOSS Black and Armani. He looked so different when I knew him back at Ohio State. His hair was shorter, he didn’t even have facial scruff. But when he smiled, it made my breath hitch. Zak had a hot athlete next door kind of look. A very well-oiled machine with muscles for days and a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes that had me ready to bend over with even the most casual look.

Now he’s all man. Dark, brooding, stoic. So much hotter with that longish hair and beard. Who the hell thought the guy would get even better looking over time? But one glaring thing was missing.

I hadn’t seen him smile once tonight.

I miss that smile.

My cell phone buzzes, interrupting the ranting sounds of Five Finger Death Punch that blare from the speakers.

I drag in a breath. Ignoring the call is only going to hurt the people I care about. And since this is the fifth one in about two hours, a knot in my gut tells me it’s serious.

With a stab of my finger, I answer the call.

“Dad?”

“Well, it’s about fucking time the big man finally answered the goddam phone. I guess a famous football player has lots of social engagements on a Saturday night, huh?”

My spine stiffens, fingers clenching around the steering wheel. “Who the hell is this?”

The gruff male voice lets out a menacing chuckle. “Someone who has something you’re gonna want back, Harrison. And you’d better get here before I change my mind and decide to keep it.”

Chapter 9

Matt

Achill licks at the back of my neck. “Where’s my father?”

Another snide laugh follows. “I wouldn’t worry so much about your deadbeat dad, Harrison. What I have is much more valuable to you. I’ll text you an address. If I were you, I wouldn’t make any pit stops. I’m an impatient man, and you’ve made me wait long enough.”

Click.

“Son of a bitch!” I yell, slamming my foot on the gas.

Rage floods my insides, a hot flush spreading over my skin.

He fucking did it again.

My dirty secret, the thing nobody was ever supposed to find out about.

Life doesn’t always work out the way we plan. My dad got dealt a lot of shitty hands. He ran his own auto body for a long time. Had a lot of clients. But then after a break-in, a bunch of local punks stole the cars in his garage. He wasn’t insured with enough to cover them, and they sued him for everything he had.

He lost the business when I started high school. Mom was pregnant with the twins, Summer and Missy. Things were rough. I worked my ass off at odd jobs to help bring in money, and in my spare time, I played football. Studying was a distant third priority. As I got bigger, my body got stronger, and my talent kicked in. Things got worse at home. Dad started drinking and gambling. He gambled away our mortgage payments, and we lost the house.

For six months while he tried to clean up, we were forced to live in a shelter. I vowed to never be in that situation again, to never be at anyone’s mercy, and to never, ever be fucking poor. Nothing is worse than watching your little sisters have to scrounge for food because their father, the one who is supposed to protect them above all else, can’t get his shit together enough to hold onto a job.

I focused on football as much as I could. Scouts took notice and finally gave me an out.

Luck helped me escape that hell. My younger sisters weren’t so fortunate. Mom held things together as best as she could, and I felt guilty as hell leaving for college. But I knew the only way I could help them was if I made it big.

As soon as I got my first big payday, I bought them a house. And I send my mom money every month to take care of bills and food.

How the fuck did he get to it?

After pulling over to the side of the road, I grab my phone and dial Summer’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. Same with Missy. Same with Mom.

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