Fourth and Goal by Jami Davenport Read Free Book Online Page B

what it was worth—and that was a lot.
    "Think you can do that again?"
    Derek met his penetrating gaze. “Yes, sir. More times than you can imagine.” It sounded cocky, but a football player who didn't believe in himself wasn't worth the turf he played on. HughJack nodded and walked off without another word. Renewed confidence surged through Derek. He hadn't felt this good since his college days.
    After the game, local reporters inundated Derek with questions, even though the Jacks lost their fourth and last preseason game, 20-7. His outstanding catch ended up being the highlight of a dismal preseason. Win-deprived Seattle took whatever triumphs it could get.
    He fended off reporters and stayed focused. This time the adulation wouldn't go to his head like it had in college and at the Olympics. He knew how fleeting it was. Next week he might be the goat—assuming he made the team—and be crucified at the gridiron altar. Such was the life of a professional athlete. You either toughened up enough to take it, or you folded. He'd almost folded, but he'd dug deeper and found an inner strength he'd never needed before.
    After several grueling minutes, he extracted himself from the press and snuck out a back door to his truck. Instead of joining his teammates at the local sports bar, he headed home like an old horse heading back to the barn.
    The team had flown in yesterday from training camp and stayed in a hotel near the stadium. Coach didn't want any distractions for the last preseason game. With training camp over, he was anxious to see his place again and to see Rachel.
    Shit.
    Rachel?
    Where had that thought come from? Not that it wasn't true. She'd invaded his thoughts all week. He'd scanned the crowd from the sidelines several times looking for her. Even in that sparse crowd, he hadn't found her, and he'd fought off his disappointment.
    Over his years in the league, he'd looked for Rachel in the crowd every time his other teams played Seattle. It was stupid to think she'd be there, but he looked anyway.
    This was no good, and he knew it but couldn't stop himself. He sure as hell hoped his eagerness had to do with missing her friendship and nothing else.
    Derek stopped at a grocery store on the way and bought a bottle of wine, incidentally Rachel's favorite. He pulled into the driveway and slowed as he passed her small house. The lights were on. Harvey sat in the driveway. Relief swept through him when he didn't spot any other vehicles.
    Struggling with himself and his intentions, he parked next to her truck. His hand hovered on the door handle as he debated his next move. Shoving away his misgivings, he hopped out and bounded up the porch steps two at a time. Derek rapped lightly on her door. Unusually nervous and expectant, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the bottle of wine in one hand, his heart in the other.
    Maybe she was out on a date? His stomach twisted at the thought. He ran his hands over his face and stretched his back. Pain rocketed through his battered body, and he winced.
    Relieved yet disappointed, Derek peered through the window, but the curtain blocked any view inside. Rachel didn't appear to be home. He brought his hand up to knock one final time.
    She opened the door in her usual power suit. He swore she slept in the thing, but damn, she looked good. She had to be the prettiest thing in the Northwest. Her dark hair was done up in a ponytail that swayed as she stared at him in the porch light.
    A stupid-assed smile spread across his face.
    The man who wouldn't go away stood on the other side of the door in a faded T-shirt that clung to his muscles and an even more faded pair of jeans that clung to his thighs and his— Oh Lord . She cleared her throat. Looking up, she prayed her face didn't betray her bout of gutter wallowing.
    Derek leaned against the doorjamb in a casual pose. An ugly purple bruise was visible on his left arm, and there was a small cut on his chin—battle scars from the