Page 3 of Rushing Her: Seattle, Westerners (Gridiron Warriors #2)

Brayden

S taring out the window from the hotel’s King Suite, the Hawthorne Bridge looms large.

Memories flash through my mind of flowing long copper-red hair blowing in the March wind.

I took her to dinner at one of our favorite Italian restaurants.

For months, I’d saved money to buy the ring and set up that special night.

The ring ended up in the river, and the night was blown out of the water when she told me she didn’t want to be my girlfriend anymore.

That she wasn’t in love with me. I wanted to fight her.

I knew Alexandra loved me; I could feel it in my bones, but she turned and walked away, and I let her.

After that, I poured all my energy into football, and a month later, prior to graduating from the University of Oregon, I became the second-round draft pick for the Seattle Westerners. I’ve played with them ever since.

Now, however, I’m reflecting on everything.

Coach Winters is retiring from his position as head coach at the university, and he and my brother have been tremendous influences on me and my life.

My brother settled down years ago with the love of his life.

They have three wonderful children. I have a lot to show for myself as far as accolades go, but there’s no one to come home to every night.

I enjoy my beautiful home on Lake Washington with my dogs, but I’m single.

I’ve never been able to find a woman that I care about as much as I did Alexandra. No woman compares to her.

Rubbing my brawny hand over my bald head, I think about those years that I was the league manwhore.

It wasn’t right, and I regret it, so now I mostly keep to myself and work hard at being a top player and mentor.

I volunteer for youth football programs and show up for the typical hospital visits, but since Alexandra suggested it in college, I’ve also been an integral part of the Big Brother program and spent time at youth facilities for kids who struggle with everyday life, just like I did when I was growing up.

Lifting the tumbler of whiskey to my lips, I sip the bourbon, thinking of the last time I saw Alexandra.

She was with T.K. Weston, a man I not only loathe, but a man who is not shy about his dislike of me, as well.

It was before the world found out that he was with Alexandra’s little sister, Brea, and before his team, the Portland Settlers, won the Victory Bowl.

Alexandra looked amazing in her slim black skirt and matching belted jacket, highlighting her tiny waist, and she set that off with sky-high red fuck-me heels.

It was in that moment that I decided to do everything in my power to get her back.

I didn’t hate her anymore. I don’t think I ever did.

I was angry and upset, but hatred is too harsh a word.

I just wish I knew why she did what she did.

Since that day, I’ve tried to schedule appointments with her, to contact her, but she won’t respond to my messages.

She’s probably blocked me personally, so she can’t see the communications, but her office declines all my meetings.

In the past, I tried to hire her as an agent, even had my lawyers meet with her, but as soon as she found out it was about me, she walked out.

Tonight is my chance. I’m not sure if T.K.

will be attending; he’ll probably be at home rubbing his wife’s feet because they are expecting.

Alexandra won’t have a date; I made sure of that.

She’s in this very hotel, but no one will tell me where, so I’m heading down to the retirement party early to ensure she doesn’t escape me.

This celebration for Coach Winters is enormous, with nearly 2,000 people set to attend.

I wasn’t surprised that Alexandra was on the list, as one of the best football agents and representatives of Top Tier Sports Agency, but I heard she was personally invited to be here.

It’s a black-tie affair. Coach was never that kind of guy, but the university is hosting this, and they made the stipulation.

Walking to where my jacket lies on the bed, I set the now-empty bourbon glass on the nightstand. I don’t drink often because of the effects it can have, but tonight, I need it. I need to take the edge off my nerves.

For weeks, I’ve played out in my mind how tonight was going to go, and now that it’s here, I realize this is my only chance. If I can just get a moment with her, I can convince her to talk to me. I know it.

Recently, I noticed something during one of her client’s interviews that proves she still cares about me, and it might not be so hard for her to give me another chance.

I’ll go after her just like I did when becoming one of the best tight ends in the league.

One game at a time, pushing myself to the max.

I won’t settle for just tonight. I want Alex for the rest of my life.

Looking around the room, I deem it perfect. I could have gone for the Presidential Suite, but this is more me, and she wouldn’t expect anything else.

I slip on my black jacket over a black shirt and slacks.

Due to my size, I have my clothes tailored to fit me.

When I walk by the mirror by the bathroom door, I take in my appearance.

Bald head, trimmed mustache and beard, diamond earrings shining from my lobes, a silver Rolex on my wrist, and as the finishing touch, the confidence I’m known for.

I may be a bit arrogant and stubborn, but that stubbornness will help me with Alexandra. She’ll dig her sexy heels in, but I’m not giving up. The arrogance used to turn her on, and I’m not against using every weapon in my arsenal to make her mine.

I leave my room to take the elevator down to the grand ballroom. I’m on time; others still slowly file into the room. Paparazzi loom, waiting to capture their money shots, and fans mill all around.

Through the years, I’ve had my share of stalkers, but the latest one has been giving me lots of issues.

My agent wants personal security hired for me, but I’m against it.

He had a profiler friend of his look over the stalker’s actions so far, and the friend is convinced that the woman has the potential to become dangerous.

She continues to send letters, notes, gifts, and more.

To me, they are being ridiculous, and I intend to keep doing what I’ve been doing for a year now and ignore her.

Most of my stalkers have been women seeking relationships with me, or claiming to be in one with me, but this one convinced my homeowner’s association that she was my fiancée, and they almost gave her the passcodes to access my property.

It was when the dog sitter called me that I figured it out.

Now that she knows where I live, I have had to tighten security on the house.

My dogs are my children, and I don’t want some crazed fan to hurt them.

This woman’s identity remains a mystery. Each person who’s come across her has a different description. The profiler says that changing appearance is quite common. She knows what she’s doing.

Upon entering the ballroom, Mildred, Coach Winters’ wife, immediately walks over to me. “Where is the old man?” I ask as I slip a hand around her arm and lean down to kiss her cheek.

“Oh, kiddo, he’s going to be fashionably late. You know him, anything to cause drama.” She giggles.

“You look beautiful,” I compliment as I take in her stunning black gown.

“You finally convinced him to retire.” It’s still so hard to believe .

“I thought he’d keep going until he beat the record as the oldest coach in history.

” I chuckle, but it dies on my tongue as something crosses her eyes.

She won’t look at me; she just awkwardly guffaws.

“Well, he is. I need to go check on something.” Mildred quickly escapes me, and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.

Several former players chat with me until I feel the air shift.

It’s her. I turn to look at the doorway and nearly swallow my tongue when I take her all in.

At five feet nine, she’s already taller than most of the women here, but then she steps into those heels of hers, and she’s as tall, if not taller than, several of the men.

She displays one of her luscious, long legs as she moves, thanks to the slit of her gown that splits high up her thigh.

The skirt of her obsidian dress swishes along her feet, which are encased in tantalizing, strappy black heels.

One arm is draped in a long sleeve, while the other is completely exposed.

Cutouts at her waist reveal her delicate skin and what appears to be a tattoo peeking out.

Her left forearm is also inked up with an array of roses.

Alexandra’s luxurious copper hair is fastened into a stylish bun at the back of her head.

She wears minimal makeup, but the darkness around her beautiful seafoam-green eyes makes them stand out.

She is the most gorgeous woman here, and I want to go to her right now, but Coach Winters beelines for her instantly.

From across the room, I see her body tighten up and her lips purse as he speaks to her. They both look my way, and some expression crosses her face. Uncertainty…pain? She’s upset and pissed off by his words.

She turns back to him, and light glints off the necklace I noticed a couple of months ago.

It was right after T.K.’s team won the Victory Bowl.

She was standing in the background, wearing a Portland Settlers jersey, and as my jealousy subsided over her being there to support him, I saw it.

The necklace I got her for our first Christmas together.

It’s a unicorn with fake diamonds in the shape of a heart.

The thing was cheap, and all I could afford, but she’s still wearing it.