Irresistibly Yours (Oxford #1)(78)

Jackson Burke, the Texas Redhawks quarterback and four-time Super Bowl winner, had been involved in a multicar accident on the way to a training game.

Nobody from the Redhawks had confirmed the extent of his injury, but rumors were flying that his football career was over.

Further rumors were circulating that he’d had a woman, not his wife, in the car with him.

It was a toss-up which was getting more press—the demise of his professional life or the implosion of his personal one. Especially given the swirling rumors of his womanizing ways in recent months.

The crowd parted enough that Penelope could get her first glimpse of Jackson, and her heart sank as she realized that the rumors likely held some truth.

The sling on his shoulder was the first clue, but it was the look on his face that confirmed it.

This was a man who’d lost everything.

“Damn,” Cole said.

“I know,” Penelope said. “He’s even more gorgeous when he’s haunted, isn’t he?”

Cole glared at her, and Penelope hid a smile. She was doing it to needle him, but truth be told, Jackson Burke was an exceptionally good-looking man. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes framed by some great eyelashes. Then there was the body. That glorious, sculpted body.

Basically, the man was so perfect to look at that he was the paid rep for at least a half dozen different lines of fitness equipment, men’s grooming products, and a couple kinds of whiskey.

The crowd quieted as Jackson Burke took his place behind the microphone. It was the first press conference he’d given since the accident, and judging from the pissed-off expression on his face, it hadn’t been his idea.

“Mr. Burke, can you tell us the extent of your injuries?”

No.

“Mr. Burke, do you anticipate recovery by the start of the season?”

No.

“Mr. Burke, if your injuries prevent you from returning from football, what will you do? Your college degree is in journalism, do you think you’ll ever be one of us?”

Hell no.

“Mr. Burke, can you tell us the identity of the young woman in your car?”

No.

“Mr. Burke, in the three days you were in the hospital, Mrs. Burke wasn’t ever seen coming or going. What is—”

There was a loud crash as the podium hit the ground.

“Holy shit, he just table-flipped a podium,” one of the other reporters said excitedly.

“Guess his other arm still works fine,” Cole muttered in her ear.

“Yeah,” Penelope said distractedly. Her eyes stayed trained on Jackson Burke as he walked away, shaking off his agent and coach and giving the finger to the crowd of bolder reporters who’d dared to follow him.

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” Cole said, his hand sliding around her waist. “Your ogling minutes are all used up.”

She turned around to face him, and the sight of his perfect, beloved features had her forgetting all about Jackson Burke.

The damn man still didn’t fail to take her breath away. She doubted he ever would.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, oblivious to the buzzing crowd around them. “What if I were to ogle you?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you want me to strip? If you take me back to our room, I can definitely strip down and let you ogle, and if you’re a really good girl, I might let you touch….”

She glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t we head over to the game camp? See if we can’t get someone to talk to us about yesterday’s near brawl?”

“Definitely. We should. Or, we can try out that two-person shower in our suite.”

Penelope pursed her lips. “You know, hypothetically, if I agreed to that shower idea, it would be the first time in my life that I chose a guy over sports?”

He lowered his lips to her ear. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal. But if Cassidy asks—”

“He won’t. Trust me, he does not want to know.”

Penelope let him take her hand and lead her in the direction of their hotel, when suddenly she tugged him to a stop.

“Hold up. I said it was the first time in my life I chose a guy over sports.”

“Yeah?”

“So you didn’t say it back,” she said, feeling oddly sulky. “You’ve chosen a woman over sports before?”

He scratched his cheek. “Yeah. Once.”

Jealousy stabbed through Penelope, and the unfamiliar emotion left her with the strangest feeling of being icy cold and fiery hot at the same time.

“Who?” she demanded. “When?”

“It was at a Yankees game. I spent the first three innings captivated by her back and the way she kept scribbling in this little notebook….”

Penelope made a huffing noise. She did not like this woman. She really didn’t like that the woman liked baseball. That was her and Cole’s thing.

She started to lift her chin and play it off, but then she saw the little whisper of a smile on his face.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. I have a little notebook. And you first met me at a Yankees game.”

“Hmm, that so? I don’t remember.”

She pinched his arm playfully. “Cole Sharpe, don’t you dare tease me about this. The woman who distracted you from that Yankees game. It was me?”