foster days long behind him, he’d buried most of the anger that had caused him to act out. Or maybe he just controlled it better these days. Some people claimed he played football with a chip on his shoulder—that his upbringing contributed to the toughness and determination he displayed on the field—and that could be true. Sometimes it felt as if he did have a demon driving him when he was out there, making him push himself as far as possible. Perhaps he was trying to prove that he did matter, that he was important, that he had something to contribute. Several sports commentators had made the suggestion, but whether those commentators had any idea what they were talking about, Hudson couldn’t say. He refused to go to a psychologist, didn’t see the point. No one could change the past.
Either way, once he was sent to high school at New Horizons Boys Ranch in Silver Springs, California, where it became apparent that he could throw a football, his fortunes had changed. After that, he was named First Team All American in college. Now, as starting quarterback for the Los Angeles Devils, he’d been named MVP once, played in the pro bowl three years running and had a Super Bowl ring on his finger. In other words, he had everything a man could want—a successful career, more money than he could spend and more attention than he knew what to do with.
Not that he enjoyed the attention. For the most part, he considered fame a drawback. Being in the spotlight proved to some of the families who’d decided he was too hard to handle that he might’ve been worth the effort. But it made his little problem with women that much worse. How could he trust them when they had all that incentive to target and mislead him? Getting involved with the wrong girl could result in false accusations of rape or physical abuse, lies about his personal life or other unwelcome publicity, even an intentional effort to get pregnant in the hopes of scoring a big payday. He’d seen that sort of thing happen too many times with other professional athletes, which was why he typically avoided the party scene. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall into that trap.
So, as he sat back and accepted his second drink at Envy in South Beach, he had to ask himself why he’d let his new sports agent, Teague Upton, talk him into coming to a club. He supposed it was the fact that Teague’s younger brother, Devon, was with them, making it two votes in favor to his one opposed. Still, he could’ve nixed the outing. These days, he usually got his way when he demanded it. But since his former agent had retired, Hudson had recently signed with Teague, and Teague lived in Miami and was proud of the city and eager to show him around. Besides, the game Hudson had flown in for didn’t take place until Sunday, so boredom was a factor. Since Bruiser, his closest friend on the team, wasn’t arriving until tomorrow due to a family commitment, and the rest of the Devils were going to a strip club tonight, loneliness played a role, too—not that Hudson would ever admit it. He was the guy perceived as “having it all.” Why destroy such a pleasant illusion? Being that guy was certainly an improvement over the unwanted burden he’d been as a child.
Besides, the owner of Envy had been very accommodating. Because Hudson didn’t want to be signing autographs all night, the club owner had made arrangements with Teague to let them in through the back and had provided them with a private booth in the far corner, where it was so dark it’d be tough to recognize anyone. From his vantage point, Hudson couldn’t see the entire dance floor—and only a small part of the lighted bar—but he could observe most of what was happening, at least in the immediate vicinity. That trumped hanging out alone in his hotel room, even if the skimpy dresses and curvy bodies of the women created a certain amount of sexual frustration he had little hope of satisfying. The strip club would’ve been far worse...
“Hudson, did you hear me?”
Hudson lowered the hurricane he’d ordered so he could respond to Teague’s younger brother. Teague himself had already found a woman to his liking and was hanging out with her closer to the bar. “What’d you say?”
“What do you think of that little hottie?” Devon jerked his head toward a buxom blonde gyrating against some skinny, well-dressed dude.
“Not bad,” Hudson said. But he wasn’t all that impressed by the blonde. He was far more intrigued by the woman he’d been surreptitiously watching since he arrived. Slender, with black hair swept up and away from an oval face, she wasn’t as pretty as some of the other women he’d seen tonight, but she wasn’t nearly as plastic, either. She seemed oddly wholesome, given the setting. The poise with which she held herself told him she deserved more attention than she was receiving. At times, she even seemed slightly bewildered, as if she didn’t understand all the frenetic activity around her, let alone thrive on it. She’d just ordered three shots and downed them all—without anyone cheering her on or clapping to encourage her, which wasn’t how most party girls did it. Then, while her friends were still off dancing, she’d gotten rid of the evidence and ordered something that looked like a peach margarita.
“Man, I’d like to get me some of that,” Devon was saying about the blonde.
“Go talk to her.” Hudson hoped to be left alone, so he could study the mystery woman at the table nearby without interruption or distraction.
“Can I tell her I’m with you?” Since Devon laughed as he spoke, Hudson knew he was joking, but he made his position clear, anyway.
“No. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. That would mean I’d have to leave, and I’m enjoying myself at the moment.”
“You are? You didn’t even want to come.”
“I’m glad I did.”
“You’re not doing anything except having a drink...”
At least he was having a drink around other people, could have some fun vicariously. “That’s good enough,” he said. “For now.”
“Man, you could change that so easily. All you’d have to do is crook your finger, and you could have any woman in here.”
Probably not any woman, but more than his fair share. That was part of the problem. Hudson never knew if the women he met were interested in him or his celebrity. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Devon’s expression said he was far from convinced. “Are you kidding me, man? I’d give anything to be you. I’d have a different model in my bed every night.”
Hudson didn’t live that way. He hadn’t slept with anyone since his girlfriend broke up with him nearly two years ago. He hadn’t planned on remaining celibate for such an extended period; he just hadn’t found anyone to replace Melody. Not only did he prefer to avoid certain risks, like getting scammed, he didn’t believe it was ethical to set someone up for disappointment. People like him, who struggled to fall in love, should come with a warning label. That was the reason he and Melody had gone their separate ways after seven years. She’d come to the conclusion that he’d never be willing to hand over his heart—could never trust enough to let go of it—and she wasn’t interested in anything less. She wanted to marry, settle down and have a family.
He respected her for cutting him off and had realized since then that she was right. He’d stuck with her as long as he had because she was comfortable and safe, not because he felt any great passion.
Still, it was difficult not to call her, especially when he needed the comfort, softness and sexual release a woman could provide. Only his desire to protect her from getting hurt again, since the breakup had been so hard on her, kept him from relapsing.
“I refuse to be that big a fool,” he told Devon.
Teague’s little brother leaned closer. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing.” Devon wouldn’t understand Hudson’s reluctance
