Offsides

  Offsides

  Eden Butler

  Copyright © 2019 Eden Butler

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author Publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the any word-marks and references mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Edited by Katherine Springsteen

  Cover Design by Lori Jackson

  Cover Image by ShutterShock

  Formatting by Chelle Bliss

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  About Offsides

  From Eden Butler, discover what happened to Gia Jilani, the last love of Luka Hale, in this interconnected standalone that concludes the Saints and Sinners series.

  Gia Jilani had rules.

  They kept her safe and her head in the game.

  As the NFL's first female general manager, there were risks to be weighed and taken.

  Like Kai Pukui, the linebacker helping her team dominate on the field.

  The same quiet, beautiful man who stares too long at her and reminds her of how decadent and risky living life can be.

  But when Gia discovers why Kai seems so familiar and why she feels so drawn to him, things like risks and love become secondary to loss and pain.

  Gia will have to decide what's more important — a life worth risking or a love worth losing.

  Saints and Sinners Reading Order

  Last Love of Luka Hale

  Roughing the Kicker

  Offsides

  For Heather Weston-Confer,

  my favorite football wife.

  NOTICE

  Dear Hewlett Packard,

  Three strikes and you’re out. I’m done.

  I hate your computers.

  They eat your manuscripts right when you’re finishing them.

  Then you have to start all over.

  I will never forgive you.

  No love,

  Me

  Fair Warning

  *** Chill the wine now.

  You’re gonna need it when Kona shows up. ***

  Writing Playlist

  Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill

  Not in That Way by Sam Smith

  I Love You by Billie Eilish

  Just Breathe by Pearl Jam

  Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur

  This Town by Kygo feat. Sasha Sloan

  Beyond by Leon Bridges

  This Is On Me by Ben Abraham ft. Sara Bareilles

  Hawaiian Words and Phrases

  Kaikuahine – sister of male

  Kala – princess

  Keiki – child

  Ko`u Aloha – my love

  Kupuna – grandma

  Kupunakane – grandfather

  Ku'uipo – sweetheart

  Makuahine – mother

  Makuakāne – father/daddy

  Pēpē – baby

  “Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.”

  ― Warsan Shire

  Prologue

  Gia

  New Orleans, Mardi Gras, 2017

  Gia wanted to soar. She had wings. She wanted to use them.

  New Orleans had been her home when she was a girl. Back then, she was barely eighteen, full of ambition and pride. She’d been desperate to prove herself. Eager to shatter glass ceilings.

  Now, the glass crunched under her heals as she walked over it. Now she had made those dreams her reality. She was the boss.

  It was her time.

  But sometimes, even the boss needed a reprieve.

  Mardi Gras was a perfect time to get lost. You could slip into a crowd, don a mask and pretend that you had no identity. You could be wild. You could be free.

  You could pretend there weren’t ghosts tethering you to the past.

  There was a freedom in the night and the thud of the music. No one but Cat, Gia’s fast friend and eager assistant knew her at this place. Summerland’s, the crowded club Gia and Cat found themselves at, was as decadent and rich as the city itself. Every square inch of the club invited indulgence. There were lush, cushioned sofas that stretched along the back of the bar and around the lounging areas, all covered in plush velvet and soft leather. Red drapes of thick fabric weaved through the rafters above, swagging around the sides of the ceiling, obscuring the lighting and duct work, acting as boarder for the center swings and high-flying acrobats who flew through the air like fairies, laughing as they bent at the knees on trapeze bars, arms outstretched just missing the touch of the patrons below.

  And on the massive dark wood dancefloor, Gia spotted men and women, every conceivable variety of parade-goers dancing and gyrating to the happy roar of music, drunk on the night, the drug and drink that likely filled them, and the wild abandoned that had taken hold of everyone during Mardi Gras. She’d felt it before, a long time ago. Claire, her college roommate brought her to the city for her eighteenth birthday, and Gia had been lost a little to this place. Summerland’s had ushered in that hedonistic tendency she only gave in to once in a while. She still indulged, but now, only when her life became a blur of obligation. When the memory of the past and the craving for the man she missed from it became too much of a heartache for her to bear.

  Like it had tonight.

  Gia was heartsick and she tried never to be that way…and sober at the same time.

  “We should have skipped the absinthe,” Cat said, leaning against Gia’s shoulder as she waved for the bartender. “Hey, I’m right here, darlin’. I know you see me waving at you.” But the gorgeous man donning the green, purple and gold Mardi Gras mask and little else gave Cat his palm, dismissing her to service a group of familiar-looking men at the end of the bar. “Asshole.”

  “Why?” Gia asked, letting Cat’s assertion finally seep into her thoughts.

  “What?” Her assistant glanced up at her, eyes a little wide before she grinned. “Oh…because we’re lit as hell.”

  “I’m not…lit.” Gia snorted, finding the word ridiculous. She didn’t say things like “lit,” though she found the more time she spent in the city and around her young assistant, the easier it became to meld back into everything from the food to the language. It had been twenty years, but New Orleans had already made her feel at home again.

  “Okay, whatever you say.” Cat slapped her hand on the bar, pushing up, nearly on top of it, to grab a bottle of bourbon. The masked bar tender jerked around, automatically reaching for it, but the woman was too fast. “You like the Steamers?” she asked him, taking two empty tumblers from the stack near the taps and pouring bourbon into each one.

  “Honey, no…” He waved her off, his long fingers moving in an elegant flourish Gia knew she couldn’t manage. He was tall and thin, his body cut, but the man
was pretty, not handsome, elegant, and sported painted long nails and fake, black lashes to go with the trimmed stubble on his face. Drunk as she was, Gia had noticed how he tended to direct most of his attention to the male patrons, staunchly avoiding the female customers, leaving them to the other servers as he spent most of his time flirting, not serving. “Give me back the bottle…” His concern for the bottle dropped when one of the men at the end of the bar called him over. The man abandoned Cat and Gia in his mad dash to wait on the linebacker-looking guy motioning to him with his empty glass.

  “Right,” Cat said, pushing the tumbler to Gia before she picked her own drink and downed a sip, refilling both.

  “That was…impressive,” Gia said, nodding to Cat when she refilled her tumbler and led her away from the bar and down the steps to a mostly empty section of plush seating with a small table.

  “Don’t be impressed. I’ve been here before when that one is managing the bar. He might appear to be distracted by all the pretty boys,” she said, taking another sip from her drink, “but he’ll remember to add it to our tab, don’t worry.”

  There were couples converged around the cushions, most making out, some just talking, and Gia and Cat chose to stand rather than sit, with the now half empty bottle of bourbon between them as they leaned on the table. “Still, you moved fast and retained your calm. You have skills you’ve been hiding.”

  “Not hiding a thing,” she told Gia, grinning as the music got louder and she moved her body in time with it. “I’m good at my job, you know that. We both are.”

  “Hey, no shop top. We pinky promised.”

  “We did.” Cat tapped the rim of her tumbler to Gia’s, and the women drank.

  They’d made the promise at Gia’s apartment, downing the absinthe Cat had brought from her cousin’s store. “It’s hella old,” she’d explained to Gia. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to drink and then go out in public, especially not during Mardi Gras. But, what the hell, right?”

  “Okay, we’ll do this. Just promise me if I do anything stupid, you won’t mention it later.” They’d stood across from each other at Gia’s island staring at the green liquid in the bottle, watching it like it was going to explode. There was a lot of mystery tied up in this drink, most of it bullshit Gia had only read about in vampire novels or seen in Gary Oldman movies.

  Cat had offered her pinky to her new boss, her expression solemn. “I promise not to mention a damn thing, if you promise not to fire me for getting you into anything you might be embarrassed over later.”

  Gia had taken Cat’s pinky with her own, giving it a shake. “How about we just say tonight we’re friends. We’re only friends and we don’t even mention work even a little bit?”

  “Deal.”

  The club had been the last stop, Gia was sure. Cat had brought her to her uncle’s apartment right on Bourbon and Gia had experienced her first ever parade from the balcony of a hundred years old building. She’d never seen anything like it. She hoped she never would again. It amazed her what people would do for fifty cents worth of plastic beads and how quickly thousands of inhibitions got lowered when the right song hit their ears and the right stimulant ran through their system.

  As the room heated and the crowd thickened around her, Gia started to understand that herself. The high she’d gotten from the absinthe wasn’t as potent as it had been fifteen minutes before, but the bourbon was warming her and the music was making her feel a little less ridged. Those wings were starting to stretch. They wanted to reach out and take flight.

  Then, the baseline dipped low and Gia took what remained of the last shot of bourbon, downing it in a long swig that burned when it hit her stomach. That dulling high returned, and she felt her skin humming and the hairs on the back of her neck bristle and stand as the memory raced forward, brought to the forefront by the song drumming through the speakers.

  “Shit, this is a good song,” she told Cat, grabbing the woman to bring her out onto the dancefloor.

  “And old as hell. Dang, Gia…” Cat started, laughing when her boss turned onto the middle of the floor, arms up in the air, ass popping and moving like she was eighteen again. And she was, for just a little while, a half second that confused Gia, blinded her.

  Luka stood behind her, his hand on her stomach, his mouth against her ear and that deep, rich voice rattling her insides as he spoke. “This is a paradigm happy accident.”

  He’d taken her in the storage closet. Anyone could have caught them. They would have been seen. Everyone would have known.

  On that dancefloor, Gia closed her eyes, hands lifting her thick hair off her neck as she danced, drunk, oblivious. It was easier this way to pretend Luka was behind her again. That he hadn’t disappeared from…everything.

  He’d been so tall. So solid. His arms thick, his mouth full and wide. His skin smooth and brown, hair coarse.

  “Hey! Oh, God, Jimmy!” Gia heard, half blinking to spot Cat jumping into the arms of some big guy she didn’t know. “This is my friend Gia.” He was handsome, darker than Cat, his eyes were hazel with flecks of green. He his sleeves rolled up to his elbow and sported an Omega Psi Phi frat tattoo, telling Gia he was no punk off the street. She glanced over this Jimmy, grinning her approval at his handsome face, high cheekbones and short cut fade.

  “Dance with me, boo,” she heard him tell Cat, nodding to one of his friends who walked toward Gia.

  She knew the game. Distract the friend. Get the girl. She wasn’t interested, and when the shorter man approached—a kid that looked like a pledge Jimmy was letting tagalong with him, not really one of his friends, Gia shook her head, turning her back and taking a few steps away, catching Cat’s gaze to make sure she was okay before she danced to Jay Z and Ja Rule telling her to bounce with them.

  The kid stood in front of her, his crooked front teeth biting over his thin bottom lip like he had to chew on it to keep from taking a nibble out of Gia and he moved toward her, reaching for her.

  “No,” she told him, preferring to dance alone, to be back in the fantasy where that shadow of Luka held her. But the kid was persistent, eager, and when Gia stepped away from him, he followed, taking hold of her arm. “What did I say?” she asked. She was drunk, high out of her head, but still aware enough that she knew she didn’t want this asshole’s attention.

  “It’s just a dance, babe.”

  “Fuck off,” she told him, her head swimming a little when the music shifted and the lights changed, the overhead trapeze artists swooping in with the switch of music and the stream of beaming colors, dusting the crowd with a spray of green, gold, and purple Mardi Gras confetti. Now she could only make out shapes, see flashes and bodies and hear low mutters of sounds.

  “Gia?” she heard Cat say, spotting her across the dance floor, pushing away from Jimmy then pointing in Gia’s direction.

  “You know you wanna dance with me,” the kid continued, but the muddle of sensation and the confusion of where her friend was and what she was doing distracted Gia, had her giving him a half-hearted shove. She thought she made out a few of the players on the dancefloor talking to Cat, then standing between her and Jimmy. “Come on, babe, get over here.”

  “Will you leave me alone, asshole?”

  Gia gave up trying to catch Cat’s attention, pulling out of the kid’s touch and walked off, stopping short when she felt his biting grip on her arm. “Don’t fucking walk away… what the …”

  And then Gia stumbled back and landed against the solid, safe weight of a massive chest. “I got you,” the man said, holding her arms. “He ran off like a punk.”

  His voice sounded so familiar, warm but for the life of her, she couldn’t place it. The light was horrible in this section of the club, the mass of people and the shifting of colors made everyone look like shadows and then, another songs started, a song that made Gia’s inside hum with memory, with heat and she curled her arms around the form in front of her, whoever he was.
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  “Dance with me…please,” she said, letting her nails tickle the back of his neck, slide into his hair.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  He was responsive, her big rescuer. She had no idea where he’d come from or who he belonged to. But for one song, Gia’s addled mind told her it didn’t matter. He felt so solid. So real. The man knew how to move. He held her against his body with one hand on her back and the other in her hair and the longer they danced, the closer together they moved, the tighter he held her. She could make out the wide contours of his shoulders and the thick, round strength in his thighs.

  A paradigm happy accident, she heard Luka say, and Gia grinned, drunk and a little lonely for a touch, for the recall of a body that would make her not feel so lost. She had one right here. He held her. He was solid. He was wide and thick, his hair was coarse; he seemed like the others, so similar, so responsive, just like she’d always liked, and it had been so long.

  It had been five damn months.

  She tested the waters, reminding herself that no one would know. Cat wouldn’t call her on any mistake she made. She had the woman’s solemn pinky vow. Gia turned her head, lowering it against this man’s neck, inhaling the sweet hint of cologne and sweat on his skin. Her body clenching, her nipples hardening, she brushed her lips over his neck, and he released a low, soft moan she felt vibrating against her mouth.

  The music continued, the rhythm increasing, but still they danced, and Gia found herself being turned, spinning until the music was lower, the lights even darker and the man that held her leaned her against a column draped in red velvet. She could only make out a few of his features—the high arches of his cheekbones, the broad slope of his nose and the spread of his full bottom lip, but she couldn’t see his eyes, not even when he licked his lips and moved her face up, angling her mouth to his, and kissed her.