Touchdown: A Quick Snap Novella Read online

  Touchdown

  Maria Macdonald

  Contents

  Touchdown

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  The Quick Snap Novella Collection

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Maria Macdonald

  About the Author

  Touchdown

  A Quick Snap Novella

  by Maria Macdonald

  TOUCHDOWN

  A Quick Snap novella

  Maria Macdonald

  Copyright 2020 Maria Macdonald

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Cover Design by: Kari March Designs

  Published by: Lady Boss Press, Inc.

  To Jasmine Button.

  I promised you Solomon.

  Here he is and he’s all yours.

  Chapter 1

  Jasmine

  Dammit. I curse, internally, because I don’t want Mrs. Reynolds to tear me a new one about cussing, as well as the crème brûlée I spilled, which is now splattered over my worn black shoes. I try to make myself as invisible as possible. Crouching down, I tuck my skirt under my butt and grab some napkins to wipe up the mess.

  “Here, let me help,” a light voice offers.

  I look up to a woman in her late twenties, pretty face, surrounded by thick auburn hair with a few strands of pink weaved through it.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, fairly sure I recognize her from somewhere.

  “It’s okay, I’m used to cleaning up messes.” She smiles softly.

  “Jasmine! What are you doing?” Mrs. Reynolds hisses.

  “Busted,” I whisper to my coconspirator.

  She giggles as Mrs. Reynolds arrives at my side. Her brown shoes—which are buffed to perfection—stop in my line of sight, and the right one starts tapping. I don’t need to look up at her to know she’s got her hands on her hips.

  The kind lady helping me rises a second before I do.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Montgomery,” Mrs. Reynolds gushes. “Jasmine should have known better than to ask you for help.

  When Mrs. Reynolds says her name, I suddenly realize who she is, Meg Montgomery, she’s the nurse married to the Seattle Seahawks quarterback, Will Montgomery.

  “Jasmine,” Meg bites, looking between Mrs. Reynolds and me. “Didn’t ask for my assistance. Believe it or not, some people are happy to help others for nothing in return.” I have to admit she looks pissed, there’s a fire in her eyes and I smirk thinking how her pink strands should be bright orange to match her personality.

  “Of course, Mrs. Montgomery.” Mrs. Reynolds blushes.

  Before I get in any more trouble, I scurry away back to the kitchen so I can collect another dessert to deliver to my table.

  I’m not normally this clumsy. Well, that’s a lie, I’m often this clumsy. However, working a private function like this is gold dust for girls like me who normally only work the concession stand for the home games. It’s more money than my regular waitressing job too, which really helps. I was given this spot only because another girl was let go after she was caught screwing a rookie from the team—in the manager’s office—well, that’s the story anyway. Now after this mishap, I’ll probably not be allowed to work a private function for the next five years. Ugh.

  “Can I have another crème brûlée, please?” I ask one of the kitchen staff as I place the now lump of mush on the counter.

  Marcus narrows his eyes, clearly annoyed at my mishap. “Don’t drop this one or you’ll be scraping it off the floor and serving it,” he snaps at me.

  I nod my head and scurry outside. As I get to the table, I can see the players sat around it. Some have partners, but most are single. The single ones are more obvious because they’re usually rowdier, slightly more arrogant, and believe every girl will fall at their feet. Although, they’re probably not wrong.

  I bring in the crème brûlée and place it in front of a frankly beautiful man. His mocha skin contrasts with his light brown eyes, while his chiseled face and kissable lips clearly make the girls fall for him, including me as I trip, again, and dump the second attempt at delivering his pudding directly into his lap.

  “The fuck?” he grunts jumping up out of his chair.

  Oh my God, I can’t stop staring.

  I should totally be cleaning the mess.

  But this guy—he is massive.

  I mean, I’m short so I guess anyone is huge in comparison to me. But this guy, he’s six-five at least and broad, oh so broad. I swear his arms are as wide as my waist.

  “Solomon, dude, is tripping her the only way you can get laid these days? You’re losing your touch, man. Women used to fall into your lap,” a teammate teases him, and a cacophony of noise—mainly laughter—hits my ears bringing me back to the current situation and whipping me into action.

  “Shoot! I’m so sorry,” I ramble, grabbing napkins from my pocket and wiping him down.

  “I got it,” he bites out, grabbing the napkins from me, and that’s when I realize I was wiping his crotch.

  A flash of red heat rushes up my neck as my face heats. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Forget it! You’ve done enough,” he snaps, not even looking at me.

  Irritation grows as the swirl of attitude whisks up in my stomach. My head tells me to shut up, but my mouth doesn’t listen as the words tumble out. “You know… just because you’re a high and mighty football player, it doesn’t mean you can treat us peasants however you want.” I stamp my foot, and a snort of laughter causes me to turn my head. My eyes meet Meg Montgomery’s and she winks at me.

  I look back to the gorgeous, but still rude, football player who’s now staring down at me as everyone else remains silent, riveted by the drama unfolding.

  “You dropped the dessert in my lap,” he replies, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes now. One I choose to ignore.

  “Yeah, well…” I break off, not sure what else to say.

  “Jasmine’s causing trouble again, I see,” Mrs. Reynolds says rushing out of the kitchen. She looks up at the mountain of a man standing next to me. “Oh, Mr. Lee, I’m so sorry about the upset. Rest assured this will be dealt with immediately,” she tells him, then she turns to me, “Jasmine, please go to the kitchen and wait for me.”

  “But—” I try to argue.

  “Now.” Her voice is shrill until she looks at the frowns around the table. “Please,” she adds, and I have no choice, so I quickly rush into the kitchen.

  Marcus doesn’t even give me a second to open my mouth before he barks out, “You’re done.”

  “But—” I try again to no avail.

  “She’s had enough. She wants you gone.”

  “I need this job,” I plead
.

  “Should have thought about that before you served the customer his dessert on his lap.”

  “Please, Marcus…” I resort to begging, hating that it’s him I’m doing it with. I’d rather beg Mrs. Reynolds than Marcus any day with his slimy hands and creepy eyes.

  “Meet me after my shift, in the employee’s parking lot out back, and I’ll see if something can’t be arranged between you and me.”

  I look at my watch—an hour. I sigh. “Okay, I’ll be waiting.”

  Grabbing my stuff and hanging up my apron, I wander out into the darkness. The parking lot should have more lighting, but it doesn’t. Usually, I don’t care but tonight, waiting around for Marcus, I would be happier if there was a little more illumination and maybe a bench to wait on.

  If my piece of shit Honda hadn’t broken down, I could have at least waited inside it.

  “Hey,” Marcus says wandering out and scaring the shit out of me an hour later.

  “So, can you help me with my job?”

  His eyes travel the length of me, which isn’t much seeing as I’m only five foot two. My body is slender, and a strong gust of wind could probably knock me over, but I’m scrappy. My dark pixie cut is a stark contrast against my porcelain skin and silvery-blue eyes.

  Marcus’ gaze touches every part of me, and it creeps me the hell out instantly.

  “I can help you…” he smirks, and it’s more than a little weird, “… if you help me.”

  “Erm, h-how do you want me to help you?” I mutter, slowly edging away from him.

  Marcus moves toward me faster than I can back away, and in the next instant, he’s in my face stroking his finger down my cheek. “We can work something out, and you can get your job back.”

  “N-no worries, Marcus, I’ll find something else. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble,” I hurry the words out and turn to walk away, but he’s quicker and larger than me. He grabs my wrist, hauling my body forward until I bump into his chest. Holding my arm between us, he leans forward as I try and fail, to pry myself away.

  Then, suddenly, he’s not there anymore.

  Poof, he’s gone.

  I sink down on my haunches and gasp for breath until I take notice of what’s happening in front of me. The huge football player has Marcus by the scruff of the neck, and is dragging him back toward the building to do God knows what.

  I don’t wait around to find out.

  My heart is thumping as adrenaline pulses inside me, and I rush toward the bus stop praying the bus arrives quickly. Someone must be looking down on me because the bus pulls up only moments later. I practically run on board, eager to get home to my single room apartment for the first time in my life.

  Chapter 2

  Jasmine

  The first thing I think about when I wake the next morning is how I no longer have a job. Sighing, I rub my hands over my face and pat my cheeks, trying to wake myself up.

  Momentarily, I think back to the events of last night and Marcus. What would he have done if the huge football player hadn’t dragged him away? And what the hell happened after? I shake my head, it’s irrelevant because I won’t be working there anymore.

  As for the hot football dude, I shrug to myself, I guess I’ll never see the gorgeous, egotistical, mountain of a man again.

  I open my laptop, switch it on, and wait for it to boot up. It’s a second-hand laptop that an old work colleague sold me for a hundred bucks when he bought himself a new one. Lucky for him the server job he worked was only a temporary position while he was in college. For me, the job is a necessity, and the idea of attending college and of making something of myself is becoming merely a fantasy.

  I grab my cell, switch it on and immediately get a notification of five voicemails. Before I can listen to them, my cell rings and it’s the work number. Well, my old work.

  “Hello?” It pops out more of a question.

  “Jasmine, I’m glad I got hold of you, I’ve been trying since last night. Are you okay?”

  It’s Mrs. Reynolds, I’m fairly sure. Well, her voice tells me it’s her, but the compassion in her tone throws me off, a lot. “Erm, Mrs. Reynolds?” I query.

  “Yes, Jasmine. Now, tell me… are you okay?” she insists.

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Last night, Mr. Lee brought Marcus into the building. We were clearing away ready to shut down. Most of the customers had left, and I was surprised… no… I was shocked when he practically dragged Marcus back into the building.”

  My mouth drops open, and I’m pretty sure a little gasp pops out, but I can’t actually speak.

  “Anyway, he explained what Marcus was doing. Rather, what he was going t-to…” Her voice breaks and suddenly my laptop is pushed aside as I rise from my bed and drag my jeans on with one hand ready to do God only knows what.

  “Are you okay?” I rasp out, having never really experienced this side of my old boss, I’m more than a little worried.

  “My dear, I’m more concerned about you. Now… please, please tell me are you okay? Mr. Lee, he explained what Marcus had done and, well, I fired him immediately.”

  “You what?” I almost shout the words.

  “Yes, well… I was going to call the police, but you weren’t there. And well…” she coughs, “… Marcus had blood on his face, a cut lip, his right eye didn’t look too healthy, and his nose was bleeding. I figured after that, firing him was probably punishment enough.”

  I debate giving her my own option. “Okay. Erm… thanks for telling me,” I mumble, not sure what else to say.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow? I need you at one. You’ll be selling at the concession stand.”

  “Wait! What? I still have my job?” the words tumble out, as my heart lifts.

  “Well, yes,” she sounds confused. “I mean you did leave after I asked you to wait in the kitchen, but I do need you,” she continues, her voice holding a slight edge.

  “But Marcus told me I was fired,” I blurt out without thinking.

  “He… what? Well, you should know Marcus doesn’t do the hiring and firing. In fact, Marcus does nothing with either the wait staff used in the Seahawks stadium, or in the Carbis Restaurant and Grill anymore.”

  “Yeah, okay, definitely. Of course, I’ll be there,” I rush out before she can change her mind.

  She coughs. “Okay, as long as you’re good. Don’t be late tomorrow.” Then there’s nothing because she cuts the call.

  Smiling, I look down at my phone.

  I still have a job, and Mrs. Reynolds just might have a heart.

  Since it’s Saturday, my favorite day of the week, and I no longer have to look for another job, I smile and turn off my laptop then lay back in bed.

  I work at the stadium when required, but my regular waitress job is at Carbis Restaurant and Grill. Mrs. Reynolds manages both, and I assume the restaurant has some connection to the football team, but I’ve never cared enough to ask. I don’t work at Carbis on a Friday or Saturday, there are other servers who normally work those days as they’re the busiest of the week—meaning more tips—so they never have problems filling the shifts.

  It worked out for me last night as it meant I could serve at the private function. Occasionally, I’m asked to fill in at the restaurant, although it’s rare. I could do with the extra money, but I’m happy not working those days, as Saturday is the only day of my week which I’m busy almost all day. It’s the only day I feel like I add value to the world. I happily wake early and I always go to sleep fulfilled.

  I pull the rest of my clothes on and use my tiny en-suite bathroom, brushing my teeth and running my fingers through my short pixie hair. My building is in a sketchy part of town, and I share it with twenty-three other studio apartments. Essentially, it’s a single room with a kitchen—it’s not much better than what you’d get if you were camping and it doesn’t even have a fridge. There’s a little room hanging off the tiny apartment that has a sink, toilet, and a small shower. Everyth
ing works, just, so I should be thankful. Plus, rent is only five hundred per month, which is a steal. I know people a lot worse off, in fact, I’ll see some of them later. I grab my backpack, throw my purse, keys, cell, and a bottle of water into it and sling it on my back.

  Heading off, I walk the familiar route to Seattle Children’s Hospital, and when I arrive, I go straight up to the cancer-care floor.

  “Hey, Mary.” I smile at one of the nurses as I pass by the desk.

  I’ve been coming here once a week for the last year and it’s been so rewarding. I move straight into the reading room and settle down getting ready for the kids to arrive. I love it here, I feel like I’m doing something special. I’m not a nurse, or a doctor, and honestly, I don’t think I could be, I don’t have the stomach for it, but I adore reading to the kids. I love spending time with them each week and giving them an escape to another universe, one where anything is possible. But I have to admit, each week I count the heads. Each week I check if anyone is absent because I have to ask, I have to know, if the child is missing because of a positive or a negative outcome. On those negative days I cry myself to sleep at night.

  “Look who I found.” Tina, one of the orderlies, comes in with eight of my regulars.

  The hospital ward spans two sides. On the right is the teen ward, and here on the left is the younger children which is where I spend my time. I know immediately all the children from last week are accounted for, even though I’m relieved it also makes me sad as I always hope someone might have been lucky enough to go home.

  “Morning, Jasmine,” Priya calls, coming to sit in front of me. She crosses her legs and folds her arms like you’d expect a six-year-old to do. Her smile is goofy and I mirror it with my own, but she won’t see me because she’s blind. She’s quickly followed by the other seven kids. They’re all as thick as thieves as you would probably expect since they practically live together at the hospital.