Scoring with Santa: Book One of The Second Chance Series Copyright © 2016 by Theresa Roemer and Renee Rose
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This 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.
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Riverdale Avenue Books
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Cover by Scott Carpenter
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62601-324-7
Print ISBN 978-1-62601-325-4
First edition, December 2016
Chapter One
If Brandy had a quarter for every time a Phenomenal Physiques’ employee called her in to fix something, she’d be Bill Gates rich. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but that’s how it felt. At the moment, she was soothing an irrational client.
“Ms. Johnson, I assure you it is highly unlikely your identity would be stolen from Phenomenal Physiques.” She tucked an errant strand of her pale blonde hair behind her ear. No matter how hard she tried to keep it contained in a ponytail, the front wisps always slipped out. “We take personal privacy very seriously. No one has access to your credit card number. Once you sign up, all automatic charges are handled by the credit card processing company, that, of course, guarantees security.”
Jane Johnson tightened her already thin lips. If the woman held her neck any more stiffly, Brandy feared her head would snap off. “Well, you never can be too sure these days, especially at Christmas time. My sister-in-law had her identity stolen and it took her eight months to sort out.”
Brandy attempted to beam assurance and confidence. “I understand your concerns. That’s why we take the utmost caution in handling our personal information.”
“My sister-in-law’s was stolen from her hairdresser’s—”
“Were you going to take the kick boxing class today, Ms. Johnson?” Brandy cut in, hoping to redirect.
Jane glanced over at the wall of windows to Studio A, where Alejandro—Alex—Phenomenal Physiques’ gorgeous Latino boxing coach had just started warming up his class. “Oh—yes. Yes, I am.” Her eyes kept tracing Alex’s sculpted chest and shoulders. “We’ll talk more later.”
Not if I can help it.
Brandy watched Jane hurry over to the door of Studio A, an eager smile replacing the woman’s usual dour expression.
Yes, Alex brought happiness to many women’s lives. And men’s.
“Thanks for talking her down.” Jennie, her front desk manager, screwed up her face in sympathy. “You’re so good at that. I’m sorry, she wouldn’t leave until she’d talked to you personally.”
Brandy stifled a sigh, scanning the club for any other emergencies requiring her attention. Launching the health club at 40 had been the culmination of a lifetime of hard work and dreams.
It also had been the end to her marriage, but that was another story.
Four years later, she stood poised to open three new locations. She wouldn’t just own a fitness club, she’d run an entire chain. Of course, that would likely mean three times the headaches, but it would be worth it.
Brandy looked at a particularly large, buff man who was working on the equipment with a tall, black athletic youth. Whoa... she looked closer. Not many men were that tall with shoulders as broad as The Incredible Hulk.
“Is that Rick Morehouse over there?”
Jennie blushed. Actually blushed. Rick Morehouse was said to have that effect on women. As Houston’s most eligible bachelor, the drool-worthy former Houston Texan quarterback was the darling of both the press and public. He’d coached the local high school football team to win State five years in a row and regularly made charity appearances. In fact, she’d just booked him to play Santa for Phenomenal Physique’s charity event, Fostering Christmas, a gift-giving event for foster kids.
She’d also signed up her own son, Sam, an eighth-grader, for Morehouse’s football clinic, which ran for the next few Sundays.
“Yes. He asked for you but you were busy. He needed a place to work with one of his students who can’t afford physical therapy.”
Brandy’s smile faded. “Wait….what?”
Jennie twirled a pen over her fingers and Brandy resisted the urge to snatch it from her to hurry the answer along. “Yeah. He said he needed a place and he understood you’re interested in giving back to the community, so he came here.”
Well, hell.
“Did he sign any liability waivers or complete any paperwork?” Yes, she used to be married to a lawyer. Liability concerns would forever be ingrained in her.
“Uh... no.”
“Jennie, you can’t just let people come into the club without the proper paperwork. What if something happened while they were here? I’d be liable and—” she sighed and left her drooling office manager to her pen-twirling and strode over to the pair of football players.
“Hi, Mr. Morehouse?”
His head jerked up and he straightened, a friendly smile revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. Yes, Mr. All-American, all right. Not her type.
Yeah, right. That was a total lie. The guy had her panties dampening just from being in sniffing distance. His pheromones alone turned her weak-kneed. It wasn’t just the perfectly sculpted chest, or the green eyes that popped against his tanned skin and dark hair. It might be the square jaw with the sexy five o’clock shadow. But no, it was the whole package—the confidence, the charming smile, the way he held his hand out and met her eye with enthusiasm, as if he’d been dying to meet her. “Rick.”
Total. Player.
She understood why he made Jennie blush. Hell, she’d be blushing, too, if he wasn’t ten years younger than her and way too…perfect. For someone else.
She gripped his calloused palm, admiring the size of his hands. She wondered what he could do with those hands besides throw a football… Nope. Head in the game, girlfriend.
“I’m Brandy Love—I believe we’ve spoken on the phone?”
“Yes, we did.” He said it with appreciation, and though his eyes stayed on her face, she suddenly felt acutely aware of her cleavage, as if he had looked at her breasts. Probably because holding his hand had made her nipples hard.
She jerked her fingers away, willing herself not to flush. “Listen, I understand Jennie said it was okay for you to work with your student here, but my liability insurance doesn’t cover this sort of thing—.” She used an apologetic but firm tone, the one she’d perfected after letting her employees run all over her the first year she owned the club.
“I totally understand,” he cut in, the warm smile lighting his face. Unbelievably, he stepped a little closer and she swore she sensed his body heat radiating out, warming her skin. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I just found out that Donnie doesn’t have insurance to cover rehab, and I really need to get him back to 100% before the playoffs when the college scouts are coming.” He canted his head, the green eyes lifting in appeal. “I realize this isn’t standard policy, but I’d be happy to have his mom sign any kind of liability waiver you might need to cover your behind.” It was cute that he said behind instead of ass, and she had a sudden awareness of her ass, as if he was trying to keep himself from checking it out.
But that was silly. She couldn’t read a guy’s intentions that easily. Especially not with her lack of practice, lately.
And yes, her pussy was still wet, a subtle pulsing keeping it in her awareness.
Damn, she bet no woman had ever told him no in his life.
She’d have to be the first. Folding her arms across her chest, partly to keep him from seeing her erect nipples, she held firm. “I’m sorry. I’m happy to have you both here, but not until the proper documentation is in place.”
He smirked, like he thought she was full of shit. Or was it because he knew her nipples were hard?
Damn, was she blushing?
The youth looked at her with an innocent, easygoing appeal.
Was she really capable of throwing them out?
“I’ll bet you’re pretty confident you can sweet talk your way into anything, aren’t you?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Is this about money, because I’m happy to pay for both our memberships. It’s just that we only need it for a few weeks and I thought you were interested in supporting the community—”
“I am interested in supporting the community.” Her voice had gone up a notch. How did she end up being the bitch here? “And no, it’s not about the money. It’s just about having the proper liability forms signed by all the parties.”
Rick stepped closer, rather than drawing away. They probably taught him that in Flirting 101. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, flashing that heart-stopping smile at her. His voice was deep and resonant and seemed to go right into her body, activating every cell. “I’ll fill mine out right now, and I’ll have Donnie’s mom sign his tonight so that next time we are set up properly.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Somehow I don’t think you’re taking this—me,” she spluttered. “As seriously as you should.”
Obviously she was right because his smile only increased. He cocked a brow. “How serious do you want to take this?”
Her tummy fluttered at the innuendo. Her brain stomped its foot. “Rick Morehouse, that flirty act might work with Houston socialites, but it’s not going to work with me.”
His lips twitched. “I wasn’t flirting. I’m just being friendly.”
Half of her wanted to kick him in the shin, the other half considered jumping the sexy man. It was hard enough to run a business as a female entrepreneur in a good ’ol boys state without having Coach Handsome throwing her off her game.
A fire burned in his green eyes, lighting her from head to toe. As if he had some mesmerizing power, she realized she really didn’t want to tell him no. Her shoulders dropped in defeat. “Fine.” She really hoped nobody got hurt today or it would be her ass on the line.
His smile widened. He had sensual lips, and she imagined he must be the most expert kisser in all of Texas. He’d probably already done toothpaste commercials. She should find time to watch more TV.
“But I will need that liability waiver from his mom here by tomorrow—and yours right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face. Why didn’t he take her seriously?
She whirled around, her ponytail flipping in their direction as she stalked off. And ran right into the leg press machine.
“Ow.” Damn, her shin. That would be a bruise.
“You okay?”
Shut up, Coach Perfect.
“Fine.” She rubbed it, hopping on one foot and trying to walk away at the same time. “You just worry about yourself over there.”
She heard the deep rumble of laughter following her out of the room.
* * *
Rick gazed after Brandy as she and her perfect ass sashayed off down the hallway in perfect rhythm with “Jingle Bell Rock,” which was playing over the loudspeakers. She had the yoga butt—all sculpted, lifted muscle that her black stretch pants did nothing to hide. A little too tightly wound for his taste. But a fine ass, nonetheless. Mmm, mm. He’d love to squeeze that ass while…
Student. Student. You have a student present. Get a grip, Rick.
He forced himself to turn back to Donnie, who grinned up at him. “I do believe she liked you, Coach.”
“Inappropriate, Donnie.” He arranged his features to appear stern. “Twenty more reps with the leg press, let’s go.”
Donnie gripped the handles of the machine and his brows drew down as he pushed the heavy weights out with his quads. The kid had twisted his knee two months back, and while it hadn’t seemed that bad of an injury at the time, he still limped after every practice and game. He’d been out when several of the college scouts had visited, so his last shot was at the playoffs, when Rick’s buddy Blake Elway from Texas A&M planned to visit.
Rick had talked to the boy’s mom about getting him some physical therapy, but she said they had crappy insurance with a huge deductible so she couldn’t afford it.
Donnie huffed as he finished the reps, but when he stood up to go to the next machine, he started right back up. “You should ask her out, Coach. She’s totally your type.”
“Oh really? What is my type?” Ice princess with a perfect ass. Yeah. Even if she wasn’t his type, he’d change his tastes for her. His body still pulsed from being so close to her.
The cheeky kid grinned. Two dimples crinkled his milk chocolate skin. “She’s totally your type.”
Conversations with teenagers often drove him batshit. “Yeah, you said that. I really want to hear what my type is.”
Donnie jerked his thumb in the direction she’d disappeared and made a scoffing sound. “Well, just look at her. She’s…” he trailed off, as if not sure it was okay to call a grown-up “hot” in front of his coach. “Um, good-looking. And she’s super fit, so that’s your type, right?”
Yeah, apart from the uptight vibe, she probably was his type. Tall and long-legged, her body was lean and toned, without looking too bulky. She had perky tits and that scrumptious ass… The blue-eyed blonde thing could be a cliché, but on her it was perfection.
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“Plus, she’s bossy like you.”
He chuckled. “Bossy, huh?” He wasn’t going to touch that one. But he supposed Donnie was right. He definitely admired a self-made woman like Brandy. She made the giggling, air-headed 20-something women he usually dated seem like children. She was a real woman. A grown woman who understood who she was and what she wanted. And yeah, he found that damn appealing.
He definitely wanted another chance to flirt. He’d pissed her off this time, but of course that only made the prospect of chasing her all the more appealing.
“You wanna see bossy? I’ll give you bossy.” He pulled out his stopwatch. “Put your back against that wall and lower to a seated position for three minutes.”
Donnie looked cocky for about the first 30 seconds, and then his face turned red and sweat dripped down from his hairline. “How long’s it been?” he grunted.
Rick shook his head. “Keep going. Are you breathing? Sounded to me like you’re holding your breath.”
Donnie gulped and released some air. “How much longer?”
“Two more minutes.”
He blew out his breath in a gust. “Are you serious?”
“Come up halfway so the angle of your knees is more like 45 degrees. That’s it. Notice how you engage the muscles that stabilize the knees.”
Donnie nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. He’d only just started giving Rick a little shit back this year. Rick’d had him on the varsity team since Donnie was a freshman and the kid pretty much lived and died by what Rick said, so he didn’t mind the little bit of back talk now and then.
“Ugh, come on, Coach,” he gasped.
He shook his head, unsympathetic. “Not yet. What experience do you have with dating, anyway?”
Donnie grinned. Sweat beaded at his hairline. “I’ve got a girlfriend.”
“Just one?”
Donnie snorted, but apparently didn’t have enough breath or energy to r
espond.
“Why haven’t I seen her around?”
“She—doesn’t—go—to Houston High,” he spit out between ground teeth.
“Ah, the mysterious girlfriend from another school,” he teased. “Sure. I bet she’s built like a brick house, too.”
Donnie laughed and shook his head. “She’s real, Coach. She’ll be there for playoffs.”
“Sure she will.”
Rick looked down the hallway and wondered if he’d see the gorgeous Brandy Love again before they left. He suddenly didn’t want to leave without her number. Or another chance to flirt. She wasn’t married—at least she didn’t wear a ring. Yep, he’d checked.
“Three minutes.”
Donnie heaved an exhale and pushed himself upright. “That was brutal, Coach.”
“We’re almost done. Let’s see 30 more minutes on the cycle.”
“Ah, man,” Donnie whined. “Are you serious? I thought we were done.”
“No lip. Get peddling.” He lifted his chin toward the row of cycles that ran along the window.
From what Rick could see, Phenomenal Physiques had everything you’d want in an upscale gym—top of the line equipment, competent staff and a beautiful facility, which presently was decked out in festive holiday décor. Yes, he admired the hell out of Brandy Love. She was running a great business here.
He climbed on a cycle next to Donnie. He might as well get his own workout in while he was here. No sense in watching the kid pedal for a half an hour. Besides, he had some pent up energy to burn off since his encounter with Ms. Phenomenal Physique herself.
Yeah, he couldn’t wait to see her again. Preferably alone, with their clothes off…
* * *
Damn mic.
She adjusted the headset around her face, but the stupid thing kept shorting out as she spoke. Her yoga students all had their heads lifted, craning their necks to watch her for the next instruction, since everything was coming out garbled.
Screw it. Class was almost over, anyway. She pulled the set off and hung it around her neck. With her voice, she talked them through the Savasana pose. “There are some who say this is the hardest pose, even though you’re doing nothing but lying on your backs with your eyes closed.”
Scoring With Santa: Book One in the Second Chance Series Page 1
