“My pleasure. She’s a good egg.”
Nope, Claire wasn’t listening—she didn’t react to that at all.
Stress made Brandy weak—she leaned her shoulder against his.
He stroked her opposite shoulder. “How are you doing, Mama Bear?”
She let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I had to get away from Justin. Get a little space.” She wanted to say more, but not in front of Claire.
His fingers found the nape of her neck underneath her hair, and he stroked the back of his thumb lazily up and down, soothing her.
Another coil in her belly unwound.
“I should probably go back in there. Listen, if you don’t want to stay—”
Rick held up his hand. “I’m staying,” he said firmly.
She exhaled. “Thanks. So much. This means a lot to me.”
Her knees wobbled when she stood. She took one more glance over her shoulder as she headed back in. Rick was already leaning back over Claire, actively participating in the game with her.
God, what a dream man.
Her chest ached just a little. She wanted him. For real—not just for booty calls.
Too bad it couldn’t be.
Because in another life, he’d be the one.
* * *
Brandy’s ex walked out first. He saw Rick notice him, but he didn’t acknowledge him, just put on his sunglasses and walked out the door. He didn’t even say goodbye to his own daughter.
Jackass.
He shouldn’t judge. He might be bitter if he’d lost Brandy as his wife, too. She was a force to be reckoned with. She ushered Sam out a few minutes later. Sam wore a bright green cast on his arm and a little of the color had returned to his face.
“Come on, Claire-bear, they’re out,” he said. The endearment had just slipped off his tongue, and he immediately regretted it. For one thing, she was too old to be called names like that. For another, he wasn’t supposed to be getting into a relationship with these kids.
She handed his phone to him with a smile that wrenched his heart. Pure sweetness. What a beautiful kid. If he was her dad, he’d get a bat to keep the boys away from her, because in a year or two she’d be breaking hearts left and right.
“My mom calls me that,” she said.
His heart stuttered again. “Does she?” Did his voice waver?
They walked over to meet Brandy and Sam. He tousled Sam’s hair. “How’s the arm now, champ?”
“Better now that the cast is on it. You were right.”
Rick had told him on the drive over that the worst was the movement and instability of the bone.
“Well, it could be the painkillers kicking in, too.” He smiled.
They walked outside and Brandy looked around, a lost look on her face.
“Where are you parked?” He touched her lower back to let her know he was still there to help.
“I... honestly can’t remember. I was so worried when I got here…”
Claire pointed. “It’s over there, Mom. Remember? We walked past that sign.”
Brandy gave a sheepish grin. He doubted she often lost focus or forget things. “Where are you parked?” she asked.
He jerked his thumb in the opposite direction. “That way, but I’ll walk you to your car.”
He expected her to protest, but her unbreakable facade had cracked this afternoon. “Thanks.” Her voice was soft, the gaze she sent him, sweet.
His heart tumbled around in his chest. Lord help him but he wanted to receive a thousand more of those. He wanted to earn that look a hundred times a day until he died. He struggled to compose himself, to pull his thoughts together.
“You take it easy, Sam. I’d still like to see you at the clinic for the last session, even if you can’t play. Injured players still stick with their team, you know.”
He wasn’t sure if that suggestion would meet with resistance or not, but Sam’s smile looked enthusiastic. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” They reached the car. “Coach…” Sam scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the other shoe. “What does this do to my chances—”
“You’re on the team, kid.”
Both Brandy and Sam jerked their heads up, their matching blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Really?”
He dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Yes. From what I saw, you’re a hard worker and you have a great arm. With a little more skill-building and team-work, you could become a star player by the time you’re a senior.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” He looked over at his mother, who beamed back and winked.
“I’m dead serious. I’d like to have you on the team next year. JV to start, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you were on the varsity team by your sophomore year.”
He looked thrilled, then suddenly, his face fell. “Mom, what about what Dad said?”
Brandy tensed. “I’ll deal with your father.”
“What did he say?” Yeah, it wasn’t any of his business, but he already cared what happened in this family, already felt like he played a role here.
“He said no more football. That it’s too dangerous.”
He struggled to keep his cool. He answered this objection with parents all the time. For some reason, though, this time it pissed him off. “Football is a dangerous sport, yes. But they are doing their best to regulate it to avoid serious injuries. What happened to you today... ” -he rubbed his face, searching for a good way to rationalize it- “it doesn’t mean it will happen again. You can’t live your life in fear of getting hurt, nor can you beat yourself up when you do. The point is to believe you can always recover from it, you can always come back.”
Sam looked at him doubtfully. “But you didn’t come back from your injury.”
“Sure I did. I’m coaching you. This is my life’s work—this is what makes me happiest. I liked playing professional ball, but it was only half as satisfying as coaching. And I’m dead serious about that.”
Brandy’s eyes brightened with tears. Some of Sam’s skepticism had disappeared and he looked hopeful again.
“You just worry about your recovery, and let your mom and I worry about convincing your dad.”
Your mom and I.
Had he seriously just used those words together in the same sentence? Was he already considering them as a team that worked together for the good of the kids? Something deep inside him shifted, and the discomfort of it had him ready to run for the hills.
He touched Brandy’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow to check on him,” he said. “On all of you.” He glanced at Claire, who smiled shyly.
“Take care. All of you.”
He walked away, his heart pounding, a tingle running over his skin.
What in the hell was he doing?
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Rick checked in the next day. Only he didn’t call. He texted, Bringing pizza over for dinner. How’s the patient?
Her heart flip flopped like a fish on land. He was coming over. Here. To her house. With pizza. It was not a booty call. It wasn’t even a date. It was like... a relationship.
No, that wasn’t right. He was Sam’s coach and Sam had been injured on his watch. Of course that’s all this was. Because he’d already made it crystal clear he wouldn’t date a single mom.
She shouldn’t read anything more into this—Rick was just an awesome guy who cared a lot about the kids he coached. Maybe this was why he was so afraid of dating a single mom. He adored kids so much, he knew he’d fall in love. Well, her kids sure loved him right back.
She could argue that they’d only just met, and that could wear off, but she didn’t think it would. They liked Rick because he was genuine and a good person. He radiated tenderness, comfort, love, strength. They wouldn’t put it into those words, but that was who he was. An amazing, stand up guy.
Who also happened to be six feet five inches of solid muscle and hunky good looks. A man who made her knees go weak with just a smile. A man who’d let her tie h
im up and ride him on the row machine.
Her toes curled just remembering their last steamy night together. She wanted a repeat, soon. Except... maybe this was getting to be too much. Too often. Too intimate. For two people not in a relationship. She sighed, the giddy angst that had been eating at her since the day she met Rick ratcheting up again.
Rick showed up at dinnertime with a giant pizza—half pepperoni, half sausage and jalapeno. He walked in like he owned the place—no, he was respectful, but he also seemed perfectly comfortable in her house. She liked it. He tossed the pizza in the middle of the table and said, “have at it, kids.”
The kids scrambled up from the couch and came over, digging in. Sam had stayed home from school that day, and his arm still hurt quite a bit, but his mood was totally back to normal. She’d worked from home to keep an eye on him.
Rick chuckled at the exuberance with which the kids attacked the food. It looked like she never fed them. “I went to college with this guy who had moved here from Egypt when he was 12. He said the first time he saw the way Americans ate pizza he was shocked.”
Claire giggled, her mouth already stuffed full.
“He said it seemed sort of representative of our country as a whole—everyone scrambling to get as many pieces as they can before it’s gone.”
“That’s a weird story,” Sam said while chewing.
Rick handed her a plastic bag with two styrofoam containers. “Here’s the salad to go with it.”
She smiled. Thoughtful. He probably suspected she didn’t like to stuff herself with too many carbs, not that she was going to resist a piece of sausage jalapeno. Yum. She got out four plates and served the salad.
“So how’s the arm, man?” Rick asked Sam.
Sam bobbed his head, now stuffing the second slice of pizza in his face. “Good. Better.”
“He sees the orthopedist tomorrow. Then we find out if he needs surgery or not.”
“Fingers crossed you don’t. But either way, it will be six to eight weeks in a cast, but then you’ll be good as new.” He directed his attention to Claire. “How about you, missy? Do you have any homework?”
“I already did it.”
She nearly swooned. Had he actually just asked her kid if her homework was done?
“Good, because I brought over some movies. I’m sure you’ve already seen it, but I rented the new Star Wars movie. And how about Jurassic World?”
“Yes, I love that one,” Claire exclaimed.
“Which one?”
“Well, both, but Jurassic World is my favorite. It’s so good.”
“How about you, Sam?”
Sam shrugged. “Either one. I like them both.”
Rick tossed them to Sam. “Let’s get it started then,” he swiveled to her, “if that’s okay with Mom, that is.”
She nodded, hoping she didn’t appear as starry eyed as she felt at the moment. Really, she shouldn’t be more excited about a man giving her children attention than she was about him... well, doing naughty things to her, but it might be an even tie.
* * *
Rick sat on the couch next to Brandy and Claire. Sam had curled up in the Lazy-boy chair. As Rick twirled a strand of Brandy’s cornsilk hair between his fingers, he realized he was in too deep. He’d known it at the hospital, and he definitely knew it when he made the choice to visit them here at their home. He’d met the kids. He liked the kids—a lot. And he liked the way Brandy went soft when he interacted with them, watching him with those big baby blues as if he were some kind of hero.
Yeah, he wanted to be her hero.
But that was messed up. He didn’t get involved with a woman with kids. They were already warming up to him, already trusting him. What would happen if he and Brandy... what? Called it quits? They weren’t even together yet. Strange, how he considered they were.
Claire passed the popcorn down to him and he scooped a handful and handed the bowl back. This was comfortable. Strangely, he felt almost more at home here than he did in his own bachelor pad.
Was this what had been missing in his life? Family? Kids? He’d never known he wanted them. He got plenty of kid interaction coaching—more than enough. Why, then, did he care so much about hanging out here with Claire and Sam? Because they belonged to Brandy?
Or because Brandy and her kids just fit with him?
He found himself imagining bringing them all over to his mom’s house—the one he’d bought her when he’d received his first pro paycheck. His mom would love the kids. And she’d adore Brandy, too. They were similar in many ways—classy, graceful, socially adept. Caring.
The movie ended and he uncrossed his long legs and reluctantly pushed himself up to stand, turning to offer his hand to Brandy. “Well, it must be your bedtime, kids. I’ll see you later. Sam, I hope to see you at the clinic on Sunday. Tell me if you want help talking to your dad.”
Sam bobbed his head. “Yeah, thanks, okay.”
“Good night, Claire-Bear.”
She jumped off the couch and wrapped her arms around his waist.
For a moment, he lost his breath.
“Good night, Coach.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Good night, squirt.”
Brandy walked him to the door and stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. “Thanks for this. It was really sweet of you.”
He loved the way she looked up at him—the tough-as-nails Houston entrepreneur had turned yielding. He gripped the back of her head and brushed his lips across hers—softly at first, then claiming them with more force, licking into her mouth. She opened for him, leaned her incredible body against his and kissed him back, twisting her lips over his.
His pulse quickened, a shot of lust kicking through him. But no—God, no. Her kids were right inside, probably wondering what in the hell they were doing. They broke apart.
“When can I see you?” he found himself asking without his brain even knowing he was going to do it. And damned if he didn’t want a real date with her—not just a hookup. Although he wouldn’t be upset about a hookup, either.
“I’m not sure. I have the kids all week.”
“How about lunch?” Yep, definitely a date.
She arched a brow. “But we aren’t dating.”
He shrugged. “So? How about lunch?”
The edges of her mouth curved into the sexy suggestion of a smile. “Okay, lunch. Wednesday?”
“I’ll pick you up at the club. Noon?”
She nodded, smiling. “Sounds good.”
He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, sampling her lips once more. “Good night.” He released her, tipped an imaginary hat, and headed down the sidewalk.
“Good night.” She sounded breathless.
He did that to her. His chest swelled.
Crap, he was totally in too deep.
* * *
By Wednesday, she’d thought herself into a rut about Rick. What was the deal? He said he couldn’t do a relationship because she had kids, but then he’d dropped by her house and cozied up to Sam and Claire. And what was this lunch date thing? They weren’t dating.
Now he was taking up way too much headspace. She’d said she didn’t have time for a relationship but she’d been thinking about Rick all week. Sometimes fantasizing about more shower sex, sometimes about more. About having Rick in her life—what it would be like to see more of him, to wake up beside him, or fall asleep next to him. To share more of the everyday life moments like pizza and a movie. That was the part that scared her. Rick was giving off mixed messages, and she didn’t have time in her life to get jerked around. If they were going to have hot sex, that was fine, but she needed to draw firm boundaries.
She texted him that morning. Let’s make it a nooner. My house is free.
There. Just sex.
He responded immediately, Sounds like a perfect plan to me. Meet you there.
Her pulse quickened. She headed to the women’s locker room and took another shower. She’
d only taught one class and had hardly broken a sweat, but she wanted to be fresh and clean for Rick. After grabbing her purse, she headed out.
As she climbed in her car, another text from Rick came through. We’ll drop your car at the shop on the way back. I made an appointment for your power steering.
She blinked. Then blinked again. Seriously? Was this guy for real? That’s pretty presumptuous. She didn’t need anyone to run her life. She’d worked hard to earn her independence from Justin. She sure wasn’t going to let her booty call step in and start running the show. What? He didn’t think she could get it done on her own? Because car mechanics are something only men can handle?
Before she should reply, he sent another one. It will take three hours and I can drive you back to get it when it’s done. Checked your teaching schedule online. Should be okay?
Grr. Yes, it was really nice of him, but she hadn’t asked for help. Booty calls don’t step in and get your car fixed. She’d have to have a talk with him about this.
She texted back, No, thanks. I can take care of it, and started her car.
He responded with a series of question marks, which she ignored.
She parked in her driveway. It seemed so naughty to be home in the middle of the day. Like ditching class in high school, only naughtier, because it was to have sex.
She pulled open the dresser drawer that held her lingerie, wondering what kind Rick liked. Flowy see-through top? Nah… Thigh highs with the seam down the back? Hmm, yes, maybe. And what on top? Bra? Or corset? She decided on black lacy bra, black panties and the lace-topped thigh-highs with the seam down the back. Oh, and high heels. Because Rick Morehouse was tall enough to top her height no matter how high the shoes.
She traipsed around the house—yes, in the full get up and heels—and straightened up. The kids had left jackets and shoes strewn about. Papers from school piled on her kitchen counter.
A tap sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
The door slid open and…
Oh God, no. “Mom!”
Her mother took one look at her and gasped. “Brandy-Marie, what on Earth?”
Scoring With Santa: Book One in the Second Chance Series Page 9
