by Lili Valente
A soft rumble of laughter alerts me to the fact I’m not alone.
I spin, eyes narrowed, to see Brendan standing behind me in a white button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbow, khaki shorts, and bare feet, looking ridiculously gorgeous, as usual. The man should come with a warning label—Danger: Do Not Look Directly into These Dreamy Blue Eyes for Too Long or You Will Forget That I am Off-Limits and Also Not Interested in Romance and Also Irritating as Fucking Hell.
Brendan is captain of the Portland Badgers, the NHL team my PR efforts have helped lift from relative obscurity to one of the big names in the league. The fact that they’ve qualified for the playoffs three out of the past five years probably hasn’t hurt, but I’m not afraid to take credit where credit is due. I’ve grown the Badger youth hockey program, increased season-ticket sales by twenty percent, and started a fantasy camp with a waiting list two-hundred people deep.
I work hard for my team, and I appreciate players who make my job easy by being sweet to reporters, putting their game face on when I’m filming spots to play during the games, and smiling for the camera when I put together a meet and greet to build goodwill within the community.
Brendan is not one of those players. Brendan is a cranky, recalcitrant, stand-offish, doesn’t-play-well-with-the-press pain in my ass, which makes the big smile on his face even more disconcerting.
Damn, he’s nice to look at.
It really is too bad that he’s determined to stay above the dating fray. He would make some lucky woman very happy. And maybe make himself a little easier to live with in the process.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help myself.” He ambles closer, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I had to come see if you were really burning your bra.”
“I am. And my panties.” I flick another pair of briefs into the flames.
“Is this a feminist thing?” He comes to stand beside me, sending the smell of freshly washed man and an earthy, foresty cologne drifting to my nose.
He must have already been back to his room at the hotel to shower. I’m still in the bikini and oversize cover-up I’ve been wearing all day, rocking the casual look for the first annual Badger Beach Bum weekend. I’d planned to head up the hill half an hour ago and get cleaned up for the team cocktail party starting at ten, but after a chat with some teenagers who agreed to let me take over maintenance of their beach fire, I decided it was better to burn the underwear first.
The sooner I can put the Panty-gate disaster behind me, the better.
“No, it’s not a feminist thing.” I wait for the briefs to catch before I add more fuel to the fire. “It’s a walked in and caught my boyfriend wearing my underwear kind of thing.”
Brendan’s brows lift sharply. “Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah. I forgot my beach bag this morning. When I ran back to get it I found Henry standing in the middle of my bedroom wearing my lace thong, silk stockings, and push up bra. There was also makeup involved, but that wasn’t mine.” I toss another bra, proud of how much better my aim is getting. “He’s a winter, not a spring.”
“I’m guessing this wasn’t something you knew about Henry going in to the relationship.”
“No, it wasn’t. Henry is a seemingly straight-laced investment banker whose hobbies include making money, drinking scotch, playing fantasy football, power lifting, and going on long, aggressively competitive bike rides with other investment bankers. He never made any mention of a love for cross-dressing.”
“And if he had?” Brendan asks, picking up a slim piece of wood from the sand.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. To be honest, it would probably have still been a deal breaker, but if he’d been up front about it—and bought his own lingerie instead of tainting mine—it would have at least been up for discussion.”
“Wouldn’t washing everything work just as well?”
“No, Brendan, washing everything won’t work.” The next few bras hit the fire with considerably more force. “Some taints go too deep for soap. Some taints must be cleansed by fire.”
“Like taints that come from being close to your ex’s taint,” he says, summoning an unexpected laugh from my chest.
“Yes, like that.” I peek at him from the corner of my eye. “I’m not used to you being funny.”
“It’s something I try to avoid as much as possible,” he says pleasantly. “It confuses people. Makes them think I’m not going to be a pain in their ass the next time they ask me to spend my Sunday morning eating pancakes with strangers.”
“So you saw the email…” I glance up at him, my throat tightening for reasons I can’t explain.
He nods. “I did.”
“There are worse things than being asked to eat pancakes, Brendan.”
“Pancakes with strangers,” he corrects, catching the thong that has escaped the flames thus far on the end of his stick. “I don’t like strangers.”
“Even strangers who are also your biggest fans?” I watch him lower the panties into the fire, my cheeks flushing for reasons I also can’t explain.
“Even strangers who are fans. When I’m not away for a game, Sundays are for family.” The thong slides onto the coals, and Brendan turns to me, an all too familiar, all too stubborn expression firming his features. “You can courtesy-copy Coach Swindle and the team manager on requests all you want, but I won’t be bullied by any of you. Chloe’s back from her grandparents’ house on Tuesday, so I won’t be eating pancakes with anyone next Sunday, or any Sunday in the foreseeable future.”
“You can bring Chloe if you want,” I say, naively hoping this might be an easy fix. “I would be happy to watch her while you network.”
He crosses his arms at his chest. “No.”
I take a deep breath, in and out, fighting a wave of irritation. “Come on, Brendan. You know Chloe and I get along like macaroni and cheese. We could eat pancakes together at the kids’ table and then color until you’re ready to go. It will be fun.”
“No.”
“No? Just…no?” My volume rises as I drop my nearly empty duffle onto the sand and spread my fingers wide in the air in front of the most frustrating man in the universe. “That’s it? No, Laura, I will not allow you to do your job. No, Laura, you will never have my cooperation without a fight. No, Laura, I refuse to compromise no matter how far you bend over backward to make things easy for me.”
“That’s not—”
“No, Laura,” I push on, unable to stop the flood now that I’ve started, “you are a thorn in my side and I hate you like I hate fans who bang on the glass, so you might as well give up now and resign because you are the worst part of my day. Every day. Bar none.”
His gaze softens, and the stubborn jut fades from his jawline. “I don’t hate you. Not even a little bit.”
I swallow hard, shocked to find my eyes beginning to sting. “Yeah, well sometimes it feels like it. I’m just trying to do my job, you know.”
“And I’m just a single dad trying to be there for my daughter.”
I nod, the stinging sensation getting even worse. “I know that. And I respect it so much, I really do. I adore Chloe and would never want to take quality time with her dad away from her, but can’t we find a middle ground?”
Brendan’s blue eyes wrinkle at the edges. “Are you crying?”
“No.” I sniff hard, fighting to hold back the tears insisting it’s time to come parachuting out of my tear ducts. “I never cry.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
My bottom lip trembles. “It’s fine. I don’t need to cry. It’s a waste of time. What does it matter if half the people I work with think I’m annoying and useless? I know I do good things for this team.”
“No one thinks you’re annoying or useless.”
“Yes, they do.” I sniff again as Brendan’s face begins to shimmer from the stupid tears filling my stupid eyes. “But it’s fine. Who cares? And who cares if I have to burn all my underwear because I’m not sure what Henry wore
when I was gone? And who cares if the first guy I’ve given a key to my apartment in years didn’t trust me enough to be honest with me, and I’m clearly a crappy judge of character who will probably end up married to a serial killer? It’s fine, I’m just—”
“Stop it.” Brendan cups my face in his hands, drawing me closer. His touch is gentle but assured, commanding, and very…interesting in ways I’ve never been interested in Brendan before.
I suck in a breath and hold it, blinking fast. Brendan has only ever been my friend, and there are times when things between us aren’t even really that friendly. But his face is suddenly very close to mine, and his eyes are burning with an intensity that is confusing, and when he speaks in a soft, husky voice my pulse begins to beat faster.
“I’m sorry I make things hard on you. I’ll try to do better.”
My forehead furrows. “You will?”
“I will, and I’m going to prove it. Turn around and close your eyes.”
My brows shoot up, but before I can ask why I need to turn around, Brendan says, “Do it, Collins. You can trust me.”
It’s true. If there’s anyone I can trust, it’s Brendan. He isn’t the easiest person to get along with at times, but he is honorable to the core. He is trustworthy and good and, even in the midst of his most stubborn moments, kind.
With a nod, I turn to face the beach and the ocean. The crowd has thinned considerably in the last half hour. Now there are only a few couples still lounging on their blankets at the far end of the beach, and a trio of horseback riders trot toward the trail that leads up to the cliffs overlooking the water and the hotel parking lot beyond.
“Okay, you can turn around,” Brendan says after a moment.
I turn, a confused smile curving across my lips as I see what he’s holding in one hand. “Are those boxers?”
“They are.” He nods solemnly.
My smile widens. “How did you get them off without taking off your shorts?”
“I didn’t.” He winks as he steps closer to the flames. “I used to be an Olympic-level streaker back in high school, Collins. I can get in and out of a pair of shorts in two seconds flat.”
“Impressive.” I nod, refusing to be flustered by that wink. “But I’m not sure I understand the point of this removal of underwear, Daniels.”
“I removed them because I’m going to burn them. In a show of solidarity, and to help remove the taint of any bad feeling between us. Give us a fresh start.”
“Oh,” I whisper, surprised by how nice a fresh start sounds.
But then, that’s what this is really about. I’m not burning my bras because Henry might have worn them. I’m burning them because I don’t want to be the woman who was too proud to admit that things with her too-perfect-to-be-true boyfriend haven’t been perfect for a while. That they have, in fact, been pretty shitty.
I want a fresh start, to head back into the dating rat race with my eyes open and a commitment to being honest with the men I meet. But even more importantly, I want to burn away the bullshit and make a commitment to being honest with myself.
“You ready for this?” Brendan twirls his boxers in a circle.
I nod, reaching for the last handful of panties in my bag. “Ready.”
“On the count of three,” he says, holding my gaze. “One, two…”
On three we both drop our drawers into the bonfire. For a moment, the flames dim, fighting for oxygen, but then surge back even brighter than they were before, illuminating the smile on Brendan’s face.
“You should smile more often,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.
He nudges me back. “And you should stop wearing makeup.”
I snort. “No way. I look like a twelve-year-old without eyelashes. Or eyebrows. Or lips, unless I have a sunburn.”
“No you don’t,” he says softly, “you look beautiful.”
I shift my gaze slowly to my right and find him watching me with that intensity in his eyes again, making it clear he isn’t kidding. “Well…thank you. You’re not too bad to look at, either.”
He smiles as he shifts closer. “No? Not too bad?”
I shrug. “Nah. I mean, I don’t throw up in my mouth when I see you coming down the tunnel all sweaty and gross anymore.”
He laughs, his eyes doing this amazing sparkling thing that is completely mesmerizing, holding me in thrall as he brushes my hair over my shoulder. “Well, that’s good. I don’t like tripping a woman’s gag reflex.”
“Right.” I blush hard, pulling a Libby—my little sister excels at turning bright red every time anyone mentions anything remotely sexual—because I’m thinking about other ways a man could trip a woman’s gag reflex.
Yes, I’m thinking about Brendan’s cock and my mouth and all the fun they could have together. Sue me! I have a dirty mind; I can’t help it. And the fact that I know he’s free-balling beneath those khakis certainly isn’t helping things.
Brendan clears his throat with a soft laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Likely story.”
“I didn’t,” he says, still standing way closer to me than he ever has before, sending “gorgeous male in close proximity” alerts tickling across my skin. “I swear. I’ve been out of the game way too long to be that quick with innuendo. I just meant that I enjoy not making you physically ill.”
I nod, torn between the urge to step back—hopefully clearing my head—or to lean in, bracing my hands on Brendan’s chest. Touching him is starting to seem like a good idea, a really good idea, though I know for a fact it’s not. We work together, we fight as often as we laugh, his life is very complicated, and my last breakup is so fresh I’m still sporting road rash.
But damn, he’s sexy and he smells incredible, and the way he’s looking at me makes my lungs feel too small and my heart feel too large and my fingertips itch to be buried in his softly curled, dirty blond hair.
“What are you thinking, Collins?” The husky note in his voice strikes a hard blow to my already weakening resolve.
“I was thinking about your quick change,” I confess, as he tips his head closer to mine. “What if I’d turned around too soon?”
“Then I guess you would have gotten an eye full,” he says, his arm wrapping slowly around my waist. “But better bare than wearing your underwear, right?”
“Yes.” My pulse spikes as my breasts flatten against his chest and my body celebrates how incredibly good it feels to be close to this man. I tip my head back, bringing my lips mere inches from Brendan’s as I whisper, “I like that you’re proceeding cautiously. Giving me plenty of time to come to my senses.”
His nose brushes against mine, and his breath is warm on my lips as he asks, “Are you going to come to your senses?”
“I don’t think so. That doesn’t sound very interesting.”
“And what does sound interesting?” His arm tightens around me. “Maybe something like this?”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, and a relieved, elated, dizzily wonderful wow feeling rolls through me with a sharp snap. The snap is like a light flicked on in a dark room, a horn blaring on a silent street, the sudden rush of adrenaline when you start to step off the curb and a car you didn’t see coming rushes past the second before your foot leaves the concrete.
The snap shouts “Pay attention! Pay close fucking attention! Something unexpected and potentially dangerous is happening!”
And it is.
Cranky, pain-in-my-butt Brendan is kissing me, and it is the most incredible kiss of my entire life. The sweetest, sexiest, most intense kiss, one that turns my bones to jelly and sets off an electrical storm in my nervous system. His tongue strokes against mine, hungry and demanding, asking for what he needs, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck and give it to him.
*
Sexy Motherpucker releases May 2017!
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