Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Blurb
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter 1—Pretty is as Pretty Does?
Chapter 2—Gridiron Cinderella
Chapter 3—The Play Fake
Chapter 4—Sisters in Crime
Chapter 5—You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet
Chapter 6—Tackled for a Loss
Chapter 7—Illegal Motion
Chapter 8—Double Date
Chapter 9—Rocking the Ferry
Chapter 10—Crossing the Line
Chapter 11—Running Touchdown
Chapter 12—Staying in Bounds
Chapter 13—Blindsided
Chapter 14—Out of the Huddle
Chapter 15—Free Agent
Chapter 16—Out of Downs
Chapter 17—Coaching Strategies
Chapter 18—Puzzled
Chapter 19—Back and Forth
Chapter 20—Stopping the Play
Chapter 21—Baggage Claim
Chapter 22—Zone Blitz
Chapter 23—Handoff
Chapter 24—Game Over
Complete Booklist
About the Author
Draw Play
The Originals
A Seattle Steelheads Football Classic
THE GAME ON IN SEATTLE COLLECTION
By Jami Davenport®
Copyright © 2020 by Cedrona Enterprises
Original Copyright © 2013 by Jami Davenport
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Jami Davenport. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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The Seattle Sockeyes®, Seattle Steelheads®, and Seattle Skookums™ are fictional sports teams. Game On in Seattle™ is a series of sports romance novels The names and logos are created for the sole use of the owner and covered under protection of trademark.
Jami Davenport®, Seattle Sockeyes®, and Seattle Steelheads® are registered trademarks with the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
This book is a work of fiction. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Blurb
All you’ll ever be is a pretty face.
Star running back Bruce “Bruiser” Mackey has heard those words his entire life, especially after his twin brother’s tragic accident. He might use his surfer-boy good looks to land lucrative endorsements for his secret charity, but he hates books being judged by their covers. Which is why it’s wrong that his friend Mackenzie Hernandez is intent on giving herself a makeover.
Sure, Mac and her father have been reeling financially since her brother disappeared three years ago, and Steelheads management gives an annual scholarship that might get her life back on track, but he can’t imagine anyone smarter, sexier, or more beautiful than Mac already is. He can’t keep his hands off her—and the more they spend time together, the less he wants to. She’s perfect as is.
One way or another, he’ll make sure the team’s tomboy groundskeeper gets a full ride. And between the two of them, they can learn to accept what’s behind them and look downfield to a future full of win.
Previously published as Down by Contact in 2013. This version has been updated, rewritten, and re-edited.
Dedication
A big thank-you to Adrianne Lee, pie-baking queen, author-extraordinaire, Seahawks fan, and Wilson defender. Even more importantly, a friend who is always there when I need her, even when she’s in deadline hell.
A big heartfelt thank-you to my noontime walking buddies, also fabulous authors:
Margaret Mallory, my partner-in-crime and fellow commiserator (is that a word?) for all things Amazon.
Anthea Lawson, for her steadfast practical advice on writing, publishing, and life in general.
Theresa Scott, for her infinite wisdom, her sense of fairness, and awesome listening skills.
Author’s Note
What are The Originals?
Years ago, I wrote and published several football romances in the Seattle Lumberjacks series. Due to contractual restrictions, I was unable to use the Lumberjacks as my series name when the rights to the books reverted to me. The Lumberjacks books are being rewritten and rolled into my Steelheads series with the subtitle of “The Originals” to differentiate them from the newer books in the series.
The books in this series were the books of my heart. It is with great pleasure that I am able to update and edit them as they revert to me from my publisher and re-release them as part of my Seattle Steelheads series.
The events in this story take place seven years prior to Blindsided.
The current true chronological order is:
1—Kickoff
2—Snap Decision
3—Offsides
4—Draw Play
5—Hot Read (Summer 2020)
6—Comeback Route (Fall 2020)
The Steelheads several years later:
7—Blindsided
8—Game Changer
9—Fumble Recovery
I’m a true-crime junkie. For this book, I finally decided to put all those hours of watching true-crime television to use. I’ve always been fascinated by the families who continue to search for their missing loved ones years after they’ve disappeared. I’ve been torn between applauding them and wanting them to move on and live their lives. I especially feel sorry for the brothers, sisters, and children of the missing family members, as it often seems they’re forgotten while the family strives to unearth the truth.
I wanted to know how it felt to be a sibling of a missing person, especially when your parent dedicates his entire life to finding your sibling and expects you to do the same. Such is Mac’s story in Draw Play.
Chapter 1—Pretty is as Pretty Does?
“Yeah, yeah, Bruiser, all you’ll ever be is just another pretty face.”
“Never criticize the face that feeds you,” Bruce Mackey, a.k.a. Bruiser, shot back as he gritted his teeth.
Nothing but a pretty face? Hell. That wasn’t the type of thing a person tells a 230-pound premier running back for the Seattle Steelheads. Not that Bruiser hadn’t worked his ass off to craft that very superficial image—then worked that much harder on the football field to show
the world and the NFL that he was a football player first and pretty face second.
Football was his job and his passion. On a normal day, it took two linebackers and handful of defensive backs to bring him to his knees as he fought like a wild man for a few extra yards, hence the odd nickname Bruiser.
Playing the role of a pretty boy usually suited him just fine. Other than being one tough hombre on the football field, no one expected anything serious or profound from the league’s “Hottest Hunk,” which kept even the nosiest of reporters from diving deep enough to unearth the painful truth lurking behind his carefree mask. That was just fine. He let his play on the field speak for itself. The rest was no one’s business but his.
Harold, the photographer, winked at him. “Hey, I’m not criticizing. That pretty face is certifiable money in the bank.”
Bruiser didn’t wink back.
Click. Click. Click.
He didn’t move, just held his pose and stared over the head of the photographer at nothing.
“Look straight into the camera. Pretend I’m a beautiful woman across the room at a party. I’m beckoning you.”
“You? I don’t have that good of an imagination. No one does.” Bruiser resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He really hated this stuff, but money was money. He had a debt to pay and an even bigger promise to keep.
“Relax. You’re too stiff.”
Stiff? Hell, his dick had shriveled to nothing on this unseasonably chilly forty-five-degree morning. It wasn’t like he was acclimated to anything below sixty degrees after spending the last several months in Southern Cali, having traded the Seattle rainy season for warm sand, mega endorsement deals, movie cameos, and bikini-clad women. He’d only returned to the Emerald City a few short days ago.
“I’m freezing my ass off. Hurry up, will ya?”
“You’re in a snit today.” Harold sniffed as if Bruiser had hurt his feelings. Well, fuck, Harold wasn’t the one standing around in a frigid horse barn wearing nothing but SportsJock underwear, a Stetson, and a pair of Tony Lamas. Harold’s assistant flitted around like a pesky fly, messing with Bruiser’s perfectly styled blond hair. He fought like hell not to bite the poor little guy’s head off just for sport.
“Okay, tease us a little. Hook your thumb in the waistband and pull it down just so it stops short of your junk.”
Bruiser knew the drill. He almost made more from modeling than he did football. Plus, he didn’t have a modest bone in his body. If they’d asked him to strip, he’d have stripped and given them the full-meal deal. But the league frowned on all-out nudity, so Bruiser’s nude modeling had to be tastefully done with the goods disguised in dark shadows.
Bruiser changed his pose, propping one foot on the hay bale.
“Turn slightly. Put your back to me. Good. Good.”
Click. Click. Click.
“Now, strip off your shorts, hold them with a finger, and cover your package with your hat.”
“How does that sell underwear?” Despite Bruiser’s immodesty, the thought of getting nude fucking irritated him today.
“Do I look like a marketing person? Just another pose they asked for.”
Bruiser shrugged and shucked out of his briefs—not easy when wearing boots—and dangled them on one finger as he held his hat over his crotch area. Harold clicked away while Bruiser changed poses and forced himself to stay alert.
“I expected your dick to be so big you’d need a sombrero to cover it.”
Bruiser dropped the hat and spun around to face the speaker. Mackenzie Hernandez, known as Mac to all the guys on the team, stood in the barn door. Small and fit, with a nice little body, Mac was kinda cute with her upturned nose, mischievous deep-brown eyes, and long, wavy, dirty-blonde hair, but she downplayed her physical attributes as if she didn’t give a shit about appearances.
Mac made a show of looking at his crotch and arching an eyebrow, not the least bit embarrassed. But then, not much embarrassed Mac.
Caught off-balance, Bruiser stared down at his dick. A sombrero? Of course it was big enough to need a sombrero. What the hell was she talking about? Even shriveled in the cold, damp Seattle morning, he didn’t think it looked that small.
Did it?
He bent down to pick up his Stetson, not bothering to cover himself, and tamped down his annoyance while ramping up the charm.
Little dick, my ass.
“Now, honey, that cuts me to the quick.” He held his Stetson over his heart and let out an exaggerated sigh.
“I sincerely doubt that. Your skin is as thick as your head is large.”
“Ah, so you admit it. I am big. I knew you were just jerking my chain. I like that in a woman.” A slow smile spread across Bruiser’s face. She’d walked into that one.
Mac’s mouth pulled into a firm, straight line, and her eyes glinted with what looked to Bruiser like murderous intent.
“You creeping up on me, honey? Just had to get a sneak peek? Don’t blame you; all the ladies feel that way.” She deserved a little shit after the sombrero comment.
Bruiser was a flirt and a tease, two of his many talents, and he didn’t discriminate. All women were fair game, regardless of age, race, or religion. And Mac was one of his favorite targets because she didn’t know the first thing about flirting. He loved to tease her, try to get beneath her tough-girl exterior. Today he’d hit pay dirt. Flustered yet clearly annoyed, Mac backed away. “I’m not stalking you. I promised Derek and Rachel I’d feed their horses while they’re out of town.”
His teammate, Derek Ramsey, and his wife, Rachel, owned the horse farm.
“Ma’am, you’ll need to leave until we’re done shooting,” Harold said. He sniffed, his boxers all in a bunch over the interruption.
Well, damn. Bruiser was just starting to feel entertained.
“Mac won’t bother me. She’s almost like one of the guys—with boobs.” Bruiser looked her up and down. “Nice boobs, though, hon.” He waggled his eyebrows. “We’ll catch up later. Once you recover from the sight of my incredible body.”
“Overconfident ass,” Mac shot back.
“Absolutely, sweetheart. You like me that way.” He winked at her, and she glared back. He was winning points today.
“I don’t like you any way but on the football field.”
Bruiser opened his mouth to fire off an answering round when Harold interrupted him. “Hey, Bruiser, let’s finish this.”
Still grinning, Bruiser turned away from Mac and struck a pose. He had a job to do, and giving her shit wouldn’t get it done.
But later, all bets were off.
* * * * *
Mac Hernandez stalked to the grain bins madder than a cat tossed in a swimming pool. Bruiser Mackey was a prick. A pretty-boy prick of the worst kind and as shallow as a dried-up mud puddle in the middle of a Seattle summer. And dammit, just thinking of the guy made her panties wet.
She should’ve flipped his shit right back in his pretty face instead of ogling his perfect abs, nice ass, and, well, his other assets.
Just one of the guys.
Usually, she didn’t give a shit about being one of the guys because it was the truth; today, it pissed her off. Maybe because he’d caught her gawking at his privates, something she never effing ever did. Heck, her maintenance and grounds position at the Steelheads practice facility put her in direct contact with several tons of muscular egos, many partially dressed or even naked. They never bothered to cover up around her, and she’d never cared because she was like one of the guys.
Until today.
Until the man she’d harbored a secret crush on for the past three years stated that fact out loud.
She shouldn’t have a crush on a superficial guy like Bruiser, but tell that to her heart. He was everything she disliked in a man, a preening peacock who exploited his looks for money. But he was a damn good football player in spite of his preoccupation with his appearance.
Even worse, he continually flirted with her, making every attempt to emb
arrass the hell out of her with his outrageous comments. And he did embarrass her, though she thought she hid it well—usually.
Mac hazarded a glance back at him, his fine ass once again clad in tight underwear. His perfect eight-pack abs glistened with whatever crap they’d rubbed on his tanned skin, while his arm muscles bulged and flexed as he assumed different poses.
He looked over his shoulder, caught her staring, and winked, setting her face on fire again. Mac never blushed. Absolutely fucking never. Except when Bruiser gave her shit or looked at her with those penetrating blue-gray eyes. Thank heavens the darkest corner of the barn concealed her face.
Damn, but the man had one fine body, and she’d witnessed some incredibly sculpted bodies in her time with the Steelheads, but Bruiser’s body was the finest of the finest.
Aunt Helen used to say never to date a man prettier than you. And Bruiser was way too pretty for a plain woman like her, with her dishwater-blonde hair, nondescript brown eyes, and so-so figure.
Not to mention his, uh, equipment might be more than she could handle. Despite what she said to the glamour boy, he was, ahem, well endowed. Way too well. With her relative inexperience with men, she’d best stay away from said equipment and said pretty boy.
The guys would be shocked that she was sexually inexperienced, but then, no one knew the real Mac. They only knew the tomboy Mac they saw every day mowing the practice field grass in perfect straight lines or pulling weeds in the flower beds or beating them at a game of pool at the sports bar near Steelheads HQ. They knew the Mac who didn’t have a life, and while Mac might not have a life, she had a mission—a mission to figure out what the hell had happened to her older brother, who’d gone missing three years ago. She spent all her off-hours investigating new leads and going over old ones with her father.