Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  Which was why she fantasized about having a guy like Bruiser. Harmless fun and a distraction from how screwed up her life really was.

  Mac turned back to her chore of feeding the horses and forced herself to ignore the photo session several feet away. In fact, she ignored it so well she didn’t even notice when they finished up for the day. Instead, she focused on the horses munching away at their grain and making the deep, guttural noises horses make in greeting. Someday, she’d have money and a stable full of horses and she’d get a life.

  Yeah, that’d happen when hell froze over or Mac wore a dress.

  “Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?”

  Mac jumped as Bruiser’s hot breath teased her ear. She whirled around and swatted at his chest, now clad in a Steelheads sweatshirt. “You scared the crap out of me, you asshole.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not the asshole. That’s Harris’s role.” No one on the team could come close to dethroning Tyler Harris, the team’s quarterback, from his self-proclaimed position as the team’s resident asshole.

  “You have a point there.” Mac strode away from Bruiser, head held high, throwing flakes of hay into the stalls. Bruiser followed her. Instead of his usual brash smile, he appeared…worried? Bruiser?

  “So, do you really think I’m small?” He studied her with concern, as if her opinion regarding the length of his penis actually mattered. It wasn’t like overconfident Bruiser would ever be concerned about what she thought.

  He stepped closer to her—too close. His scent surrounded her, engulfed her. Oh, God, please. Just one night. One night with the Steelheads pretty boy, and she’d never ask for another thing. Never.

  His blue-gray eyes bored into her, and his brow furrowed. Well, damn, the pretty boy was actually concerned. Mac shook her head, eager to dispel his insecurities, even as she battled with the reason why. “Too bad your brain isn’t as big as your dick.”

  A big smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I knew it. You think I’m large.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment, so don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Too late, already has. Both of them.” Then he met her frosty gaze with his steady one, and a slow, sexy smile crossed his face. “Hey, you’re in luck. I’m at loose ends tonight. How about we get a burger at that place down the road?”

  “You buying?” Mac slipped into her usual buddy mode, knowing that’s all she was to Bruiser and being pathetic enough to play her part.

  * * * * *

  A few minutes later, Bruiser slid into a booth across from Mac. He pulled a ball cap over his head to avoid being recognized, not that it helped. People still stared. He ignored their stares and took a long pull off his beer.

  “So, little lady, how goes the battle?”

  “Same old, same old,” Mac muttered.

  Something seemed to be stuck in her craw. She never put on pretenses; what you saw was what you got. Sometimes he envied her ability to be who she was and not give a damn what others thought, while he spent way too much time worrying about others’ expectations and how he measured up. Chalk up that particular issue to a father who made it clear Bruiser never measured up and a mother and sister who believed appearances weren’t everything—they were the only thing.

  He admired Mac. She didn’t dress or behave to please anyone but herself—a rare trait in a woman. But Mac was no ordinary woman.

  As if reading his mind, Mac stared across the table at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans.”

  “Pretty awesome, huh?” He glanced at her baggy sweatshirt with horse snot on it. Mac never cared about that crap. She was who she was. She carried off this earthy sexiness that put other women to shame with their fake faces and fake boobs.

  “You’re an awesome pain in the butt.”

  Bruiser threw back his head and laughed. “Mac, you’re a hoot.”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “You should’ve been born a guy.”

  “You’re not the first person who’s said that.” She shrugged and looked away, almost as if he’d hurt her feelings. He shook off that outrageous thought. Mac was the toughest woman he knew.

  Bruiser leaned back in the booth and grinned. He liked Mac, really liked her. She was such an exact opposite of the other women in his life, and he found her straightforward honesty refreshing. Besides, he knew a kindred spirit when it tackled him to the ground.

  Oh, yeah, Bruiser recognized it—the pain that hid behind the false smile and sparkling eyes. Yeah, he recognized it because he had the same dull pain himself, the one that never went away and at times became a sharp stab to the gut. No one saw it but his best buddy on the team, Brett Gunnels. Not his parents. Not his closest friends. Only kindred spirits saw the mutual burden of guilt carried by another.

  Apparently, Mac battled similar demons. Bruiser had heard things from the guys, but he didn’t know the details. He could probably search for them, but he kept his nose out of other peoples’ business, expecting them to do the same.

  “How’re things going at work? Vince giving you any more shit?”

  “I can handle that tool.” She focused her full attention to the TV showing the Mariners game. Bruiser made a point not to pry and let it drop. When she glanced back at him, their gazes met. A strange little curling sensation tickled his stomach lining, almost like the first stage of desire. Yet even as he tried to drag his gaze away, he couldn’t, like an elk caught in the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle, knowing he was going down but not able to save himself.

  What the hell? Desire? For Mac? Fuck, he didn’t even know if she dated guys or girls. He must be losing it. Yet some primal instinct insisted a passionate woman lurked beneath all those baggy clothes and that tough-girl facade. And he knew this how? He wasn’t sure, but his mind flashed to a vivid vision of Mac, naked and straddling him, taking him deep, then pounding up and down on him until he damn near reached insanity.

  Him and Mac? Hooking up like two sex-starved teenagers? Crap. Bruiser scrubbed his hands over his face.

  “Are you okay?”

  He glanced up with a guilty start. “I’m awesome. Remember?”

  She smiled, and it changed her, made her look softer, more feminine. Funny how he’d never noticed what a knockout smile she had, but she didn’t smile much. His dick noticed, too, and pressed against the fly of his jeans almost painfully. He shifted his ass but couldn’t find a position that gave him any relief. Well, there was one position, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  Damn. He’d call one of his standbys tonight and get some. Maybe he’d call two. It’d been a while since he’d indulged. In theory, a threesome sounded like any man’s dream, but in reality, not so much. Especially when the two women were narcissistic and competing for his attention.

  Only, for some reason, sex with an anonymous woman with big, fake boobs and long, muscular legs didn’t excite him like it had a few weeks ago. Most of the women he dated worked out so much that they had these hard bodies, more like a guy than a woman. He glanced at Mac. She was muscled, too, but more from hard work than from working out in a gym.

  He jumped when Mac’s hand touched his. “Seriously? Are you all right?”

  Her concern touched him. Rarely did anyone care about him or his feelings beyond how it could benefit them, including his family—especially his family.

  He faked a devil-may-care smile and nodded. “Keep touching me like that, and I’ll be more than fine.” He drained the last of his beer.

  “You’d flirt with an eighty-year-old grandmother.”

  “Try it sometime. You might like it.”

  “Flirting with an eighty-year-old grandmother?”

  “No, flirting in general. It’s harmless fun.”

  “You do it just to irritate me.” Mac’s brown eyes flashed fire.

  Bruiser only grinned even more. He loved getting a rise out of her. “My flirting irritates you? Most women are flattered.”

  “Most women aren’t me.” />
  Bruiser got a chuckle out of that. “You’re so right, Mac, but I wouldn’t want you any other way. You’re an original.”

  She pursed her lips as if his words tasted sour. Hell, he’d meant it to be a compliment. Time to hit the road before he fell all over himself trying to impress a woman he couldn’t impress. Bruiser stood and dropped a couple twenties on the table.

  “Gotta go. This should cover it.” Then he got the hell out of there.

  Whatever this weird preoccupation with Mac was, he needed to squash it. As he sped down the street in his SUV, he dialed a number and made a date for the next night.

  Chapter 2—Gridiron Cinderella

  Mac’s boss waved her down as she made a pass across the practice field with the riding lawn mower. She slowed and turned off the engine, annoyed at being interrupted but trying like hell not to show it. Jed Simms might be her boss and the fields and grounds manager for the Steelheads, but he was also a lifelong family friend. His craggy face reminded her of one of those dried-up applehead dolls her grandma used to make. Too much time in the sun, but even so, he seemed the picture of health.

  Tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel, she waited for Jed to walk up to her. If she drove over, it’d ruin her perfectly straight lines. And no one did straight lines like Mac.

  “We need to talk.” Jed grimaced, and Mac immediately went on red alert.

  “Am I gonna like this?” She frowned while the pessimist inside her braced for the worst. Jed never interrupted her when she was mowing.

  “Uh, knowing you, probably not.” He shook his head and looked everywhere but at Mac. This wasn’t good at all.

  “What is it?” Mac held her breath. Her intuition warned of bad news ahead.

  “I need a head count for the Steelheads’ annual summer barbecue at the owner’s Lake Washington mansion. Can I count you in?”

  Mac scrunched up her face and shook her head so hard her ponytail slapped her in the cheek. “No way am I going to that bullshit barbecue.” Every summer, the daughter of the team’s owner put on a huge barbecue, though the name was a misnomer. It was a black-tie charity affair that made the society page of the newspaper. Nothing like Mac’s idea of a barbecue. But then, Veronica never did anything small. Unfortunately, her position as the Steelheads’ personnel director gave her the power to dictate attendance.

  “Vince is going.”

  “He is? That suck-ass.” Mac swore under her breath. Dread filled her. Not Vince. Her nemesis. The guy whose life’s mission was to make her look bad or get her ass fired.

  “He’s willing to play the political game to reach his goals.” Jed stared her straight in the eyes, and Mac stared right back, her gaze unwavering, even though she wanted to look down.

  “I’d rather be chosen on my merits, not how far my head is stuck up someone’s ass.”

  So, that’s what this was about—the coveted scholarship. Every few years, the Steelheads awarded an employee a full-ride scholarship to the college of their choice, as long as their area of study benefitted the organization. Mac wanted that scholarship so badly she could taste it. Even more, she had her eye on the horticulturist position, which would be available in the next year or so due to the current horticulturist’s impending retirement. Most NFL practice facilities didn’t employ a horticulturist, but the Steelheads’ facility bordered Lake Washington and part of the property included wetlands and shoreline, which required careful management. Down the road, she’d work herself into turf management.

  “This is Veronica—the owner’s daughter—we’re talking about.” Jed looked across the field as if assessing the deep-green grass, only he didn’t fool Mac. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Mac, Vince is lobbying to make himself the front-runner for the scholarship. He’s been here longer, and he’s trying to convince management he’s a better fit.”

  “He’s a lazy ass. He hides out half the day and lets the rest of us do his work for him.”

  “Management doesn’t see that. You need to make an effort here if you want that scholarship. You need to be seen out of your normal work clothes in situations other than mowing the fields or weeding the front flower beds.”

  “Fine, I’ll go to that damn barbecue, but I’m not wearing a dress.” Heck, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress. Had she ever worn a dress? Maybe when she’d been a toddler at her mother’s funeral.

  Jed grinned, enjoying her annoyance all too much. “It’s all part of the job. You’ll need a date. Do you know someone you can ask?”

  A date? As if on cue, Bruiser jogged by, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and running shoes. Mac’s eyes fastened onto the man’s ripped body, and she licked her lips so she wouldn’t embarrass herself by drooling. Sweat ran down his spine and disappeared beneath his waistband. She’d love to lick that sweat off his body, slide her hands under those shorts, and grip that fine ass of his, and then she’d—

  “I never would’ve guessed it.” Jed snorted out a chuckle.

  With a guilty start, Mac jerked her head back to her boss. “Guessed what?” Her face burned worse than it had on that summer day she’d fallen asleep at the beach.

  “You have a thing for the team pretty boy.” The teasing glint in his eyes terrified her.

  “No, I don’t. I appreciate a fine male body, that’s all.” Mac started the lawn mower to drown out Jed’s amused laughter. As she put it in gear, she shot Jed one last irritated scowl and hollered over the engine. “Don’t get any ideas. I’ll get my own damn date.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  Mac groaned at the thought of what Jed would do if left to his own devices. She’d definitely dig up a date.

  Somewhere.

  * * * * *

  A few hours later, Mac lined up a shot and dropped the eight ball into the corner pocket. With a long-suffering sigh, Derek Ramsey, the Steelheads’ all-pro wide receiver, shuffled back to his seat, ignoring the jeers of his teammates. Mac pumped her fist in the air, then swept her gaze around the room, seeking out her next victim. Not one of the chickenshits would even establish eye contact with her. Cowards, every last one of them.

  Sprawled around a long table sat a dozen or so Seattle Steelheads who lived in Seattle year-round. They met almost every Monday night for beer and pool at O’Malley’s Sports Bar a few miles from the Steelheads’ practice facility. Mac had been coming here with the team for the past three years. Sometimes the group dwindled to a few guys. Other times, during football season, the rowdy bunch took over the back room and watched Monday Night Football together for some raucous good times with Mac in the thick of it all.

  She’d always been more comfortable with men than women. Hell, all her best friends growing up had been men. She’d never cultivated actual girlfriends or traded makeup secrets or talked about hot guys. Lately, she wished she had, because she was absolutely clueless about girl stuff. Sometimes even a tomboy wanted to be seen as a woman.

  And why was she thinking this now?

  This weird preoccupation lately with getting more girly better not have anything to do with seeing Bruiser bare-ass naked with all his equipment on display. Her gaze flicked to the object of her after-dark bedroom fantasies. And, man, she’d had some hot ones. Bruiser leaned forward, a heart-stopping smile on his face, laughter in his sexy voice, and entertained the group with some outrageous tale about hang gliding off California cliffs.

  Mac sighed and plopped into a chair next to Brett, the Steelheads’ quiet backup quarterback and a bit of an enigma. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she looked away. Brett saw everything but never said much. She felt his eyes on her and knew he was reading her like an open book. Squirming slightly, she finally met his gaze and prayed nothing on her face gave away her weakness.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she quipped.

  Brett didn’t back down, didn’t even blink. “What’s got your tail in a knot?”

  Mac glanced around the table. Derek and Bruiser discussed
the holes in the Mariners’ pitching staff. Tyler and Zach engaged in a good-natured pissing contest over whether the offense or defense would win more games for the team in the upcoming season. No one paid Mac and Brett any attention.

  “I have a problem.” Mac scowled and drew rings on the table with her beer glass.

  “Yeah?” Brett leaned forward.

  “Yeah. I need to be more visible to management, especially Veronica, if I want a chance at the Steelheads’ employee scholarship.”

  “Makes sense. But how?”

  “I need to be seen as more than the person who mows the grass.”

  “Hey, you keep all the plants healthy, too, even the finicky ones.” Brett shot her a rare grin, his pale blue eyes twinkling. Mac smiled back at him. There were times when she almost suspected Brett had a crush on her, which seemed outrageous. Regardless, the reclusive backup quarterback never acted on his feelings.

  “I need to be seen in a more professional light by Veronica.”

  “Good luck with that. She hates everybody but Bruiser. He’s her poster boy for a football player.” Brett snorted, as if he found this little fact highly amusing.

  “I know.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “I need to go to that damn barbecue, for starters.”

  “Well then, go.” Brett always had a simple, direct answer for everything.

  Mac’s face heated. How did a girl explain that she didn’t know how to be a girl? In her typical Mac way, she just spit it out. “I don’t know what to wear and all that crap.”

  “Lavender can help with that.” Tyler inserted himself into the conversation. “She lives to shop. At least, that’s what my credit card says.”

  Mac jumped, unaware she’d caught the attention of the other guys at the table. Just fucking wonderful, as if this whole thing weren’t humiliating enough. She turned to Tyler, unable to keep annoyance out of her voice. “We were having a private conversation.”

  “Yeah, Mac, whatever.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “It’s not like your voice doesn’t carry.”